PART 2: From the Mom of the Not Honor Roll Kid

63 days. 63 long, emotional days. That’s how many days the 15 year old boy was out of the home. The odd part? It was peaceful. Although emotional, scary, exhausting…there was finally peace in the home. The reasons he left home will remain unsaid. Whatever horrible thing you imagine, it’s probably worse than that. Emotions so high and so angry, as a parent and a teenager you say: this is where we part ways. Locks were changed, neighborhood office was notified, had to call the school and let them know (that was fun). Lastly, my husband is on high alert to keep us safe that I know his lack of sleep matched mine if not greater. He stayed up at night unable to sleep so he could protect his family. I stayed up checking LIFE360 and waiting for my phone to ring….not because I thought he would call; I was waiting for the OTHER call. “Ma’am, we have your son in custody.” Or, “Ma’am, we need you to come identify this body we found.”

Somewhere in that heavy, 3 ton mother heart, I prayed. I don’t know who I prayed to, I’m not religious. I don’t even know if I was talking to myself or someone else. I didn’t even care if it was some stupid magical figure, but I prayed. My fellow parents, I did not pray for my son to come home. That is right. I prayed for him to learn a lesson on the streets so hard that he would fix himself. 15 years old. So young. So immature. A boy. Out on his own bumming couches and beds for 63 days. There I sat, as a mother, I was praying he wouldn’t come home until he had some massive consequences. I took down pictures, artwork he made, memories. I cleaned his room out and it was spotless. It looked like no one lived there. They didn’t live there. I shut the door and when I got the courage, would go open up the door and circulate air. 

I called the police to check that box. I met with the school to check  that box. I went to work. I went to all of my daughter’s games. I got time with husband, we took some trips. In the car, alone, I cried. In the middle of the night, I cried. I didn’t miss him. I didn’t like him. I cried because my home was at peace and I had nothing to worry about that was directly in front of my face. To be a mother, and feel relieved that your child is gone, to notice your home improving without him, to a point where all the way back in those dark places we go, you can visualize a funeral or a car accident or prison time…Not because you want it, because you feel you must prepare yourself for the worst. I visualized attending my son's funeral so many times that I cried to and from work and sometimes at my desk.

You take that dark place, you hide it away, you say nothing about it and you push forward because well damn it, this isn’t on you. People like to give you advice, tell you it’s not your fault.  That was not my issue this go around, I did not feel guilty about who he was; I felt sad and dark that I didn’t want him home.

The school had a meeting with their behavioral team and I and they called him down. I pre packed a bag of clean clothes and some snacks. He came in, skinny, dirty and pissed off. He didn’t want the clothes I brought him. The meeting was useless. They said they would keep having them. I never heard from them much after that. They were done with him. 

We made it through an empty solo Thanksgiving. We made it through a quiet Christmas. We made it through the fireworks of 2024. I knew the entire neighborhood knew. I knew they were looking at me.

Eventually, he reached out and said I want to come home. Instead of jumping for joy, I said tell me one thing you have done for yourself to improve who you are. “Forget it mom, I’m not coming home.” Ok, keep me posted on your improvement. Some more time passed, I got another message “mom I want to come home.” Ok, tell me what you have done to improve yourself. He said “I don’t know what you want me to say.” I said ok keep me posted on your improvement. 10 minutes later he said “I messed up, I’m messed up, I need help figuring out what to do with my life and you guys are all I have.” 

He came home. It was uncomfortable for a bit. He looked rough. He slept a lot. He went to school. We changed his school again; 10th grade and this is his third school. He is the one that asked to go to an alternative school because he said and I quote “I will never get out of this hole I dug.” School was changed in 30 minutes and 1 day. 

He turned 16. He asked if we could do cake and presents. We have not celebrated his birthday since he was 9. We all laughed, we had cake, I made him a sappy baby picture growing up video and he made me sit next to him on the couch to watch it with his arm around me. He and my husband are talking. They laugh. They eat lunch together. He is not reformed. The phone still rings for trouble here and there. He lives on the edge. He’s no angel. We took our home back and he respects us. I never asked what he saw out there on his own. I don’t need to. He saw something. He realizes this home is all he has. 

“So if I fly too far, Will I still have a place inside your heart? And when you see what I've become, Will you love me for who I am, not who I was?”