Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The Death of a Dream

My Lovely Boy faces a really harsh legal sentence thanks to a bad decision he'd made as well decisions that came before and came after. You can talk and talk and talk to a teenager, but they always think they know more. My son believed he knew way more than my husband and I because he'd spent 14 years in the Foster System. He didn't know more and now faces the end of his dreams and hopes.

All parents possess their own dreams and hopes. I don't care if the child is biological or adopted. We all hold that child in our hearts and our dreams for that child begins.

I dreamt of seeing my son graduate high school. A poor choice involving sex, drugs, Facebook, and a minor girl took care of that. He spent his graduation staying with my dad, while my husband and I researched ways to help him emotionally and psychologically. Not to mention that my son's behavior during his senior year actually might have kept him out of the ceremony, anyway. Regardless, while my brother has a beautiful picture of my nephew on his graduation day, my husband and I only know memories of putting Lovely Boy on a plane to Michigan.

When Lovely Boy returned, he seemed better, healthier and more open to his therapy. Against all odds, he started community college in the fall. He loved attending. He seemed to enjoy the atmosphere and liked the fact that he did well. He passed with his first attempt at each class and wanted to take on more. He joined the college group at church and loved attending a kayaking trip and a week in the snow. On the surface, he seemed so well. So much better.

We began to dream again: hoping of his actually making real his dream of graduating college, going into the military, beating the odds. The odds beat him with this latest round of mistakes and he's going to need to redefine his goals.

And so will we.

Our dreams died when he came under legal investigation. If convicted, he'll need to move from where we live and, more than likely, he might find himself unable to attend college for awhile as he fulfilled the other penalties.

The pain of knowing that we may never see him graduate college or even know an emotionally healthy relationship makes my chest hurt. His hope for the military is over, as well. I mourn the loss of his dreams and the death of my own dreams for him.

I've gone through anger and I struggle with tears. I'm trying to remember the rest of the stages of grief, but since this is the second time I've experienced this with him, the pain seems worst. The anger seems to almost consume me and I struggle with sleep. My chest hurts like a hammer trying to pry itself out of my rib cage. I cannot seem to cry this time. I just feel....resigned...defeated...exhausted.

People tell me that our dreams and hopes for him are not important: after all, we can't live his life for him. That doesn't mean we can't possess dreams. He's only lived with us for five years (one as a foster child and four as an adopted one), but we still knew dreams and tried desperately to help steer his life into a place where he could see the fruition of his own dreams and hopes.

We don't know what will come of the legal issues, we're still waiting for a letter from the police department (he'll be charged with a really serious misdemeanor). While we wait, we mourn.

Thank you for listening.

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