Will the struggles ever end?

I have spent the last few days ecstatic because my seventeen year old daughter now has her own car.  The endless trips back and forth to the umpteen million things that she does have ceased to exist.  I was trying to take a few days to relish in my freedom and get some much needed rest.  I was just about asleep at 2:00 in the afternoon when the phone rings, "This is the Vice-Principal and Sam has been kicked off the bus."

"What!  Ok, what happened?"

"He got on the bus and had a meltdown and the bus driver told him to get off the bus.  He is sitting here with us."

I am not very proud to say that I started yelling.  That is how I deal with disappointments.  High pitched angry words came out of my mouth saying that I refused to pick him up and they were to call the transportation department and get a bus out there immediately.  A return phone call informed me that the transportation refused to send out another bus. 

This would not have been a big deal if Sam went to our school district.  Sam has an hour long bus ride to and from school every day because they have the expertise to handle his needs.  I also have the sixty minute round trip car rides to drop off medications, CSE meetings, team meetings and all the times I pick him up to take him to appointments.  My gas bill is in the hundreds for a month worth of driving.

The phone call woke me up to my reality.  I told the school that I had to help Mina get her car inspected at 3:30 and I would arrive after that.  I informed them that this was the best I could do. 

I called my local advocacy center and asked what my rights were.  I still don't really know.  What would have happened if I didn't have a car?  Would I lose a job if I was working?  Would Child Protective Services be called or even the police if I refused to pick him up?  I will always pick him up but I am sure that there have been the parents that have been so worn out that they refuse to bail out their child.  I had to laugh when the Vice-Principal asked me if there was someone I could call.  No, there is nobody.  It is just me.

I call out to Mina because it is time to go to get her car inspected.  She follows me to the Inspection Garage and I leave to pick up Sam.  On the way the CSE Chair calls me.  For anyone that doesn't know, the CSE Chair basically is the CEO of your child's education.  Again I start yelling.  I am screaming away my anger on how my district can't handle my child.  My frustrations spew out like a volcanic eruption.  The result of my tantrum was me gulping for air as the sobs took over.  The CSE Chair wanted to meet the next day to make sure that I was going to be ok.  I was invited to lunch.

I arrived at the school with my forlorn face with a group of people wondering what my reaction was going to be.  I sit down next to Sam and he tells his story about how he was teased in the morning and he was scared to get on the bus to go home.  I explain to him that he is getting older and it is now time for him to work on his reactions to his peers.  I can't remember what my exact words were but I did my best to explain that I could only do so much and it was his turn to regulate his emotions.  A light bulb went off as I realize that I was sitting next to my adolescent child compared to the younger child I had always thought him to be.  There is so much work to do with his private counselor that he visits every other week.  I feel overwhelmed.

Sam and I leave and head out to his Music Therapy appointment.  I get him something to eat while the conversation continues that there will be consequences if I have to drive out again to get him.  The Music Therapy lesson went well as Sam processed the events that occurred in the last seven hours. Together we all make a plan that the stars earned if he does well for the rest of the week on the bus will be toward knew goggles to replace his old ones that broke. He is in full agreement as we head home.

I spent the night replaying everything in my head over and over.  I feel remorse as I recall my angry words.  E-mails are sent with my apologies and a note saying that I know that it was not the school’s fault.  Thoughts revolve over the main theme of me having to stop going over the top with my reactions.  Isn't that what I am trying to teach Sam?  I make a plan that when I see my therapist I will ask her to enroll me into the Dialectical Behavior Therapy program.  I have to learn how to do better.

The next day I meet the CSE Chair for lunch.  I apologize for using her for a punching bag.  I admit that I have issues around the time when Sam was kicked out of the district.  Further explanation described my hurts surrounding the time when three people were pinning Sam to the floor waiting for the police to make a mental hygiene arrest.  Sam was six years old and in first grade.  He spent sixteen days in the hospital and he still recalls that event as the time he was bad.  There is no explaining to him that he is not bad.  He just won't accept the words saying it was not his fault.  My heart aches as I wait for the day when his light bulb will go off with the realization that he is a good kid.

For now I will stop writing because it just hurts.  It is time to think about happier events.  Christmas is coming and there is much to be thankful for.  Thank you for reading my stories.

The next time that Sam has a sever anxiety attach and gets kicked off the bus, the district is responsible for getting another bus to pick him up.  This is the promise that was made to me by my son's CSE Chair.

Will the struggles ever end?  No, but without struggles there would not be estatic joy with the successes. 


Definition of Mental

1.a: of, relating to, or being intellectual as contrasted with overt physical activity.

2.a: of, relating to, or affected by a psychiatric disorder <mental patient>.

b: mentally disordered, mad, crazy.

I choose being an intellectual as my definition of being mental.

*The photo that I use for my background was taken by Sam.