“You feel so much, you feel nothing at all” David Ross Lawn
July 2021, Sunday morning, the sun just thinking about creeping into the sky. A sudden sharp hammering on the door shattered the otherwise stillness of early morning. I woke with a start, never quite totally at rest even when sleeping. An ineffective waking watch. Sitting up, I glanced bleary eyed over at the clock. 4.45am writ large in luminescent numbers. Bloody kids, I thought, no doubt fallen asleep at a friend’s house and forgotten their house keys. Again. Pulling on my dressing gown, I stumbled down two flights of stairs, fumbled with keys, opened the door and limbered up to launch into a lecture. Instead – two police officers, and behind them, their squad car parked on the road. My heart lurched violently into my throat, fleeting panic flooding my veins. My immediate thought was- two of them. It’s happened.
“Is he dead?” I asked, feeling bile rising in my stomach. “No” one of them said, “He’s remanded in custody in Maidenhead, following his arrest in the early hours of this morning. As he’s over 18 we aren’t able to disclose any further details. We have a search warrant for this address. Can we come in?”.
The hallway suddenly seemed so small and crowded, as we stood in it talking in low voices. Shivering, I pulled my dressing gown around me. Although the heating was beginning to stir, a chill had descended. After some discussion, they went upstairs whilst I sat, motionless at the kitchen table, a million thoughts running through my head. Then, the quiet pad of small feet coming down the stairs. A sleepy little M appeared. “I just saw a policeman going into AJ’s room” he said, “why are they here?”. “I don’t know” I replied truthfully, “I think they are looking for something”. “Where is AJ?” he asked and I thought, I can’t run from this any more. “In a police station,” I replied, “Probably asleep”. He looked at me intently, I suspect deciding whether or not to probe any further. How awful, I thought, that at the age of eleven he has such a grasp of emotion and tension, and such sensitivity to spare others. Too awful. He nodded. It seemed to be enough for him and taking me by the hand he guided us to the sofa. I wrapped him carefully into me, as we listened to the police moving around upstairs. “Will they take Milo Dog?” he whispered.
I had a sudden sense of wanting to be violently sick. “What are they looking for?” little M asked and I replied “I don’t exactly know” and he looked at me uncertainly, as if weighing something up. Then he burrowed his head into my shoulder and we just sat, with our own thoughts, listening to footsteps above us. How complicit he is, I thought, at such a young age. That finely calibrated judgement of when and what to ask, and how far to push it, before you fear the reply that might come. It is one of the great tragedies of families like ours.
They eventually re-appeared carrying sealed bags, “is there somewhere we can go to sign some paperwork?” they asked, looking meaningfully at little M. He was ushered reluctantly back upstairs. A myriad of pink carbon-copy papers, a statement of damage to property, receipts for what was to be taken away, a blur of pen and ink and regret. “Your son seems a nice kid” they said, “very co-operative” – “oh but he is a nice kid” I said, desperate. “He’s never been in this sort of trouble before, he’s not some kind of Mr Big, he’s too disorganised”. They nodded, giving nothing away.
And then they were gone. I wondered if the neighbours had seen them. It must be very bad, I thought, to apply for a search warrant in the middle of the night. Don’t they apply to a magistrate for that? My knowledge of the criminal justice system has largely been gleaned from Police Interceptors, and before that, The Bill. I really have no clue. What could he have done? And why was he over 50 miles away? I thought he was on a sleepover in the next village. I was struck once again at how little I really know, about who my son is and what is really going on in his world.
I took little M back to bed with me, and he fell asleep immediately. I lay there for a couple of hours looking at the wall, and felt……..absolutely nothing. The majority of times, I think the fear of something happening is far worse than the reality. However in this case, reality bit, and hard, yet I felt completely numb with shock. I heard someone say recently “you feel so much, until you feel nothing at all” and it suddenly felt entirely true.
