Uncategorized – Fierce Boy

First Visit with My Son in Rehab: When Recovery Meets Real Life

We had a long and exhausting week of calls with our insurance company, the recovery facility, and the court. Finally, the arrangement was made: PHP with room and board. My son—Hawk—had officially begun his court‑ordered path toward recovery.

This weekend marked my first visit.

I drove an hour to see him. The visit was part relief, part heartbreak. Hawk is only 18—technically an adult, but still such a kid. The other residents looked decades older, with hollow eyes and jittery hands. The heavy bleach smell hung in the air like a warning. Everything felt gritty, like nothing could ever get truly clean again. It reminded me of visiting my grandmother’s coal‑mining town in Pennsylvania—covered in invisible soot.

When I asked Hawk how he was doing, he said he didn’t believe he had a problem. “I just wanted to make money,” he said about the drugs he sold. His words didn’t match the reality—the vapes and bottles we found at home told a different story. Even here, he finds ways to justify small rebellions. The staff watch him bum cigarettes from older patients and look away.

He showed me a video that still haunts me. It featured his old friend Ivan, who was arrested for vandalizing a local college. The reel ended with Ivan’s mugshot and an “RIP Ivan” caption. Hawk said he’d seen his own mugshot online too and casually scrolled through the comments. “Didn’t bother me,” he said. That scared me more than anything he could’ve confessed.

After our visit, I hugged him goodbye and drove home to take his sister to a theater show. Halfway through the performance, my phone started buzzing.

“Call me now please. It’s an emergency.”

When I called back, Hawk was sobbing. “They’re accusing me of using Cash App to buy a drug delivery. They said I’m being discharged tonight.”
Minutes later, he calmed down. “They realized it wasn’t me.” I heard a quiet female voice in the background saying, “This happens all the time.”

So, I guess it was okay—or maybe it wasn’t.

Later that night, I researched if Cash App misunderstandings like that really happen in rehab. Turns out, they do. In some facilities, innocent residents get flagged because a name, transaction, or phone gets mixed up. I even found cases where Cash App was used legitimately for recovery‑based incentives—small rewards for clean tests or therapy attendance. One misunderstanding can ripple through everything.

During my visit, I noticed Hawk’s hands shaking. I asked if he was eating enough or just drinking too much coffee. He said people sneak in drugs all the time. “There are so many drugs in here.” His voice was small when he said it. That moment—his hands trembling, his honesty wobbling—hit me hard.

I told him my hands used to shake, too, back in college after long nights of drinking. He knows those stories, the ones I’ve never sugarcoated. Maybe he needed to hear that you can get lost and still find a way back.

Recovery isn’t a single yes or no. It’s a thousand choices, made again and again, even when no one’s looking.

If you want to understand the exhausting fight we faced just to secure Hawk’s court-ordered care, check out my previous post. It is titled When Compassion Meets Bureaucracy: Fighting for Hawk’s Right to Heal. It dives deeply into the battle with insurance and rehab systems that many families endure silently.

When Compassion Meets Bureaucracy: Fighting for Hawk’s Right to Heal

This morning began the same as most—at 5:20 a.m., before the sun and before I had time to steel myself for what the day would bring. My youngest son still had a fever, his fourth day of it, and I barely slept. My mind stayed tangled in worry about Hawk. I was concerned about Silverline Healthcare’s decision. Would they approve his inpatient residential care at Rockridge Recovery for the rest of the month?

That question has been hanging in the air for nearly a week, and the silence is deafening.

A Missing Step—and a Missed Opportunity

By mid-morning, I learned that no one from Rockridge Recovery had contacted Silverline. They failed to schedule the required peer-to-peer meeting with their Clinical Director. This meeting could have overturned the original denial. Their intake process last Thursday night had failed to take into account Hawk’s long-term mental health and substance abuse history. Instead, they based everything on his “most recent usage date.”

Hawk had already gone 26 days clean. This was only because the court took 11 days to approve our motion to reduce his bond. As a result, he could be transferred straight from jail to rehab. That delay, and their shallow intake, now hang over us like a cloud threatening to break.

