a-Caryling

Last night I slept in Jake's empty bed. Nah, I haven't gone completely bonkers. I got into bed with my husband and in the dark and the quiet, I started thinking about Jake alone somewhere in a hotel with all of his possessions packed in the car outside. I started crying again and decided to sleep somewhere else so as not to wake the hubby.

Yesterday I gave Jake's room a good cleaning. It actually looked kind of inviting with all the furniture gleaming and the carpet freshly vacuumed. When I got into his bed I looked around and thought about all the horrible things he lived through within those walls: the terrible stomach pain that kept him up at night, the mornings I literally dragged him out of bed to get him to go to school, the screaming fights over doctor visits. The three months when he only left his room to eat and use the bathroom.

He's had a rough life. Severe allergies, asthma, ADHD, IBS and depression. And as hard as I tried, I could't help him. He has the same struggles today he had six years ago. We've taken him to every specialist you can name, including a pain management specialist and a therapist. A couple of years ago Jake shut down and refused to see any more doctors. He stopped telling me when something was wrong.

And this is why I've been so upset. I didn't help him. I didn't make it all better. I feel as though I sent him off with a bleeding cut and no chance of finding a bandaide.