Visiting Day

I went to see my older son by myself the other day. The long ride to the hospital didn't feel as long because for a change I was listening to what I wanted to listen to in the car (mainly, podcasts from The Moth) and was feeling a little brighter than the rainy weather. I stopped off to pick up some Burger King for him and also brought along all kinds of other crap like Kit-Kats, Reese's Pieces and Swedish Fish. Just your average visiting day at Camp Mood Disorder.

Actually, I take it back. My son's in this unit called The Lodge and it's really more of a dorm setting except that everyone there is majoring in anger or depression. My son, I'm proud to report, is carrying a double major. And that about wraps up the comedy portion of today's program.

When he came down from his room, he looked tired and cranky and I don't know why this made me so sad, but it did. He hasn't even been there a week and has been on meds for even less time than that, so I don't know what I was expecting. He's not the most smiley kid on a good day and, as it turned out, this wasn't such a good day.

We sat down to eat and I began to ask him questions, really just to keep the conversation flowing, and he answered with a word or two (yes, no, meh) until we started to talk about what's gonna happen once he's discharged. I explained that I still didn't know, but that we can't continue to live the way we've been living.

He didn't really see a problem in the way we've been living, which, of course, is our biggest problem. I brought up the fact that he was getting high all of the time and he said that he was gonna continue to party because that's who he is. Then I brought up his female troubles and he said that I can't tell him who he can or can't go out with. I kept at it, asking about some money that went missing and he said that he didn't fuckin' know anything about it. A few seconds later, I saw his face change right before he angrily stood up from the table and walked away.

I just sat there, knowing he'd return and in about 15 minutes or so, he did. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, watching some androgynous kid play Connect Four with his (or her) folks. And then I gently repeated that with the help of the right meds and therapy, he needed to change his attitude if he wanted to come back and live with us and that maybe we needed to change a little, too. He nodded and said that he didn't want to fight anymore and I said that I didn't come there to fight and we were both crying as we hugged each other tight. Then he looked at me and said, "I'm glad we had this talk."