Opening the Door to Home

"Son," he said. "Grab your things, I've come to take you home." - Peter Gabriel, Solsbury Hill

I've just opened two emails. The first is a huge attachment of paperwork outlining everything from school goals to personal hygiene recommendations. The second is an airline ticket. Correction: two airline tickets.

This swirl of information comes just as I finished rearranging the furniture in the house and my office. I needed to do something other than write or think about what the next few months will hold for us.

It is good. It is also overwhelmingly frightening.

My heart going boom, boom, boom.

We'll Let Go the Dark...

It's no secret that this blog has for years represented an extension of my inner thoughts concerning Wolf, Bear, Yukon and I. Mostly, anyway.

But lately...well, lately blogging about Wolf has become less an outlet than a chore, but something, I recently found out, that is not all bad.

Wolf is still struggling mightily; some violent episodes of self-harm a few weeks ago left everyone involved scratching our heads and wondering what, if anything, could we do to help he and we survive the rest of his life. Of course I only slightly panicked at the idea of nobody in Alaska accepting Wolf for independent living, and of course I managed to pull it back together when Therapist J. called to run down the latest laundry list of odd behaviors.

But here's what happened, next.

Therapist J., a longtime professional in the world of troubled teenage boys, said something that probably should have been said four years ago when Yukon traveled 3,000 miles to deliver Wolf to the first residential facility.

After calmly stating the most recent incidents, and reiterating his belief that Wolf is indeed choosing many of these behaviors and not exibiting an organic reason for them, Therapist J was silent for a second on the telephone in Colorado. Then he said, "It's time to focus on what you have there, and let us focus on him, here. Wolf is safe, he is loved, he is cared for, here. What you need to do now is let your husband love you, care for you and your other son, and let go."

Let go. Let it go. Let him go.

My life has been defined by the past, present, and future of Wolf, and someone just offered me a gift of doing all the worrying and fretting and hand-wringing for me. Focus on what is good, and let them deal with the bad.

Love Wolf as simply as that, because finally someone told us they have our backs.

Amazing, and freeing. It will be interesting to see where this takes Elituq: She is Learning.

From the Wolf Den: Quick Update

Today was Team Treatment Review Day, where I sit on one end of the phone lines and listen to the Team, and Wolf, talk about his month's progress and goals.

After a pretty smooth few weeks, I was interested to see how things had progressed, especially since Yukon was present for family therapy last week while I was at a meeting.

Wolf has reached Level II at Mountain High Facility, big time cool! He has done extremely well, reached his goals between 80-98% of the time, and seems to be happy. Yes, friends, Wolf is happy. Whoa. He's worked really hard, so Yukon and I are planning a trip at the end of April to see his smiling face and buy him a graduation present to satisfy his voracious reading appetite.

Any guesses?

From the Wolf Den: School Days, School Days....They Will Go On a Bit Longer

I always seem to get phone calls from people related to Wolf's current educational cause who want me to drop everything I am doing, RIGHT NOW, and talk over the endless set of issues about getting this kid graduated from high school.

Today I wanted to scream. And cry. And almost did both, but only ended up doing one. Those of you who know me best will know.

After hours of calling, researching, and cleaning the bathrooms (I do chores when I'm on the phone; it keeps me focused. Usually, however, I fold laundry or empty the dishwasher. Today felt like toilets), Yukon and I decided that it would not be in Wolf's best interest to shuttle him to Alaska for a three-day intensive of test-taking, beginning (get this) April 2.

Reasons were many, and took me a bit of time to create a list for the cadre of interested parties:

1. The boy would have to fly back to Alaska alone, unless one of us flew down to get him. Expensive and stressful, no matter the mode of travel and directness of flight.

2. Wolf has not been to our home except for one short day last summer. He has not slept in our house since 2008. We haven't yet even approached the subject of appropriate behavior inside the family unit. I cannot imagine how that could jive with a stressed-out 18 year-old who is beyond nervous at taking a test.

