I'm cycling through a few thoughts.
Gary and I have had more than a few conversations over the past two weeks. He's been a source of encouragement when it came to my decision to try an anti-depressant. And he did remind me that I should be willing to take my own advice. We joked about how bad my side-effects could actually be in light of his reactions to several medications he has ingested over the past year. Including, but not limited to, falling asleep due to extreme mood-stabilizer-induced-drowsiness which landed him face-first in his breakfast cereal at the table he shares with the other clients on his ward at Napa State Hospital. He was practically a narcoleptic there for awhile before the doctors finally wised-up and switched his meds.
One of the guys he befriended on the first ward he entered upon admission was a pyromaniac who went by the nickname 'Raven.' They were pretty tight there for awhile until Raven's paranoia and jealousy kicked in. He's the one who threw the hot tea in Gary's face in an effort to burn him. A most unfortunate cellmate who situated himself on Raven's bad side in prison woke up one morning to find himself wrapped up and set alight. That landed Raven in the hospital. Raven has also attempted to turn himself into a human torch more than once. I can't begin to comprehend the history, brain wiring, and internal pain which shove a man onto such tortuous paths as those. Recently, Raven landed himself into enough trouble to end up in the local jail, awaiting court and a possible trial for the part he played in injuring a fellow patient. Gary knew this and felt a bit bummed though he wasn't surprised; he didn't hate the guy . . . just knew he was bad news and incredibly unstable.
So, Gary is in the day room one day. The local news pops up on the television. Somewhere between weather and sports is a story about a man housed at the jail after being transferred from the state hospital. This man had wrapped himself in toilet paper and set himself on fire. That was all they had. No more. No less. Gary immediately knew it was Raven. He had employed that identical M.O. on himself before. It was an unpleasant moment. These are the types of people in his world. These intense broken men are his friends, his enemies, his acquaintances, his roommates. His compassion for them is palpable. It creates confusion within him as to where to draw clear lines in order to maintain his sanity and safety.
I wonder if it will prove too much for Gary.
In a separate conversation -- or maybe an extension of the same one, how can I ever be sure with the multiplicity of calls between us? -- we hashed over his Tuesday counseling sessions with the 78 year-old psychologist/college professor who so generously agreed to become Gary's one-on-one. In her role as facilitator and helper, she shares thoughtful stories about herself and folks she has known. They get Gary's wheels to turning. Give a little. Get a little.
She told him of a woman who once worked at the hospital as a psychologist. Many years ago. Her mother had been a patient of the hospital; her mother went through pregnancy and delivery at the hospital. Thus, this psychologist was born to a ward of the State of California. This was the reason she pursued psychology. She chose to work there when the opportunity arose in order to give back. To honor her mother. To make a difference. All the many idealized and romantic reasons any zealous greenhorn harbors at the onset of his or her pilgrimage into adult life.
But she found herself in a personal quandary. The more she delved into her job, the more challenging it became to clearly decipher her place in the pecking order. Who did she side with? Where did her loyalties lie? (Or is that 'lay?' Michael, are you reading?) After all, these concrete walls and sterile halls were her first home, her place of origin. Her knowledge of her own mother created an empathy for all institutionalized patients which blurred the lines when it came to clearcut therapy. She was a professional who was there to work and assist. She was also the child of a woman who fell into the ranks of men and women who were trudging through her office on any given day. Eventually, she felt too compromised to be effective and vacated her position there.
When I heard this woman's story, it stayed with me. Almost like a haunting, though without the accompanying fear. Her dilemma fascinated me. The trajectory of her journey, from birth there to working there, with childhood and schooling sandwiched in between, reflects a purposeful patience I understand. And she had no guarantee it would all coalesce as she wished in the end. This, too, I get. Every other day I remind myself that loving my brother, continuing to be his friend, encouraging him to believe in a future -- none of it ensures a happy ending. So, I don't approach it with that expectation. At least not anymore.
Regardless of what lies ahead, I will simply love him because from the moment I knew he was a growing seed in my mother's belly, I was excited for his arrival and I wanted to know everything about him before he came. I loved him before he ever was a solid thing that I could discern with my five senses. I loved him without being privy to his future. Without any expectation that he should please me or fill any need within me. Because he was a human being, my natural inclination was to love him.
My natural inclination continues to prevail.
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