Rage

His rage is a runaway train. I can tell when it's pulling out of the station. I can see it picking up momentum. And I am powerless to stop it.

Something set him off. Perhaps his brother said something he doesn't agree with. Perhaps his request for ice cream was denied. Whatever it was no longer matters. The damage is done.

I am told by the psychologist there is a window. A moment when I can intervene and get the train to back up. I can suggest a calming activity. Grab a pillow for him to punch. I can distract. I can hug. I can use humor.

And I try. I really do. But his mind is already elsewhere. He no longer hears my words. He no longer has his own words.

Only anger.

I can see the rage in his body. His mouth is twisted and his eyes are squinted into a glare. His hands are tightened into little fists. He is shaking. He roars like a lion that has been trapped in a cage and is finally released into the wild. He looks around for something to throw. Something to hit. Something to punch. Something to kick. Something to destroy.

I assess the situation. I know what is coming. Can I distract the other kids? I have no minutes, only seconds. Here we go. He is attacking. Do I leave the other kids and stay here in the storm? Do I restrain his body, whisper reassurance in his ear, just BE with him and his rage? Or do I give positive attention to the others. Lock myself and the others in a room. Wait for the storm to pass. Allow him to destroy and break my favorite items?

Either way there is damage. There are tears. There is broken glass. There are holes in the wall. Dents in the door. Scratches and bruises on us. There is anger. There is sadness.

I wonder why. Why me? Why him? Why us? Then I remember, everyone has something. The hard thing they must deal with. This is mine. This is his. This is ours.

I want to scream. Does anyone realize how hard this is? I hate the judgment I receive. I hate that our house is not peaceful. I HATE that the other kids see this. I want to lash out. I am so mad at him. I am so sad that this is happening. I am so worried about his future.

This situation is so out of control. And I hate it.

And yet I must stay calm. Even for a quiet person like myself, it is extremely difficult. But I must. I have to be the role model.

I have seen what the anger and force of an adult does to him. It is like throwing fuel on his fire. It is not good.

I must stay calm. Because this is a teachable moment. It is not only anger. It is not only rage. It is an experience he will learn from. Right now. He can learn what it feels like to take a deep breath and relax. He can learn to sit with his anger and not harm. He can break this cycle.

Sometimes it is minutes. Other times it is hours. Then he runs out of steam. He is calm. He is remorseful. He is sorry. He is tired.

We hug. We cry. We say sorry. We say I Love You. We talk about new ways to deal with anger. We take deep breaths.

And then we clean up. We sweep up the glass. We throw away the broken item. We patch the new holes in the wall. We put the trash back in the trash can. We pick up the items strewn around the house. We get out the mop. The broom. The consequences.

And it stays with me. It is heavy. I don't quickly brush it off. I think about it. I analyze it.

I pray for him.

And I love him.