Dec 2 2020 Update

Yesterday, our loved one returned from the hospital after 30 days. It was a sweet day. They made me a collage, including a positive affirmation they’ve been repeating to themselves. They took care of several necessary errands, including getting a new bank card, and picking up medicine at the pharmacy. They did several things they definitely could not have done a month ago. The time in the hospital definitely did stabilize them.

We also had celebratory Dominoes pizza for dinner, their favorite. We all sat at the table and they entertained us with stories about the hospital, some very funny, some sad. There was a twinkle in their eye we hadn’t seen in some time. We also learned more about the auditory hallucinations (voices) that are in their head that result in the certitude that I’m stealing things that my husband is a pervert. We were able to talk about that, and express our deep sorrow that those thoughts ever came, as we’d never want to be those things.

We also were able to talk about medicine: its impact on them, and how it’s a very very quick ride from skipping one dose, to deciding they never need meds again. Regularity is critical, because the first symptom that returns without medicine is the thought that there’s nothing wrong, and meds aren’t needed. Who hasn’t missed one dose of a daily medicine? It’s horrible that the effect of this missed dose is so damaging.

Our loved one wants to travel to Seattle to visit extended family for several months. A previous visit did not end as well as hoped, so we are a little apprehensive. And we want to fully support their wishes and desire for self-determination. At this point, a casual offer to come was made, and our loved one is hopeful that further communication with the host will occur to make this trip a reality. It’s possible the offer won’t materialize, which would be very disappointing for our loved one. That dissapointment would be double edged, too. First comes the dissapointment that extended family does not follow through (wouldn’t be the first time), and then the practical dissapointment that our loved one would be again stuck at our home, without viable housing options.

Meanwhile, we are continuing with our pursuit of permanent guardianship, and steps slowly being taken in the legal field to arrive at a hearing. We’ve no idea when that might happen, but we’re taking baby steps.

In my work world, I have the opportunity to lead discussions about where people are seeing God in their world. During this season of Advent, we embrace -or at least tolerate – the dark. Four weeks of darkening days in my environment, ending with a day with only 9 hours of light. Throw in a pandemic and a persistent serious mental illness, and this Advent feels dark.

And yet, we await God incarnate. We have hope. I’m not sure of the right theological terms, but I tend to rely pretty heavily on the idea that through the Holy Spirit which is within us all, I don’t actually need to wait to meet God incarnate. I meet God in nearly every interaction I have with another human being. Yesterday, the pharmacist was really struggling, hours behind her orders including ours. But I waited for an hour while she tried to get to our order. Once we finally paid, the pharmacist apologized profusely. And what I saw was God incarnate, helping us get meds to keep my loved one stable.

At the dinner table, we laughed and joked and were serious about a 30 day inpatient involuntary hospitalization. God incarnate around the table.

Today, I get the opportunity to take socks and hats to people living on the streets. They will not always be grateful, or lucid. God incarnate.

This morning, I’m thinking about Advent, about darkness, and about the insistence that God incarnate is all around, all the time. More than a manger, that’s what makes these days brighter for me.