Goodbye

Fourteen years, four months and two weeks. That is how long I had the privilege of being mummy to him. 

That time began with difficulties and never really changed all the way through. 

We went through a lot together and had a strong bond, could chat about anything and he knew I had his back when needed. 

The early days when he wouldn't take a bottle, didn't want to be held, didn't sleep. Then walking before a year, climbing out of the cot, into a single bed at nine months because it was safer.

The struggles of getting the double buggy up the steep hill to nursery school every day, then to his first school before we moved to safer ground. I remember the days of being stuck in hail stones with no ca r and a double buggy on that hill then arriving back at the house to a steep driveway and steps to the door, never knowing what might greet us.

The move to safety took a few attempts, but I kept him safe each time and always did my best, with support to get us all away. 

Having to fight the headteacher to get him into the english speaking primary school even though, given the reason we had moved, she was less than enthusiastic. Arguing with the SENCO that I felt he had additional needs but she just said he was naughty. Every day dealing with the racing off on the scooter on the mile walk to school, then being called in for a minute at the end of the days before dealing with the meltdowns every single day. 

I tried every single activity available for him. Some ended when he distracted the leader, others with a fight. Some he was bored and acting dangerously (swimming!) and others just not for him at all.

As he got a little older the bullying began. He would pick one person to be friends with and not cope with others playing with them. He would mistake the bullying for people being his friend and only when they were at ur house or when I could hear did we know what was really going on. Getting the third school to deal with the bullying wasn't easy because the family were huge and the town small. 

Our biggest move of all was down to him. He picked the house and location we went to. We packed the house up together, unpacked together and set our new home up. I found activities and groups before we even moved in, planned to hit the ground running for the children.

The CAMHS appointments when they refused to commit to anthing, sending us round in circles with paperwork. Pushing for meetings higher up the threshold of need, trying to find someone who could see his needs. Noone listening. Even up to children in need level, still the only offer was sport sessions. Sports always ended with trouble. Either he had cheated, lost or someone hadn't followed the rules and he couldn't cope with that.

Going to a private centre for an assessment of his needs. First a private multi disciplinary team to assess for autism, pathological demand avoidance, adhd. Then a private occupational therapist to look for sensory issues.

The diagnoses were a terrible shocl but they made perfect sense too. I worry for him that where he is now, they don't accept the diagnoses at all and blame me for it all. That won't help him.

I found perfect places for him to go- therapeutic activities with lots of physical exercise to burn off some energy and keep him calm. He was excelling at them and we evn found an educational provision that catered to all his needs too. 

Each time I asked social services for help they were useless.

First time. We were sent an early help worker. She came into the house, spoke to us all, looked at everything i had done for him and said I had done her job for her.

Second time. They wanted to put us in early help again but i complained. I shouted and fought for him until we got a children in need meeting with all the relevant people together. Still no help.

Third time. Final time. They said it was a safeguarding issue. I had to get everyone safe. So I had to separate him from those he had hurt and scared. By the time the social worker arrived it was too late. She twisted everything, said he was somewhere safe now and that was that. He should stay there.

We had two more chances to get the help we needed for him. We could get him into temporary foster care if the people he was stying with said he couldn't stay there- but they wouldn't say that. Then the lawst slither of hope went when he told me he didn't want to come home anymore.

Now he doesn't want to visit, doesn't answer my calls or messages. There is no relationship there at all.

I cannot put into words how painful it is. It is a physical pain. I am constntly fighting back tears. 

There have been daily issues with ignorant messages from the biological father (please note here that he didn't go to live with him- unbelievable). Name calling, game playing, mind games. 

Emails about his EHCP which I had fought for over the last nine months. It is too late now.

Today his boxes of belongings were collected by the courier. 

Fourteen years, four months and two weeks all inside a handful of boxes.

My heart is breaking and I don't see how this will ever be ok.

The end