We got up at about 8am and waited. I busied myself with……I don’t know what. My mobile rang, an unknown number. The custody sergeant at Maidenhead, telling me…..what? He’s in custody. I know that. “Is he ok?” I ask, “He’s asleep” she replied, “we monitor all prisoners on CCTV.” Prisoner. I flinched. “Do you know if he’s taken anything?” I asked, “only if he has, he will need to see a medic…..he has this heart thing….” she took details, promising to alert the doctor. She was calm, sympathetic, explained that he would be questioned during the morning and then we could expect him to be released later that day. “Do you have children?” I asked her “no” she replied. “He is a lovely kid” I said, “but he is so suggestible. Vulnerable. Unbelievably stupid”. She made sympathetic if impatient overtones, code for I’ve heard this all a million times.
I felt a blizzard of emotions later that morning, mostly grief mixed with regret. The police had taken away what they described as a burner phone (it wasn’t) and “drugs paraphenalia” (which turned out to be a single cannabis grinder, to be found I imagine in the majority of teenage bedrooms in the land). I didn’t know that at the time. I went over and over it. They clearly thought he was a dealer, why else would they go to court in the middle of the night for a warrant. But really, could that be true? I couldn’t believe it. There were no signs of dealing. He was constantly broke, there were definitely no new designer clothes, and contrary to what the police thought no burner phone. He couldn’t even drive. He was too disorganised to be a dealer, surely. And yet, and yet. I knew by now that I had deceived myself over and over about what was going on under my very nose. Was I the last to know? The police had undoubtedly looked at me with pity, as if I was the most gullible creature they had ever seen.
Over the course of the last five years I have set a myriad of boundaries, each one of which has been systematically broken, usually in a heartbeat. For those people who have not had the experience of a child that has absolutely no regard for anything, including themselves, it is easy to look in from the outside and chirrup on about boundaries. Let me tell you – when you are in it, and you are faced with a child who simply doesn’t even acknowledge that you have spoken – it leaves you little place to go. What is the “or what?”. Way back when, it was about grounding, and setting curfews. About not smoking, not drinking, not smoking weed. I remember someone saying “take away what matters most” – so I tried that with his iphone. He just threw his head back and laughed at me. “Fine” he said, “now you’ll never be able to contact me or know where I am”. I threatened to take his xbox, and he simply said “even less reason to be at home”. Later on, I remember a phase of testing him for drugs. “Why do you bother?” he said, wide-eyed, “you know I’m taking drugs and you know I have no intention of stopping, so why test me?” and I thought, he has a point. What difference does it make? So I stopped, and little by little he backed me into a corner. Boundaries became far in excess of what any other “normal” parent could possibly imagine. I pleaded, “just don’t take ketamine” or “please not xanax” these being two of the substances he reacted so badly to. The come down could last for days. I hear myself pleading some days and it is utterly pitiful. I want to take myself by the shoulders and shake myself until my teeth rattle. It is dehumanising in the extreme.
A friend recently asked me if now he is under investigation for dealing if that is the final boundary breached. I always thought it would be. I always said it was. Maybe it is. But if I ask him to leave surely that leads to nothing other than a life of crime? At some point surely my need to protect myself and his brothers has to come first. Am I the world’s biggest pushover? You might think it would be easy, making these kinds of decisions. It’s not when you’re in it.
Later that day I took the call that he was ready to collect and drove the 50 miles, largely down the motorway to pick him up. I had been given a postcode and when I got there it was not a police station. At least, it didn’t look like one. It was a red brick building, completely unmarked. It looks like a disused office block. I did two complete laps of the building, and found not a single sign or marking anywhere on it. Parking up, I got out and walked towards it. A side door opened and all of a sudden he was ejected out of it, into the afternoon sun, blinking like a mole emerging into daylight. He was dressed head to toe in regulation prison gear, save for his trainers. All at once it was as if he was eight years old again, and despite his 6ft rugby playing frame I saw my little boy. Once so sweet, so engaging, so adorable. And then I stopped and I really looked at him, like really, searchingly looked at him. I wondered where that eight year old had gone and who this was walking towards me. He couldn’t meet my eye. Moving towards me, his step began to falter and all of a sudden he was in my arms, sobbing like a toddler. I put my arms around him and felt……..nothing. Had he crossed a line in my heart? I think it was probably shock – there was a numbness and lack of familiarity – as if I had my arms around a complete stranger. Dissociation again, an overriding sense of not knowing who he was.
