Because I am his Mom.

Disclosure:  (Imagine this part in tiny little print like official words are.)


This article is not written to any particular person.  If you are a mental health professional or an educator or a  doctor or a social worker or anyone else  serving one of my sons, do not assume I am talking about you on the internet.  I would tell you to your face first.  I'm pretty direct that way.  However, if you are one such professional working with one of my sons or someone else's kid, I would appreciate it if you would read this.  Several times.  And give it serious consideration.  Hopefully, I can change your perspective and shed some light on some questions that I am asked on a fairly regular basis.  Thank you very much for your time and attention.


Got that out of the way.

Here we go.

I am my son's Mom.  It's a role I take pretty seriously.  It is my greatest privilege.  It  is my highest priority.  It is my greatest blessing.  I'm his Mom and I am going to be his Mom for the rest of my life.  I am the one who will be there long after you are gone.  So believe me when I tell you...

...I know that kid better than anyone else.  

Except God.  Since He is the one who created him.

Since my son moved into my home we haven't always had an easy time.  It hasn't been all butterflies and sparkily cupcakes.  But one thing is certain.  I know who my son is.  I can see right through all of his behavior and his trauma and his big disrespectful mouth right to his heart.  And I see good there.  I believe that God Himself showed that good to me so I could show it to you.  I am determined to get you to see it too.   And I will not waiver in my determination.

As long as you are dealing with my son (or anyone else's, since I am confident enough in my position to speak for my friends and their children too), please be respectful of what he has experienced and survived.  Please be mindful of any diagnosis that might complicate things further.  Be aware that my son lives with significant skill deficits compared to his peers.  He might be a chronological adult, but that does not mean he can manage a task that another young man his age could handle easily.

Please keep all these statements in mind when you write to me or call me frustrated with some behavior.  Don't be surprised when I remind you that my son is not "just the age when a kid thinks he knows everything".  He is not "trying to use his disability to get one over on you".  Please do not conclude that he is simply lazy or unmotivated (he might be--but there is more to it than that).  If you and I find ourselves in this situation and you've made some of these conclusions, please do not assume that I am going to completely agree with your assessment of the situation and be on my merry way.  It will never happen.

I am my son's Mom.

I am the one who has taken these calls from everyone who has ever worked with him.  I am the one who found him in undesirable circumstances and promised him a better life.  I am the one who sat at the dinner table one night and listened in horror as he told me all the things that happened to him because he finally felt safe enough to talk.  I am the one whose heart breaks for all he endured and survived.  I am the one who fought for him.  I am the one who knows how far he has come.

It is my role to question and to enlighten your perspective.  I expect you to be frustrated with my response.  I'm used to being asked, "Why do you always make excuses for him?"  when I bring up the subject of  past trauma as a cause for current behavior.  I expect you to say, "You are really not doing him any favors by sheltering him from accountability." when I suggest a consequence that makes sense given my son's skill deficits.  I expect you to be angry.  I've gotten used to all this.  It doesn't change what is.

My son is not easy to work with.  You have to want to be committed.  But there is a reward.  There is gold in that kid.  Your role is to find it and bring it out.  My role is to help you see it.  I've got big enough shoulders to take your criticism.

"Which son are you referring to?"  You ask.

Either one of them.

Forever.

Because I am their Mom.

Mental Health Care: Here's why it matters.

Recently, there have been stories all around me that underscore the need for mental health treatment for kids. This story is one example. A 17 year-old boy steals his mother's car, drives several hours and murders two people in cold blood. At his trial, his mother testified about years and years of seeking help and about being denied the help she knew her son desperately needed. In one article she talked about having to put all the household knives away when her son was a toddler. As an adolescent, the boy only received about ten days of residential treatment before his private insurance ran out. Ten days. Although the Juvenile Justice system has several opportunities to order treatment for this young man, somehow he kept being returned home.

Hope is not a plan.

