Hard

​Hard. That is life right now. Hard, discouraging, exhausting. And it doesn’t help that the days seem endless. I have maybe an hour or an hour and a half each morning to myself...my quiet time, time in the Word, prayer time...doing all I possibly can to beg God to fill me for what is to come when I hear the thud of his feet hitting the floor as he jumps down from his loft bed. 

And then it begins...

This is not the first hard season we have gone through with Jeremiah, by any means. Truth be told, I have lost count. But this time he is an adult. This time he is taller than us, weighs more than us, is stronger than us. Why didn’t I see this coming? How could I not? It was inevitable, wasn’t it. Surely he would grow up someday. I guess it is what happens when you live each day in survival mode, fight or flight, just struggling to get through one day at a time. One day turns into 365 and a few of those and bam! Adulthood with special needs.

I think we were also caught off guard this time because we thought the worst was behind us...you know...the perils of puberty? Ahhhh, if only we had known! 

So if you are reading this, and the parent of a special needs child thinking that the best is yet to come and this too shall pass, I am sorry to be such a Debbie Downer. Maybe for you, the best really is yet to come and this too really shall pass. They say that, if you have met one kid with autism, you have met one kid with autism. Alas, such was not our destiny.

I could blame it all on the pandemic. I mean, I am sure he is over us telling him no every time he asks to do one of his favorite activities...the park, Universal Studios, Adventure Island, going to our pool, the movies. But the truth is, this started long before face masks, hand sanitizer, and social distancing. 

We were in St. Augustine just after Christmas for a long weekend of family time. At the edge of nearly two years of compliance, affection, and peace that surpasses all understanding in our family, the tide began to change. We were walking on a crowded George Street one night just people gazing and window shopping. I don’t remember what I said to Jerry or what it was about, but I clearly remember the look on his face, the way he drew his fist back to swing, and the tone of his voice when he came at me physically and verbally. It had been such a long time since an incident of this magnitude and yet I was surprised by how quickly my reflexes stored in memory kicked in and I was able to react in self-defense/preservation. Might be a result of PTSD. Once a victim, always a victim? Not sure how that works, but I was as surprised by my reaction as I was to his action.

Since then, it has been a steady decline n behavior and mental well-being, the latter for all of us in the house. He is unpredictable, moody, sullen, angry and scowling much of the time, threatening, and aggressive. He has slammed his head into the table hard enough to open it, has thrown an iPad hard enough at me to cause a concussion, has stabbed at me with pencils, put numerous holes in our living room wall, and my husband is fairly certain he has permanent neck and upper back injuries as a result of being grabbed by Jerry from behind. I wish Jerry was as contactless as Pizza Hut delivery these days.

In addition to the aggression, the hallucinations and delusions have returned and the degree to which the voices have simply tortured him mercilessly is just heartbreaking.

We have tried seven new medications and altered the dosages on all of the meds he has taken so many times I am certain the psychiatrist cringes every time she gets a phone message from us now. We have her on speed dial. He went from nearly two solid years of being on only two medications to now being on five, totaling $3,800 per month. Thank you Jesus for Medicaid. We have permission to give him 2 mgs. of Ativan three times a day as needed just to calm him down. 

For the first time in our lives we have considered group home placement for him. After many emotionally sleepless nights of prayer, we have opted for his APD caseworker to begin the search to find a home willing to take him several weekends a month to at least give us some respite. 

I have always used this platform to share “the good, the bad, and the ugly.” This journey is hard enough without feeling the need to fake it, dress it up and try to make it pretty, or put some cute Snapchat filter on it. 

Yes, I believe God is still in control and that somehow He causes and allows all things to happen for our good and His glory...though I often question how getting beat up by my adult son could possibly be for my good...but God says it is and so I have to believe it. But I am also human and tired and angry and done. Mostly done. I live in a constant state of emotional turmoil, teetering between feeling sorry for him and loving him unconditionally as my son to not liking him very much at all. I recently started seeing a therapist. That poor guy is earning back every penny his psychology degree cost him during his hour with me!

Anyway, if you are reading this and can relate to any of it, I am sorry sojourner. Feel free to e-mail me so I can add you to my prayer list. I have the words and empathy no one else does because I have walked a similar path to yours. Praying just knowing you are not alone is encouragement enough for you to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. Peace and grace...and a crazy unending supply of those promised new mercies everyday.

Just thought you should know.