Really, I'm fine. Feel free to ignore my howling depression.

I am here all by myself.

Dave wants to take a class in Mindfulness but what he really needs is a class in recognizing that there is a person standing right next to him.

I feel a new sort of depression I have never felt before: its physical. Its like I can feel the movements of my body, and I have to will them. What I really want to do is stand still within my body rather than force the arms to move or the legs to walk. Sometimes I realize that I have just stopped moving.

This house is a monument to our failure and to the unhappiness of our kid. Dave is fine living here. He wants to stay here until "we know what is going to happen with Aaron". He is fine sitting in this mausoleum waiting for the return of the prodigal son.

I am not.


Safeway makes me cry.

I need to address my problems myself because Dave will not listen and I am an idiot for thinking that he would be sympathetic and/or understanding. I guess I thought that because we had a shared experience. I finally told him that I'm not getting any traction with him and I wanted him to know that I'm having trouble with all this, and you know what he did? He yelled at me. I told him to not yell at me because I keep telling him that I need help and he keeps not listening.

Then I remembered: *Dave*. The cardboard cutout of a man.

I guess I have to go fix this myself. The problem with putting up a good facade is that people think you're fine.

existential sadness

I really enjoyed being a parent and I miss that part of my life.

I used to come home from work and go immediately to the kitchen to pull together a meal for the family that I would serve at our dining room table. We would all sit down together to eat. We ate dinner together almost every single night for many years. This only started to fall apart in the last few years with Aaron but even still we would eat together at the same dining room table a few times a week. Now I don't know what to do with myself. Cooking for two is difficult. We tend not to eat at the dining room table anymore but rather on trays in front of the TV. I sometimes like this but often not. I think I need to insist that Dave and I eat at the table still. I think I also need to try a little harder with respect to making something nice for dinner for just the two of us.

It doesn't feel as "vital" as it used to.

I don't know what to do with myself.

We won't have Aaron living here again for at least a year and then he will be 18. Not a minor. A very young man but not a little boy anymore.

My mom has lived by herself for years, How does she do it? She does love her dogs, and she has her men friends. I think she is suddenly getting lonely now.

I am already lonely.

the last night 4 June 2017

Evening is falling on the last day that, if all goes according to plan, my minor son will be living at home under my roof. I am trying to stay composed and rational about this but have been bursting into tears all week and am having a hard time maintaining my composure even now. He is a thoughtful, funny, clever and creative kid. He has been a pleasure to have around since we grounded him after the last time the police called at 2 am because he sneaked out and was caught by them. That was two weeks ago. His car was completely full of drug paraphernalia. Two bags full. He is always a delight when we have grounded him. Its because he interacts with us more and we really enjoy talking to him and going places with him. However, we only get that interaction when he is grounded.

We spent today at an Oakland A's baseball game, watching the A's mount a mighty comeback against the Nationals  late in the 9th but falling one run short. We booed Bryce Harper. Aaron and his Dad sat in the sun three rows back from third plate because the ticket are so cheap. Aaron got a bad sunburn on his feet because he was wearing his new Birkenstocks. He did come up and look for sunscreen for his face and his arms. I reminded him about his ears, but forget to tell him about his feet. AhPo and I sat in the shade. It was a celebratory game for her 80th birthday. She is starting to seem frail. I hope Aaron sees her again

We came home and packed up some things. The transport men come at 3 am. According to the folks at BlueFire Wilderness Therapy he needs to bring nothing with him but it makes me cry to think of it so we packed a toothbrush, toothpaste, a change of socks, a pair of underwear, some snacks and a New Yorker magazine. Reflections of my bad dream from earlier this week. They will provide all his clothes and gear. On one hand, nice, on the other: prison garb. 

I went to his car to see if I could find his driver's license and his car was full of evidence of his drug use. Empty little baggies with leafs printed on them. An empty cardboard box that held a vape. Seeing that stuff in his car assures me we are doing the right thing. Sort of. In a rational way.

