love

one and a quarter hour has past when i arrived at the hospital. as i was walking toward the building where my daughter's ward is, someone called to me from their car window, asking me how to find ward C-7. due to it being the previous ward my daughter resided, i told them precisely how to find it, park, walk in and ring the doorbell. i told the person they most likely will find someone along the way who will help if my directions were not spot on.

my daughter painted this piece of artwork that adorns a wall at home. another wall boasts numerous frilly, ruffled ribbons won for her visual arts and photography entries in high school art competitions. the photography she took of horses were her favorites. this painting was done at home when she was 19 years old.
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i pressed the button for the elevator, and the door opened. i walked out, and toward her ward door and rang the doorbell. this ward is brightly decorated, with curtains and bright paint and lots of inspirational quotes and decorations. detailed paper hearts adorn the open ceiling, the room reminds me of a classroom, not unlike where i have worked, in special education rooms and and typical school classrooms, where the tone of the room reflects the teacher. in this case, it appears to reflect the staff, or doctor, or just is. i don't know who it reflects, but it certainly is not sterile in depiction. appearances are not everything, obviously, but hell, where i've been in the last 10 years with my daughter anything that makes you feel better by appearance helps----but is not the answer---don't get me wrong--or right, this is a ramble from the heart, same as i've done for several years here.
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today

WHEN she saw me from the room she was sitting in, she started to cry.

she leaned her head on my shoulder and i talked to her calmly. reminding her that this is temporary, and that she is loved and over the next hour or so, we sat together while i read a magazine out loud. at one point, talking to her we walked toward the window where i pointed out visuals. the dog park across the street where the old farm once stood, the entrance where i drive in and walk toward her ward. always making sure to somehow ground this for her.

what do you say to her?
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i smoothed out her wet hair and placed it into a ponytail.

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"love you", i said today, as i placed my arms around her shoulders before i left. i rode the elevator down and walked outside into the light rain. i took a deep breath and drove to her last residential facility. the place that would not phone police when she was missing in october. they called me earlier last week and left a message asking me when i would pick up the remaining belongings (of hers).

she will not go back there and she has voiced verbally and nodding that she is in agreement with that decision.

as a mother, i cannot allow anyone (unless they choose it of course) to return to a place that put her in such grave danger.

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today

chapter closed.

"hi, i'm here to get Lindsay's things", i said as i walked into the building.

Two staff inquired as to where her belongings from the last 2 years were. one person came back and walked me to the gym.

the gym is full of belongings and metal folding cots. and there in the corner among so many other things were my daughter's things. i recognized a laundry basket i gave her and wrote her name on, and had to look in a plastic bag of clothes to yes, recognize clothes she owned. plus another plastic tub. it had been cleared out from her room.

the last time i was in that area/city was when she was missing for nearly 8 hours in October 2009, only to be found by police, cold in 40 degree temps, half-clothed.

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TODAY

AS i drove home this song was on the radio. i drove this route for 2 years while she resided at that place, and as i drove away with her possessions in the back of my car,

i cried.

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load the car and write the note
grab your bag and grab your coat
tell ones that need to know
we are headed north
...
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age.
You’re dreams that catch the world the cage.
The highway sets the travelers stage.
All exits look the same.

Three words that became hard to say.

I and Love and You.

the Avett Brothers, "I and love and you"
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every star has a place to shine, even the ones we never see.

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'brooklyn', in this post gave to me, a depiction of 'world'--- ' life'.

life, take me in, though you see the shape i am in.

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this entire life situation has reminded me of an author i met as a teenager.Corrie ten Boom, in her book, The Hiding Place, had described a person in charge of release. The person's office was adorned with daffodils (tulips, flowers) in the garden, and appeared like home. As she sat in the chair before him, she became acutely aware of the dirt under her nails, and the lack of self-care she was afforded by residing in the concentration camp. I never forgot that story, the book or that woman.

Curtains and bright paint on the walls and daffodils at the entrance of the hospital in a month or 2 will not change reality.

The simple comforts we all know as home, are desired and needed to get beyond an immediate crisis, such as the one my daughter is in.

Curtains and daffodils.

i sigh as i write.


it's all about home, isn't it?
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Dignity. The minimum request.

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You've given curtains and paint, now fresh air and freedom. Facades, comforts, which is which.

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Tending a Garden of Hope

Tending a Garden of Hope", click here to read the article, and about the woman who declared hope via a Daffodil bulb.

"You need to rewrite the ending of your story," said the insistent voice on the phone. "People need to hear that what you wrote is no longer true."- 2006 Seattle Times, quoting me.