While it absolutely has a place in our lives, hope itself is not a plan for treatment or recovery. Mental illness is real and it requires treatment. And that treatment is expensive and difficult to obtain. Presently in Minnesota, there are about 50 Child Psychiatrists. That's it. In my experience, it is not uncommon to wait 3 months for an appointment. Yes, there are emergency appointments--but you have to know to ask for them and the fact that they exist is not common knowledge.

In the spring of 2006, my Younger Kid experienced the onset of a serious mood disorder. I knew the exact day that something was different. I can pinpoint the hour. It was just after lunch on April 19, 2006. He was playing a game of football, one of the teachers became concerned about the level of intensity in the game and put his hand on my son and my son took the teacher to the ground and injured him.

I have written about the hospitalization that followed--my first attempt to find treatment for my Younger Kid. As my son's mother, I knew that something was different. I knew he was going through something new. I knew it was serious, dangerous and absolutely real. While seeking treatment, we ran into one roadblock after another. There is not a clear treatment plan. If it were a broken bone or a serious physical injury, doctors know what to do with that. They know exactly how to heal that. But, in the case of mental illness, every brain is different. It takes several tries to find the right medication.

On top of that, we faced difficulty from the community. My husband and I knew we would need support beyond our home if we were going to see our son successfully reach 18. We contacted our county and asked to open a children's mental health case. We worked with the school to create a behavior support plan for our son. We utilized the county's crisis response line and we called the police when we needed to. Sadly, there were many times when the community response to our call for help was less than helpful. I remember calling the crisis number and being asked, "What do you want us to do? You are the parent." Yes. I am the parent of a child raging against me, violently attacking me and the rest of my family! That is a crisis. I remember one police officer walking away from me shaking his head and saying, "I sure hope you figure out what you're going to do with this kid."

But Sir, hope is not a plan. We needed help.

April 19, 2006 is the day my son started displaying symptoms of a serious mental illness. During the next 14 months, he was hospitalized 5 times. He stayed in the hospital for 20-30 days each time. He was arrested twice. He spent two 72 hour stretches in the custody of police. He spent 60 days in a group home. I don't know how many times we called the police for assistance and I don't know how many times we went to court. During those months our family was held hostage by mental illness. On May 23, 2007, after driving away while my kid chased us down the road, I called my son's doctor--Dr. Joel Oberstar--and left a desperate and tearful message. "I can't live with Younger Kid for one more day. He needs treatment. Please help us." When he called back, Dr. Oberstar said, "Bring him to the hospital. I'm going to take care of this."

Dr. Oberstar got Younger Kid into treatment. He is one of a handful of professionals who committed to our son and helped our family. Younger Kid spent almost two years in residential treatment and a total of 43 months in out of home placements before his 18th birthday. Without that help, I'm afraid to think about what might have happened.

"Don't all kids do that?"

Sometimes the community misunderstands mental illness. A parent can describe some crisis that's taken place in their home and a well meaning friend or relative says something like, "Don't all kids do that?"

And it's true. Raising kids is not easy. But it's the intensity and the duration of the behaviors that sets a kid with mental illness apart. All kids do try to separate themselves from their parents. But not all kids try to jump out of the car on the highway. All kids do feel sad and even experience depression after breaking up with their first love. But not all kids take 400 Tylenol. All kids are mouthy and disrespectful sometimes. But not all kids call their mother "stupid fucking bitch" 50 times a day for months and months. All kids have difficulty and act outrageously sometimes to get their parent's attention. But not all kids light things on fire or throw dishes through patio doors or break their dad's fingers. Our family's challenge was not the typical behavior response, but the intensity and duration of that response.

My Younger Kid lives an almost "normal" life today because of the treatment and support he received from the professionals who committed to him. When I read stories like the one at the beginning of this post, I say a prayer of thanks for my son's doctor, his social worker, his therapist and the residential treatment staff. They saved Younger Kid's life. Who knows how many other lives they may have saved.

It's an investment.

