I cannot stop for crying March 2, 2011
I cannot stop for crying.
Three days ago we discharged my dear brother Wallace from HCMC. That stands for Hennepin County Medical Center. It is a huge rambling place. A hospital where they have tried to make the navigating easy but one gets lost. And when one is already winding through the inner labyrinth of stress, uncertainty and distress it is twice as easy to get lost in the winding corridors that almost lead somewhere.
But you do find your way back. As I did to my mother’s small room back in January. There she lay radiant and demanding, her head against the pillows. The windows looking out on a deflated sports dome with a large blown up poster of one of the demi gods of football looking back at us.
There the friendly hospice staff visited us and prepared us for the long journey back into mystery once Emily returned home. There in that room our spirits soared as I read her excerpts from Thomas Merton. We looked at his ink drawings. I read her spiritual passages. She thanked me for the branches I had brought her. What did I know. Nothing. I did not know it was our farewell evening together….
Later that evening the knd Romanian nurse brought me a huge brown recliner. I slept in it and held Emily’s hand throughout the night. She went home. Two days later she died. That brief night in the hospital remained with me once the swirling clouds of grief descended.
Funeral. Cards. Anxieties about my brother. Ten days after my mother died my sister and I brought him to the psych ward at HCMC. He was withdrawn and afraid. It was scary.
So back to the familiar place. HCMC. A few floors up from my mothers sojourn. There we place Wallace in an unfamiliar setting..sensing and knowing that late midnight as we sat in the ER…that yes, we had made the right decision. Yes…there was hope for Wallace, he could move ahead.
Days passed on the fifth floor. After a while Wallace found his footing with the deep support of his doctor, social worker and the right meds…
One crossroads and another…one decision and another.
We visited a group home for Wallace not far from downtown. To my astonishment and to my sisters amazement he loved the simple room with the duct tape on the carpet. The well worn, well loved place held many tired and weary souls..We had our uncertainties.
Monday we went to the hospital. I carried big paper pink flowers and met with his doctor and social worker. Over the weekend Wallace had waffled and not wanted to go to the group home. He wanted to go home. I was intrepid and uncertain….what was the right path. My intuition kept telling me to TRUSt….to trust…the quiet voice said trust.
With guidance from the doctor and social worker we decided that the group home was best. I started crying. I cannot stop for crying…..Wallace smiles now. He is able to express himself. He can describe his affliction. I cannot stop for crying. Looking back on the long road we have taken. All of his personal suffering and the help he did not get.
I went to my mother’s grave yesterday. My dad sat silently in the car. One can hardly see her grave now, it is barely a mound in the snow.
Mom I said. Wallace has wings now!! He can fly!! Rest in peace.
Dad said….Rest in peace. I love you. Don’t work too hard.
Wallace has wings now. He can fly. As I write this he is doing an experience day for artists with disabilities downtown.
He quickly sat down and started painting. I learned not to hover….
I cannot stop for crying.
Wallace has wings now. He can fly.
I cannot stop for crying.