I finally decided to take matters into my own hands and called Silverline’s Expedited Appeal Hotline. Within an hour, an associate called me back, confirming that Rockridge Recovery—not me—had to initiate the peer-to-peer request.

The Endless Loop of “Who’s Responsible”

Around the same time, Rockridge Recovery’s third Clinical Director in six days called. I explained that if Silverline refused to authorize inpatient coverage, then they needed to approve PHP treatment. They also needed to apply the $1,200 I paid upfront toward his room and board.

At this point, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being shaken down by the healthcare mafia. Each party is trying to squeeze every possible dollar. They are avoiding the ethical and legal route of having insurance cover what’s medically necessary.

No parent or person in recovery should face this bureaucratic nightmare. This is especially true for someone recently incarcerated for choices made under the influence. It only deepens the trauma for everyone involved and risks derailing the fragile progress that recovery demands.

“I Don’t Have Anyone. I’m So Alone.”

Then came the hardest moment of the day.

Hawk called, sounding hopeful—he’d been told he only needed to complete 21 days in treatment before discharge. He said Rockridge Recovery helps clients find jobs and make life plans afterward. But what he didn’t remember—or maybe didn’t want to—was that he can’t come home.

We’ve talked about it countless times, but denial has its own voice. When I reminded him, he started to cry.

“I don’t have anyone,” he said. “I’m so alone.”

Then he hung up.

It was gut-wrenching, but I had to hold the boundary. I texted him afterward:

Hey Hawk,
I’ve been thinking about what we talked about earlier. It’s not safe or healthy for any of us if you come home right away. I want you to have the best chance to stay on track. Keep growing.
…I have faith in you, even when things are hard. I know you can figure this out, and I love you.
😘 🫂

He hasn’t responded. His Life360 shows his iPhone battery below 5%. I’m praying he’s okay.

The Paper Trail No One Should Have to Write

I ended the night drafting more emails—to Silverline’s Behavioral Health Medical Resolution Team and to Victoria, our case contact. Every message is filled with urgency and exhaustion. There is hope that someone, somewhere, will finally see the human story behind the policy number.

“Hi Victoria,
In the interest of getting an expedited decision regarding Hawk’s case, I went ahead and called the Behavioral Health Medical Resolution Team number listed on the denial…

It’s now 10 p.m. I’m emotionally and physically drained—dried up like the Sahara Desert. Still, beneath the fatigue, there’s love. The kind of love that refuses to quit, even when the system makes you feel like giving up.

Finding Strength—and a Way Forward

Tonight, after one more round of calls and messages, I spoke with my sister. She’s worked in healthcare PR for over 20 years, and she didn’t mince words. She gave me the names of several state and federal agencies to contact about our story. She also recommended writing an op-ed for our local newspaper. It’s time to bring attention to what’s happening. We need to show how families like ours can be ground down by red tape. This happens while they are simply trying to save a loved one’s life. I’m going to pursue that tomorrow.

I’m lucky, in a way. I work from home. I have a business of my own. I’ve been able to walk away from it for nearly a month now. Since Hawk’s arrest on September 20, I’ve spent less than five hours on it. That’s a luxury many parents don’t have. I can’t imagine what single parents—or couples with two full-time jobs—would do in this situation. Most would probably be forced to give up.

But I will not give up.

What’s Next

Tomorrow, I’ll keep calling. Keep documenting. Keep fighting for the care Hawk deserves. Healing should not depend on who fills out the right form first. It should not rely on who has the time and resources to chase down the people who didn’t.

Hawk’s Rehab Battle: When Court Orders Meet Insurance Roadblocks

Our journey with Hawk’s recovery has taken a frustrating turn. After a court order mandated inpatient rehab, we thought that was the lifeline he needed. But reality hit hard when Silverline Health Insurance denied coverage, calling Hawk’s inpatient treatment “not medically necessary.”

