On Tuesday we went to visit a place that has accepted Big Guy. It has one huge advantage: he would be able to continue at his current school if he goes to live there. There are other advantages, too, namely that it's close enough that we could monitor his mental health, and visit frequently. I won't go into the disadvantages.
Yesterday I met with Big Guy's therapeutic team, and they agreed that this is probably our best option. No one thinks it's a fabulous option, but it's better than the worst one, and better than the next-worse one, and hey -- it does have some advantages. In the world we've been inhabiting for the last three months, that sounds pretty good.
I have been holding this information in my heart, pondering it, savoring it, trying it on for size. After months of being at sea, it is hard to find my land legs again. Part of me feels free, exhilarated by being out from under the rock of not-knowing what to do, or what it's even possible to do. Part of me is terrified, grieving for my son, hoping desperately that this will help him.
We're not sure of the exact timing yet, but it looks like Big Guy will move to the new place within the next ten days. He did not entirely dislike the facility. Yet the reality that he will not be living at home is hard for him. He was so fragile this afternoon that for a while I wondered if he'd be spending the interim in the hospital.
And so we move on.