We got back to the car and he turned to me. “I’ll never ever put you through this again” he said, “I’m so sorry mum”. I took a moment to arrange my words. “You need not to put yourself through this again” I said, a strange calm descending. “I’ve heard this a million times before, and I am tired of it. Don’t change for me, change for you”. We set back off up the motorway, the silence punctuated by the occasional stifled sob (his). Heading for Thame services, he suddenly said “I’m starving mum, can we get a KFC?” at which point I erupted. “Look at you” I replied “Look how you’re dressed. Have you gone completely mad?”. Silence descended again before he said “Have the police made a terrible mess of my room?”. I looked at him. “Not so’s you’d notice” I replied, “In fact, it’s probably tidier than when you left it”. Then it dawned on me. His lack of maturity, his child-like vulnerability and lack of worldliness, his openness to suggestion. The complete and utter absence of knowing who he is.
We arrived home, where he was met by his two brothers. The Middle One couldn’t meet his eye, he was so furious. Little M asked questions about the police station, but remained largely subdued. AJ went to bed, saying that when all of this was sorted out he was going away. I’ll join the army he said, with no sense of understanding how his fragility would roadblock that.
I was so wired I paced the house like a tiger. I wondered if word had got out, who knew. I went over it all again, his explanation, his stupidity, his vulnerability. My stupidity, my desperation perhaps not to face facts. But were they? It is like standing in a hall of mirrors, where nothing is quite as it seems. Eventually, in the small hours, I gave in to sleep, which came fitfully. Nightmares of having lost him and searching, searching. Never quite getting there. I woke, and it was the day before my 50th birthday.
It is said we are a nation of unhappy people with happy photos. I don’t necessarily buy that entirely, but I understand the sentiment. We none of us know what goes on behind closed doors. Nor will anyone know if you don’t open the door every now and then, to let a little sunlight in. We compare what goes on inside for us with what other people present to the outside world, and no good will ever come of that.
So this is why I’m here, posting this update, almost six months after the event. It’s taken that long to process. Yesterday afternoon I got a call from an unknown number. My heart flipped with fear, as it does every time. “Yes?” I said tentatively. “This is Thames Valley Police. We can’t get hold of your son”. I replied, “Well you won’t will you? You’ve got his phone”. Later on they arrived. I’d had to warn little M they were coming…..”I want to know mummy. I’m old enough to know”. They handed back his phone, and with it, a caution for possession. Finally. Relief that came in a violent, tumbling headrush, an overwheming release of emotion that had been suspended in mid-air. Confirmation that they weren’t bringing charges.
“He’s a nice kid, Mrs Hughes”. And I exhaled for what felt like the first time in six months.
Oh that is good news, no charges! What a huge amount relief you must feel ❤️
I am sending you hope, much love and a few extra hugs.
Keep breathing, keep hoping and stay you.
All we can ever do as a mother, is our best.
Our children, like us learn from their mistakes, but sometimes I think its hard, depending on what’s going on in their heads.
If love can really conquer everything, it will be ok eventually.
I’m sad for you and sad for your boy too.
Keep doing what you do, lovely lady and think of yourself too xxx
Hi Janette. I’m trying to think of me a bit more these days, I’ve realised if I’m on my knees I’m no help to anyone. Thankyou so much, I really appreciate it. Lx
Like you wouldn’t believe!
I read that so quickly Lisa, on the edge of my seat, with you all the way. Heart racing, with that funny feeling at the top of my stomach. I felt you exhale!
Thank you for sharing your stories, written so emotionally.
Some might say it’s good to know that others are going through the same or similar with family members. But it’s sadness and tears from me, that someone else’s young person is in turmoil.
Having young adults who live in a state of confusion and disorder, gives them and us uncertainty for their future and above all causes great anxiety.
