So, I find myself in a tough space, mentally. Today I was going to blog about getting Luke on an IEP and to aid in the process I went back and looked over all those emails between myself and his teachers and administrators during his time at WRHS. All. Those. Emails. I type the words “Luke Inwood” into my search box for sent items and the list that is generated is maybe 75 emails long for four years. Maybe more. Stop for a moment and think about how often you reach out to a teacher. Maybe a few times a year? And the older your student gets, maybe not at all. After all, the student is supposed to assume the responsibility of being in contact with their teachers in high school, not the parents. Sigh. That clearly did not happen for my boy.
As I started reading through them, trying to get a sense of the order of events around getting Luke more help, I couldn’t help but notice the tone of my correspondence with everyone involved. I kept apologizing for Luke and whatever had happened – the missing homework, the sleeping, the attitude, the tardiness – whatever it was I was “SORRY“. And I thanked them over and over again for their “continued patience” with our son. And as I read all this I just felt so sick to my stomach. It brought back the desperation I had around trying to fix what was going on with Lukester. If I could just find the right words to make him see how to help himself; if I could just find the right words to help the school understand we were a good family and we wanted to make this situation with Luke better; if I could just find the right words to explain that our Luke was a good boy who for whatever reason was lost and could not figure out how to navigate High School. I never found the right words.
So, today I feel a little lost myself. When you see all that evidence as a whole it is a bit sickening. I read the email I shared above and it feels like I did a whole lot of appeasing and not enough fighting. I feel a lot of guilt over that. I feel a lot of sadness that high school was such a difficult journey for Luke. Those four years are manageable for most kids and each day was a damn trial for ours. Turns out, when you lose a child to suicide, trying to find forgiveness – for yourself, for others, for your baby – is a damn long road. I appreciate your patience.