Frankly, today is a bad day. I've just returned from visiting my son in his apartment, as I do everyday. How coherent or how edgy he seems determines what I define as a good or bad day. Today he is impatient, loud, and not hearing or not understanding my words, and indicates very clearly that I should leave. I was there about 15 or 20 minutes, and I, of
course left.

Easter Sunday was a good day. We (my daughter and family) went to his apartment (he refuses to come to our homes). He cooked the main dish with little help. He likes company and although it's a bit anxiety provoking for him, he gets through it in a pretty organized way. When we leave he
seems weary, but satisfied, and we are pleased.

My son is 51 (I am 80). He has been given a variety of diagnoses: bi-polar, paranoid schizophrenic-disorganized type, schizoaffective. As to why he developed a mental illness? I no longer take that torturous route of questioning ancestry, family history, birth trauma, childhood, adolescence, etc. I could answer “yes” to the difficulties at each level. But then, why do some siblings escape those ravages of the mind? It seems hopeless for me to prod any further. I am more and more a realist and at this point care
only to deal with problems on a day-to-day basis.

When he breaks down verbally and either cannot or will not communicate even the simplest of his thoughts or feelings, I find it frustrating and am often at a loss as to how to cope. At these moments, I quietly sit there and chatter about unimportant matters or busy myself around the apartment if he will permit me. Those are the bad days, but there are good days when he's able to focus on errands or other matters (laundry, haircuts, etc.).

He seems to be taking his medication fairly regularly without supervision. I set it out for him in a weekly dispenser. The psychiatrist, who includes me in the consultation, prescribes his medications. She is working on finding just the right combination of drugs, and I appreciate her persistence. I admit that in spite of the day, I am always hopeful that eventually he can be relieved, if only in a small way, of this terrible illness.

My daughter, her husband and their two children are helpful and patient with him. Their support has made it easier for me. But the primary sufferer is my son. It is a tragedy that, through no fault of his own, he is relegated for the rest of his life to experiencing intrusive voices, disturbing thoughts, dependence on us for his needs and worst of all, isolation from normal
relationships outside of the family.

I watched on TV a description of a community in Northern Europe that made the mentally ill integral and respected members of their community by assuming responsibility for their disabled and affording them the dignity of acceptance and understanding as well as medical supervision. Wasn't this the original intent in the U.S. when state hospitals were closed (and are still closing)? I think that here, religious communities with little funds come closest to that nurturing model of providing concerned and longtime relationships. Professional relationships are sorely needed, but a poor substitute in terms of intimacy and longevity.

My son is a lonely figure. Aside from us, he has no one. In his isolation, he is deprived of companionship and of the important sense of belonging. I think he feels it keenly. I am always hopeful that someone else will also find, under it all, his intelligence, his humor and above all, his wisdom.

Some of us have experienced the trauma of seeing our loved ones arrested. Seeing, under the circumstances of mental illness, them handcuffed and subjected to police routines and subsequent incarceration is heart-rending, as is the procedure for involuntary hospitalization. We realize that our loved ones are not only captives of law enforcement (who often do a good
job), but also captives of their own minds.

As for me, at times I have a sense of loss and grieve for that son who had some joy in life and potential for achieving some degree of happiness. Now, I can only be there as he struggles with the simplest tasks of life. He is doing the best that he can and that's all a mother asks, ever.