3. We'd have to pay for Wolf to fly here, and return to Denver. Uh, wow. I didn't exactly budget for that this spring.

4. He's not ready. Emotionally, mostly. He can pass the test with flying colors (8th grade level of material, so I've been told), but emotionally? Goodness, we have a bunch of work to do, there.

Wolf has every chance of succeeding and receiving his diploma, and we'll help him get it. But not until the school district administers the exam again, in October. We advocated for this, since Wolf is not on the fast track to higher learning, just yet. What he is on is a wonderful path of self-assurance, independence, and social practices.

Way, way more important than a piece of paper handed out in May.

We're going to give him his own "family graduation" however, and it's gonna be great.

He's earned it.

It is Done, Should We Send Announcements? Update From the Wolf Den

As Yukon, Bear, and I were departing Nesbitt Courthouse in downtown Anchorage yesterday, a funny feeling of anticipation welled up inside my shaken mother-body. I'm not exactly sure how to explain it, but with the banging of the magistrate's gavel at 11:24 a.m., Yukon and I entered into a brand new world of parenting. A birth, of sorts.

Of course we're still Wolf's mom and step-dad; that sort of relationship will never change, as it will never change for any of us. Parents are parents no matter how old our kids grow to be. But this is different. Somebody is telling us, and him, we are in charge. Now, and for the duration of our lives.

We fill out a form for a birth certificate a day or so after our children are physically born to us, usually in the hospital. Yesterday's stack of forms felt the same, but attached was an overwhelming sense of relief (and anxiety) that Wolf has to rely on us for guidance in his near and far future (at least, for now).

Remember when you walked in the door with your newborn and just sort of stared at him or her, unsure of what exactly to do next? We feel that way today; carrying this new responsibility around with us the same as if it were a 7lb baby. It's crazy.

We're now (re) parents to a 6' 2", 167lb 18 year-old.

Guardian: An Update From the Wolf Den

The clock has tick-tocked its way from 1994 to 2012. According to the United States of America, that means Wolf is an adult. But we know he is not.

According to the Selective Service, he is required to register, as an adult. But, we know, he will never serve.

According to the University of Alaska Anchorage, and a wide range of other instutitions of higher learning, he is soon to be a college freshman. But we know, right now, he will not.

Tomorrow, we are hopeful that the Superior Court of the State of Alaska will agree, and grant Yukon and I guardianship of our adult (but not) son.

Hoops have been jumped through, volumes of reports have been written, conversations have occurred, and tears have ensued. The ramifications of what we are about to do are not lost on us; we understand that with one sweep of a pen, the presiding judge will, in effect, take away many of Wolf's independent, adult rights to choose his own life's direction, at least for now. He will be on the phone to hear this.

The appointed Court Visitor asked, during our initial phone conversation, why I wanted to pursue guardianship. With all due respect, I replied, I don't think any parent would "want" to take away the rights of their adult child, necessary or not.

I don't want to do this, I said. But after 18 years of trying to raise a disbled child, there is one thing I have learned:

It's not ever going to be about what I want.

From the Wolf Den: Educating and Graduating, or Not

I've spent the day on my laptop, clickety-clacking away in the hope that someone in the Alaska educational field would be able to tell me how to graduate my kid.

Wolf has successfully (or, almost so) completed his credits for high school. A decided advantage to having a child in residential care is the commitment to year-round schooling, because these facilities (as opposed to mainstream school districts) know structure is master where education is involved. So, even though Wolf has had myriad false starts on many a school day, he nonetheless has gathered up enough credits at various residential institutions to, in theory, graduate. But there is one problem.

Alaska is a state with an "exit exam" that actually proves a student's aptitude. While I have many reservations about the whole program for a number of unrelated reasons, I also have several specific questions about how a child who has never attended an Alaskan high school could possibly be expected to take a test about which he knows nothing. Or, at least, not what other Alaska kids have been tutored to pass.

Wolf left the Anchorage School District in 8th grade; moved to a parochial school, he attended September through May, then moved down to CHYC in Utah; after which began the second tier of behavioral health madness.

