The wait was over.

My husband read what I planned on posting. He agreed that it should be sent, but minus to sentences that might have fueled the flames beyond control. So I posted my tirade to my son, and all of his 232 friends. Even edited, the tone and the hurt still came across pretty harsh. That was Wednesday evening.

I got a tip from a friend of his that gave me an idea where his vehicle was last seen. So Thursday morning on my way to work, I drove to where his car might be. I found it parked in a small apartment complex. It was locked, but still held all his worldly possessions. I knocked on a few doors, but came up empty. Writing down the address where the car was found, I went to work, but without knowing where he was, I was incapable of focusing, and had to leave after less than 4 hours. I drove him mentally frayed and physically exhausted. My depression was beyond control at this time, and the Fibromyalgia pain fed off my stress like a newborn to a mother's teet. My world was caving in.

Following another sleepless night, I called out of work, hoping to have enough motivation to find an answer. Any answer. It was now the Friday before the Labor Day Weekend holiday. Hoping to just find out somehow, if my son was at least alive and OK, I got a call from my husband.
Late Monday night, money had been withdrawn from our bank account. Recent security breaches at the local financial institutions resulted in my husband canceling our debit cards and filing a fraud alert. After a trip to the bank to take out cash and turn in my card so a replacement could be generated, a sad realization swept over me. Only 2 people on this planet, besides myself, know the PIN for that card. My husband, and my son.
The night my son went missing, so did $400 from our account. I did not want to believe that he was capable of hurting us further, but the facts were becoming more irrefutable at every passing moment. He had stolen from us.

I know he'll never understand this, but the money was truly the least of his infractions. Leaving his house keys, phone and a note on the counter was the greater transgression. Thinking that your only child may have left town, I can handle. He's an adult, and has the right to choose his own destiny. However, when you see textbook examples of clinical depression prior to going MIA, followed by that note; hope sinks like a lead balloon.

There are no words to describe the pain a mother feels when her child is hurting, and won't accept help. Like a roller-coaster, my mind swung violently between fear, anger, doubt and dread. The most disturbing is the sense of complete and utter helplessness. He won't even consider taking anti-depressants. Getting into a talk-therapy situation would be the best option. The question remains, as to how to convince someone who is in the depths of depression, to seek help?

But back to the rest of the story.

I spent the majority of my Friday attempting to locate the title to his vehicle. Having been co-signed by my husband and my son, meant both were liable for payments. We had requested that the title be sent from the bank to our local DMV so my husband's name could be removed. Although they notified us 2 weeks ago that it had indeed been mailed, no information as to which DMV site it had been sent. So Friday was title day. Best case scenario meant my son would turn up, the title could be transferred to his name solely, and he would then be responsible for payments. Worst case would be to remove his name, and put out a stolen vehicle report with the police. While in the process of going from DMV to DMV to find where the title to of my son's car had been sent, and swung by the apartments where I found his car the day before.

This time, the doors were open, and his guitar and duffel were missing. Despite the high heat and humidity, I opened the doors to his car, rolled down the windows, and sat in the driver's seat, hoping to draw him out of whichever apartment he was staying. It worked.

I talked to my husband to decide how to handle the situation if he did come out. We decided upon two options to offer dependent upon his intentions and rationale for his actions.

to be continued . . .

A son turns against his mother.

My son is 21, going on 22; chronologically, that is. His father was an emotional no-show all his life, which continues to this day, even almost 19 years after our divorce. So I've spent my life trying to keep my son safe; food and shelter, safe neighborhoods, good schools. I've sacrificed, put myself through school working 3 jobs, and moved from my beloved hometown of San Diego, all to support him and provide a brighter future for ourselves. I even married a man because he was a good father to my son, despite being a lousy husband. Fortunately, I rectified that mistake by finding my true soul-mate; both a wonderful husband and a great father to my son.
Sadly, continuing to make sacrifices in my life and be a good example to my son, has apparently all been for naught.

Just when I thought he'd started to mature, and face up to his responsibilities, he runs like a coward. One minor setback in his short-term goals, and all hope is lost. What used to be a kind, albeit rambunctious child, has now grown into a lying, waste of breath; mooching off friends and family to support his habit of poor choices and perceived self-victimization. The world owed him.

How did I manage to raise such an ingrate? Who knows. I could blame myself. After all, stability was not the norm in his life. I gave him freedom of choice. Freedom to make and learn by his mistakes. Perhaps too much freedom.

I sent him to stay w/ his step dad on a business trip. He blossomed. Then returned to me in hopes of moving in the right direction. Too bad his blossom was overshadowed by apathy, chronic disdain for society, and now cowardice.

He has what I believe to be clinical depression. It runs like a black river through my family. But despite the support of family and friends (232 per his Facebook profile) he just doesn't get the picture. Solutions have been offered, time and again. But actually following through to help himself is just too much work. Why change a bad situation, when you can whine and mope about it instead? He left Monday night while I was laid up in bed in terrible pain. When I came downstairs later than evening, my son's house keys and phone were laying on a note on the counter. All it said was "I love you and I am very sorry".

Fearing the worst, I broke down. Didn't sleep, couldn't keep it together at work, and honestly thought he might have decided to end his life. I had no means to contact him. I only knew his friends by first name, and only one had an actual residence that I could go to. (no luck there)

Today, multiple tornado watches and warnings further fueled my worry, pushing the need to find him and protect him with a mother's unconditional love. The entire time spanned only 48 hrs, but believing that your only child might be tucked away in the state morgue does more to expand time than Einstein could have ever dreamed.

After much angst, a severe migraine, and calls to any and everyone I knew, I had an epiphany. I had his phone! Which meant I also had names and numbers of people to call. After hours of sending out pleas to his friends, I got a bite. An ex-girlfriend, and still friend, opened some doors for me, and I was able to hunt him down.

His aforementioned friend, called me today tell me he had been posting to his Facebook site all day. I got online, found his Facebook, and saw numerous posts by friends I had contacted. They were conveying honest concern, and urging him to let me know his status. He didn't respond to any of their pleas. His complete lack of concern was glaringly evident.

He wasn't just okay, he was gloating. Posting to his friends, and bragging about "livin' the life". I felt betrayed, duped, used, lied to and essentially thrown aside. Over the course of 15minutes, my fear and angst turned into anger. I now wanted the world to know what this seemingly 'nice young man' put his mother through. So, I wrote a post to be viewed by every last one of his 232 friends. It was full of anger, spite and accusations about character.

A long time ago I learned that when emotional, the 'send' button should wait to be pushed until the sender has simmered down a bit. I sent the draft of my post to his step-dad. Hoping he'd agree with me and green-light the post. Still waiting for it's review, I sit here stewing over allowing him to make me suffer. Why would someone be so utterly callous to the feelings of others; knowingly causing emotional pain to his parents?

Why shouldn't I post it? Does it lower me to his level? Doesn't he deserve to be viewed for what he really is? To showcase the true nature of his behavior to all that his 232 friends?

Or is forgiveness our divine responsibility? How does one forgive without enabling bad behavior?

So I wait.