No end in sight

Today is day nine. She was admitted to the mental health unit nine days ago. On average patients stay 7-10 days. Not her. Not this time. Today, they are still not ready to start talking about discharge. They don’t want her thinking about getting back into her daily routine, her life, just yet. No driver’s education, no hours in cosmetology classes, no AP tests at school, just getting “better” - whatever that means when you have a mental illness.

We go see her every day in some combination of parents and siblings, but it isn’t easy. Life is still moving forward and we are moving with it. There is work and school and daycare. There is laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. There is making a sandwich or having cereal for dinner. There is rushing to get things together so we can go to the hospital for a few hours. There is little “being home” before 8 p.m., just do it all again the next day.

And as she sits there, getting “better”, I still can’t help but feel that she is largely forgotten. That I have left her to get better on her own so I can go on with life.  That people think she’s fine. She’ll be okay. She isn’t dying in there. I wish people better understood - I wish I better understood - that she is fighting to stay alive. To want to stay alive. To want to be here. To want to be.

And there is no end in sight. No end to the rushing to see her, no end to the cereal and sandwiches, no end to being home at 8 o’clock every night, and no end to doing everything we can to support her and be there for her no matter what. I wouldn’t have it any other way because the alternative is unimaginable.  

And life just keeps moving forward.