Calling in the reinforcements

Another Saturday night disappearance.  Following the previous Friday night late night request to be picked up, I initiated a discussion around agreeing a time to be home.  But anything resembling boundaries or curfew or limitations on movement is being met with a ‘get fucked and leave me alone’ response.  What was a milestone, however, was his suggestion he text me every hour to let me know where he was.  I thought the offer was generous, but probably unrealistic, so suggested instead he text where he is going and again when he is on his way home – at the negotiated hour.  He agreed it was a good idea.  

Result: he's out the door mid morning and isn't heard from again all night!

By midnight with no knowledge of where he is, “detachment” and “extreme self care” and “having faith my son knows what he is doing” all washes away as the night gets longer, the silence of the night deepens and the concern in a mother’s heart grows.  

I kick into action.  I text some of his friends to ask where he is!  I send him texts telling him that if I don’t hear from him, that I will have to call the police.  Then I waver, because I have no idea if I should call the police or not.  A late call to a friend who has recently had the police out looking for her 16 year old daughter, reassured me that calling the police is a completely acceptable thing to do.

So I took a deep breath and dialled the police station.  Somewhere inside me, I had a feeling I was going to get acquainted with the police at some stage fairly soon.  The key question the police watch officer asked me, was if I thought my son was at risk.  At risk??  He is 14 years old, it is 1am, I’ve not seen or heard from him since 9am, I have no idea where he is, and it is cold and raining….. Of course I think he is at risk.  Such is the job of the police, however, a 14 year old boy who is not officially ‘missing’ is not a high priority.  This could be because they receive a lot of calls from distressed parents and most of the time the kids are not 'missing' and do return home.  The police officer advised me that they keep a general eye out for kids on the street, and I knew that there was probably little they could do of any use to either T1 or me.  I was advised to call Youth Aid during the week.

So I sit and I burn my computer playing solitaire.  I burn my fingers baking muffins.  I burn my muscles cleaning the house.  I do the washing.  I am exhausted and strung out.  
  
At 2.45am there is the dreaded/hopeful knock on the door.  Teen1: “yo.  Ah, yeah, my phone’s not working, so yeah, didn’t call you.  I’m really fucked, so I’m going to bed”.

Sometimes I think it has to be ok to want to strangle your teenage son.

Wishing all parents of teenagers, a deep and peaceful sleep.