Thursday Morning

I'm not going to publish this until after Frankie leaves. I figure it is kinder to you all to let you have the whole story at one time.

8:00am
We woke up late this morning (nearly 7:00am), which wasn't a problem for me or Frankie as I was planning on working at home and he is being picked up at 9:00am. It did mean that the rest of the family ran around like crazy and there wasn't much time for sentimentality. He has been saying sadly that he will miss everyone. He even hugged me last night. He looked like he wanted to get close for a real hug, but could not tolerate that much physical closeness.

We got just about everything packed last night. I keep finding odds and ends which I will put into the bags. everything he owns is in three suitcases, two duffel bags, and four largish boxes. NO BAGS. I understand why garbage bags must sometimes be resorted to. When I have moved I have packed a good deal of things in garbage bags myself. When Evan moved into the dorms I saw a lot of kids with things in garbage bags. On the other hand, for kids who tend to feel like they themselves have been thrown away ... well suitcases (which he brought with him) and study boxes are better. Fortunately I am usually able to get good boxes on very little notice at work.

I kept trying to persuade him to separate out the things that I knew he was allowed to take to the center. He wouldn't. I know where they are though, so he can dig them back out again if he is calm. He has his MP3 player out so that he can listen to it in the car, but he will not be allowed to take that.

Last night in the car I said, "You know how David and Evan have moved out but are still part of the family?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you are moving out A LOT sooner than we expected but..."
"I'm still part of the family?"
"Yes. I doubt you will live with us again, but I want to be in your life. You are still part of our family."

I happen to know that the plan for him after some months is to send him out on short stays with foster families. They would like to find him more than one that he can visit regularly. I told the social worker than I can't make that decision for the family, but when they are ready to do that, they should call us.

9:45
The man from the center showed up. Frankie raged. He banged disks into the table, leaving scratches.

I told him that I wanted him to know why he was leaving. I had to get him to stop and re-start my sentence more than one but I finally got out the words "After you hurt your hand on Sunday I knew I couldn't keep you safe."

And what he concluded was that I was "in on it." I did not deny it. I told him several times that everything I did was to keep him safe.

And he yelled and said that he wanted a home, not a rat hole. Everyone had lied to him.

An hour ago he hugged me awkwardly and quickly, smiled and said that he would miss me.

Five minutes ago he left the house without his shoes because he was too distressed to look for them and the ones he had left out were suddenly not good enough to wear. He walked out the door saying, "Thanks a lot Yondalla!" (Not nicely of course). He climbed into the back of the car, turned to look out the window, and gave me the finger.