Overall, things went in Mr. Happy’s favor yesterday.
The prosecutor has agreed to no jail time and no sex registry. I honestly felt faint with relief when those words came out of our attorney's mouth. No sex registry. I’ve waited so long and prayed so hard to hear those words, to say nothing of how long my son, and Rob, have waited.
But, and you know there’s a but because, well, isn’t there always? There’s a disconnect between what Rob and I proposed in our plan and what the prosecutor thinks we proposed. And for that, I’d like to slap our attorney in the head.
Somewhere along the way phase one of our plan completely disappeared. Phase one as in Mr. Happy is sentenced to five years supervised probation and I go home, and several mature, wonderfully generous adults take turns checking in on him every day. Phase one, in which whoever sees him lets me know how he’s doing and I log it: the date, the person, what they said, the whole shebang. And, periodically, at the request of the court, etc., I provide that log for their review.
Phase one is to be in place until we hear that the Arc of Jacksonville has a spot for him. Then, phase two, in which Mr. Happy rides off into the sunset to live near the beach and the Jaguars stadium (apologies to Trevor Lawrence for any “stalking” that ensues), starts.
Somewhere along the way, phase one vanished and phase two became The Plan.
We’re standing outside the courthouse yesterday morning feeling, as you can imagine, very celebratory, when our attorney says, “So how soon after June 12th (our next and hopefully last court date) can he go to Florida?”
“Probably two years,” I reply.
“Two YEARS?” he responds.
“It could be one,” I offer, “but we don’t know.”
“He can’t go in JUNE?” he asks. “Can you call and ask if he can come in June?”
Sure, I can call and ask, and I can call God and ask if I can wake up in the morning and look like Margot Robbie ‘cause that’s gonna happen too.
“Ok,” I reply, “I’ll call. But–”
“Because that’s what the prosecutor is planning on, that’s what he’s working on getting his boss to agree to.”
Well where the fuck did he get that idea from? I think, but don’t say because now my head is spinning and the joy that filled me seconds earlier is racing away like a sugar crash and I’m afraid I’ll collapse onto the sidewalk.
“Call,” he says. “Ok? And call me later.”
Sure, I reply.
Then three of us shake hands, Mr. Happy literally vibrating with happiness, and I can’t get to the car fast enough.
“You calling now?” Mr. Happy asks as I reach for my cell – which has to stay in the car during court for some “official” reason no one’s ever shared with us – and practically punch in my pin to unlock it.
“The Arc? Oh hell no,” I respond, “I’m calling Rob.”
My poor kid. He’s absolutely elated. It’s all over in June! No jail! No sex registry! And yet his mother is seething.
Rob is appropriately annoyed when I explain the situation to him, even going so far as to raise his voice. (Totally not the norm.) And then he does what I need him to do: he takes charge so I can collapse.
“I’ll set up a call, we’ll all talk. It will be ok, Susan,” he says. “We’ll get it straightened out. Overall, it’s good news, ok? Hold onto that.”
I turn on Waze so my son can get us home and then, faster than you can say “This is fucked up and I am so not going home in June,” I fall asleep.
I tried to work when I got home, but I kept falling asleep. I tried to watch TV last night with the boys, but I kept falling asleep. Right now, all I want is to go back to bed. I know, I know, I can do hard things. I am resilient. This too shall pass. All that shit.
But my gut, my incredible, crazy good gut does not like this one bit.
And that’s bad.
I can’t thank all of your enough for your dozens, and I do mean dozens, of comments, emails, and text messages yesterday morning and Thursday night. Notes from Pamela, my first reader friend! From Diana, my bestie from middle school! Thank you, all of you, for your prayers and good thoughts. And thank you for your kind words about my words. As the saying goes, I hate to write, but I love to have written. Thank you for liking my stuff. I love you.
My husband and I always say "Celebrate the wins!".
This is a win. The rest will work out.
Please enjoy your weekend.