It’s Thursday morning and I have lots of work to do. I still haven’t read the writings my mother gave to me and I’m meeting her for lunch. I don’t want to read her writing and I know I have to. I’ve already read the happy ones, the mini-memoirs of the happy events of her … Continue reading Don’t Want to
I got a call from the police at 10:30 p.m. They found my mother in a park and saw the open missing persons report I made from the last time she disappeared. They asked me about my mother’s history. We talked about involuntary commitment, which they said they did not have cause to do. I … Continue reading Mom’s Been Found
I have made the calls, which was easier this time. It was easier because I know what city she’s hanging out in now. It was also easier because I’ve done this before and we were reconnected in time. It’s become part of the process of my life now: mom disappears and I call the hospitals, … Continue reading My mother has disappeared again, the fourth time.
So, I’m at the regular meeting spot on the appointed day and the appointed time and there’s no mom. Two weeks ago I missed our meeting because I threw my back out. As is our agreement if either of us misses a meeting, I came to meet her same place, same time, same day. No … Continue reading Again
Homeless people are as diverse as other people we group together. I have heard friends and acquaintances talk about “these homeless people” followed by some overall judgement about how they’re all on drugs or they all break into people’s homes and cars. It’s easier to oversimplify, pass judgement, and move on. Homelessness is a difficult … Continue reading Let’s Start Here
I was talking tonight with a woman who had offered to help with my mom. She had set aside a comp. ticket to hear her music group perform. I didn’t go and wanted to thank her. I had put off calling her since I hadn’t explained anything to her about my mother other than she … Continue reading You Never Really Know
It’s happening. She’s meeting with the psychiatric liaison at the police department, someone who could help change her life. After trying to get her help and mostly failing, it is the best thing that’s happened all year. Still she’s on the street. It is more awful than I can imagine for her and I’m getting … Continue reading Getting Used to This
I have a story inside me and I’m afraid it’s so big it could blot out the sun. It rocks in the ocean of my belly and the waves come out in tears. My face knows this place where I have never smiled, still as stone. I have a story that rings from under glass. … Continue reading I have a story
I’ll give you a hint: she’s now 79 and still on the streets.
I keep telling myself this, knowing it’s true, knowing I don’t quite believe it yet. Bargaining, they call it. I keep trying to figure out how to get her well again or at least safe. Right now, it is all awful. We are past the point where she will take shelter voluntarily. If I try … Continue reading Some Things Cannot Be Fixed