Even with a judge’s order in hand, the insurance company resisted. They downgraded his care and passed unexpected costs onto us.

a man holding a protein shaker — After weeks of setbacks and court delays, Hawk is finally finding moments of focus — proof that recovery isn’t just mental; it’s physical too. Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

Insurance Denial vs. Court Mandate

We’re now dealing with Rockridge Recovery. This is the facility where Hawk’s treatment was approved by the court. However, it was then downgraded to a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP). That change meant a $1,200 out-of-pocket bill, which shouldn’t have been our responsibility under the court mandate.

We pushed back, reminding them that ignoring a court order crosses a legal line, but the resistance continues.

Hawk’s lawyer explained that she can’t file another motion. She cannot ask the judge for a more detailed treatment plan. The original order only specifies the broad “inpatient treatment” language. That situation is risky for us. Rockridge Recovery can technically discharge Hawk at any time. This could occur even after just a few days. They may then claim he “completed inpatient treatment.”

The Original Plan — and What Went Wrong

he plan was simple:

30 days inpatient at Rockridge Recovery
Step down to Partial Hospitalization (PHP)
Transition into sober living housing

But that roadmap was abruptly overturned when Silverline’s pre-certification department refused the inpatient claim. They cited their own “medical necessity” rules — directly contradicting a court’s legal mandate.

This is what happens when insurance policy criteria clash with judicial orders: families are left in financial and emotional limbo.

Why We Fought for Inpatient Care

Hawk was arrested for possessing more than the legal limit of marijuana, mushrooms, and a handgun under his car seat. After his arrest, his dad and I made a painful decision. We determined that he couldn’t return home — not for a long time.

That’s why we fought so hard for inpatient rehab. We hoped that he could later step down into PHP and eventually sober living. It wasn’t punishment. It was protection.

This morning, Hawk learned surprising news. Rockridge might release him with a letter stating he “completed inpatient treatment” after only six days. He said to me:

“Great, Mom and Dad will let me move back, I’ll get a job, and I’ll get drug tested every week.”

But that’s not the reality.

We’ve already laid down firm family boundaries. This includes a written contract. We made this effort twice. It was to clearly indicate that Hawk couldn’t live with us unless he chose a clean path. It also had to be an honest path. Those boundaries were in place long before his arrest.

Hawk’s History: A Pattern of Struggles

Hawk’s history hasn’t been easy. He was arrested just before turning 18, released to us because he was still technically a juvenile. He graduated high school with honors in the middle of that chaos. He totaled his car driving to his girlfriend’s beach house for senior week. He lost a restaurant job within a month for attitude issues this past summer. He started his first semester of college in August and seemed to be liking it.

Even earlier this year, his high school principal called. Someone reported Hawk posting photos of himself drinking “lean”. It is a dangerous mix of cough syrup and soda with codeine.

So when he texted from his recovery room, “I’m tired of this shit. I want to come home,” I felt the ache only a parent can know. But I also knew I had to stay strong.

Holding the Line — and Holding Onto Hope

Thankfully, Rockridge agreed to keep him one more night as a PHP patient. If that doesn’t work out, another PHP program with a 12-step approach and sober living options is available.

Still, Hawk is resistant — frustrated by phone restrictions and the requirement to attend five AA meetings a week. I’m trying not to cry.

But even through the exhaustion, I remind myself: there’s still a silver lining.

This isn’t hopeless. With a good night’s sleep, maybe tomorrow brings a little more light.
One minute at a time — that’s all we can do.

A Family’s Ongoing Battle

Our family’s fight is far from over. We are dealing with Hawk’s struggles. We also have two other children. One child has level 1 autism. Another has epilepsy and immune disorders. Our plates are full.

Hawk is legally an adult. We could remove him from our insurance and phone plans entirely. But we’ve chosen to keep advocating for his recovery and stability.

This is what happens when court orders, insurance coverage, and real-life consequences collide. We share our story to offer strength to other parents. We do this for every parent caught in this same broken system. They are fighting for a loved one who’s slipping through the cracks.

What’s Next

As I finish writing tonight, there’s still no clear answer. Tomorrow, Rockridge could discharge him — or agree to extend his stay.

We’ve learned not to predict outcomes anymore. The system changes faster than emotions can catch up.

