First I was Mama, Then I was Mom, Now I'm Mama Again

Peter was always a difficult child. From his two month early delivery, years of colic, his constant running, challenging, disruptive behavior to his most recent behaviors, he has been difficult.

He as an infant was so small. Not even 4lbs at birth. Such a small life, such a crying baby. Playing peek a boo over stimulated him so he cried. As a toddler he was in constant motion. He refused to make eye contact or say he was sorry. As a young boy we had call after call from the schools.

"Peter is disruptive."

"Peter is uncontrolable"

"Peter has learning disabilities"

"Peter needs special teachers."

Years of alternative education. Years of IEPs and PETs and Teacher Conferences. Cause and effect, consequences and rewards. We finally got him through to the 8th grade. I was so proud. It was a struggle for him. He was to go to regular classes and even be on the varsity swim team as a freshman.

Then he ran away to his Fathers house.

I learned to let go. I tried to hold on and help him, i tried to keep him in school, away from the drugs so prevalent at his Fathers house, I really tried. Finally i got lazy. He was where he wanted to be. He refused to come home. He dropped out of school at his Fathers request so he could help watch his younger brothers and sisters. I really tried but everything was met with resistance and arguing. My life was less stressful with him in the care of his Father. I let go.

He found a girl. She was cute and sweet and took him away to live in New Hampshire. Her family loved him and he loved them. Until one day i got a call.

"Peter needs to go home now. He is a good kid but something is wrong."

Something was wrong. Peter developed Paranoid Schizophrenia. He was hospitalized four times. The last time was in the State Psychiatric Hospital. He was released on medication.

He is no longer on that medication. He has lost his apartment, he has lost his friends, he has lost his mind. I love my son with all of my heart and soul. This is so difficult to live with, to see him try to live with it.

He is lonely, sad, afraid, no...he is terrified. He is terrified that we are already dead, that there is only one loaf of bread left in the world. He is terrified that people are trying to hurt him, to kill me, to harm us. He believes there is a man in a blue van that follows him around and takes his picture. He sees demons and attacks them but those demons are people going about their business.

I love my son. To see him in this much pain. In torment at 21 is almost too much to bear. Yet i have to be there, I have to advocate for him, and I have to keep an eye on the doctors and case workers who have way too many other peoples children to worry about. I have to keep a 40 hour a week job and do this 24 hour one as well.

I love my son, I see his smile sometimes before he hides it. I don't even mind the voices that he hears that make him laugh. Because i get to see him smile and hear his laughter. The voices that yell at him and warn him of dangers that dont exist, i hate those voices.

When he first became sick with schizophrenia, i was fresh out of a long relationship, in my very first only me apartment, a new job was before me. I was only 40 and my life was still wide open before me. Then my son became ill. He became dependant on me more than when he was an infant. I had to learn how to cope. I had to learn how to care for him. I had to learn how to tread lightly and reassure him that we were indeed still alive. That there was no danger behind the refridgerator door. I had to learn to be calm at all times. To push workers and Doctors without offending or alienating them. I have had to learn to love this stranger who is before me. This person whom i dont know who has stolen my sons beautiful body and taken over his mind.

I hate this disease but i love my son. Again.