Another Emergency Call in the Middle of the Night

I can feel my brain rejecting the faint ringing of a cellphone. Somewhere far away in the middle of the night a call is coming in. Perhaps the noise will just go away in a minute.

Instead the volume increases louder and louder as I realize the phone is next to me. I shoot up from bed, fortunate not to hit the low cabinet above my head in the RV. I reach for my phone and see that a 303 number is calling at 1:30am.

Something is wrong.

I answer the phone with as much groggy composure as I can muster. What is it? One of our kids? A parent? Has someone died?

A woman responds on the other end. She is with the Lakewood police department. The crisis response unit. She is looking for information on the whereabouts of one of our children who has mental health struggles.

The phone cuts in and out as I relay bits and pieces of information. I don't have an address. I don't know the current whereabouts of my adult child. I have no clue what is going on. I learned long ago that I have to trust God with my children's whereabouts.

It's been about four years since we started receiving emergency calls. Sometimes they are in the middle of the day, but quite frequently they are in the middle of the night. Each time we are careful to respond as best we can.

Sometimes the call means a trip to the ER, a friend's house, a homeless shelter, close relatives, or some other random place that set the scene for old wounds to expose themselves.

The officer concluded the call by letting me know she would follow up if needed. Basically, no news would be good news.

I spent some time browsing through multiple Facebook pages until I could dig deep enough to find our child on some friend of a friend of a friend's page. I learned some other information that was hard to swallow in the process.

I sent a message, not really expecting a response. When one came through almost instantly, I rejoiced. Being in a safe place was most important right now.

A little banter back and forth revealed all would be okay... eventually... for now...

I laid in bed thinking of all the calls over the years. I wasn't expecting them to continue after 18, but here we are. And for that I'm thankful. Thankful to be recognized as my child's parent. Thankful to get a little information about my child when so little is communicated with us.

I'm also thankful that this call will not lead to another case worker investigating yet again the condition of our home, our parenting methods, our friends and family, and so on. Those days are over, praise the Lord. We made it.

But I do prayerfully consider my children's future. I wish things could be different right now. I continue to be patient and thankful for the precious moments we shared. I'm looking forward to their 30's, and maybe even their 40's. Growing up takes a while. I know it did for me.

If you struggle with an adult child communicating with you, I'm so sorry. It's hard not to know what is happening with our children. And on that note, I should probably stop writing now and go call my mom.