For now, I’ll keep my phone close. I will pray for another day of progress. I remind myself that every step forward, even a small one, counts.

We still don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
But we’ll keep showing up.

Stay fierce.

When the Court Delays, a Family Waits: Hawk’s Bond Hearing and Our Road to Rehab

Mother praying outside courthouse—faith, family, and addiction recovery

It’s Wednesday, October 15. For nearly two weeks, we’ve been waiting for a bond hearing for Hawk—ever since his lawyer filed a motion to reduce his bond on Monday, October 6.

That hearing is finally scheduled for tomorrow at 9 a.m., right after Hawk’s earlier juvenile case from April.

This post is my honest, unfiltered reflection as a mother—about the waiting, the heartbreak, and the fragile hope that this time might truly mark a turning point.

A Quick Timeline

April (the first stop)

Hawk was pulled over for rolling through a stop sign. Officers said they smelled marijuana, searched his car, and discovered more than 60 Xanax pills that weren’t prescribed. No marijuana was found. He spent one night in juvenile detention, then was released to us pending court.

September 20 (the second stop)

The same officer stopped him again—this time for speeding nearly 30 miles over the limit. They claimed the car smelled like weed, searched it, and found loose-leaf marijuana, multiple vaping devices, mushrooms, and a handgun beneath the front seat.

October 6 (bond-reduction motion)

Hawk’s attorney filed to reduce bond, but the court’s Judicial Assistant was on vacation, and no one stepped in. The delay pushed everything back nearly two weeks.

October 16 (tomorrow)

Two hearings, one morning: the April juvenile case and the motion to reduce bond. If the motion is granted, Hawk could go straight to residential rehab.

The Emotional Toll on Our Family

This journey has shaken us to our core. My husband and I have always been openly against drugs of any kind. When our kids were still in elementary school, we enrolled them in drug-education programs. I knew, as a former teacher, that programs like D.A.R.E. don’t always “work,” but we believed knowledge mattered.

Despite years of therapy, family structure, and steady involvement, Hawk somehow drifted toward substances. His lawyer recently told me maybe it’s about social capital—the peer validation, the illusion of status that can come with risk.

What makes it harder is how the system itself delays progress. Our county courts are understaffed, so his rehab slot has been on hold for weeks. We’re praying he can go directly from jail to treatment.

He’s told me about the constant tension in jail—how men fight over phones, food, or mattresses. He’s seen things no young adult should. As his mother, it’s excruciating to hear.

Trying Everything and Letting Go

We didn’t just parent—we poured our lives into creating experiences that mattered.

Family time was non-negotiable: dinners together, game nights, and weekend hikes. We prioritized educational trips—museums, national parks, and historical sites. We even traveled internationally as a family, exploring Europe and the Caribbean to expose our kids to different cultures, perspectives, and gratitude.

We encouraged church involvement, sports, and volunteer work. We limited screens before it was common. But as the first generation of parents raising children in the social-media era, we were navigating the unknown.

Schools were encouraging kids to bring iPads, teachers were assigning projects on Instagram, and “fitting in” meant being online. I resisted at first, but eventually, like so many parents, I gave in. Looking back, I wish I’d fought harder.

Social media and devices became addictive. They distorted values, normalized chaos, and eroded community. After COVID, after fewer church gatherings, and fewer neighborhood connections, isolation took root.

Through all of this, though, I’ve found myself returning to faith—praying more, reading Scripture, and realizing that sometimes the only answer is surrender.

Understanding the Reality at Home

One misconception I want to clear up: the late-night visitors we saw on our home security cameras weren’t demanding drugs or threatening us. They were either dropping off or picking up from our house, as far as we can tell. We presume it was drug-related, but we can’t be certain.

Still, it was terrifying—to know our son had put our home, our safety, and our peace of mind at risk. We told him countless times that he had to choose a brighter path. After his last rehab stay, we even created a living contract outlining what would happen if boundaries were crossed. Sadly, now we have to uphold it.

What Comes Next

If the judge grants the motion tomorrow, Hawk will go straight into a 30-day residential rehab, followed by sober living and a daily twelve-step program.