Nobody seems to have an answer for me; Wolf continues to be the conundrum of education, just as he was for state behavioral health social workers.

Perhaps by the time he is 21 we shall have an answer.

Perhaps.

Occupy Wolf

Today my oldest child turns 18. I, like so many other parents whose children are now considered by the world to be clinical adults, am greeting this day with joy and sorrow. Mostly joy, though.

I thought of the People -

People who have walked beside us these past 18 years, witnessing the arrival of this incredible kid and becoming immersed in his physical, spiritual, and emotional growth. You are the people who have put up with pushy playdates, biting, running off, and an inappropriate mouth. You are the angels who have picked up our son from the gritty soil and placed him gently in the arms of other angels. Some of you, I have never met in person. Thank you.

People who have been the cornerstones of "practicalities." Things like school, medical appointments, or insurance approvals. You have been the ones to say "yes" when everyone else said "no." The teacher who spent three afternoons a week personally tutoring Wolf, the counselor who cried when we relayed a story about the circumstances around his birth, the Alaska utilization reviewer who fought hard for Wolf's current arrangement. You believed me. You believed in him. Thank you.

People who have never met Wolf. Not once. But you car for our younger son when Yukon and I must travel far away; you go like mad to keep up with me when I just need to get outside and run the feelings of despondency away; you light candles, pray, contemplate, or simply sit in support of our family. You send me notes, texts, and wine. Thank you.

That's an Occupy with staying power.

From the Wolf Den: IT.

This weekend I've done just about everything I can to avoid doing what I really should.

Actually, I should have done it a few years ago.

But here I am, sitting at the big family table with way too many chairs for the three of us and crumbs underneath Bear's seat (see how distractable I am?), staring at a pile of papers with such words at the top like "IN THE SUPERIOR COURT FOR THE STATE OF ALASKA" and official-looking lines and numbers and acronyms I don't want to read.

Today is December 18, 2011. I know this because I've written it at least five times so far on two sheets of paper.

In 20 days my son will be 18. Tomorrow, Yukon and I will troop the State of Alaska Court System and file a Petition for Guardianship.

IT.

I've visited with our attorney, I've listened to the fantastic staff at Mountain High School (who really pushed us this last time to get the legal bowling ball rolling). I get it, I really do. Wolf does not have the capability to make decisions regarding his current and future level of care to help him succeed as an adult. He thinks he can leave MHS the day of his birthday, despite what really will happen (nothing). We must do this. Our heads know, but our hearts have yet to accept the rational explanation.

But it's a big decision, and an ironic one, perhaps.

When the kids who used to be his peers start receiving college acceptance letters or letters of scholarship awards, my son will be receiving an official letter from the State telling him he is now our ward, signed, sealed, and delivered.

Yukon and I are so very torn between sighing with relief that we will be able to continue aiding our disabled son, and signing with resignation at the inevitable fireworks that are sure to follow.

We hope and pray Wolf's birthday on January 6, 2012 will be a true "ephiphany" for him. We hope somehow, in the middle of his ranting, he will feel, if only just a little bit, how very, very, very much he is loved.

But for now, on this dark, windy, and cold afternoon, I continue to sit here; scribbling on my file folders, listening to an Andrea Bocelli CD.

Oh yes, God Bless Us, Everyone.

Please.

The Family Regroups: It's Just Different

It's been difficult to post, lately. Yukon and I have, all of a sudden (or perhaps not) been thrust into this crazy, vortex-like salad spinner of emotions that leave us a little bit confused.

We have been told by those in the know (it's lovely to be friends with doctors and spiritual advisor-types) that this is not uncommon following a traumatic event. Since we've had several this past year, we can expect to multiply the subesequent meltdowns by two, or three, at least.

Seven months have gone by since Yukon dove into a pot hole of ice and mud. He is back on Nordic skis and is able to return to his flip-turning, machine-like swimming regime at the local pool; the dedication on his face, and within his very spirit, is palpable. It's good, but it's also different. Bear, in particular, notices that Daddy is not home right at 5 p.m. on some days because he's at the pool or on the ski trail. It's not bad, mind you, for Yukon would never sacrifice his family for his fitness; it's just different.

