A year ago I found out that my youngest child had been accused of having child pornography. He told me not to worry, and said it was no big deal, just a former roommate that had accused him unjustly.
Two months ago I found out he had accepted a plea deal.
Yesterday they took him to prison.
There's no way to describe the utter pain I feel. The shining future that I envisioned for my son is no more. He will be required to register as a sex-offender. He will be restricted from using computers and the internet, and will not be able to be in any position of authority over potential victims. I don't know if he has a problem or it was a stupid teenage mistake. I don't know if I want to know. I've looked back over his childhood, asking myself if there was any sign, any clue, and I can't find anything. There's nothing, no hint, not the whisper of a suggestion that this might happen.
It's like a death. I don't know who he is. As his mother, I don't know who I am. What he's done goes against everything I stand for, personally and professionally. I interview juvenile sex offenders every day.
This morning, I interviewed another one. This kid is young, and clearly has some sort of developmental problem. For the first time, I had some insight into the pain and confusion his mother must feel. She is a teacher. She has been raised in a military family. But she held it together. And so did I.
Then at the end of the interview, she asked me what would happen if he was turned down again for treatment. Twice I'd recommended treatment for this child, specifically residential treatment that is specifically designed for childhood sex offenders. The rate of recidivism in juveniles is much lower than that of adults. Get the while they're young, and they're much less likely to ever offend again.
Twice the medicaid administrator in our state had refused to pay for it.
So I told her, if they refuse again, I'll recommend therapeutic foster care. This is when a kid lives with a specially trained family that is paid to care for him and get him to his outpatient treatment. It's actually less expensive then residential treatment, so Medicaid never turns it down.
As I was explaining this to the client's mother, she suddenly slumped and burst into tears, there in the lobby. With my feeling so raw I was beside myself with what to do. I was having a hard time not losing my own control. All I could do was put a hand on her arm and tell her that she needs someone to talk too, too.
Which means, of course, that I need do take my own advice. So I'm back, talking to this blog.
Also, I spent four hours on that kid's report, pouring out all my sadness into the energy I needed to research and carefully word and craft a report that certainly, medicaid would not turn down. And then I turned it in.
Next week, I'll find out if they finally said yes.
