I recently watched an old episode of the A&E series, "Hoarders." That's the kind of show that you watch when you want to feel better about yourself. I can't really think of any other reason to actually sit through an episode (or three).
The woman being chronicled had become a collector of animals, specifically cats and dogs. She had over 50, and they were living in deplorable conditions. As I sat in albeit faux shock, the story continued to develop. Her 14-year old daughter was living away from home because of the unsafe and unsanitary conditions. As I listened to this woman justify why she kept these animals and assert that she was a good mother, my shock ran out.
Teeming with anger, I watched a selfish woman tell a pathetic story. I judged this woman that I'll never know based on less than 30 minutes of edited-for-tv reality. Why? Because we shared this common thread of disassociation from our respective dependent child.
Do I know that my situation is different than that woman who chose house pets over her child? Yes. Do I think I would make different choices in that situation? Yes. So why draw the comparison?
My visceral reaction to otherwise mindless television reminded my that as smooth as this transition has been, I am going through a transition. In that moment, I hated in her what I hate in myself. I hated the reminder of the emotions I'm trying to go around, rather than through.
My mind can justify the decision for B to live apart from us. In the month of January, he averaged 97 behaviors with "noticeable force behind the motion" and/or "directed at a specific person/or object" each day. 97. Every day. (That information was primarily gathered between the hours of 4 PM and 10 PM, when he wasn't in school and had one-to-one staffing recording data).
The assessments and the data are restating what we've known for years. There haven't been any moments of profound clarity or life-changing ideas to support B that we haven't considered. If anything, we are reinventing the wheel as new people learn what we have known about this precious boy.
So, even if it is only by default, my soul is at peace with the decision to seek help for B and to focus on rest, rejuvenation, and quality of life for the other members of our little family. But my heart. God have mercy, my heart is still going through this.
Most days, the ache his absence has created is dull. I see him regularly. I know he is okay. But some days, all it takes is a reality tv show--a selfish woman telling a pathetic story--to bring it all to the surface.
