This was the best day I ever spent in a mental hospital.

{ARCHIVES: Originally written Feb 2018, originally shared Feb 2019} 

I wrote this one year ago today. It wasn't published anywhere (May go in the book later, not sure.) but I feel like I should share it now for some reason. It is VERY raw- emotions mixed together sloppily, thoughts clear as mud, and the grammar atrocious (kind of my signature at this point...). But that is EXACTLY where I was when I wrote it.

A year later-- Another "I love you SO much" and another happy birthday. I'm very clearly grateful.

Here we are again. Third time’s the charm? We hope. 

We have no expectations. 

Nothing is going to change dramatically in the next 7-10 days. We know now. 

We also know we need a plan and we can’t make a plan if we can’t turn our backs or look away. 

So he’s safe and we’re safe and we’re here again.

Trying things differently this time though. 

Our hearts hurt, but exhausting our bodies and draining our bank account won’t help. We know now.

So we go when we can. Some days are good. Like, really good. Different good? A genuine hug, an honest feeling, and an unprompted “I love you …so much.” My first! Ohhh, it was good. 

And some days are… just hard. On him, on us. Ugly words and pushed away and… same ole’, same ole’. But that’s okay. These days are reminders that 1) We are seeing progress on those good days; and 2) we should not just scoop him up and bring him home on those good days… because nothing is going to change dramatically in the next 7-10 days.

It’s a Monday and three of the children have appointments at Vanderbilt. The others were out of school and it’s my birthday. Nathan feels bad that my birthday will be spent with all of us at doctor appointments, but that’s grown up birthdays and I’m fine. Actually, we can drive together and he’ll take some kids and I’ll take some kids so it’s fine.

I’m fine. 

I’m fine. 

I’M FINE.

We realize that the first round of appointments finish around the same time and we’re able to all go eat lunch together. I feel terribly guilty that we just spent $50 on fancy grilled cheeses, but Nathan says it’s fine because it’s my birthday. After that, it’s visitation time and we are all at Vandy and can go together. 

This is a huge, albeit risky, bonus. We don’t know what kind of day it will be on his end, but we give it a whirl...

This is the first time we have all been together in weeks, after only a couple of weeks of all being together. 

They put us in a visiting room with nothing but six chairs and our deep breathing. We tip-toe for a few minutes, feeling out the mood. He seems fine. He doesn’t like questions and conversation is slow because it’s hard to catch up without questions. We’re caught up quickly and clumsily and someone starts singing softly, when Cale “steals” the song. In an instant, we have a riff-off. Riff-offs are kind of our thing (except no one gets “out”… Oh, God- can you imagine??) UNFAIR. And anyway, why would less singing be better? It wouldn’t. Everyone stays in. Our awkward beginning is suddenly and very unexpectedly interrupted by Cale jumping out of his chair and adding dance moves to his vocals, which are instantly stolen by his twin.  Now it’s game on.

Within twenty minutes, there are eight Wests in six chairs replacing deep breaths with Bohemian Rhapsody. We are not even stealing anymore, we are all in for every song. Every one knows every word- little high, little low- AS LOUD AS WE CAN. There are eight people screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs in a mental hospital.

Two hours go by singingly smooth.  Waves of voices and laughter, boogies you’ve never seen. Dolly, Queen, Elvis, Bruno, Marky Mark all in attendance. It was loud, authentic, and us.

I was sure they’d either kick us out or invite us to stay forever, but I did not care one bit.

We were together and we were happy.

We aren’t like other families sometimes, in lots of ways. Living this life has given us one hella dose of perspective.  Medical needs, broken hearts, constant school meetings and appointments, a mental health battle that’s forced us to live apart for 8 ½ of the last nine months. THIS is what matters- being together. Laughing. Singing/screaming. Dancing. Together. We know now.  

Also, you can spend a grown up birthday in a mental hospital visiting your son with your family, and it’s not just fine. It’s the best day in a very long time. 

Child of Mine.

Roman has had a series of problems in his left ear as long as we’ve known him. Last year, he had a corrective surgery and a few weeks ago went for a follow up. In addition to damage and scar tissue, the chelation therapy required for his thalassemia can cause hearing loss so it’s important to stay on top of it. At this appointment, we needed to confirm total post-op healing and, hopefully, finally pass a hearing test. Unfortunately, during the exam it was quickly discovered that he had developed multiple polyps inside his ear, some ruptured, and he had a massive infection.

“Roman! Did you know?? Were you hurting??”

“Well, I knew it was some kind of problem but I didn’t know what. Sometimes I cry in my bed or there’s blood on my pillow.”

I was stunned… kinda frustrated… and sad. How is it that he still doesn’t tell us when something is wrong? That he still isn’t trusting us completely? He still thinks he should tough it out alone.

In China, Roman was not allowed to get out of bed. Before his adoption, he was told not to bother us- especially at night - that we would be angry and he would be punished. He’s been our child for 4 ½ years and we are still trying to convince him that it’s okay to tell us something is wrong. It breaks my heart how many nights he has spent alone in his bed hurting or afraid and told us about it later. I have been constantly trying to remind him that if he tells us what the problem is, we may be able to help.

Recently, he came in the middle of the night(!) He gently tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Mama… it’s not a stranger…. It’s your son…. Roman.” I was SO glad he came to me and trusted that I could fix the problem.

I was in my prayer closet over a situation in my life today and had a revelation.

God is stunned… kinda frustrated… and sad. Because I've been His child for 37 years and He's still trying to convince me that it’s okay to tell Him something is wrong. I’ve been lying in bed with a problem, trying to tough it out alone. I didn’t want to bother Him. How is it that I’m still not trusting Him completely? It breaks His heart how many nights I've spent hurting or afraid. He's been constantly trying to remind me that if I tell Him about the problem, He may be able to help.

So today, I’m whispering…

“Father… it’s not a stranger… it’s your daughter… Amma. Something is wrong and I don’t even know what. I need you and trust you to fix the problem.”

A VERY MERRY UN-CHRISTMAS!

🎄🎄🎄

The change in routine, the expectations, & the unpredictability of Christmas chaos give Cale SO much anxiety. We prep, we plan, we structure, we provide alternatives ... he just can’t do it.

When you’re stressy and agressy then Christmas gets kinda messy.

Things were different this year though.

We weren’t together. And though he did panic with anticipation in the days leading up to it, he called Christmas morning and couldn’t have been sweeter.

He communicated that not knowing what he was getting was creating stress and he needed us to tell him. So we did. We told him his gifts over the phone.

No magic.
No surprises.
No hustle and bustle.

And we were met with “Thank you, Mom and Dad. I feel better. I love you so much. Merry Christmas and goodbye.”

Tonight we are together, just the four of us, opening a few small things alone in a dark, quiet hotel room. He couldn’t be happier.

It might not look like everyone else’s Christmas. It might not look like what *we* ever imagined even. I wont pretend we haven’t grieved that. But with no magic ... and no chaos... our son found joy and peace in Christmas, and isn’t that the point anyway?

All is calm, all is bright. Beautiful boy. 

#NoMatterWhat