“You’d think there would be,” Audrey says in a clipped tone as I lift my head and try to compose myself. “California law states minors over twelve can be forced into rehab; however, if a professional determines the child is mature enough to participate in the decision, they often defer to the kid. Most kids don’t want to go to rehab, so they say they didn’t mean it and they’re not addicted. There is a seventy-two-hour emergency hold for a minor if they are gravely disabled, like when there is an acute medical event. I have seen cases where kids have OD’d several times, some were even clinically dead for a short period, and the courts still refused to sanction the hold order or let the parents sign them into rehab. I understand why some of these measures were put in place, but the whole system is wrong. Parents’ hands are really tied in these situations.”
It's not anything Audrey hasn’t told us already. She was the first person we called the morning after the garden incident. What she explained left us feeling so impotent. Powerless to do anything to help our son. At least if there was something we could do, it would feel like we were trying and maybe making some progress. But there is little we can do except sit and watch this unfold—however it’s going to unfold—and it’s killing me slowly.
I feel like I’m dying inside.
My kids are my world, and to know one of them is suffering and in so much pain and I can do nothing to stop it or help him is unbearable. Easton is hurting too, but he’s trying to put a brave face on, and I hate that for him. His feelings matter too, and I’m trying to be there for both my boys, yet I feel like I’m failing them.
There is no rulebook or parental guidebook for dealing with this. Winging it is not in my nature, but we have little choice. We are ambling around in the dark, blind and terrorized, unsure if we’re going the right way or heading toward a black hole we won’t be able to crawl back out of.
“I could try talking to him,” Ash offers. “You know my past. I tried to kill myself, and I regretted it almost instantly. Maybe my experience might help.”
“I don’t know, Ash.” I swirl the wine in my glass. “It might just put more ideas in his head.” I knock back a mouthful of wine. “Or maybe it would help. Maybe he might open up to someone outside our immediate family.” I shrug because I have never felt more helpless or more clueless. “It’s hard to know what the best thing to do is. We are walking on eggshells around him. Dillon has tried to break down his walls. Out of all of us, he can relate the most to what Bodhi is going through. But Bodhi is angry with Dil too, and he just doesn’t want to hear it. He won’t even go into the studio if his dad is there.”
“Mom.”
We jerk our chins up at the same time, the three of us looking over at Easton standing in the doorway.
“Hey, love.” I force a smile on my face, hating that smiling no longer comes naturally.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Absolutely.” I set my wineglass down and stand.