Sending love x
Thankyou Chrissie. I know how well you understand all of this, from your own experience. It’s a long old road isn’t it? Take care. Spring is coming…..
What a time you’ve all had. I do think sometimes our children are sent to test us to our limits and beyond.
He does sound like a nice boy as do his brothers so keep doing what you are doing and sod boundaries – take it from me they are like asking a question you don’t want to hear the answer to.
Deep breathes and take care of yourself too.
Best wishes ♥️
Erika
Thanks so much Erika….there’s something about pacing ourselves for the long haul back, hopefully so some form of normality at some point. At least I like to hope so!
Thank you for this post. I don’t know you or your family circumstances but as a mother I can so easily understand your anguish. I feel I can cope with anything if it’s ‘just me’ but god forbid if it’s my daughter or grandchildren. I’d say to anyone (and we are all so friggin quick to judge) ‘walk a mile in their shoes’. Thank you one day at a time.
Thankyou Jacqueline. I know someone who blogs under “walk a mile in my shoes”….it’s so very true x
I have followed you in Instagram for a while and never read your blog. Only as I never seem to have time! This was such an emotional read as I have also been where you are without the police station bit!
My circumstances only changed when my son had such a severe seizure he was put under sedation to save him.
I as a naive child 20 years ago never tried any drugs, maybe a good girl!, but also was never interested.
Now as a naive parent don’t understand why this has become such a trend and it scares me.
I actually live in the same town as you and our oldest children went to school together.
You probably have an amazing support network around you anyway, but never hesitate to get in contact if you need anything. From one mum that knows and feels your fear to another. Xx
Hello Theresa, thankyou for getting in touch! Albeit I’m sorry to hear that we are on similar paths. Like you, I was such a naive young girl. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose so it’s harder I think to try and wrap your head around what’s going on now. Like so many say, I suspect it’s a tougher gig growing up these days, in very many ways. And now I sound about 90! And thankyou for the offer, that is so kind. Take care!
My goodness me Lisa, so honestly written and raw emotion.
I did cry!
As mothers we do are very best and hope and prey for our children that they make the right choices in life, but only they can do this.
When my 18 year old son told me that his life is black and didn’t see the point of living anymore my world fell down around me, day by day we build a brick and for now that’s what we do.
Much love Lisa and thank you. X
And that’s all we can do Rowena, cling on to hope and keep your horizons short. One day at a time. I’m sorry. I don’t think there can be a harder conversation to have as a mother. Much love x
I’m not sure if I read this in one of your blogs …The strength of my soul was born on the backs of moments that brought me to my knees ….it came to my mind as I was reading this ……
Hi Sharon
I don’t think you did read it hear but I love it, thankyou. So true.
I exhaled so loudly I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath.
I have a nephew like your son and after years of holding our breath he’s found himself.
For those of us who love him deeply and know what a caring, loving and nice person he is .To watch him do and be the despicable person he was, made us all question where we had gone wrong.
But we are born with free will and he made his own choices.
Your story resonates and is a powerful reminder that although someone’s life looks enchanted it’s not.
Hi Susan
So glad to hear your nephew has come out of the other side. It’s unbearably hard to watch them go through it and now be able to help. Thankyou so much for taking the time to comment, I really appreciate it x
Well done Lisa for continuing to just put one foot in front of the other. X
Sending you huge hugs. As you say, we never know what goes on behind closed doors. 💖
Wrapping you in my thoughts Lisa. You write so well, your blog is so honest and emotive, I feel a sense of your pain and termoil. Hoping the past six months have been better X
Hi Kim. Thanks so much, so kind of you to say. It makes a real difference to hear that. Lx
Hi Lisa
I have a sister who was taking drugs and she got into hard drugs ( she’s got 3 kids ) heroin and crack . Her kids saw things they should never have . She started dealing , there was no food in her cupboards , she would come to me
And beg for money for food for the girls ,,, which after months I found out was going straight to the dealers .. so I started to give her food parcels , she ended up in very bad circumstances and eventually absconding to Ireland after a court case , 7 years later after an appeal on Crime Watch , both her and her partner were extradited to the Uk and both sent to prison . My parents stood by her and said she was easily led ! She was the bloody leader !
