Forced out of the house

Nearly three weeks ago our sweet little 8 year old son had a melt down at school.  Soon he found himself surrounded by teachers and administrators who cared and were trying to help him calm down. He threatened to do himself bodily harm.  My poor wife was called to the scene.  She called me before going to the school.  My 11 year old son had made suicidal comments and was institutionalized for 3 days earlier this year.

Being ignorant, I suggested she just take my son home and see if he calmed down first.  Talk to him, see what was wrong.  Thankfully, my wife's instincts told her that wasn't enough.  She called a friend with a degree in the mental health field who let her know if she didn't take him for an evaluation the school would have to report us to child protective services.  

While I felt helpless stuck at work over 60 miles away, imagine the emotion my wife must have felt as she spent the day with my 8 year old.  She took him to the local hospital where, after hours of waiting, he had not "calmed down".  He told the mental health professional that he sometimes felt this way - it wasn't just today.  He ended up being admitted to the same facility my 11 year old had been at earlier in the year.  He and my wife had to be transported there in an ambulance - over 60 miles - late at night.  My son's in home counselor went with them.  She helped with the check-in process and gave my wife a ride home.

I think my wife was beginning to sense that we had a problem at that point, but either she wasn't saying anything to me or I wasn't listening.  She and I went to see my son the next day.  We met with his doctor.  He indicated that we should probably be able to come and pick my son up the next day.  

But that isn't what happened.  The next day when my wife called they said they had changed their mind and were going recommending my son be put into foster care.  When she pushed for an explanation, they said he had high anxiety levels due to the stress of social or the family relationship at home - specifically the interactions between my wife and I.

Not wanting to have her son in foster care, she asked if one of us was not in the home if he could return and they said that would be ok.  She then quickly organized an intervention to remove me from the home.  I returned home from work that night knowing nothing of what was going on, went to visit with my church leader because I thought my wife needed to see him, and then found myself being led to a hotel with a backpack - on the 1 year anniversary of my father's death. 

It was a hard pill to swallow.  It was a dark night.  I was battered about in a sea of emotions like a small fishing boat in the perfect storm.  For a brief moment I imagined myself with a noose around my neck and laying in my father's coffin.