I hadn’t mentioned it, but I started working at the Bad Ass Boy’s Home again back in August. I missed the fellas terribly and when they called and asked me to come back, I couldn’t refuse. And everything has been going fairly well, except for the holidays. I’m beginning to think that Christmas at the Bad Ass Boy’s Home is always destined to make me rethink my desire to be a social worker.

Shortly before Christmas, two of my favorite residents were discharged from the program. I realize and acknowledge that both young men made horrifically bad choices and the consequences of their actions led to their dismissal. However, knowing that doesn’t make the good-byes any easier, especially when one of the goodbyes involves a favored resident.

Silent Boy was not even remotely one of my favorites when he began his tenure at the Bad Ass Boy’s Home. He never spoke. He refused to look anyone in the eye. Touching him via a pat on the back or ruffling his hair was absolutely out of the question;he’d flinch as if my fingers were white-hot pokers burning his skin. He gravitated more toward the punks at the home, kids who definitely never made my favored list.

Then, gradually he began to allow himself to open up a bit. I would work with him during Study Hall on his reading or math skills. We would look through National Geographic Juniors. He knew more about cars than anyone I’ve ever met, so he schooled me in what all the knocks and pings resounding in my hoopty meant. Every now and then, he’d engage me in a game of HORSE during Recreation. He began to laugh with me every once in a while.

And just as surreptitiously as Silent Boy began to open up, he wormed his way into my heart. One of my favorite memories with him involved a great talk we shared while sitting on the veranda of the main building. We were reveling in the expansive view of the 89 acres overlooking the Ohio River, just chatting. Then we jumped into a rousing game of interior redecorating with the grounds of The Bad Ass Boy’s Home. “What if we took out the paved basketball court and put in a swimming pool?”, “What if we planted nothing but wildflowers in the main field?”, “What if we tore down the cottages and built one giant house for all the guys?”, “What if we cleared actual paths through the woods for hiking trails?”, “What if we built skateboard ramps over by the giant cross?” We laughed and planned and had a great time.

Silent Boy was never very sure of himself in terms of his intelligence. He was a bright kid who got labeled early on as uneducable, mostly out of teachers’ frustration with his silence. One thing he and I shared was a love for trivia and Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. We started out watching Millionaire as much to make fun of the contestants (never let it be said I’m not a shallow bitch at times) as for the trivia. What was amazing was just how often Silent Boy would get really tough questions right. He would beam at me when he nailed a question as if to say, “I’m not the stupid ass everyone thinks I am.”

I noticed how far Silent Boy and I had come when we were watching TV one night and laid his head on my leg. I didn’t say anything, but looked up in shock at his house parent who shrugged, not quite believing how easily Silent Boy had moved into allowing certain staff members to invade his personal space. More and more often, Silent Boy would stand close, looking for positive physical contact, via a pat on the back or an affectionate rub of his closely shorn hair.

Then, before Christmas, Silent Boy and Extra Crunchy had a meeting with Silent’s real mom. Silent’s being raised by his aunt, who loves him dearly and will do anything for the boy. His mom told him, in no uncertain terms, that she would never be his mom in any way he wanted or needed. It was a dream he had been holding pretty close to his chest, but his therapy team felt he needed to hear from her the reality of the situation, so he could work on his relationship with his aunt.

I really believe that hearing that his mom truly didn’t want him undid all the good work we had done over the past year with Silent Boy. He became sullen. He cursed more than usual. He took to dropping his head and never looking anyone in the eye. He berated other residents and his school performance roller coastered from Student of the Week to being suspended back to Student of the Week again. He was once again a little lost boy.

And he made a stupid, stupid decision involving the medication of another resident. And for his choice, he lost his placement at The Bad Ass Boy’s Home and wound up in the court system. All of which happened a few days before Christmas break. Silent Boy had to leave immediately and was told to return after the first of the year to pick up the rest of his belongings.

When Extra Crunchy told me of his decision, I was devastated. It brought back memories of losing Saggy Pants. Dealing with the loss of kids that you’ve formed a fairly strong attachment to over the course of a year is not something they teach in social work classes. No one can give me answers when I ask, “How am I supposed to deal with this?” I keep getting, “It gets easier over time.” Yeah, well, that’s what they said about Chris and look how well I handled getting over him!

At any rate, Extra Crunchy said that closure is definitely a way to work through the grief of losing a kid. So, he made sure I was able to spend some time alone with Silent Boy when he came back to the Home to pick up his belongings. Because I knew I’d be bawling like a baby, I had written Silent Boy a letter, saying good-bye. After we gathered all his posters of Tu-Pac, hot rods and remaining odds and ends, I handed him the letter. He sat on his bed to read it, saying, “This is long…it’ll take me a little while to read it, ok? Don’t leave.” I nodded and he slowly and painstakingly read the letter, his finger tracing his progress through the sentences. When he was finished reading, he looked up at me, tears welling up in his eyes. He thanked me for the letter and reached out to hug me.

It was one of the best hugs I’ve ever had in my life. He hugged me hard, for several minutes and buried his face in my neck. I heard more from him in that one hug than I did in the entire year he was at the Bad Ass Boy’s Home . And I hope he heard everything I had to say to him in mine.