Difficult decisions

We saw our son on Christmas Day. He and his grandmother were driven up by my husband’s sister and family, who also live in Surrey, to have lunch with us at my sister’s house in London. I’ve been wondering why I haven’t felt in a celebratory mood at all this holiday. Something has been wrong, and it is of course because our son has not been living in our family. On his birthday back in November, the first time he had not been with us on his special day, I felt similar emotions. Feeling sick all day, it was as if he had died and I was grieving. We asked him to leave in October, at half term, in an attempt to get through to him that we meant what we said about his behaviour in our house. It had become a matter of protecting the family, there are four of us and one of him. He had to go, and my secret hope was that the shock would be such a reality check and he would come back to us repentant, a supplicant bended-knees-type scenario was what I was hoping for!

So far, I’m still waiting for this last bit to happen. I’m still waiting for a spontaneous, genuine apology of any kind – forget the bended knees! William went to live with his grandmother, my husband’s mother, after spending the initial days of his exclusion from our house with a friend. He has a close relationship with his grandma. She talked to me, though, before lunch on Christmas Day, to say that she thought William should be with his family. I’ve heard this before these past few weeks. She finds it very difficult to accept that he is addicted to cannabis, saying that he’s always been fine with her and that all he needs is tender loving care in the family unit. Getting her to accept how difficult things have been for us, is almost impossible. It’s as if her brain doesn’t want to accept the information, and just spits it back at us. Almost as though if she doesn’t accept it, it isn’t happening. My husband and I have tried to explain how destructive he is when he is with us, and how we have tried just about everything to attempt to modify our son’s behaviour, at least in our own house. She listens but doesn’t hear. We’re extremely grateful that she has allowed him to stay with her, but it is clear that she wants him to leave but and our first concern must be for her. She is now eighty and although extremely well physically, she is of a nervous disposition, and I am surprised she has been able to cope with her grandson for as long as she has. Even a ‘normal’ teenager would be stressful to an elderly woman unused a young person  in the house for any length of time. The responsibility was too much.

My husband has always said that William will never live at home again, and I repeated these words to my mother in law on Christmas Day, feeling  a sudden flood of liquid anger rise up from my gut, sticking in my throat. She was shocked that I could be so cold-hearted, but she doesn’t understand what we have all been through. Having William at home is like having a stranger in the house, it’s been obvious for years that he doesn’t want to be here. We tried setting him up in a flat earlier this year, so he could have independence but that was a failure and we are still picking up the debris from that episode. This has involved writing cheques for hundreds of pounds to cover debts. The following diary entries will explain more about this.

Meantime, I just wanted to write this update. My husband has gone down to his mother’s to collect William and bring him back home. I reported to Guy what his mother had said to me on Christmas Day and after discussing it we decided that he could no longer stay with her.  She seemed about to crack under the pressure, and that’s not fair. Our first responsibility is to her, making sure she is well and happy and he is our son after all. We offered to go and get him then, on Boxing Day, but it was agreed that he would come back today, Friday.

Every time I think about William being back here I get butterflies. Some months ago we bought a safe to put all valuables and cash in, so at least we can put that system back in place. It is like inviting a burglar to live with you. I don’t know how things are going to work out, but we have to take one day at a time, there is no other way to live.

© Debra Bell 2006