I sat with a client last night who has endured a lot for being a mere eight years of age. When I visit his home, we sit together at the dining room table. He sits with his legs folded beneath him to give him added height in the chair, propping up his chin with his small arms. He's experienced a lot of turmoil recently, more than any child should have to withstand. Aside from the recent chaos, he lost his mother two years ago, though she never had custody of him. His father comes in and out of his life for months at a time, leaving the client and his siblings to live with their grandparents when he can't handle the stress of taking care of them. It's been four months since my client last spoke with him.

His behavior has been unruly and rebellious lately, which is pretty normal for his situation. Yet he still needs limits and boundaries, so I ask him what things he needs to work on this week. He starts to name them off, "Listen to my grandma, do my homework, go to bed when they tell me to..." I ask him to write them down so he can remember them throughout the week. Instead, he starts drawing a large heart and writes I love with my name written next to it. He looks at me with a huge smile. Then he looks back down at the paper and contorts his face as if something isn't right and adds next to my name, is my mom. I can feel the ache in my gut and I have to hold back the tears. I try to tell him gently,
"I'm your counselor, not your mom. Do you remember your mom's name?"
"Yeah."
"What was it?" He tells me.
"Do you remember what she looked like?"
He quietly says, "No, I can't remember." He then switches the subject, "Did I tell you about the new four wheeler we got?"