6 years ago I sat in an uncomfortable chair beside an uncomfortable mattress on the floor facing the uncomfortable truth that I couldn’t imagine a future in which The Boy, The Brother & I would all be warm, safe & dry.

The Boy was in hospital for a psychiatric evaluation (which amongst other things found me failing as his parent) and I did not know how the rest of the evening would go. I knew where we would sleep that night (him in a hospital bed, me on the aforementioned mattress on the floor) but I didn’t know where we would sleep the next night, or the one after that.

I cried silently sitting beside The Boy, waiting for the next time he lost his words, lost his peace, lost his ability to be present in the world. I didn’t have to wait for long.

I cried myself to sleep that night, filled with not knowing.

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This afternoon I sat on an uncomfortable chair beside The Boy, who if truth be told is almost a man, listening to teacher after teacher tell me what I already know. He is delightful to teach, a pleasure to be around. By the 5th one I was struggling to hold back my tears.

I wanted to say “Let me tell you where we were. Let me tell you how it was. Let me explain how different this nearly man is than the boy he once was” but I didn’t. He deserves the freedom to be the nearly man he is now, not to be tattooed with the past that we share.

I know the difference. When I think about it, it steals the air from my lungs.

I used to say “He is getting bigger and stronger. If this continues one of us will be in the morgue and the other will be in the Joy”. He is bigger and stronger now, standing at least 4 inches taller than me.

We regularly drive past the morgue and he is most definitely a joy!