Years later she’s clean he’s clean and they are living their best lives . But the carnage along the way was horrendous.
You’ve got a long battle ahead , and I know what that feels like not as a mum but as a sister .
I wish you strength and more strength . Julie xxx
Hi Julie. Gosh I am so sorry to hear all of that. What a terrible worry for you and your parents, and added stress for you too of watching your parents dealing with it. It affects so many lives, like an unwanted ripple effect. Glad to hear you are out the other side of things. Take care x
That’s such good news.
I too exhaled when I read the end.
Sending love x
Thankyou so much!
You write so beautifully about something so harrowing. There but for the grace of God or whoever you believe in. As you say, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors. Hope you all find peace.
Thankyou Carol. And yes, it could be any one of us. Turns out it’s many of us, we just don’t talk about it. It’s very hard.
I want to wrap you in a hug. Reading this I realise this was so nearly our story. I’m so pleased you can exhale x
Thankyou Kate. I’m glad you dodged it, or at least to this extent. Take care x
I used to think it was just me living this nightmare,whilst presenting a smiling front to the world. I wasn’t alone it seems and now, although we are through the other side, I still hold my breath waiting for it all to come crashing down.
You are so brave to be able to tell these truths, I cannot bring myself to do this. All the best Lisa ❤️
Thanks Cathy. I’m sorry to hear you’ve been down this road but so good to hear you are through the other side. I hope we get there. You are so kind, I really appreciate it x
You leave me lost for words. Always. Every time. But I want to say something so here I am saying nothing. X
Hey you. Thankyou. You are lovely x
I’m so glad you’ve had some good news. Thank you for sharing your story and your brilliant, powerful writing xx
Thanks Val, I really appreciate that. It keeps me going!
Oh I’m so glad to hear no charges being brought…but also how devastating it even happened in the first place. Is he getting any help from anywhere? I feel so bad for you all. I’ve not been on here in a while as my life is a hectic shitty shit show at the minute but I’m sending big love, big hugs, huge support and lots of luck your way xxxxx
Hi there
Sorry to hear things are rough at the moment. I hope it resolves before too long. He’s on a waiting list for talking therapy and (mostly) taking meds, so better than where we have been. Thankyou so much, hug gratefully received!
Sending you love
My son was arrested aged 17 for possession and drunken behaviour, and because of his age I was present when he was cautioned after a night in the cells. I felt like I didn’t know him any more, this was the beginning of 7 years of us both living on the edge, his behaviour and my fear. I had a partner who had no tolerance and I had to hide the truth from him. I was caught between the two. It was hell. Things are ok now for my son, he has a loving partner and his own home, and I hope that maturity has won out. But every so often I see glimpses of the fine line that he treads with his mental health and I realise that it has never really gone away.
Thank you for sharing, I still find it hard to talk about x
Hello. I think it is really hard to talk about it. Saying things out loud somehow makes it more real. I’m so sorry you’ve been through all of this, but it is so positive to hear that he’s in a better place. And what about you? Hope you are finding your way towards some peace. Take care and thankyou. x
My heart aches for you and other parents going through this. When your 16 year old looks at you and says “Mom, do what you need to, I am still going through that window at night;” you feel so confused and self-doubting. There is nothing you can do or threaten that will make a wayward child suddenly conform to regular teenage kid behavior (as you know, with the iphone and xbox threats). Other parents won’t understand this and even 99% of the readers of this very article are secretly sure that this wouldn’t have happened in their home. That 16-year-old is now a 24-year-old, still living at home, working, but not yet to be trusted with his own money. He now bears the pain of watching all of his younger siblings and cousins grow and pass him up in every way: college, jobs, etc. while he has remained in his mother’s house working here and there and netflix binging. He is smart but unable to do what he needs to do to be a self-sufficient young man and the pain, as a parent, is unbearable. He has always expressed that someday he will get himself sorted, but as he gets closer to 30, the opportunities for doing so will be less and less. As you said though–and to all those who think we are coddling them and that they just need tough love–kicking them out of the house would not lead to sudden self-sufficiency and responsibility, but to a life of crime. We are told to find happiness in our lives but truthfully, a mother can only be as happy as her most struggling child. I am so very sorry you and your other children have to bear this. I pray that he (and my son) will find their way to a better way of living.
