I'm supposed to be working. I am sitting in a coffee shop, trying to work, but anxiety about the teenager keeps wafting through...distracting me.
He has now flown two coops in less than 3 months, so I guess I can't really take it all too personally. We tried the disciplined approach. His grandparents tried the patient/indulgent approach and none of it worked. The moral of the story? Sometimes things need to run their course.
It's the anticipation that kills me. I am aware that he may choose to sleep on his friends' floors for a week, to remain in a chemically-induced stupor for as long as he can, but one day this insular existence will end. Whether he wears out his welcome, blows through his stash, or, by some miracle, wakes up and realizes it's time for reckoning, it will end. How and when are the questions that churn in my gut. At least he's not driving...
Still, I know that worrying won't change the outcome. All I can do is wait. No matter how long the hours and days might seem now, they will be tiny nothings in the grand scheme of things. One day this will be behind us. In the meantime, we all have to keep moving forward...it's all we can do.
**Special note, that Jason Mraz song was playing in the coffee shop when I started writing this. Now it's "Someone to Watch Over Me." Signs from the universe? I think so.