At the hospital, The Child’s mood is cheerier. The crayons didn’t work very well, but someone allowed her a pen, and she has spent her time filling in the illustrations with patterns and doodles, instead of colors. The effect is magical, and I tell her so, before I have to go – a nurse is finally available to accompany her to a shower.
She calls me that evening – she’s persuaded another nurse to return her phone, but this Sunday night freedom is gone by Monday morning, when, after three days of waiting, a space is finally available at the psychiatric hospital.
I wish I could hug you, to somehow give you encouragement. I don’t know what to do other than to read your posts and feel the pain that seems to bleed through the dispassionate voice in these posts.
I hope your daughter finds her center. I hope you both find your way to each other again as trusted, reliable family mates.
Thanks Cindy. We are just day by day right now.