The other day I took Holland over to visit my dad. I usually visit Holland on weekends, but my dad's health is so poor, I felt Holland needed to see him sooner rather than later. I did a lot of driving that day. I had to drop Romania off at the local community college, drive up to Portland to get Holland, drive back to Beavercreek to my parent's house, and then spent the next four hours driving. One of the few things left my dad enjoys is car rides. When he was still able to walk, he would get his walker, sneak out of the house, down the deck steps, and into a waiting car in the driveway. He didn't want to miss out on any errands so he'd sit, sometimes for hours, just waiting for the moment someone would come out of the house to go somewhere.
So when Holland was over, my mom suggested a car ride. It's a pretty big deal to get my dad into the car. His body is worn down by the aftermath of the strokes. He can't hold himself up. He can't walk on his own. He can't get dressed by himself. The not-so-pretty list goes on. Use your imagination. Once we were in the car, he was pretty happy. Off we went. I had no idea where I was going. I decided to drive the way that I would take Romania and Egypt to the charter school last year. I figured once I got out that far, he'd be satisfied. At one point, I kept hearing my phone ding that a text came through. If I don't read it, it keeps on dinging. I can't read my phone without my readers, so I had to find someplace to pull over and look at it. Immediately my dad started to object. The objection was lots of grunting, motioning I was going the wrong way, and pointing to where he felt I should be going. Years of working in a mill damaged his hearing, so in order to communicate, you yell. It must sound uncomfortable to those that don't understand why we must converse this way. I explained what I was doing, and that we weren't done driving.
He finally understood when I got back on the road to drive some more. We drove by the Clackamas River most of the way. It's beautiful this time of year. Holland talked non-stop. I'd forgotten how full of information he is. Topics were varied, and not always coherent. He has lots of big plans. Big, important dreams that are very attainable to him. It's hard to sit and listen to him without interjecting why something won't work. I want him to have big plans. But I want him to dream things that are actually possible. He's gone through a lot. He's around not so nice people and part of him just wants to give up and get kicked out of his program again. I get overwhelmingly sad when I think of what potential he had as a kid. We talked a little about what he remembers, and much of his behavior, he doesn't.
He said he remembers feeling not all there. He distinctly felt like he wanted to do something, but couldn't. I told him he was on lots of medications. He was taking something to control his mood, but then the side effect it created prompted another med to deal with that. It spiraled out of control. He couldn't sleep. It's like his brain wouldn't shut down. I told him I believed a lot of his behavior (breaking windows, punching holes in walls, taking a hammer to my bedroom door), were a result of the medicines in his body. The only way he got himself off these meds, was to run away from one of the programs he was in. He had been taking meds since he was maybe 6 or 7, up until he was 15. It wasn't the best way to rid his body of these drugs, but I believe he would have been on them much longer, or even not taken off them, if he hadn't run away.
We talked some more about his future. Romania and I have taken him to a few local churches, hoping he would want to plug in somewhere. He does not. My head and heart feel overwhelmed with grief. Grief that things didn't turn out differently. Sadness when I see other adoptions work out amazingly well. He has no place to go. He does not want to do one more program and I totally get that. I want him to live free of program restraints. But right now, no family can take him. I pray constantly that God would provide the perfect people to take him. As of now, these people don't exist. He wants to go to school. There are tech schools nearby and online that he could do. But his current situation doesn't allow that. The boys must be working in order to save money and move out.
I still struggle with why this was our path. The path we chose didn't involve this. We had plans.
It's becoming harder to deal with. My dad is dying right in front of us. Holland can't move to a place that surrounds him with more positive people. And I am stressed from the financial pressures of a husband working two jobs and thinking I'm not contributing because I don't work full time.
I never thought life would be easy, but it feels like we're getting extra helpings of trials.
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