Many times over the years, while navigating the mental health system of care, I have begged and insisted "please invest in my son now." He is worth the investment. He is a good person with a good heart. He has an illness. He didn't choose it. It's not his fault. He can't simply make a better choice without the help of medication and therapy. Structure and a firm hand is not going to fix it. Neither is a sticker chart. Kids who live with mental illness need treatment. Not ten days of treatment. But, as much as it takes. And whatever it costs, I can assure you that it's less than a life in prison.

"A nation's greatness is measured by how it treats it's weakest members."

~Mahatma Ghandi

In the midst of government shutdown, budget cuts, no new taxes and financial crisis, I cannot think of something more important than mental health care. Yet, I fear that decision makers may not know the value of this type of care. If you have a story like mine, call your legislator and share it. Let the policy makers know how important mental health care is to our society.

"look for the gold"

Picture two adoptive families. Both adopted older children from foster care. Both sets of parents educated themselves on the process and felt confident they could manage what they were taking on.

Family #1 adopted two boys about 7 years ago. Since moving home,

• both boys have graduated from high school.
• one has a job in management.
• one works with the adoptive dad in the family business.
• one is a gifted athlete.
• one inspired a huge fundraising effort benefiting kids in foster care when he shared his story with his classmates.
• both boys have received treatment and therapy and have responded reasonably well.
• both boys have more good days than bad days.
• both boys are sensitive with good hearts and good intentions.

Family #2 also adopted two boys about 7 years ago. Since moving home,

• the boys have experienced a dozen hospitalizations between them.
• one son developed a serious mood disorder.
• one son almost died after a suicide attempt.
• both boys have been arrested. One has plead guilty to assault 3 times.
• both boys struggled mightily in school-one academically and one with his behavior.
• both boys struggle with relationships and finding their place within the family and the community.
• both boys have lived at home with the family and in various out of home placements including a correctional setting and residential treatment.

I shared this story of two families recently with a group of parents and asked what thoughts came to mind. I received answers like, "I sure hope I never find myself in family #2." and "What did the first family do that the second family didn't?" One parent asked me if these families were even real or did I make them up? Certainly there could not be two real families so similar with such extreme differences.

I took a deep breath and asked the following:

Would it surprise you to learn that these are not two different families but the same family?

There was silence and mouths were open.

So, I took another deep breath. My hands were shaking so I folded them tightly in my lap where no one could see. With a quiet voice I asked:

Would it surprise you to learn that these are both my family?

Then I took a few sips of my water while the group caught up with me.

I explained that I was neither bragging or complaining. I'm not looking for sympathy or accolades. I understood that I was brought to that group to tell my story as a disclaimer. A here's what could happen in the worst case type of scenario. And it's not that simple. Families are complicated. Any kid can be painted as a success story or a cautionary tale. It just depends on how you look at it.

Choose to be like one dad who said, "I look for the gold in my kid and that's what I focus on. He messes up-and I just keep looking at the gold."

There is always gold in our kids if we look hard enough to find it. Sometimes we have to want to see it. Sometimes we need to see it in order to survive all the trauma mud that the gold is buried in. In all cases, looking for the gold can get a parent through some of the tougher days.

Happy gold hunting to you today, Friend.

Not for nothing

Paul Buckley is a therapist who used to work with my boys. I have written about him before-back in the early days of the blog. I always referred to him as the "Yes, just as soon as..." therapist. Paul teaches strategies for dealing with behaviors--and he is funny. That's a bonus because we weren't laughing enough in our household back then. I remember the day Paul told me we could consider it a successful day if we could go to bed and say no one was hospitalized or incarcerated. And you know that the day came when I had to call Paul and say "one is hospitalized and one is incarcerated." He told my husband and me to go to dinner.

Paul said a lot of things I won't forget. One in particular stands out. I must have been having one of those days. You know the one. The I'm overwhelmed and tired and I just can't picture a successful outcome kind of day. Those are dangerous feelings to have. As a parent, once I had those feelings it wasn't a long leap to thoughts like What am I doing this for? All my effort is wasted anyway because my kids are headed right for homelessness or incarceration or drug addiction or some combination of all three! I wanted to save a child from that type of life and look at what a great job I'm doing! What's the value of everything our family has gone through to help these boys? Is it all for nothing??

