Still Hope


July 26, 2017

It's been seven years since
the Wave of my son's illness first crashed over him.
Seven years since I realized he needed something
that neither he nor I could see nor taste, smell nor hear, touch nor feel.
Seven years since I tried to find the boy
who'd disappeared in Darkness
and smother out his Pain. And Sadness.

But Sadness swallowed him whole.

It's been more than four years since
my son went to Prison.
More than four years since he decided,
from the backseat of a Police Car,
to finally accept his Diagnosis.
More than four years since
I finally received the Call
and he stopped running
Four years since
I finally knew where he would sleep that night
and I felt Relief. And Sadness.

Sadness swallowed me whole.

It's been over a year since
my son left Prison.
Over a year since he came out the other side
and began to face the world of Recovery,
discovering it is a world of constant motion.
Like treading water,
Recovery expects constant Movement,
constant Effort, constant Work,
Recovery nags, never satisfied.
The journey of Recovery is always that.
A journey with no Destination.

It's been more than a year and
we are both Still just treading water.

It's been more than a month since
I left my teaching job
More than a month since
I began this new career
to Advocate and Support people
living with mental illness and their families
People like my son. And people like me.

And the work we do brings me joy.

But also, sadness.

Sadness that I can't solve all the Problems.
Sadness that there are not enough Resources
and not enough Hours and not enough Days
and not enough willing and capable People
to do this Work.
All this Work.
Not enough. Never enough.

So yes, Sadness.

But with the Sadness,
also Hope.

Still
Also Hope.



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