Screams from a Mannequin
Apologies upfront. I'm going to vent to God and myself about suffering again, so if you're looking for something above the melancholy mark, fair warning: You won't find it here.
Our son has taken a few steps back. At least that was his p~doc's observation today during his appointment. Of course I already knew this. His fast paced talking, anger intermittent with affection not appropriately applied.
I knew this as we shopped in Costco together Sunday. He walking right next to me, hands on cart next to mine as though he were five again. Laughing at faces because they look distorted. Me "shushing" him because I'm afraid someone will think he's laughing at them, and so I remind him of appropriate laughing and considering others to be more important than himself. We talk about self control and he dismisses me. He needs to go to the bathroom and we're in the back of the store. I reluctantly acknowledge that he's going to have to walk all the way to the front...and I can't go with him, he's a grown man after all.
So he heads towards the restrooms and I watch him weave in and out of people. Laughing. Trying not to let my thoughts get away, imagining someone calling the police, or punching him because they misinterpret his laughter.
I make it to the check out and he hasn't returned yet. I choose a cashier closest to the men's room and hope we connect...praying, worrying...praying again...I finish my purchases and he still hasn't arrived. I wait just beyond the food court and look for him to emerge. He doesn't. I get brave. Or stupid, not sure which one, I ask a nice looking elderly man if there was a young man in the bathroom...um...laughing? He says "no" with a long pause. Just then I see my son beyond the elderly man in the store. I don't care, I yell his name. Several times. Loud.
He turns and smiles his sweet smile. Coming up to me I reach out my arms and hug his big neck just like a little 5 year old again, who got lost. Except he's bigger now and taller than me.
Back to the p~doc conversation today, it was another candid discussion. He telling, warning, me about the future...what medication I should have our son try if ever he's hospitalized again...his going over my son's history, telling me he wouldn't have what he has if we didn't fight the way we did...telling me that we have at least 6 more months in the group home because our state's insurance provider is changing the guard...6 months, he is 22, he has a lifetime...I don't think about it anymore...10 years ago he tells me, our son would have been in state hospital, he was almost there 1 year ago...but where will he be in 7 months? Our state hospital only allows 55 beds.
I'm not really sure if I'm afraid anymore now. I know who God is. I trust Him. But He didn't promise that we wouldn't suffer, in fact He said we would. I am just weary of the grief. It's never ending and I see the toll it's taken on us. There's a sadness that permeates our hearts and home that just won't relent. And when I look at how our country is neglecting this segment of society, when I know my friend's stories, when I see how the ACA will only add to the dire situation within our broken mental illness treatment center...I know there is only one place I can look.
One place I do look, to the One who sees and hears all things. Even though I feel as though I'm trapped inside a mannequin in a picture window of a department store screaming for help to preoccupied people passing by...I'm not here by accident. And God is not aloof.
Our son has taken a few steps back. At least that was his p~doc's observation today during his appointment. Of course I already knew this. His fast paced talking, anger intermittent with affection not appropriately applied.
I knew this as we shopped in Costco together Sunday. He walking right next to me, hands on cart next to mine as though he were five again. Laughing at faces because they look distorted. Me "shushing" him because I'm afraid someone will think he's laughing at them, and so I remind him of appropriate laughing and considering others to be more important than himself. We talk about self control and he dismisses me. He needs to go to the bathroom and we're in the back of the store. I reluctantly acknowledge that he's going to have to walk all the way to the front...and I can't go with him, he's a grown man after all.
So he heads towards the restrooms and I watch him weave in and out of people. Laughing. Trying not to let my thoughts get away, imagining someone calling the police, or punching him because they misinterpret his laughter.
I make it to the check out and he hasn't returned yet. I choose a cashier closest to the men's room and hope we connect...praying, worrying...praying again...I finish my purchases and he still hasn't arrived. I wait just beyond the food court and look for him to emerge. He doesn't. I get brave. Or stupid, not sure which one, I ask a nice looking elderly man if there was a young man in the bathroom...um...laughing? He says "no" with a long pause. Just then I see my son beyond the elderly man in the store. I don't care, I yell his name. Several times. Loud.
He turns and smiles his sweet smile. Coming up to me I reach out my arms and hug his big neck just like a little 5 year old again, who got lost. Except he's bigger now and taller than me.
Back to the p~doc conversation today, it was another candid discussion. He telling, warning, me about the future...what medication I should have our son try if ever he's hospitalized again...his going over my son's history, telling me he wouldn't have what he has if we didn't fight the way we did...telling me that we have at least 6 more months in the group home because our state's insurance provider is changing the guard...6 months, he is 22, he has a lifetime...I don't think about it anymore...10 years ago he tells me, our son would have been in state hospital, he was almost there 1 year ago...but where will he be in 7 months? Our state hospital only allows 55 beds.
I'm not really sure if I'm afraid anymore now. I know who God is. I trust Him. But He didn't promise that we wouldn't suffer, in fact He said we would. I am just weary of the grief. It's never ending and I see the toll it's taken on us. There's a sadness that permeates our hearts and home that just won't relent. And when I look at how our country is neglecting this segment of society, when I know my friend's stories, when I see how the ACA will only add to the dire situation within our broken mental illness treatment center...I know there is only one place I can look.
One place I do look, to the One who sees and hears all things. Even though I feel as though I'm trapped inside a mannequin in a picture window of a department store screaming for help to preoccupied people passing by...I'm not here by accident. And God is not aloof.
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