Most caregivers are readily aware of their own mortality. Concerns about provision for our loved ones (who struggle with mental illness) after we ourselves are gone hover on the all-too-quickly-approaching horizon. Even when we are young-ish. Even when we are healthy. Even when we have ample resources for the future. When we are no longer able to be there for them, who will care for them like we do? Who will love them as we have? Who will understand them as we have learned to? Continue reading
Lord, it is after 3 in the morning: my “worry hour.” The terror of the night is creeping into my mind as I imagine the worst. Our adult son, Douglas, isn’t back in yet, in the home we share, so he can be safe in the bed we provide, so he can sleep in peace in those rare moments when his busy mind allows rest.
But now, at 3 a.m., he is out there. Lonely and confused. At best, he’s at a late-night diner having coffee and chatting it up with whoever will talk to him. At worst … oh the terror of the night creeps into my mind. Continue reading