We love him deeply—but love now looks like boundaries:

He can’t move back home. We can’t fund his lifestyle. Trust must be rebuilt, slowly, deliberately.

We still don’t know how he obtained the gun or where the drugs came from. But we do know that addiction and immaturity have stolen too much already.

A Prayer for Grace

At this point, I can only pray—for grace, justice, and redemption. I know my son is an addict. I pray this is the moment he decides to rebuild.

To every parent facing something similar: please don’t carry shame. You didn’t cause this alone. Addiction is complicated, cultural, and human. Offer yourself grace, and extend it to others.

If you know a family in crisis, don’t judge—help. Drop off a meal, send a message, listen without advice. Sometimes compassion is the only thing that helps someone breathe again.

Tomorrow at 9 A.M.

Two hearings. Two chances. One prayer.

If granted, Hawk will finally walk out of jail and into rehab.

That’s the grace I’m praying for—and the start of whatever healing God has planned next.

Coming Next: An Update on Hawk’s Case

As I write this, we’re standing on the edge of whatever comes next. Tomorrow morning’s hearings will decide whether Hawk remains behind bars or finally gets the chance to begin treatment.

In my next post, I’ll share what happened in court—whether the judge granted his bond reduction, how the rehab transition unfolded, and what we’ve learned about navigating a system that moves painfully slow when families are desperate for help.

I’ll also talk about what recovery looks like from both sides: a son trying to find his footing and a mother learning to heal without rescuing.

Stay tuned—our story isn’t finished yet.

When Motherhood Doesn’t Go as Planned: A Journey From Hope to Healing Through My Son’s Addiction

Mother supporting her teenage son during addiction recovery journey

No mother ever imagines that one day she’ll be arranging for her 18-year-old son to be transferred directly from jail to an inpatient rehab facility. No “good mom” envisions that her beloved firstborn—the baby she once held with such hope—will struggle with addiction.

Yet here I am, a mother who never dreamed this life for her child or for herself, sharing our story because silence only deepens the pain.

The Girl Who Was Afraid to Become a Mother

When I was a freshman in college, standing before my Journalism 101 class of 300 students, I remember declaring something that shocked everyone:

“I don’t know if I ever want to have a family. I’m afraid of what the world will be like.”

The entire lecture hall gasped.

As a child, I loved playing house and Barbies—but as I grew older, the thought of pregnancy and childbirth filled me with anxiety. I spent most of my twenties chasing fulfillment through work, moving from job to job, making friends through my career rather than dating. My standards were sky-high, my fears even higher. I told myself I’d only marry someone like Dean Cain.

From Corporate Life to Teaching Dreams

By my early thirties, corporate life felt hollow. I remembered how much I had enjoyed teaching Junior Achievement lessons years earlier—and realized I wanted to make a difference. I left my job, got certified in elementary education, and accepted that I might never marry or have children.

My friends even joked that I’d become a “cat lady,” and I leaned into it so much that I researched hypoallergenic cats—despite being allergic!

But life had other plans. My sister and a close friend set me up on a blind date, and everything changed. He wanted a big family; I wasn’t so sure—but love moved quickly. We got married, and soon I was expecting our first child.

A High-Energy Beginning

Pregnancy terrified me. I nearly lost my son in the first trimester, but he was a fighter even then. Nurses commented that he was the most alert newborn they’d ever seen. He kicked constantly in the womb and entered the world wide-eyed and ready to go.

By nine months, he was walking. By two and a half, he was talking nonstop and climbing everything in sight. His YMCA nursery teachers gently told me, “He’s… different.” They recommended an evaluation. I had no idea what that meant.

Early Signs of Neurodivergence

From age two and a half on, my son had some form of early intervention or IEP. He was incredibly bright—once testing near a 130 IQ—but his energy overwhelmed teachers. He was “too much.”

He was kicked out of preschool on the first day for playing with fire trucks instead of sitting still. His teacher sent home a single-spaced, two-sided letter listing every “offense.” He needed a behavioral therapist just to stay in class. He bit until age five, and every day was a challenge.

