Healed

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to write this, not fully sure how much I should say.

A year ago I was a broken woman. Literally falling apart over the health of my older son.

An illness like no other had claimed his mind. Leaving little of the boy/man we all knew.

He was born to a single teenage girl. A little boy who stole her heart at 17. 

A healthy 11lb 7oz, baby boy with sparkling blue eyes and white blonde hair.

He won me over the moment I saw his chubby reddened face. 
It was…

 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

He grew to become a successful man, his goals high, and a plan to be a self made millionaire.

(We wonder if this had anything to do with him turning to drugs).

He anxiously wanted to take care of his dad and myself.

He’d call me with ideas and dreams.

Mom, you will NEVER have to work again. For every dollar you gave me as a child I will gladly give you a 1000!

 I’d laugh; I don’t want your money honey!

I know you don’t, But I want to take care of you and dad.

He became obsessed.

He looked at himself as a failure when we all looked at him as a major success.

Was it mental illness that claimed his mind? Or was it the drugs he took to escape the failure HE thought he was?

Lost in another dimension(s), a world(s) we know nothing about, yet, we knew everything because of his desire to share with you what he saw.

I lost my heart that day. On father’s day. I knew before this break, he wasn’t in reality.

I knew he lived somewhere else. I just denied it…for months. He showed signs, that I chose to ignore, NOT MY SON. This happened to other families, CERTAINLY NOT MINE!

His hands shook, and his personality changed, he was no longer that loving, understanding, caring kid.

He was…dark. Not evil…but DARK. He laughed differently. He didn’t eat the same way he had for 22 years, he wasn’t focused on anything but…drugs, and making money.

He snapped that day… reality was gone and in its place was a man I knew little about.

He spoke of Angels and Demons. Of other places where people lived that we knew little or nothing about.

He spoke to dead people.  I watched the son who was an A student, who had his life together at such an early age, fall victim to Mental Illness.

Or was it?

I honestly didn’t foresee any cure, I admit, I had little FAITH on his healing.

His behavior was bizarre, to say the least, outlandish, insensitive, and at times aggressive,  he’d stare at you, and speak to beings who nobody else could see but himself. Not just a nodding of his head to acknowledge that “those beings” spoke back, but had full on conversations with them.

I’d fall apart then. I would see a small glimpse of his “normal” self at times.  My hope would soar, and in a fraction of a second I’d come crashing back down, sick.  I’d fall to my knees within the shower, crying, sobbing to the point where the water would run cold and I’d still be laying in a fetal position in the bathtub. BEGGING for my son back.

I’d stroke his face in pictures, walk into his room when he’d be out trying to “catch” his angels. I’d lay my face against his clothing breathing in his scent. My child who I knew for 22 years was dead and another person lived in his body. How could a mother plan a funeral for a child who wasn’t dead? Yet, he wasn’t alive?  “It” was a mysterious stranger who possessed MY SONS body.

I was powerless to prevent this being from possession of my son.

I’d take his hand and whisper how much I loved him. At night I’d lock myself in my room afraid he’d try to harm me.

I’m ashamed to admit that. (I hang my head even now a year later) I held out hope when people would tell me “It’s the drugs, you’ll see”. But as the months went by, and I visited him in jail for a crime (he’s horrified to admit he committed) I didn’t see much change.

A worker from the jail called me, (this is another part of the story I’ll later tell) for now, I’ll leave it at; her worry for him was supreme.

He, in his sane moments could win over complete army of enemies.

.

I visited him faithfully 2 weeks after he was jailed. Aug 8^th ~ Dec 15 2011 he sat in jail in a mental ward in total isolation.
Dec 15^th 2011 my son was released to a half way house.

As the months passed, I saw change, November was an amazing month, I saw full glimpses of my son.

December was even better, but depression set in and I was afraid he’d relapse.

The trips to court shackled like an animal. He doesn’t know how blessed he is/was to be in isolation for those many months. How many lock downs we went through due to deaths on other floors by inmates. I’d sit there in the lobby heart in throat praying someone wouldn’t act out and ruin my half hour visit.

I was lucky on some visits they’d forget we were there. The 7^th floor is the “sick” ward.

We paid a high power attorney, a friend of my husbands who knew our boys and knew that our son had to be ill in order to commit this crime. He was lucky not being sentenced to prison time.

I visit him monthly when the half way house allows. I don’t get many phone calls. He reserves those for the woman who silently stood by his side during this/HIS whole ordeal.

I have mad respect for her. I admit to you and even GOD, I don’t know if I could have stood by my husband in a situation like this. I once said…

Why? Why, did you stay?

Her answers were simple… I love him.. and our private vow to each other was/is..

In sickness and in health. I cried then. My shallow thoughts consumed me.

WHAT A WOMAN! And how BLESSED my son is for meeting her. I don’t know if I could have stayed.

She’s taught me a lot, this woman. And I thank God daily for her.

I pray I’m able to visit my son this weekend. It depends on the behavior of the “house” patrons if they are allowed family time or not.

Within this year, I came to rely on my sister, and GOD. I made some friends along the way and lost a few as well.

I think those friends and I, were seeking something neither one of us could give.

I have my FAITH once again, and have become what my grandmother so desperately wanted from her granddaughters. PRAYER warriors.

I never gave up on prayer; I had just given up on my faith.

He’s better by the way… He no longer “sees” into those dimensions. He no longer speaks with his angels.

I was granted a gift once again like I was at 17. Except now I’m 42.

I feel like Im 17 again and holding my baby in my arms. Except he’s a man now

And God granted him another chance.

He’s given me ANOTHER miracle.

I aptly named my son:

Jeremiah 30:17

“I will give you back your health and heal your wounds” says the LORD
AMEN.