Have you been there? Are you there right now? I'm sure I said something like this to Paul the day he looked at me and said, "You're saving their lives Lynne. It's not going to be easy."

A few years later when Younger Kid was in residential treatment, I shared similar feelings with Rachel, our family's therapist. Rachel is thoughtful and caring and very smart. She is a wonderful listener. She listened to all of my overwhelmed it's all for nothing anyway talk and she said, "I don't think so."

Rachel said that my husband and I had given our boys something that no one could ever take from them. Because of us, Older Kid and Younger Kid knew what it was to be part of a loving family. They understood what commitment was and how it felt to be fought for. Rachel cautioned me not to look at the situation in an all or nothing way. "It can't be all or nothing because what you have given your boys cannot be measured."

Rachel and I had several discussions like this one over the years. It took more than one time for these truths to sink into my brain so I could believe them.

If you are a parent like me, give yourself a break today. You are not responsible for the outcome of your child's life. Your job is to give that child skills that will help him become the most successful adult he can be. And the most successful adult he can be might include drug use or homelessness or incarceration. We hope not, but we don't get to control that reality. Take in these truths--

"You're saving their lives. It's not going to be easy."

"What you've given your boys cannot be measured."

Remember that you are doing everything right. You are stronger than you realize and your commitment is inspiring. I'm proud to be your friend.

It's just a fact.

Trauma.


What do you think of when you hear that word? If you are a parent like me, the word "trauma" brings up feelings ranging from sadness to frustration to anger and and back. If you are a parent like me, you've probably seen your children struggle to behave appropriately and make good choices. In our family's case, I have always been able to tie current behavior back to the trauma my kids survived in their early life. It's not a big stretch--to me. Yet too many times while sitting with professionals processing behavior and applying consequences, the subject of trauma is quickly dismissed. "It's an excuse that does not justify his behavior." or "You're not doing your son any favors by reasoning away his consequences." Do these responses sound familliar to anyone else?


I sat on a parent panel with my friend Activist Annie last week. The panel took place at a conference on Trauma. Annie and I were surprised when the conference organizers told us there were 300 professionals in the room and hundreds more watching online. "WOWza!" we said to each other, "We're gonna be famous!" So, we sat in the front of a huge room behind microphones and made our trauma points.


I said that trauma is a fact. It's a fact. Not an excuse. Not a reason. Not a justification. Just a fact. I told a story about my Older Kid. He got into a fight at his apartment. It was bad. My kid did nto make a good choice. And he has paid a high price. Beyond the legal consequences, this choice cost my son his apartment.


It the meeting where the building management gave my kid the boot, I had copies of the police report. I verified through external sources every single thing my kid told me. He didn't lie about anything. (generally he doesn't lie, as he isn't interested in what people think) The police interviewed 4 people involved in the fight. Only my kid mentioned that the victim was "drunk and swinging a bottle around". I don't know if the victim really had a bottle in his hand but I do know that in my Older Kid's early life, he survived significant physical trauma at the hands of drunk caregivers.

This is a fact.

It's not an excuse and it's not a reason. It's a fact. And to dismiss it does not promote healing.


I believe that acknowleging past trauma honors what a kid has survived. It honors his past experience. It does take some time and patience to sit with a young adult and explain why it is wrong to assault another person. We think that's something he should already know. But, in doing so, I have seen my Oldest Son move forward, accept all of his consequences and make better choices.


Healing and recovery is a process. And kids are not going to get it right every time. That's a fact too.



Here's something completely unrelated.