Wolf is returning to old patterns of behavior at Mountain High Facility. The staff are exemplary in their reactions and consequences and incredible sixth-sense of getting to the bottom of whatever set Wolf off, this time, or that time. The phone rings and I hear the report, and I listen to Wolf tell me all about it when he calls. But here's the thing: I'm done validating and commiserating. Wolf knows by now what to do, and all he needs now is to ask for help doing it. But he won't. In one month, he will turn 18. We, and a choir of supportive voices have made so many opportunities possible, but we cannot sing the solo for him.

"Elituq" too, is ready for a re-group, too, I think. But I'm not sure just what that will look like, or how, or if, things you read will change. So stay with us, if you like, and continue to be a part of our virtual support system. But know that we are reconfiguring our lives as we go, and sometimes that regrouping, that "not-bad-but-different" can look a little messy...

Here We Are Again: Four Holidays Later

If I could do math, I'd calculate how many months, weeks, and days it's been since Wolf has spent a holiday at home. I'm not even sure we really know what "home" means to him, anymore.

For all the blessings heaped upon Wolf and our family this past year, we are also sad that he won't be with us again this year, on the last Thanksgiving and Christmas of his "childhood."

Oh, I know he is safe, warm, and loved where he is, and that his surrogate family will do their absolute best to make sure all the boys are treasured and gifted. But Wolf, like so many kids who don't "get" the whole concept of their disability, only wants to know why he is not home. Even after four Christmases away, he does not connect the dots from behavior to privilege to home.

It is not surprising, perhaps, that all the kids experience escalating behaviors around the holidays, which makes it harder for staff to enforce boundaries and families to just ask for a child to be "let off the hook" for the holidays. The irony is painful for the entire family. I'm tired of cutting and pasting together Christmas cards with single images, divided, instead of one, solid, family photo.

Bear told the dentist the other day that Wolf might be coming home for Christmas; interesting, because we have not talked about it at all. Wolf said today in the New Hour of Power that he just doesn't understand why, if he wanted to come home, that we wouldn't "let" him.

If only it were that easy, boys. I'd wish both of you together in a minute.

From the Wolf Den: In the Zone

Wolf and Yukon made it safely to Colorado Springs, weary but in good spirits (or, in as good of spirits as a duo who had been shuffled around more than a deck of cards could possibly be).

Yukon was treated very well by the car rental company who gave him a free upgrade to an SUV, a little benefit that would come in very handy, later. The guys drove up to Denver, found Mountain Time Zone without any difficulty, and proceeded with the admissions process. Wolf almost immediately found a pal from CHYC, a rather nice young man, and then was spied by another kid from New Facility. He was thrilled to know two people, already, and didn't want to leave them to go on his tour of the campus with Yukon. Nice.

According to Yukon, the campus is lovely, in a pleasant neighborhood with attentive staff who seem to possess a great deal of compassion for the youth they serve. There is an indoor swimming pool, "real" school, library, and three small businesses older students utilize as part of a vocational training series. By all accounts from Yukon, the general atmosphere was vastly different from CHYC, and he felt very good about leaving Wolf that evening. For his part, Wolf was quite willing to stay and get settled without any fuss.

Yukon spent the night at his best friend's house in Denver, leaving at 3 a.m. for a 6 a.m. flight out of Colorado Springs to Minneapolis, then Anchorage. In a snowstorm. In that SUV.

He arrived in Anchorage at 3:45 ADT, unshaven, exhausted, but still smiling. Of course he was, he's Yukon.

All I could do was throw my arms around him and thank him for coming into our lives, over and over, and over again.

From the Wolf Den: Fortitude in Failure

Absurd moments are inevitable in any travel experience; as a journalist, I witness them every day, usually because they involve me. Normally, the abject absurdity results eventual resolution and laughter over a bottle of wine that evening, and life goes on.

When one is traveling with a child on the Autism Spectrum, however, the ability to laugh over a snafu is a bit more difficult. Actually, it feels downright impossible today.