By kindergarten, around the time of the Sandy Hook tragedy, dropping him off became heartbreaking. He would cry and beg not to go. But like many parents, I listened to the professionals who said he needed structure. I pushed him forward, even when my gut whispered otherwise.

The Labels Begin

By age six, he was diagnosed with ADHD. Later came Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder (DMDD)—a name that only partly explained his storms of emotion. He had explosive tantrums, broke skin when he bit, and struggled to connect socially.

By nine, he was exhausted by rejection—from peers, teachers, even administrators. The breaking point came when police knocked on our door one night. A classmate had misunderstood him: he’d talked about wanting a BB gun to practice shooting, and it was reported as a school threat.

At ten o’clock that night, officers searched our home. The trauma of that moment—seeing strangers go through his things—changed him forever.

When Childhood Breaks Under Pressure

Days later, he faced back-to-back substitute teachers who knew nothing about him. He melted down, shouting, “I hate you! I hate school! I want to die!”

The call from the school still haunts me. I picked him up to find him sobbing, trembling, screaming that everyone was mean to him. At home, he threw everything from the pantry shelves and said again, “I don’t want to live anymore.”

That night, we made an impossible decision: we admitted our nine-year-old to an inpatient mental health facility.

A week later, he began daily one-on-one therapy. And that was only the beginning of our long road toward understanding, treatment, and—eventually—addiction recovery.

A Mother’s Ongoing Hope

No one hands you a manual for parenting a neurodivergent child—or for watching that child grow into a teen who self-medicates his pain. You just do your best, guided by love, guilt, faith, and fear.

If you’re reading this because your family is walking a similar path, please know this: you are not alone. Your child is not “bad.” You are not a failure. And even in the darkest chapters, there is still room for hope, healing, and redemption.

Where We Are Now

Today, our son is in jail—words no mother ever expects to say. It’s not the first time we’ve sought help; he’s already been to rehab several times, each stay offering moments of clarity that eventually slipped away. Now, we’re doing everything we can to make sure he’s transferred into an inpatient treatment program again—hopefully one that can finally help him begin to heal for good.

This chapter of our story is the hardest yet, but also the one that feels most necessary to tell. In my next post, I’ll share what led us here—the repeated cycles of rehab and relapse, the gaps in the mental-health and justice systems, and how we’re learning to hold on to hope even when everything feels impossible.

🕊️ Coming Next: When the System Fails Our Kids

In my next post, I’ll open up about what came after — the three rehab stays that couldn’t keep our son safe, the moments of hope that vanished too soon, and how we found ourselves navigating a justice system that wasn’t built for kids like him. It’s a story about broken systems, impossible choices, and a mother’s refusal to give up on her child.

One Month Setback

Last night Hawk confided that his last random drug test might come back positive for marijuana.

He left his second substance abuse and dual diagnosis rehab on January 18.

He had been making progress with a new job and virtual school but said that he was feeling pressure because of school and slipped up.

He knows that he may have to go back to group therapy if the test is positive. And he knows that I want him to go to an AA meeting this week and call his sponsor or tell us if he’s feeling like using.

He also said he thinks he was born as an addict because he’s always been fascinated by drugs and alcohol. I do remember elementary teachers mentioning that he was talking about wanting to drink alcohol at school as early as third or fourth grade.

It is a challenging time for him. He’s a junior and he’s getting ready to take his ACT in April and we’re looking at colleges or trades, etc.

I am proud of him for being transparent but anxious for him to tell my husband/his dad.

I’m also worried because he was acting kind of weird last night and it was reminding me of previous intoxicated behaviors.

I’m doing my best to remember that I don’t have control and I’m reading the How Al-Anon Works book now, trying to attend at least one Al-Anon meeting a week, hoping to make Wednesday night’s SM meeting, and trying to keep myself healthy.

I don’t know what else to say except I’m thankful to have several support groups to help me navigate this unpredictable journey.

And as they say, “The truth always reveals itself.”

3:30 a.m.

Some say that nothing good ever happens after midnight, right? I can’t say that I disagree. But if nothing good ever happens after midnight, how about after 3:30 a.m.?

