I sit here in the break room of my job, my 9 to 5 (today 3 to 11:30) that pays my bills, and instead of enjoying this Subway sub and getting reading for the evening, my mind is on 2020. 2020 AD was to have been the year a lot of things I’ve been working on sprung to life and I’d have the success I’d dreamed of. When people would know me for the talents and skills I have versus “the guy that draws really good that should have a comic book out.” The year I let go of old fears and embraced new change.
Supposed to have been…
Truthfully, I was still stinging from the passing of my Uncle Gary. I swore I was doing a good job in processing and understanding his death, I wasn’t. Secretly, I was scared of this future without him. Granted we didn’t talk on the phone often (a family thing as we all are great at keeping inside our turtle shells) and the majority of our communication was done via Facebook, I always felt good knowing my Uncle could be found and at any moment I could reach out to him. And that was now gone. With came the very stark reality that I’m looking at less time on this planet than more time.
It hurt, I still hurt, saying goodbye. Saying “until next time.” I always said proudly that since my Grandparent’s passing I am mentally ready for all my loved ones to leave. And that, Maury told me, was a big ass lie. I couldn’t finish my statement at my Uncle’s memorial without breaking down. I left Washington feeling baptized, renewed and refreshed, yet there was that part of me that missed that “goodbye.” And no videos, audio, or pictures of his last weeks could replace me sitting there with him.
So I entered 2020 with this bravado that only action heroes could muster up. I had stories written and in the process of being finished. I felt like this would be a great year. And for a short time it was. I believe it was. I honestly can’t remember anything about the start of the year save when my son had his first anxiety attack. I haven’t gone into details about it because I’m a private person and should someone crack slick about it, I may get extremely violent. However, what I say next, I hope that it may help another parent or guardian. As I never thought in a million years it could happen to us, yet it did, and I don’t want it happening to anyone else.
Noah was struggling in school. He often has highs and lows, his testing scores are always through the roof. Yet school was always a challenge at the time. His teachers said unlike last year, he really became isolated and withdrawn. Even from his closest friends, the very few he’d associate with. With his grades plummeting, we had a parent-teacher meeting. Not to punish, but to see how we could help him. I know my 8th grade was rocky, that time was rocky in general, so I felt I had an understanding of what I might be able to do to help my son.
The meeting started and ended extremely rocky, with Noah becoming more and more defensive and angry. After the meeting we all agreed to meet Noah downstairs while we talked to his teachers. When we went to meet him, my son was gone. I became frantic and worried for him. On a hunch I went home and found him trying to open the front door, which is a door we normally don’t use. We talked for a second and I noticed his eyes. Noah’s eyes were dark, completely dark. I didn’t recognize him at all. His body language was different and when I came close to hug him, he smelled different. Not in a stink or funk, he was another child and not the one I know and love.
My wife came in after and attempted to talk to Noah. He wasn’t listening and then told me, “You are always in my way.” I asked what he meant and he repeated it and explained, “You are in my way, I want to get a knife and kill myself.” I told him I wouldn’t let him and I loved him. Suddenly, Noah ran towards the cabinet I was standing in front of. In hindsight, I didn’t realize I was standing in front of what he wanted. And had he thought about it, he could have darted to above the refrigerator and get a knife much quicker and sadly might have gotten his wish.
I grabbed Noah and quickly understood this wasn’t my son and I need to go into “work mode.” At the time I was a Residential Resource Specialist at Sheppard Pratt Mental Health Hospital (or whatever they are calling themselves). At the Mann RTC School (or whatever they are calling themselves), my job was about deesculation and at times restraints. Right now, I attempted to calm the situation down, now it’s about stopping the situation from getting worse. I placed him in a hold, where I had one arm across his body and gripping him with both my arms, a Mandt Restraint. While she called the police, I held him. For 15 or so minutes. It felt like a whole day.
Soon we were in an ambulance and off to John Hopkins Hospital. By the time we got to the Children’s Psychiatric Room, Noah had calmed down and started to sound and look like himself. We sat and answered a variety of questions and I repeatedly thanked The Creator that I had “good insurance” from my job. Late in the night, Noah was admitted, a huge weight was lifted off my chest. I hated leaving my son there, however I knew it was the right thing. As we started our way out of the hospital, I drifted off to thoughts of my Mom. When she made the difficult choice to have me admitted to John Hopkins when I was 14 (or 15). What a Father I was, passing down my depression, anxiety, and anger. And this was only January.
The next few weeks were tough on us all. Noah was away from us and at times he liked the structure of the program, however he didn’t like talking about his feelings and missed being home with us. At work, I would bounce between my thoughts of him and doing my job. Feeling terrible when I didn’t want to visit him because I was tired from work. Days when I’d literally be physically worn down, I had to make a choice of going home and resting or seeing Noah and being exhausting the next day. After getting the help he needed, we decided it was a good time to come home. We rejoiced and were happy in the moment. Noah wanted to go to school, yet had hesitation over it. We assured him things would be fine.
I was at work and had just made a joke with one of my favorite residents (we aren’t supposed to have “favorites,” but yeah I had favorites) when I received a phone call from Catherine. She was frantic, telling me the school called the police on Noah and if we didn’t come down, he would be taken away. My supervisor drove me (I think, my mind was a blur) to his school and I went in expecting the worst. I went to one of his classrooms and it looked like an atomic bomb hit. As I stepped into the door I caught one of the teacher assistants, one who assured me that they would look out for Noah and had experience with youth with high anxiety, talk about Noah as if he was some monster. I would have addressed it properly, but I wouldn’t be able to address it in a manner that would benefit Noah or myself at the time.
I told me the short version, some child messed with Noah and he blew up. When I finally found Noah, he was talking to two police officers. I was then told that the child was messing with Noah all day, finally telling him to “kill himself.” Noah then decided to do that and destroy the room. Again we went to JHU, this time he wasn’t Noah but someone else. Constantly attempting to provoke me, the police officers, other drivers… Again we signed the paperwork and again I thanked The Creator for my insurance. This time I was worn down, I felt defeated in a way I never knew in my life. Again he started the process of inpatient treatment, followed up with outpatient services. I could care less about school, opinions of people who don’t matter, or the world; I just wanted my son back.
Fast forward to 2021: Noah is doing much better. He left the hospital just before Covid swept through the country. Noah has an AMAZING therapist, Mr. Adrian is a Black man he sees he’d like to be like in tone and temperament. He responds well to his sessions; he's growing more confident in himself as the days and months go on. Now in the 9th grade, he’s able to express himself in a way that doesn’t cause conflicts at home or in school. The “Year of Covid” has taken away his freshmen year, however I am glad the events of 2020 didn’t take away my son. Yes he has “teenage moments” and at times the fear of failure gets the better of him, however I wouldn’t trade him for anything. I see the growth within Noah and believe his bump in the road will lead to smooth driving for years to come.
Next: The Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter of Covid….
