I’m a single mom of four children. As a mother, I want my family to be healthy and my children to be successful. Following my divorce, I was left alone with my kids. I’m doing my best to get by.
I watched my son unravel. He was becoming increasingly disinterested at school, and he got expelled several times. The police even showed up at our door a few times for theft and battery.
Then, one day, everything went sour at home. He started to tell me outrageous things, and I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Aggressive behaviour, verbal abuse, fear, concern over the younger kids… Had I failed at being a mother?
One evening, the night before his 19th birthday, he disappeared, leaving me a note that says, “I love you, mom.” I was beside myself with anguish. What do I do? Where do I look? How do I do all this without neglecting my other children? So, I started to look for him. I searched around the lakes. I didn’t want to believe it, but the idea of my child’s suicide was already there: it kept popping back into my head, and it refused to leave. The media started to get involved. I felt I had lost all my power. And yet, I had to keep working, keep taking care of my three other kids. What was I doing? I was lost. I was crumbling from constant worry.
Ten days later, we finally got news from him. I knew it: he wasn’t well, but he refused to get help. Because of his violent behaviour, we went to live with his dad.
In the summer of his 20th birthday, he came back to live with me. And when I read his telling me he had started to hear voices, everything became a blur. We wondered what could’ve happened, where we could’ve gone wrong, how we hadn’t seen it coming, why this was happening to our boy.
And now that I knew, what was I supposed to do with this? Who could I call for help? How could this have happened?
The first thing we did was make an appointment with his doctor. But it wasn’t for another month and a half. Was my son going to be able to hold on until then?
The next thing was to tell the rest of the family, so they could avoid provoking any aggressive behaviour. We were walking on eggshells. My youngest is hyperactive, and that scared me, too. I was so worried. What were we going to do? Tension was rising at home.
Around that time, he wrote a letter to his 14-year-old sister, telling her he was in love with her and making all kinds of incoherent remarks. She refused to see him. We didn’t know what to do. She ended up staying the night at her friend’s house. My son’s doctor couldn’t see him for another week.
He started to get anxious about not seeing his sister, and I sensed that he was getting closer and closer to the edge. What on earth was going to happen now?
That night, he lost it. He smashed in his bedroom door. I got scared. Very scared. I tried to calm him down, but all I could see in my head were flashes of a news report telling the story of a 20-year-old who killed his mother and 11-year-old brother. It was then I heard the counsellor’s voice telling me to call 911. I told my 11-year-old to go hide, and I started to dial. I didn’t recognize my eldest, and that terrified me. His eyes terrified me. He started threatening my life if I called the police, so I hung up the phone. What was I going to do? I needed help, but who could help me? Everything was crumbling. This wasn’t what I wanted for my child. Suddenly, the phone rang. It was 911 calling back. I couldn’t even speak, so paralyzed was I with fear. I went to hide in the basement, whereas my son left the house in a daze. The police arrived shortly thereafter.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to rat out my own son. But I had to. He needed help, and I couldn’t be the one to give it to him. I was so worried; I didn’t know what to think anymore. I was devastated. He eventually agreed to get help and went to a hospital. I was lost. I had to go tell the rest of my kids, but what was I going to tell them? I didn’t know anything about mental illness.
I needed help myself. I felt alone. I felt like my head was going to explode. One day, I got up and decided I needed to get help. But where was I to look? Where to begin? I had no idea. I didn’t know anything anymore. After several phone calls, I finally got in touch with L’Accolade. It was exactly what I needed. Finally, some help. I was on the brink of depression, and I needed to get out of this. They explained what mental illness was; they supported me in my decisions; they encouraged me to keep going, to recentre and reorganize my life. People need to talk about this.
Now, my son lives with his dad. He’s gotten his life together. He’s on medication. L’Accolade helped me to set my limits, and to make sure I respected them. A healthy child who leaves the home is difficult enough, but when it’s a child with a mental illness, it’s even harder to cut the cord. But you have to let go, let them lead their own lives, make their own decisions and their own mistakes.
L’Accolade was there to help me overcome all these challenges. I went and got the help I needed. I also had the support of my friends, colleagues and family. I couldn’t be more grateful to them.
Today, I’ve learned to accept many things. Despite having a child with mental illness, I know that there is always hope. There will be setbacks, I know, but I now feel ready to take them on. I’m well equipped to take them on. I no longer feel alone.
I know that L’Accolade is always there to help. Thanks to them, I’ve been able to rise above this. Please talk to your friends and family. If you find yourself in the same situation, know that you’re not alone. There are many families going through the same things. Don’t let yourself deal with these fears alone.
Today, the sunshine has once again come into my life. Despite my son’s mental illness, we know that happiness is just around the corner.
A huge thanks to the entire team at L’Accolade. Their help was precious.
Hélène