I hope so too Marie. I’m so sorry. Gosh they do sound in a very similar place. So hard to watch and wait isn’t it? Possibly the biggest hardest challenge of my life. And yes, I can’t think how many times people have inferred that this wouldn’t have happened on their watch. You just can’t begin to understand unless you’ve been in it. It is a hideous club to be a member of. Much love to you x
I’m glad for you it must be a weight lifted. I totally hear you having had the phone call myself in similar circumstances (not drugs but a criminal offence) in a foreign country. I dread unknown phone calls & even ones from my son sometimes. They are all good kids, they are just learning how to be good adults and trip up occasionally but boy do they put us through it too! Thank you for your honest writing, so true, no-one knows what goes on behind those doors x
Hi Nicola
I wonder if that dread of the phone ringing will ever go away? I hope so. I’m sorry you’ve been in it. Take care x
The challenge moving forward, will be to see him as a grown man, no longer the little boy. It’s the biggest heartbreak as the mother of an addict, mine being a dealer and purveyor of havoc. I’m 20 years in, he’s 40 now. And just this year, I’ve begun to hold him accountable as I would any 40 year old. It’s been incredibly painful but necessary. Natural Consequences is now our new religion here and the consequences are swift and just. I just need to stay out of Her way. My heart is with you. 💗
And mine with you Julie. 20 years? That made me shudder. I’m so sorry. Would love to chat sometime. Lx
I’m sat here crying on the other side of the world, knowing that you’ve been in a dark place for a while and not knowing why. Although l do know why because I read your blog and I read between the lines. In my own world of escapism and smiling photos.
In the end I gave a big sigh of relief because I know along with all the other Mums that he’s a good kid. I live in fear that my good kid who is just like your Milo will end up being the Sheep of the family and all we can do is be a voyeur to his journey. Fingers crossed it never happens but it happens to more families than we will ever know. You are not alone and for now we can all breathe a sigh of relief with you. Xxx
Thankyou Lucy. I sometimes think it takes one to know one – we kind of figure out as you say between the lines – what is not said as much as what is said. We are a wretched club of parents, but as you say there are so many more than we know. Muddling along. Take care and much love x
Extreme parenting takes you to places that you wish you had never been. The invisible thread that a lot of parents take for granted turns into a rope that suddenly starts to strangle you as you try to drag your young person back into safety.
Boundaries – makes me laugh.
I remember speaking with Camhs – they said I changed policy for adopted children in my county. I paid a price for it & continue to pay as does my youngest.
Boundaries & trauma – an interesting subject. Nowadays I can smell trauma at 100 yards & in our ‘enlightened’ society, I wonder how many adults are aware of how many youngsters spent Christmas Day on their own in supported living.
The nothingness & dissociation, all trauma based but the neural connections can rewire.
I will never give up & I will always advocate for young people. It can be a hard cruel world & the cards are dished out randomly.
Where did childhood go I regularly ask myself :s
Sending you kindness, peace & the ability to breathe without the strangle hold.
Gosh Deborah so many truths in what you have written here, thankyou. I’m interested that you say the neural connections can rewire – that gives me some hope. It’s only recently that I have come to recognise much of what I sit with as trauma – helpful in a way to name it and then think about what I can do to find me again, so thankyou. Much love
Dear Lisa, have missed your previous blogs and am just now catching up … I’m so very sorry you’re going through this. I wish you boundless strength.
Thankyou Suzy x
The part about M wondering if they were going to take Milo Dog away is unbearable. I can’t stand it.
I know. It was one of those moments.