Wolf was/is due in at Mountain Time Zone this morning after what should have been a great dual-parent trip where we could all march into the school together as a family united in treatment with our disabled child. As is typical when important decisions are made on Friday afternoons, however, the travel-planning-discharge wheels did not grind forward at all on Monday morning, and Yukon and I were again faced with a "who will go-who will stay" coin toss. After considerable contemplation and consultation with every medical authority at New Facility, and after Wolf promised to take an anti-anxiety med to hopefully calm his nerves, Yukon volunteered to once again deliver his son to a new and strange facility.

Supposed travel arrangements were made, but not actually confirmed, as was discovered late last night when we arrived at the airport. Ticketing agent to counter and back again we went, trying to figure out where, exactly, these two would be going, and aboard which airplane. A decided lack of paperwork in hand (yes, we left the facility without a formal itinerary; Wolf needed to go and go then, we could not wait another day, a truly AS behavior), I sent Yukon to the Alaska Airlines counter, where a fabulous agent/supervisor spent the better part of an hour tracking down the reservation (only one leg was actually secured), finding seats together (big fail on the part of New Facility), and eventually getting the boys to Colorado Springs.

Yes, you heard correctly. Colorado Springs. Not Denver. Seems New Facility Discharge Planner never mentioned that the flights to Denver were booked so she booked them to the next-closest in her mind. Right.

Before any adult melting down could occur, Yukon and I looked over at this child, who was watching our every move, pacing, muttering, and also fading fast from the anti-anxiety meds, and bent over to have a brief confab with Agent, who was by this time looking at us like we were positively crazy to even be there without the proper information.

"This child must. go. tonight." The words came out just like that, along with a 60-second synopsis of the Wolf and his long, arduous situation.

She jumped around her kiosk counter, said "I'll be back in a second, sit down," and disappeared into the back room of the Alaska Airlines offices.

Around 30 minutes later, she reappeared bearing printed tickets for all flight connections (it was the best she could do), Yukon's return flight itinerary (oh, yes, did we mention Discharge Planner did not even book Yukon to come back to Alaska?), and coupons for a few free drinks (for Yukon). She had also contacted United Airlines by phone, informed them about Yukon and Wolf, and asked on their behalf for early boarding in Chicago.

Agent told Wolf that O'Hare was a great airport, and listed a few things he should make sure he saw during their 2-hour layover. He brightened considerably at this, and said a "thank you" in his best monotone voice, hands still shaking as he clutched the Cinnabon I bought him as a reward for behaving so well during this crisis.

I had planned to capture all sorts of family photos illustrating our family goodbye; group hugs and all that. Yukon was also going to take the camera from me and use it to record Wolf's arrival at Mountain Time Zone. Drat. Instead, Bear and I hugged our big guys (it was almost 11 p.m. by this point), waved them through the MVP line (at least that was a good perk), and then I picked up my weary littlest son from the floor and we headed to the parking lot.

Yukon and Wolf made it to Chicago safely, I have yet to hear about an arrival in Colorado Springs. But I'm sure things will go smoothly from here.

Won't they?

From the Wolf Den: Mountain Time Zone

Wolf has been down these past few days, we think caught up in the nothingness of his current situation. New Facility is an incredibly caring, compassionate place, but they are not meant to be a long-term solution. Wolf is bored, frustrated, and so were we, until about 2 p.m.

Best Therapist Ever, who has been working with a dilligence I don't often see in therapy staff, called us this afternoon while I was sitting in the waiting room of Yukon's physical therapist (it seems all I do lately is wait around for or attend therapy in one form or another). Mountain Zone facility in Colorado, one of the leaders in treatment and management of issues similar to Wolf's, accepted him. Even more important, the State of Alaska Medicaid system approved him for transfer, which, we feel, was absolutely due to the Utilization Review Goddess.

Now we begin the process, again. Yukon may or may not be going with us, depending upon his medical clearance. My gal pal from Anchorage, who has worked as hard as we these past few months to help Wolf, will go if Yukon cannot. We've arranged childcare, switched schedules, and taken a few deep breaths in order to prepare ourselves.

