Photo by Roman Skrada

My son has been in residential treatment for two years this month. I can’t believe he’s been living away from home for that long. It seems like it was just a few months ago we were sitting at the kitchen table, making the decision on the residential programs we wanted to look at as options. It’s been difficult having him away from home so much, but we are lucky that the program isn’t too far away (although with gas prices they way they are right now, it seems farther), and we talk on the phone several times a week. Tim’s doing well – he’s been mostly stable going on 10 months now, the longest stretch since he was in primary school. His last few visits home have been issue-free, he’s talking about his symptoms and feelings more and more, and he’s even discussing med options with his doctors on his own. He’s holding down a part-time job through his RTC vocational program, moved from the dorm-style program to a group home on the RTC campus, and he’s improved nearly four grade levels in two years. And every week, when I talk to his caseworker, I wait for the other shoe to drop. 

We’ve been through stable periods before; never as long as this, and never as promising as this. Tim is, by any and all accounts, doing very well. But I can’t help but focus on the fact that, in times past, stability has always fallen apart. Even though intellectually I know that we seem to have found – after nearly a decade of searching – the right combo of meds, therapy, school and living environment, and that other factors like Tim growing (he’s 6’1” and will be 17 next month, so his growth has slowed down) aren’t the factors they used to be, I just can’t help bracing myself for a setback. It’s probably because I’m conditioned for them. A consistent theme of conversation among the parents on most of the support groups is that stability is hard to come by, particularly when our kids are in the throes of puberty. And puberty sure did a number on Tim and on us. 

Why can’t I enjoy the success he has right now? I hate to break it down and call it something like PTSD or depression. I think it’s just life experience that tells me it’s really never been different. I don’t feel depressed or anxious about it. I just have that inkling in the back of my mind that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, that says there is a better chance of things unraveling than there are of things staying the way they are. I’ve heard great stories from other parents whose kids have achieved stability and stayed that way long term – particularly at the end of or after puberty – but for some reason, I can’t bask in the glow of everything and be content. For you parents who have stable kids – how did you finally realize that you could call it stability?  When were you able to breathe and enjoy it?