On serious mental illness, homelessness, and family.
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When a homeless person goes missing
Two years ago, my mother, who was and is homeless, went to the hospital with physical symptoms and was admitted. After some visits and discussions, she agreed to go to a skilled nursing facility for some intensive physical therapy. I scrambled for that month to keep her happy enough to keep her there and to…
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Opening the second missing persons report for my mother
Some things are easier the second time around. Opening a missing persons report turned out to be one of those things for me. Not easy, but easier. Opening the first missing persons report was so traumatic. The officer at the desk was so dismissive, like I didn’t really know my mother was missing. He gave…
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My unpopular opinion: It’s okay to say “mentally ill.”
When I was in college, I had a roommate who found a great many things weird. She used “weird” to describe things more than any other word. In an effort to get her to help her open her mind, I would respond that it isn’t weird, just different. After a while of this, she started…
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My missing mother: I don’t know a whole lot
I opened an envelope and it all changed. Her bank statement has two deposits, her social security and her pension, and no withdrawals. No withdrawals can mean anything, but nothing good. My first, best, likely option is she is in the hospital or she was in the hospital and then transferred to some longer-term care.…
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Coming back to myself
Here I am, coming back to myself after a long time away. I hardly know where to start. The awkward pauses, shuffling on the porch. Remembering how to meet my own eyes. How to speak and be heard, how to listen with love. All the while wondering. Knowing where I have been, knowing where I…
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I relocated a spider
I relocated a spider this morning before my shower saying, “You do you, just not in the bathtub.” Feeling how life has relocated me. Remembering the many times I’ve ushered flying insects out of the house, waving my hands, creating turbulence in the air. It must have been very confusing until freedom. I was comfortable…
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I thought I saw her on the train platform last night
I was coming back from a circus show in North Beach. I had gotten there by train, the same train I took to visit my mother when she was in San Francisco living on the street. (She’s doing the same now in San Jose.) Going out I remembered the weight of sorrow in my face,…
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My mentally ill, homeless mother and COVID-19
Turning the new year and coming on the two year anniversary of the COVID lockdown, I am thinking about my mother and her challenges over the past couple years. When we went into lockdown, she was staying at a hotel. She thought that she was having money added to her bank account to enable her…
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Where do I start when I talk about my mentally-ill mother?
I could start with the first time she was hospitalized, in what was supposed to be my last year of college. In the hospital, she greeted me in her nightgown with one of my stuffed animals, a mouse, in her hand. In her room were the rest of stuffed animals of my childhood. Or maybe…
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I’m tired of this
I don’t want to talk with her. If I talk with, I’m reminded of how bad the situation is. I’m reminded of her delusions. I’m reminded of her struggles, her vulnerability. I’m reminded that I can’t help her because she won’t let me. I don’t want to try to find her, because I’m reminded how…
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My new home and homelessness
I am moving to a new place at long last. I am over the moon. Years of San Francisco rent being too damn high is finally starting to turn around. I found a sweet little garden apartment in a quiet neighborhood. Just my speed. While I am full of excitement and anticipation, I am also…
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Compassion and expression
Something is changing the way I express my compassion, how I feel compassion. Something is different and it may look like I’m lacking compassion. One thing I have noticed in caring for my mother is a basic change in my temperament. I have had to learn to tolerate a new level of grief, pain, and…