We're happy for the potential in Wolf's future. We're happy he will finally have a chance to show us and every member of the Team that he can do this.

Why I Left, and Why I Came Back

The award-winning film "A River Runs Through It" was on the top shelf of Unit Director B's office at CHYC. Wolf never wanted to watch it with me, even after I said it had antique autos, fishing, and Montana in it. I ended up purchasing the DVD at Wal Mart in Salt Lake City and watched it on my last flight home this past June.

I enjoyed it immensely; being part Montanan (my mother was born and raised there, most of her life was spent in Missoula, where the film takes place) I guess the sweeping landscape and familiar rivers drew me in before the story line. In fact, it took the last lines of the film to provide the ah-ha, the validation, and the new reality of our family life.

Reverend Maclean, father to author Norman Maclean (and to Paul, the antagonist of the story), was preaching in the Presbyterian Church of Missoula, after Paul had died a violent death due to his lifestyle, personality, and choices.

He says:

"Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: "We are willing, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed?"

For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give, or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us.

But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding."

I left this blog almost three weeks ago, just after Wolf had entered New Facility Anchorage, and just after he had presented (been evaluated) to the State of Alaska as a child/adult with few options for his future. Yukon and I had some difficult and painful decisions to make, and I wanted to make them with wide-open eyes to the possibilities ahead.

Wolf does not have the capability to love; he does not have the capability to empathize with others who hurt on his behalf, and in the same vein does not understand the agony of my mother-heart when I see the bruises and scrapes on his body because of some behavior-related incident.

The reality of Wolf's life is instutional; he likely will transfer out of Alaska once again, he likely will be in a locked facility where he and the community will be safe. Wolf hopefully will receive the long-term assistance he needs to graduate from high school, learn independent living skills, and perhaps get a job nearby.

Yukon and I have had to think of "what-if's" with regard to Wolf's future, and what we will do if he refuses treatment, runs away, or injures himself or someone else. That is raw emotional torment, having to make a plan like that, for a lifetime, but honestly, Yukon and I know at our cores we have made the right decision.

That's why I left; to decide.

I came back to write it all down.

From the Wolf Den: And So We Reach

This is a hard post.

Wolf is struggling, and as a result, so are we. We shudder when the phone rings, shut our eyes when a new email pops up, and our eyes fill with tearful uncertainty when someone asks about him.

There are so many reasons for Wolf's swings of emotion, and we purport to know only a few of them. Indeed, when he is raging at staff, his therapist, or us, he repeats the only fact we, and he, know with absolute certainty:

"You don't understand! You Just Don't Understand!"

We never could, and probably never will.

Our family will eventually come through this crisis as intact as we possibly can, but right now it is a painful reminder of just how tragic this "mental meth-lab" of behavior disorders truly is.

We are reaching up, and out, and all around, as far as we can, to find some way of helping Wolf.

I'm going to take a blogging break, hopefully returning soon. Please join us in praying, thinking, pondering, meditating; whatever you feel comfortable doing, for peace in our son's soul, and in ours.

From the Wolf Den: The Wheel Goes Round and Round, and Round.....

Now that Wolf is back in the same city as family, Yukon and I have noticed a decided shift in his behavior. Having a taste of the same air as us, knowing our weather patterns and traffic noises, Wolf is beside himself to "come home," even though we, and probably he, knows he can't.

As a result, he is spinning his emotional wheels, trying to drag me under them in the process. Our telephone conversations are abrupt, long, and full of "Why me's" and "How could you's" that do nothing but make me feel as if I suck as a parent, and do little else for Wolf than ramp up his already ramped self.

Staff at New Facility are now getting to see what Wolf is like when he is angry, and on one level, I am glad. On another, I am painfully aware how horrible it must be to live like this, and it makes me sad.

But like a wheel that keeps turning around and around and around, eventually the tires wear out and something has to change. I just hope Wolf will be able to recognize that before the axle breaks and he flies off into space.

