“Listen to me very carefully, you’re in danger,” the psychologist said. The urgency in her voice made my blood run cold. Goosebumps raced down my spine raising the hair on my arms. “You must get him to the hospital as soon as you can. If you don’t, he’s going to hurt you.  I’ll call ahead and tell them to expect you.”

Remembering that day over twenty years ago, still brings tears to my eyes as I relive one of the worst days of my life. She was speaking of my son.

Sure, he’d suddenly grown taller than me and his upper arms bulged with muscle that hadn’t been there just a few weeks ago. But in my heart, he was still the quiet young boy who loved to read and spend quiet time watching old movies with me while his more extroverted sisters and brother were out with friends. Admittedly, the past few months had been hard. He’d grown moody and often lashed out at me verbally. He’d slam his bedroom door demanding I get off his back whenever I’d remind him to do his homework or clean his room but that was just teenage rebellion, wasn’t it? I’d been through this with his older sister and brother and I fully expected his younger sister to give me a run for my money when the time came but I’d always believed that he would be different. He was so nice and showed a sensitive side that I thought would carry him through the teen years without a hitch.  Obviously I was very wrong. After weeks of trying to handle his outbursts, newly failing grades and sometimes threatening body language, I realized I needed help and we started seeing a family counselor. The previous day she had met with him alone for the first time. The one-on-one visit had been prompted by an essay he’d written for school. One he seemed oddly eager to share with me. 

I knew when I read it that things were worse than I thought. It was ugly and full of violence. While it was supposed to be fiction, the characters were thinly disguised versions of our family and the mother was being beaten by her son. Shocked and more than I little disturbed, I’d faxed it to the counselor believing she’d want to discuss it with him. Now she was telling me my son was sick and needed to be hospitalized right away.

How had this happened and what was I going to do? How could I commit my son to a mental health facility? He would never forgive me. I had so many questions with no answers. Would he ever be well again? Was this my fault? Where did I fail him? Would this experience make him worse? …

Somehow I managed to find the strength and with my husband’s help, (he was a relatively new stepfather to my kids at that time), I did as the experts asked and I got him to the hospital that night.

At the intake interview I told the doctors our family history and as much about my son as I could. I also added this warning: “He is very bright and the type of person who wants to know who is in charge and what the rules are. He may not always comply but he is most comfortable choosing how and when to disregard them. While he’s here he will be on his best behavior. He’ll try to convince you that I’m crazy and he’s a great kid trying to do his best to cope.”

The doctor assured me they were used to dealing with manipulative kids and would see through his spin. They did.

Ten weeks later I had my son back. I give him most of the credit. He worked very hard, admitting he’d been taking drugs and finally facing all the hurt and anger he’d endured before I’d filed for divorce form his natural father, an alcoholic who verbally abused us all. Many of the young people we met in the program refused to participate in therapy, biding their time until the insurance money ran out knowing they’d be released. Not him. He did all the hard work required to heal. He was never the same kid he had been before but that was because he’d grown so much. I was, and I still am, very proud of him.

At the exit interview on the day of his discharge he told me that his original plan had been to be on his best behavior and convince the doctors I was crazy. The look on his face when the therapist read to him what I’d said on the night he was admitted was priceless. “Your mother knows you very well,” she said. He smiled in agreement.

Today he is happily married with a good career. He and his wife are hoping to start a family very soon. He is health and happy in every way.

This morning Dad looked at me and said, “Everybody likes me at the hospital. They say I’m the easiest patient they have.”

I know that’s true. They tell me the same thing. And when they do I smile knowing that like his grandson before him when he’s there he’s always on his best behavior and he’d like to think he’s fooling people into believing there is nothing wrong with him.  They don't see him at home on the days when confusion reigns and he insistes I'm starving him to death or when deep suspicion clouds his vision and he he warns me, "Don't try anyhing funny or I'll call the cops." 

This morning he told me that sometimes his mind goes bezerk and he can't think, can't sleep." He was convinced it was night time and no one eats cereal for dinner. I let it go and gave him mashed potatoes for breakfast.

“Yes you're easy,” I agree.

There is no point in saying anything else. It would only upset him and it wouldn’t change a thing. He’s very sick mentally and physically. As long as he’s on his medication he’s not a danger to me or anyone else but he’s still going to be stubborn, forgetful, often angry or frustrated and extremely childlike. His behavior is very much like that of a two year old one moment and that of a surly teen the next. And like them, he has moments of sweetness and eye twinkling mischief that make it all worth while. The only real difference will be the outcome. There will be no happily ever after to his story. Despite what anyone says, he's not easy. We take one day at a time and do the best we can. Today could be a good day. Yesterday was not.  But, that’s a story for another time.  Thanks for taking the journey with me.

If you have a story about your loved one you’d like to share, I’d like to hear it. You can contact me by commenting on this site or by sending an email to bacrducci@comcast.net  I look forward to hearing from you.