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At this point I wish I could say when I saw Jay sitting, curled up against the fence totally overwhelmed that I calmed down and felt compassion. I’d like to say I figured out how to defuse the situation and make him feel better.
I can’t.
Perhaps I did cool my temper a bit on the dash over from my illegally parked car to where Jay leaned against the chain-link. However, the moment he saw me approaching he pulled in tighter. He pulled away from me more.
A small part of me felt rejected I’m sure, but mostly, I felt powerless. I was left grasping for ideas on how to resolve this. I was angry and afraid because I had none.
Once I got close to the gate Jay shifted his weight like he was going to stand up and run off again. I said, “Stay, I’ll talk to you from the other side.” I walked back out of the park entrance and met up with Jay. The fence divided us. He had his head on his knees and arms wrapped around tight.
I squatted down, leaned in and laced my fingers through the fence for balance. “Listen to me.”
“No.”
At least he was talking. “Yes, you have to listen to me. I need you to walk over to the car and get in. You don’t have to talk to me, or dad or anyone.”
“No. I’m staying here.”
“Jay this isn’t a safe place for you.”
“I don’t care.”
We quickly reached an impasse. I was doing everything I could to suppress my anger but the longer he pushed back at me the less I was able to hold it in.
This was my son, he needed to listen to me, get up and get in the damn car. However, if I spoke to him like that he’d only run again and then who knew how long we’d be out here. I desperately just wanted us to leave. Why couldn’t we just get up and walk over there and go?
Why?
What on earth could I say to Jay that would get him in that car?
What happened if I couldn’t, who could help us? An ambulance? The police?
The thought of either made my stomach twist. I didn’t want any outside involvement. I could only imagine it would make the situation worse. My son was autistic, who knew if any of the traditional help agencies understood it at all. They’d probably say he needed to be in a mental institution. Or they’d think I was an abusive parent and take him away until they could figure it out.
No, that course of action scared the hell out of me and really, if I couldn’t get him out of this I couldn’t see anyone else being able to either — at least not anyone nearby.
Then, like the flare of a strike-anywhere-match, I realized, if this scared me it would scare Jay. If I told him what I was thinking, would it be enough to get him moving in the right direction?
Check the ‘Raising Jay’ category for more in this series.