Mom Goes Away

It is fortunate that I had a trip already scheduled for Hallo Bay Bear Camp, today through Saturday. Given everything that's going in our world, the timing could not be better for an off the Grid, cellphone-silenced, computer-void (sort of) experience.

Yep.

Hallo Bay Bear Camp is an hour or so out of Homer, Alaska, down on the Kenai Peninsula. It's lovely, and I'm looking forward to visiting again and staying for a few days. I'm anxious to see if the bears I saw back in June (above) are still moseying around now that fall is upon us and the primary mission is to eat, eat, and eat some more.

Yukon is in charge of the home front, and friends are helping out with Bear. It's cub scout orientation night and an open house at the German Halls of Higher Learning, so it will be a busy evening. But tomorrow is Friday.

Wolf is hanging in at New Facility. Our clock has begun ticking as to future plans, and hopefully the Team will keep plugging away in my absence. It is likely, though, that we are looking at more out-of-state placement, since Alaska has nothing to support a young adult with his constellation of issues.

One day at a time, and right now, I am taking one for me.

Update From the Wolf Den: Today

It has been an impossibly long 24 hours for the whole family, and for the people to whom we are close. Here is an update as things stand at this particular milisecond (thanks to another blogger friend who provided me this appropriate word), and how amazed I am at the people who have wandered in and out of our lives:

Yukon and I completed intake procedures for an Anchorage-based inpatient treatment facility to stabilize Wolf and conduct some additional testing to investigate his current behavioral trend. Through the course of the day it was discovered that Wolf probably had not been on a consistent medication regime since his arrival at Arctic Manor.

Wolf found his way to a kindly older couple's house who fed him, talked with him, and encouraged him to call us, whereby we found transportation to the hospital's ER for a checkup and the beginning stabilization process. He is currently safe, warm, and sleeping after a traumatic series of events that, understandably, were exhausting for him. This older couple deserves our humble thanks and appreciation for using enormous amounts of grace to refrain from judging Wolf, us, or the organization. They probably saved his life last night.

Initial Arctic Manor House Parent N deserves our thanks as well for remaining in contact with our family even though he was under no obligation to do so. Without his support and obvious compassion, Wolf may not have agreed to go to the hospital.

Friends from Anchorage are visiting family in Fairbanks and blessed us with the offer to collect Wolf's possessions from Arctic Manor and visit him as he waits in the ER for transport down to Anchorage. This couple likely the people who understand Wolf the best outside of our immediate family, and we are so, so thankful they are helping take at least a bit of the worry from Yukon and I. Update: Wolf just called and said they were there, bearing McDonald's, which made him feel "pretty good." He was surpised to see them, and "very, very happy" they came.

New Facility's Associate Medical Director is the individual who first diagnosed Wolf with Asperger Syndrome in 2007, and is one of the few clinicians with whom Wolf had a rapport, and the only physician I trust thus far. That he is still at this facility provides me with a level of relief I have not felt in some time.

However, the bed that was initially available at New Facility last night is no longer available today, and now we wait. Wolf will remain in acute care in Fairbanks for the interim, which is hard, and is a constant issue among mental health providers throughout the State of Alaska. But he sounds rested, and much, much more at ease with himself than earlier in the week.

I am cleaning the house, because that's what I do when I'm stressed.

From the Wolf Den: Oh Boy, Tomorrow!

The family is in an uproar tonight. We found out at 5 p.m. that Wolf will be making a quick visit to Anchorage tomorrow. I'm excited, I'm anxious, and I'm hopeful.

Hopeful because a family who loves Wolf almost as much as we do is going to be so happy when we drive up to their house and he pokes his 6'2" frame in their doorway, and I know that 30 minutes of seeing their faces will provide power for the rest of Wolf's day.

I'm anxious because medical appointments rarely go as planned, especially with new psychiatrists in Alaska, where nothing is certain personality-wise, and options are few.

I'm excited because a little brother has the chance to wrap his arms around his big, big brother on home turf; show off bike-riding skills; eat a popcicle; read together.

This is bound to be an interesting day.....