Listen as Notes on the Spectrum covers this chapter: Elastic Reality
What we see and what we know are often in conflict. I see my son’s burner phone. I see his joyrides into the night, returning after daybreak to pass out on the back porch, in a chair, or even in his workshop, cradling a rifle. I don’t know what’s going on. I have ideas, questions, and urgent concerns. I also know, I cannot fix or manage my son’s life. Full stop.
I left the note. “Not working out for me.” I gave him 3 days to find a place to sleep, a week to find a place for his guns, and two weeks to finish his move, with non-gun storage options continuing in the shed.
I went to work. Put my phone on do not disturb. Did my job. Tried to think about something else.
When I got home things were in motion. It was about 6:30. The garage door was open, the screen porch was open. His car was in the driveway. He was in the shed with the blacked-out window. He was still hammering stuff out there. Didn’t notice I was home.
I mulled around a bit and decided to go out for a bite to eat. After I got back home, he must’ve noticed my bedroom light on. He texted from the shed. A bit incoherent. “Blindsided.” But no defense of his behavior. No questions about why. “You didn’t even ask for my side of the story.”
Um. The story. Yeah, that’s the part I’m hoping to avoid. I don’t need to be in the middle. I am not your keeper. I am also not your Airbnb host.
I went on to bed around 10:30. I woke at 2am as usual and he was still in the shed. At 4 am I couldn’t sleep, so I sat on the front porch and ate a bowl of cereal. He came around the back side of the house, in his normal path, avoiding the front door. He put a few things in his car and left. He didn’t notice me. It was still dark.
I imagine he went to his 24-hour coffee shop perch. I don’t know.
At this moment, I understand that each time I woke to find him out and doing whatever he’s doing I would have a moment of fear. “What if somethings happened to him? What if he’s fallen asleep in his car at the coffee shop.” I work my mind into releasing those negative thoughts. This morning, I have the same release, but I know he’s on notice. The prepping and late-night spook lurking in my backyard is over.
I don’t need to confront him about the burner phone. He didn’t ask why I was kicking him out. He knows. His uncontrollable anxiety is linked to his fear of being caught. I didn’t give him that thrill. Simply established my new boundary. I don’t have to sort it all out for him. More importantly, for me, I know I can’t rescue him.
The interesting part will be when his mom contacts me. She has never followed up on my “I have an idea” text. She was, is, and will forever be too busy. That’s her MO.
I’m not too busy. I’m too tired of dealing with the drama that swirls around my son’s downward spiral like a tornado. I don’t even need to get into the drama with his mom. Or my daughter. They have not been available for me. Okay. The message is clear. Now, I’ve drawn the boundary.
Will his mom ever reach out to me?
Here comes the holidays. A double-edged sword has me still working at the grocery store for the rocket billionaire. I was comforted yesterday by the distraction. My ability to remove myself from the situation and get on with my life. Work it is.
I have today, Friday, and tomorrow off. I’m sad. I’m optimistic. I’m applying for jobs and napping. Tappity tapping here as well. All is not well. All is not in its right place.
I have gathered up my support team. Given them a glimpse into my current struggle. I am not waiting for them to solve it for me. I learned that in the darkest moments, it’s god and me.
I am waiting here in the quiet. I am breathing, praying, and typing out some words trying to make it make sense in my mind. It doesn’t make sense. I am at a loss. Sad. My son is at a bigger loss. Scared. Running again.
He’s been running for the entire 3 months that he’s been living with me. Running away from his own struggle. Coping with his pain using guns and drugs and all-nighters. Minus the guns, I’ve experienced dark nights of the soul as well. We all do. We either grow from the experience. Fall into isolation and depression. Or… Continue with the malfunction.
My dad showed me the futility of my optimism and energetic attempts at engagement. He was floundering, drunk, and angry. I know my son is floundering, angry, and armed. The rest is not important for me or my safety.
When I asked him to no longer carry a concealed weapon in his pants when he came into my house, he accepted my request. Then he moved his workshop from the garage into the shed. Then he changed the lock on the shed.
No!
note: image panels created with AI
For readers new to hyperfiction: see this explainer video: Blueprint Of Icarus Ascending
