Although this morning is Saturday, I am up early to have tea, try to get rid of a headache and write down some thoughts I had while trying to fall asleep last night. I had just been lying in bed, trying not to think, when I remembered the year we transferred Michael away from our local school, to one in a town 30 miles away. Because it was an inter-district transfer, I had to seek permission from the superintendent of schools. At that time, Michael was depressed. He was having difficulty in school. He had just found out that he had scoliosis so his dream of playing college ball in the US had come to an end. The school he was going to go to offered all kinds of one on one help and because he was just one of many o he felt there would be no stigma attached. The transfer was allowed and I drove him over every day. But his depression and anxiety got worse and worse. His grades however, really improved. I remember his taking his basketball every day. It was his way of blending in. He would go straight to the gym when I dropped him off so he didn't have to hang around by himself. One day we forgot the basketball at home and he just panicked. And every day he would say, "Mom, when is it going to get easier". He was losing weight and crying and we decided he needed to come back to where his friends were. Even fourteen years before his death, Michael needed to be with people he knew. He could never "do" loneliness.
When he was twelve he wanted to go to baseball camp. We thought this would be healthy for him. It was the same thing. He was a great little player but the loneliness and fear of being where he didn't know anyone was overwhelming for him. I had given him our motel phone number on a little piece of paper. After two days, he needed to leave, and when I went to pick him up the piece of paper was still clutched so tightly in his hand that it was barely readable.
These were all signs had we been looking. I was worried about depression in my son and he was prescribed Prozac when he was about 18. This is the age there really needs to be intervention on the part of our medical system. When young people start to show signs of extreme anxieties and depression, something is not right. We must pay attention. We must help, somehow. Talk to them, listen to them, spend precious time with them.
Thankfully I fell asleep last night because my thoughts were starting to take me back to days when he was younger. I could feel the panic starting in the pit of my stomache last night and I thought "Please, I just can't go there right now".
I do the same as Michael did with the little piece of paper. I have a small token with a picture of an angel. It says "Always with me". I have it with me all the time. I am afraid I will lose it and if I do I am afraid a link will be severed. I miss my son. When I am not with my daughters or grandchildren, I believe I have lost the ability to feel any happiness or peace. Part of my heart went with Michael when he left and part of my soul die and I am okay with that. But I wish more than anything, that he was still here with us, just not suffering. It's a selfish wish, I know. But I am indulging my wishes. It is another way I get through the days and nights.
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