I read a lot of blogs. I love stories from people who live a completely different life from mine. I love blogs because I can catch up on them in five minutes or less and they offer a view into other lifestyles. One of my favorites is Ridiculously Extraordinary by Karol Gajda. Karol, (say Karl) makes his living online and travels around the world doing what he wants to do and writing about it. Right now, Karol is on a tour riding every roller coaster in America! How cool is that? Yesterday, he was at the Mall of America. My Girlie and I went to meet him. We brought him some road trip food and he had an extra wristband which he gave to Girlie. I'm so glad we went. It was fun to meet Karol in person after reading about his adventures.


The Roller Coaster tour is just starting. Check out the map and see if Karol is coming to your neighborhood. You can reach him via Twitter and meet him. If you do, bring him some vegan snacks. You know you're a mom when someone tells you he is driving 13000 miles alone to ride hundreds of coasters and your first thoughts are, "What if you get hungry?" If you see Karol, tell him I said "hi".

My GM

Many years ago, the very first parent to parent support that I found was on the internet. I wrote on a message board for foster and adoptive parents. One of those parents turned out to be my friend Activist Annie, who has made some appearances in some of my stories on this blog. Another internet friend-a very special person I met online-was Georgia Mommy. I have always called her GM.

I have met GM in person. Our internet friends got together here in my state in 2005. In 2006, our family took a road trip to Florida. We stayed in Georgia for 3 days on the way to Florida and one night on the way home to spend time with GM and her family. My Older Kid turned 16 on that trip. He "fell in love" with one of GM's daughters. Good memories.....

GM and her husband have adopted many children from foster care. They have also claimed foster children as their own. They retired from business at what many would consider an early age, bought a farm and started raising children. "Because raising children is so stress free"~GM joked with me once.

When Older Kid first moved home with us, he really struggled. He made oppositional defiance an art form. He was in and out of our home several times-bouncing between a work camp and a group home. He openly said he didn't want to live with us. I was heart broken. I didn't know much about Reactive Attachment Disorder at that time. I didn't understand the "why" behind all the behavior. I just felt devastated. Via the internet, GM put her loving arms around me and comforted me during those times. She told me "no act of love is ever wasted." She said, "the fact he can't accept your love is a statement about him, not you." I would go to the message board and read and re-read her kind words.

Around the time my Girlie was born, GM was diagnosed with something not good--stage 4. She wasn't given a great prognosis. But, GM is a fighter and she beat it. And she has beat it more than once since then.

Yesterday, GM's husband announced on that old message board that she has just a few days left. And I went to the place where I haven't posted anything for several years and I typed my GM a goodbye. I know it is a privilege to be able to say a goodbye. I didn't get to do that when I lost my little sister. My brain understands that a goodbye is a healing thing. Closure. But, my heart.....my heart breaks for GM, for her husband, for her children and her grandchildren and for everyone who has ever been touched by her good heart and generous nature. And my heart breaks for myself.

My GM, My Sweet Friend~You are an original Drama Mama. I will carry your spirit with me. I promise to pass love and support on to other parents in the same unconditional manner that you gave it to me. I promise that people will remember you. Please don't be afraid, my Friend. Heaven is a good place. A place free of pain and illness. A place where you can have peace and watch over all your family and friends on Earth. I love you, Friend.

On Mother's Day

I wasn't going to write about it this year.

I wrote about it last year. And I really don't have anything new to say...except this.

For my boys, Mother's Day is a harsh reminder of loss. And they don't talk about it. They do their best to be decent. They struggle. Younger Kid became upset this morning and started in on the wango tango. (That is this fabulous blogger's name for spewing hatred/raging/toxic language and other behaviors that accompany a traumatized child)

"It's ok." I told my kid. "On Mother's Day, I think about her too."

Who?

"Your mom."

It was like all the air coming out of a balloon.

"How can I not think about her?" I asked him. "I hope she is safe. I hope she has peace."

Yeah. Thanks, Mama.

"You're welcome, Son."

The situation is complicated. The emotions are raw and the loss is ever-present. How does a child lose one mother and then accept another one? They are remarkable boys with amazing strength. I'm thankful that I see that. I think a lot of people don't see past the wango tango.