My God is the Universe...

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you already know that it is typical for me to avoid writing about my challenging moments with my oldest teenage son until I have had an opportunity to process the moment. I think that if I was able to find a moment in the middle of a crisis to document the event I would probably miss a great deal of the "reality" behind it all because of my heightened emotional state.  I am by my own admission a very emotional individual, which does not help at all for the purposes of objectivity.  The good news then is that it has almost been a week now since I encountered a very difficult and emotional moment with my oldest son and I now feel much more well equipped to share it. Even though six days have passed,the image of my son endlessly weeping is as clear as when it all started. To put it all into the appropriate context you first have to know that crying is a rare event with my son. In the last five years I can probably count with one hand how many times I have ever seen him with watery eyes, much less crying. Even though I believe that he is totally capable of giving a great deal of love and affection, he does not seem that well equipped like most of us that have a sort of emotional sponge which when we are hurt feels as if being squeezed releasing our tears of sorrow. In this respect my son is very much like his mother, which I believe has that same, for lack of a better word, deficit.

A sturdy outdoor pet house sits sideways pressed close against the back wall of my home with the purpose of staying dry and warm during inclement weather for our half indoor, half outdoor cat to find refuge. On top of the vaulted ceiling of the cute pet condo, almost always laying against the back wall, also sits one of those speaker gadgets to which you can dock any kind of iPod type device in order to listen to the music out loud instead of through headphones. It is very common for me to arrive at home after a long day of work to find my oldest son with a few of his friends sitting in the backyard patio chairs socializing while their favorite tunes play in the background on the music contraption. I remember being that age and how connected I was too with my favorite music. In fact, it is often that I hear an old song from my younger days and instantly find myself being transported in time to an exact moment of my youth. This mental link created by music is indeed very relevant to what I am about to share with all of you today.

Even though my oldest son lives one hundred percent of the time with me, every other week my ex-wife dedicates as much of her free time as possible to watching over him so that I can bring my head out of the teenage parental waters and catch my breath. It is almost like when soldiers stand watch in the middle of a heated battle that last too long for anyone to be able to perform their duties past a certain point in time. Sooner or later, even under the attack of artillery, rockets and almost constant gun fire, the strongest men collapse,which is why it is common for some to take turns standing watch while others try to catch a few hours or sometimes just minutes of sleep. During her watch last week, when my ex-wife returned to check up on my son she found herself in a moment of parental desperation and texted me to ask if I would please come over as soon as possible because she could not tell what was wrong with him. In the 15 minutes that it took me to arrive I must of prayed close to half a rosary asking for mercy and compassion. In my mind and on my way home more than half a dozen scenarios played themselves out trying to answer the question of what might be wrong this time. When I arrived my oldest son was sitting on top of the outdoor pet house, weeping, while listening to music on the portable music player. He sat with his back against the outside wall of our home rocking himself in a back and forth autistic type motion. In his almost 18 years I have never seen him do this before which made the moment awkward and confusing. To make it all so much more difficult to process, it almost seemed as if his emotional state was entirely linked to every single lyric he would sing out loud. Once I arrived I pulled up a patio chair and sat next to him in an effort to be able to decipher what exactly was it that he was weeping about. One song after another he selected in perfect order to his anguish intercepting the vocals at the precise moment in which he wanted to reveal something more about his emotional state by then singing along and almost instantly selecting another song to do the same without almost any gap in time in between them. At first it all seemed as if it was being done at random, but the more I listened, the more I realized that there was an incredible sense of logic and order to the way he was choosing his songs and revealing his emotional state in tears as he sang along just the few parts that made sense to what was wrong.

Soon it was past eleven thirty in the evening and it was getting chilly outside. My suggestion to bring his music indoors was rejected so I rushed to my room and changed from shorts to sweats so that I could stay outside and keep him company. Song after song, weep after weep, tear after tear, I found myself immersed in his pain and sadly understanding what he was going through. A relapse, a moment of weakness and despair had taken him down to his knees while trying to stay sober. It was obvious that he was intoxicated in more than one way, but this was not the moment to confront, to get angry. Instead I listened and slowly interjected myself into his anguish trying to comfort him by letting him know that he was not alone and that I would be there for him. He cried even louder and in his sorrow he found more lyrics to tell me how hard it was to stop, to not be entangled with his addiction. The only moment in which he lifted his eyes long enough to focus into my own, he said something that instantly filled my heart with hope. As his teared covered face confronted my heart broken eyes, he said "this is the hardest thing I have ever had to do...this is so hard dad...so fucking hard. I have been praying, not to your God, but to mine. My God is the Universe...this is harder than anyone can ever imagine." Then he lowered his face and stopped the song that was playing and started another one to which he returned to the effort of only singing along to the parts that gave meaning to his pain. Ninety minutes after I had arrived it was already midnight and other than putting my hand on his shoulder, there was really nothing else I could do but wait for his moment of distress to wean itself off. I am not sure what time it was but his mom walked outside and offered him something to eat at which time he turned off the outside music, grabbed the plate of food, took it to his room and closed the door behind him.

On and off that night he kept coming out of his room crying out a song while he constantly raided the refrigerator for more food. The final exit from his room was around six in the morning at which time he apparently fell asleep. I was spent, tired, and too worried to go to work, so I also crashed for a couple of hours taking advantage of the parenthesis in his emotional state. It truly felt as if I had attended an eight hour opera which instead of ending simply faded out after all the participants one by one collapsed in exhaustion. When he finally came back to life he was definitely spent too. He barely had a voice, his eyes were as red as rubies. In all of our years together this is the first time I have ever seen my son fall so low. It has taken him the better part of a week to get back on his feet, but he seems to be mostly functional. I too am trying to find what I need to be well within it all. I understand that part of the recovery process requires that he hit bottom in order to recognize that he truly needs help. It is an extremely scary place down at the bottom. So scary in fact that I myself felt paralyzed, even though it was not me who was in effect the main character. I have so many questions, so many worries, and so many doubts. In fact too many for me to put into words at the moment. This experience will take time to absorb, and even more time to be able to understand its true meaning and value. In the meantime I'll pray some more, because in the end I really believe that only God has the answer to my son's purpose in life. Would you please pray for us too?

Dad