Child I Lost Found Me (eBook)

Chapter 1
What Is Happening
to My Son?

I screamed! SETH! The capital letters of his name ignited, sending fire across my brain. A tangled mass of chaotic words slithered up like snakes and smothered out the flames.

Breathing heavily, I awakened, aware it was all a dream. Relieved, I clutched my tear-drenched pillow. The moon dipped into my window. A shadow stood in the hallway. My heart jumped, still caught in the realness of the dream.

I recognized Seth standing there. I exhaled, reassured. Yet fractions of shadowed light, sectioned into nanoseconds, took me beyond the third dimension. I saw Seth’s face broken into segmented pieces, as if the whole of him could not form itself.

I shook myself real. “Seth, what’s the matter? Are you sick?” He didn’t answer but stumbled towards me in his lanky, eighteen-year-old body.

He shuddered. “Mom!”

I could see the little boy within him wanting to burrow under the warm covers and have me hold him like I used to do when he was scared.

“Mom, I can’t hear myself think. There are horrible, angry voices inside me. They talk over me; they hurt me inside. They told me you don’t love me, that the whole family hates me!”

He crumpled to the floor by my bed holding his head. I put my arms around him and lifted his broken spirit. The moon lit our way. I looked into his eyes as he had me do when he was three years old. Our deep recognition had been a place of safety for him when he had experienced a terrifying past-life event. I didn’t understand why that persistent fear from his childhood had crashed down on him. Why had he attacked his college roommate weeks ago? Why hadn’t the psychiatrist helped? How could he possibly say we hated him?

My mother-bear instincts exploded through me. “SETH!” I shook him. “I LOVE YOU!” My words ricocheted off the walls. “WE LOVE YOU!” The words vibrated back and forth, opening portals into his empty soul. I said it over and over again forcefully, fiercely. My truth defied whatever was trying to unravel him.

Then the words came softly as a mother whispering to her baby. They came tenderly, touching his head, his neck. They came lovingly, bits of tenderness he knew in his heart were true.

Although this haunting dream would terrify us later, today was Seth’s high school graduation and our family lovingly hugged and congratulated him, as the warm Arizona breeze wrapped itself around us. I studied my blonde son standing before me. He turned his blue eyes towards the night sky. In that moment hope and excitement etched itself upon his innocent, handsome face. Expectancy poured through my mother’s heart for him to realize his own self-worth, to appreciate all he was, all his goodness inside and out. But that did not happen. The small black hole that lurked inside of him began to expand.

Family Picture: Niki, Seth, Levi, Craig, Marika, and Jessie

Seth was pleased that he had received a full academic and art scholarship at Arizona State University (ASU) in Tempe, Arizona. We were excited for him to begin a new adventure, and happily moved him into an apartment with his best friends.

But only one week later I received an urgent call from one of his roommates who sounded completely unraveled.

“Seth is acting strange.” The young man stuttered. “He attacked me.”

“What?”

“I had to wrestle him down,” John said. “He kept screaming, ‘Everybody hates me. I can’t trust any of you; you are all ganging up on me!’ He finally collapsed. He is in his room now. You have got to come.”

I hung up the phone and found my husband Craig working in his office. I explained what had happened. “We have got to get down there right away,” I said.

Seth was quiet when we arrived. We helped get his things together. My heart beat a trembling rhythm of sadness, fearing the joy he once had with those boys might be lost. I knew they all cared for him. They had been his best friends since grade school.

My heart constricted. Seth must have had a breakdown. New situations were always hard on him. We hoped to get to the bottom of this fear that bound him. If only we could figure it out, he might be able to go back to school and find his life again. We got a referral to a psychiatrist and put all our hopes into this doctor.

Seth was so wrought with his own fear and pain, the psychiatrist’s questions about what Seth liked to do, fell flat on the floor. In the end Seth just shut down. The doctor was frustrated that he couldn’t help. He prescribed Prozac in the hope of relieving some of Seth’s tensions.

After three weeks Seth felt well enough to go back to school. He was worried he may have lost his scholarship. The administrators said if he was able to catch up in his studies, he could keep it.

He was looking forward to going back to his apartment. The boys were gracious in having him return and helped him catch up with his homework. Things went along fine for a while, and I thought all was well.

But it wasn’t long before we received another phone call. This time it was from a police officer late at night. Seth had run our old Honda into a lamp post. He was being held at the police station downtown. When we arrived, Seth kept his eyes on the floor. I knew he was upset with himself and was sorry the accident had happened.

We told the bald, sullen policeman he was on medication. He turned to look at Seth with his intense eyes and said, “You shouldn’t be driving then. Have you been drinking, taking marijuana or drugs with the medication?”

Seth looked him in the eye and said, “No.”

The policeman pondered for a moment studying Seth and then turned on his heels and walked away. His voice was gruff. “I want you to take the substance abuse tests.” It was clear to me he didn’t believe Seth. The report came back. He had marijuana in his system.

Seth walked to the corner of the building, stopped and turned towards us. His face was distraught, and a firm frown framed it. “Dad, marijuana can last in your system for up to 30 days.” He shook his head saying, “I didn’t take any marijuana this evening. I did smoke some, but that was a week ago.” He knew he was clean and yet he couldn’t prove it.

As his release papers were being handled, I recalled an incident the year before when Seth’s art teacher had told me how much she enjoyed having Seth in her class. She appreciated his politeness and the way he had usually worked to his highest potential. “But I think Seth is taking drugs,” she’d gone on hesitantly as if worried to offend me. “He doesn’t seem to care about his artwork anymore and he seems distant.”

I was shocked. Seth? My boy? Drugs? “No way,” I said. “He’s never done anything like that. My husband and I … we never …” but I didn’t continue. I saw the tired empathy in her eyes that seemed to say, “Just because you and your husband never did drugs … just because you love your son … none of that means he’s clean.”

In my innocent mind my children had been safe because we were good parents. Apparently, I was misguided. Overwhelmed and worried, I left the high school. Seth’s grades had not dropped in any other subject except his art class. His art teacher was giving him a B+.

I thought back to how Seth had been behaving; it defied what I had heard about kids on drugs. He was getting “A”s in every class except art. He loved being with his family; he was forever making us laugh with his dry humor. He was quiet, but Seth had always been quiet. He was a young man aware of life looking at things from an artist’s viewpoint. He was a deep thinker and enjoyed spending time alone but also enjoyed being with his family and friends. He was active and loved skateboarding.

Yet when I thought about it, I realized that slowly, in a small way, insecurity had raised its ugly head between his junior and senior years. He told me he wanted to be more like his friends who seemed capable and self-assured. He studied and scrutinized everyone. He desired to have bits and pieces of others to add to his character because he thought he was not enough.

I was amazed he could feel that way when he had so many things going for him. Why was he so insecure? He had a family that loved him and friends that enjoyed being with him.

He was athletic and did great in school. His sister said he was popular in high school but wasn’t aware of it. He had a big heart and cared about people, animals and nature. He was handsome, although I don’t think he saw that. He was too busy tearing himself apart.

But I still needed to ask him about the drugs. My thoughts focused as I closed the car door and walked past the pink bougainvillea into our adobe home. My heart was on his side, hoping the teacher was wrong. After school he came through our well-worn front door with an upbeat step and walked towards his room. He emerged again with his skateboard under his arm. In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator door looking for something to eat. Then he saw me sitting there quietly.

“Mom, are you okay?” I looked at this amazing child of mine, and my heart fell into my gut. I had to know.

“Seth, your art teacher called me into school today. She’s worried that you are taking drugs because of your...