Photo by SevenStorm JUHASZIMRUS on Pexels.com

In this case, I’m referring to a very specific 3:30 a.m. The one following the Friday Night Lights football game that our son Hawk attended, and was subsequently kicked out of with his friend Ivan.

Unbeknownst to my husband or two other children, sometime before 3:30 a.m. on this Friday night turned into very early Saturday morning, our son Hawk chose to sneak out of his bedroom window again. (If I haven’t already written about the other times he snuck out within the last year, comment below to remind me to post later about those stories).

Anyhow, at 3:30 a.m. on this night, I woke up to go to the bathroom and to get a drink of water in the kitchen. On my way back from the typical water fetching routine in the kitchen on any given night, I always stop to peek in on each of my kids. This night was no different. Upon checking on Hawk, as I squeaked the door open, I noticed that the window shade was drawn and that the window was unlocked.

Hawk had crawled out of his window and was no longer anywhere to be found on our property!

Here’s where the story gets very murky. Because so much has happened over the last four months, I haven’t been back to this blog site to provide any updates. And of course I’ve forgotten many of the details.

But what I believe probably occurred upon discovering that he wasn’t home, is that I either checked Life360 to track where he was OR I tried to track him using Life360 or FindMyiPhone.

From what I recall, I texted him to please come home immediately. He assured me that everything was alright and not to worry. He said that he was at one of his other “friends'” houses, And that this friend was also named “Hawk.” In this case, we’ll refer to him as “Hawk Squared.”

He assured me that everything was okay and that he would be home soon..Meanwhile, I was so frightened that there was zero chance that I could just go back to sleep.

From what I recall, I grabbed my car keys and I drove to his friends’ house and demanded that he return home with me. Out of shear embarrassment, he got in the car. Moments later when we arrived home, I told him to hand over his phone and go to bed and that we’d talk later that day.

What I didn’t know when I said that was that apparently there were other kids sleeping over at Hawk Squared’s house, including a girl.

I only discovered this the next day when she and two other friends, including Ivan, showed up at our house after school. I thought they had just planned on hanging out and told Hawk that they weren’t supposed to be there and would have to leave because he was technically grounded for sneaking out.

However, Hawk pleaded with me to just let them stay for a few minutes. Although very unhappy, I decided to give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes.

But then things escalated quickly. I heard their voices increasing in volume. When I walked to the bonus room to ask what was going on, I saw panic and fear in their eyes. My son responded, “Hawk Squared is driving over here and he wants to kill me!”

I said, ”Wait, what?!?”

The girl, Blakely, responded, “Hawk Squared is angry because he knows that I don’t like him and that I’m interested in Hawk. He’s threatening to kill Hawk because of it.”

Before I knew it, I was pleading with my Hawk to stay inside and to not go outside. But he wouldn’t listen.

The next thing I knew, Hawk Squared screeched up in his beaten up Honda Civic, jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran caddy corner across our front lawn onto our driveway.

He shouted at Hawk, “How could you do this, Hawk? You’re such a horrible person! I’m going to fucking kill you dude!”

To which my Hawk screamed, “Oh yeah, well I’m gonna kill you!”

(Side note: before Hawk S. arrived, my Hawk grabbed a kitchen knife because he was so frightened. I was able to get it from him and secure it.)

As i physically stood in front of my Hawk I shouted, “No one is going to kill anyone! Stop it guys! Hawk S. leave right now or I will call the police!” As I was screaming this, I thought, “OMG, this is like a Jerry Springer episode!” Note: not to sound braggadocious but we live in a pretty affluent neighborhood. How ironic.

He responded, “Really, you’re going to call the police on me? You think I’m that horrible of a person?”

I said, “I don’t even know you to be able to answer that but what I do know is that if you don’t leave right now, I WILL CALL THE POLICE!”

With that he shouted, “You’re the worst person in the whole world, Hawk! I hope you go kill yourself! FUCK YOU!!!!!!” Then he jumped in his car and sped off.

Check back next week for Part II of "3:30 a.m."

For more Fierce Boy tales, check out https://wordpress.com/post/fierceboy.com/7.