September 06, 2011

Runaway...Run, Run, Run, Run Runaway

We got to meet people in uniform yesterday, but it had nothing to do with a Labor Day celebration.

The Mister told The Boy not to eat a sandwich at the computer. I was going to take a nap (I'm dealing with a case of congestion and conjunctivitis, and I'm worn out). I figured they could work it out.

Instead, The Boy called the police and said that he was being abused, because The Mister yelled at him.

The Boy is prone to exaggeration. He's very dramatic.

He's been rather moody lately. He wants to leave, he hates us, he wants a new home.

An officer arrived and told everyone to just get along.

I was embarrassed and saddened. Sorry that The Mister and The Boy are almost always at odds, and I remain the liaison, the interpreter, the messenger.

I hate being the middleman, the arbiter. I am weary of the threats, curse words and vulgar names that come out of The Boy's mouth when he is screaming at me.

I hoped that things would calm down. 

They did not.

He attempted to run away twice yesterday. The first time, without benefit of shoes. A neighbor picked him up about a mile away. She found him before I did. 

He's 16 and wants to be independent...yet he can't remember his shoes.

He came home and showered and was still upset. He went into one of the bedrooms and barricaded the door with a big bag of rock salt and a chair. That's about all that's in that room that he could move. The dresser remained in its spot. Thank God he didn't use the cat's litter box in his would have made quite a mess when I used my shoulder to push the door open.

He was gone. Opened the window, broke out the screen and climbed out.

This time, I called the authorities. They said they'd respond.

I waited, expecting them to come here. While waiting, I called a local hospital about a possible assessment in the adolescent psych unit.

They have no beds.

After about twenty minutes, a police car drove up, Boy in the front seat. On his lap, two small net bags with some clothing.

The female officer was more soft-spoken than the male officer from the first visit. She said that the juvenile office does not get involved in runaway cases. Police are instructed to return the child to the parents...again and again, after each escape.

The Boy said he wants to live with his sister in Florida. I don't recall her ever offering to take him in (and don't think that invitation will be coming).

We made it through dinner without any further outbursts. He said he's physically tired from all the walking he did.

I hope he's here when I get up in the morning.

If not, I'll try to determine what clothing he was wearing and see if his shoes are gone.

I'll call the police again and get in the car to look for him.

If he makes it to school, I'll be able to take that much-needed nap. I may just pull the covers over my head and stay there all day.


  1. I can not even fathom how hard all this must be for you, especially while sick.

    I hope things calm down for you, and that he is there in the morning.

    And I hope you get to enjoy your nap!

  2. Ugh I totally get the hubby/boy conflict. I have it here. Daily. I hope he is there in the morning and you get that nap, you deserve it.

  3. I am so sorry that you have to go through this. I can't even fathom what you must feel.

    I hope you get some naps soon. You deserve them

  4. You poor dear. Sending a silent prayer your way and hoping the angels intercept it and surround you with peace and rest.

  5. Oh man … I thought things were going so much better with the new school and all. I'm so sorry that you had to go through this. How stressful … for both you and the Boy. Hugs.

  6. June. Oh, I am so sorry to read this.

    I've been there. Almost exactly. Can I help? A shoulder? An ear?

    Have you had his hormones tested?

    God bless you. I am so sorry.


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