One Week

It has been two years since I had to drop Trenton off at his residential treatment center. Two years. 

I remember exactly what happened that day. I remember all of the emotions...the sadness....the grief....the unbearable mental anguish that I had. I remember it all. I will never forget that final goodbye and hug that day. I will never forget being forced to walk away from him in his "new, temporary home" and drive back to my house without him. 

I wrote the below post one week after leaving him at his residential center. Most things from this post, still are true. I still hear his noises around my house.....I still see him everywhere in my house. The pain is still real....

I've always heard that pain eases with time....I'm here to tell you that some pain never eases....you just get better with dealing with you pain and hiding it from others.

 I hope and pray that one day he will be better to return home with me.

 It has been one week. One week without you at home. One week since my heart was broken like it has never been broken.

For over eights years my life revolved around you. It still does but in a different way.

When you slept, I slept. When you were awake, I was awake.

I laid awake in bed with you for countless hours each night and watched you struggle to fall asleep while we watched Baby Mozart.

I took that sigh of relief when you finally closed your eyes for the night, or should I say for the few hours that you slept.

"I wonder how long he will sleep tonight?"

"Will he awake and have a good day? Or will he awake  and have a day of aggressive behaviors?"

For over eight years I did your morning routine with you every single day.  Some mornings it went smoothly, some mornings were a little rough.

I brushed my teeth every single morning with you pulling on me. I ate my breakfast chasing you around the house. I would make coffee and it would stay in the pot, not touched because time barely allowed me one sip of coffee let alone a whole pot.

For over eight years, I have bathed you. I have showered you. I have helped you follow your bathroom routine. I made your visuals....I made your social stories....I did it all for you every single morning and night.

For over eight years, I heard your noises around the house every single day. This past week, I have caught myself every day doing what I did best and that was listening for your noises so I knew you were okay.....but I don't hear them anymore. I knew your noises better than anyone. I miss them. My heart breaks. I need to hear your noises.

For one week, I haven't heard the noise of the trampoline. Your swing has not been swung on. It still has your stuffed animals in it just like you left.

For one week, your room has been exactly how you left it. I can't bring myself to clean it or change a thing. Your computer sits there but you haven't been on it. I walk into your room and I stare at the crack across the screen of your computer and recall the day that you ripped the computer out of the wall and threw it across the room. I glance up and see the patched hole in the wall in your room from the night you threw a toy so hard it went through the wall. I look up at your ceiling fan and see the shattered fan. The fan that your broke in one of your many aggressive meltdowns. 

I walk downstairs and see the wax all over my dining room wall from the time you kicked my wax burners. I see the spots on the walls with my missing décor that you broke.  I see my new TV that I had to buy after you destroyed my other one. I see all the deadlocks on my doors....the alarms... the stop signs....everything was done by you and for you. I see it everywhere this past week. Even though I don't have to deadbolt myself in the house during the day, I still do out of habit. I don't have to set the alarm but I still do. I do it all because it was my life. A life that became our normal. A type of normal that most people don't live but it was our normal and now it is hard to let it go.

 I go to turn on the baby monitor each night...I turn it on even though you are not in your room. I wake up each night listening for you like I used to. I anticipate you opening your bedroom door each morning, running out of it like you always did, and coming to grab me and take me to your room...…but it doesn't happen now and it hasn't happened in a week.

I miss you more and more with each passing minute. I cry. I pray. I get sad. I get angry.

I find myself walking into your room at times so I can smell your smell. Oh how I miss you!

If I could change things, I would in a heartbeat.  If I could make your body better, I would. I would give you my mind and body if I could. I have tried my best to move mountains for you, to keep you home, to keep you safe, but autism just kept winning. I tried. I gave it my all. I sacrificed everything to help prevent this but I didn't win.

The pain is real. This pain hurts more than words can say.

I pray this is just a short chapter in our book. A small, chapter full of more heartache and grief as we are separated but a chapter that will put our family back together in the end.

For over eights years, we were never once separated. I tucked you in bed every single night. It hasn't been easy as a single mom, but we did every single day and night by ourselves.....every single day and night.

The hurt I felt when I had to turn my back and leave one week ago will be worth the joy when I get to bring you home again...the joy, happiness, and excitement for our life after residential treatment is what is helping me to get through each day without you now....until then I have to trust God and the bigger picture.

Always and Forever even when we are separated T-man.