My son mentioned this in our online chat last night. I should probably clarify by starting at the beginning:

Apparently, his caseworker told him that I “knew” he’d been online until all hours, and exactly what he’d searched for, as well as the contents of his emails. So he changed his passwords. Now no one can monitor his Internet use, since it seems his foster parents have zero restrictions on the computer.

And it’s awfully nice to know that the state sanctions the viewing and transmission of pornography. You know, even though it’s against the law and all.

At any rate, he said he wanted a visit – at a restaurant. Fun. Then he asked what information I had obtained on his Internet usage. I told him I might, or might not, have anything incriminating, and that he’d just have to wait until the trial on July 7th. He said he “didn’t do anything wrong”, so therefore I must have nothing.

After our brief messaging session, he called me and asked, again, what I had “on him”. I responded with the same line: he’d have to wait to find out; I also mentioned that, since he said he’d done nothing wrong that he must not have to worry about it. After a few choice words, he told me not to bother to come to the meeting on Friday.

Fast forward to last night. He asked if I was coming on Friday, and I said yes. He said I’d told him I wasn’t – conveniently forgetting that HE had told me not to come. Sigh.

He wanted to know if he was in trouble.

He wanted to know what I “had” on him.

Again. I told him that since he claimed not to have done anything wrong, he shouldn’t be so worried. Again.

He asked about the potential trial outcome, and accused me of trying to get rid of him. In spite of the fact that he’s said, several times, that he wants to remain in foster care.

I told him, again, my “bottom line”: that he recant, apologize, and abide by our rules.

He said he would apologize. To me and to his dad. For what had happened.

I was rather flabbergasted. I thought that surely all the stress and strain would finally be worth it, that my son had finally developed a conscience, that he really did care about us and loved us, and that he could come home.

It didn’t last. The conversation quite deteriorated from this point.

His belief, quite erroneous, is that he was removed from our home because he and I argue a lot and that we don’t get along.

In fact, he was removed from our home because, over the past couple of years, he has refused to do schoolwork, refused to follow our simple rules, refused to obey the law, refused to accept help. He was removed by his own actions, his seeming inability to tell the truth, to distinguish truth from fiction, property damage, and violence.

I told him that was the wrong answer to my question of why would he apologize, and for what…. He said it couldn’t be wrong, because it was an apology. Um, no – he told me he WOULD apologize, but he didn’t actually do it.

Then, without further ado, he went right back to his theme of “so, what do you have on me?”

“Tell me.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’m curious.”

My every response was “no, you’ll have to wait.”

So we’re stuck, again. He has not changed, he was only saying he’d apologize in order to get me to admit to having evidence; and his apology was apparently not going to include any admission of his own horrible behavior and his guilt.

I really do think this is the last hope I had. It’s the closest he’s come to at least acting like a normal, loving, caring individual. I don’t know what else is left.

You may be asking yourself, “What in the world is going on with the teenager?” or you may be saying, “Thank goodness, she shut up about that!” Well, for the latter group of folks, too bad, here it comes….

The caseworker called me last Monday. Wanted to confirm our meeting on Tuesday. Problem is that she hadn’t scheduled a meeting for Tuesday, or any other day. She said the purpose was to “see where we are and where we’re going” and to find out if I “needed” anything from her.

Hmmm. Well, we’re still in the same spot; we aren’t “going” anywhere. And I sure as heck don’t “need” anything from her! Haven’t they “given” me enough? So I said, nope, no meeting, totally not necessary.

Next, she wanted to confirm the rescheduled family team meeting. That’s the one where we all (the usual gang) sit around and discuss the above: where we are, where we’re going, blah, blah, blah. Lovely. Can’t wait.

But, hold on! You can’t confirm, again, something that one wasn’t informed about in the first place, right? So how is this a confirmation, if the original meeting had been scheduled after court on Friday, and she’s just calling me on Monday? Interesting.

The upshot is, oh joy, that we get to go to this on the coming Friday. Yippee.

Oh, and we’ve had no visits since May 29. The caseworker said it’s on me to let her know when I want a visit, and on my son, if he wants to come. I want him to want to come, but he doesn’t. In fact, when I asked, he said he’d see us, but not at home. He wanted me to drag his dad out and about when he’s recovering from a cancer diagnosis and surgery, rather than sit in our living room for an hour. How’s that for compassion?

Court last week, by the way, was continued. Finally, and at the last minute. ‘Cause the court needed to be convinced that my husband, who’d had a kidney removed on June 1st, was still in too much pain and taking medication a mere twelve days later.

So we move on to “family” therapy, which so far has included just me and my son. Half the family, really. And this was our last session. Thank goodness.

That means we’re all healed, right? Ready for that elusive, undefined “family reunification”, right? Wrong.

Therapy is over for several reasons. First and foremost, probably, is that I’m tired of it. I’m tired of jumping through the state’s hoops, and dancing to my son’s tune – not to put too many metaphors on this. I’m tired of him lying, and being so unconcerned with his family, and being such a snot. I wouldn’t take this from anyone else, so why should I put myself out there and try to fix something that is only broken when he is involved?

HE is the one who needs to be “fixed”. Apparently, the state is not even going to try, however, because they claim they cannot find a therapist or counselor who accepts Medicaid. Even though my son is carried on our Blue Cross insurance. And even though, in about a two-minute Google, I found FOUR therapists, either near us or near where my son is living, who do indeed accept Medicaid. Now, if the state licenses these folks, why can’t they find them?

And, of course, therapy has ended because my son has stated that he’d rather be in foster care than at home. He told me, too, that his foster parents are “better parents” than we’ve ever been.

So the choice to end this farce was mine. I take full responsibility for that, although my son agreed that therapy was not working. He doesn’t want to come home. Bottom line is that there are, yes, conditions for that to happen: he needs to recant his lies, he needs to apologize to everyone involved, and he needs to follow the rules. It seems that wasn’t going to work for him, so he elected to remain where he is, with his fake parents instead of those who love him and miss him and want to help him.

Court is coming soon, July 7. The outcome will seem almost anti-climactic.