New Shoes, New Wallet and the Taj Mahal; and His Story v Mine

The Boy hasn't been to school since January. He has spent days and days in bed, sleeping and looking at his phone or computer. He might get up on the weekends to ski, but that is about it. He is also taking Driver's Ed.

This is anxiety and depression.

We are seeking residential treatment for him, starting very soon we hope.

And I think he hopes so, too.

Since depression hit, the Boy has become nocturnal, sleeping til after noon and knocking around the house at night. One night, he got up and read the packet about the options for residential treatment. He got out a pen and annotated it. He signed all of the forms that said "Student Signature" and he checked off the states where he would consider moving: Colorado, Montana, Utah. Anyplace with mountains where he can ski.

Since we've started talking about treatment, the Boy got his haircut. I gave him money and he took the bus to the mall to shop on his own. He bought new tennis shoes and a new wallet.

This weekend, he has friends over. The boys bounced on the trampoline, walked to Burgermaster for lunch, and nearly finished the 5,923 piece Lego Taj Mahal that the Boy got for Christmas. In the past, it would take the Boy days--not weeks or months--to finish a Lego set of this size. His friends came over and they worked on it together. The last thing left is the dome.

I know this is his story to tell, but it is mine, too. I've watched him suffer for too long. He is one kind of pain, and I am in another watching him. Pain is a useful and confusing feeling at times. It can tells us to stop and rest and stay where we are, or it can motivate us to make a change. Depending on the situation, sometimes both can be right.

Fixing one pain can cause another. While I am happy to get him the help he needs, I will miss him. This is the bargain of being a parent, the price of being the primary witness to someone's life, the love and pain combined.