Aaron asked if he can drive to summer school tomorrow, because if he weren't leaving he would be attending two semesters of summer school. I said we would think about it. He said if he could drive he would clean out his car, so I said: go clean your car out. He did this with alacrity. I even made some very gentle jokes about the activities that had been occurring in his car (the drugs, the ladies...) which he laughed at. He then decided he wanted to wash his car.

This is the kid I wish we had 100% of the time. This is the kid that is crushing my mother's heart.

So after the Wilderness Therapy he is slated to go directly to a therapeutic boarding high school so 1) he doesn't come back here and fall into his old ways and 2) he has a better chance of completing high school and getting a diploma. This week he has been making plans for the summer after high school. He want to travel around Europe and keeps scaring me with his wishes to go to Syria. Now the plan is to bicycle around Europe. As of now, I hope to be able to offer this to him: We will support a trip around Europe if he graduates. He is expected by the school to graduate next May. One whole year. A year. This will cost me so much money that I can't send him to college and cover his tuition, but honestly we are not sure he would even finish high school in the current situation. I had such high hopes for my son. I imagined that he would rise up and rule the world. I was so hoping to send him to Reed where I know he could have thrived. He would have loved it there with his wit and intelligence. I don't think that's going to happen now. 

I hope this is the right thing. I am so broken up about this. 

I hope it works and he has a good experience and nothing bad happens to him. I hope they don't break his spirit, or turn him into a conservative. I hope he isn't physically or mentally or emotionally damaged. I hope he isn't scarred by this for life and hates us for the rest of our lives. I hope the school turns out to be a good place for him, and he stays on his own volition past his 18th birthday to get his high school diploma. After 18 they can check themselves out and that could be a disaster. Apparently there will be a Family Retreat at the Wilderness Therapy place in a few weeks. And there is letter writing and FaceTime therapy sessions. I hope we won't miss him that much because there will be so much interaction. I'm not sure how much interaction there is at Summit Preparatory High School in Kalispell but I hope that he will get to come home for vacations and all that. I really, really do. 

I am probably not going to be able to contain myself at 3 am, when the guys from the transport company arrive. I will probably have to leave. So I don't see them escort my only son, my little boy, away from me.

I dreamed I was packing a bag of clothes for Aaron. I think Dave had packed the bag, and I was a bit annoyed that he packed Aaron's stuff in an orange reusable shopping bag. There were some random books or something on the top that I took out, and then I went through the clothes which appeared to be random t shirts, with some worn looking socks and underwear on the bottom. I thought: how shabby this looks. These clothes looks so shabby, and we didn't even pack his stuff in a proper piece of luggage. The clothes were small so Aaron must have been about 10 or so. We were sending him away. I had a sense that it looked like we didn't care because of the random assortment of rags we were sending him off with and the orange shopping bag. I also thought: he cant take those books. They wont let him have them.

This dream woke me up in the middle of the night.

I am sending my child away. My little boy. It is shabby. I will pack his nice stuff in a proper bag for him. Its kind of the last thing I can do for my son before he is no longer dependent on me.

I feel awful about all of this. I don't know how it went so wrong. I don't think I tried hard enough. I wasn't willing to be that strict and that unpleasant. I should have shifted my work schedule to sit with him and do homework and I should have done that when he was in 5th grade onward. Maybe he would have done better; maybe this would have made school so unpleasant that worse things would have happened. I don't know.

I keep being reminded that this may be our last chance to set him right and get him graduated from high school. He wants to go to college but certainly can't with his current situation. So maybe this is for the best. I am worried about making everything that much worse because he loves his music and we are taking that away. I am worried that this is precisely the *wrong* thing for him.

If he continues to draw the attention of the police, though, they will lose their sense of humor. Especially after he turns 18.

He is so nice to talk to when he chooses to talk to us. Since I have to drive him to school we have been having great conversations in the car. It has been so enjoyable. He has so much to offer the world.