These days are a painful pattern of interventions and redirects, none of which seem to carry any success. Bethany’s abusive and self-injurious behavior seems to be growing in intensity, her sleep – less predictable. We don’t even bother hoping for a good day – we just wake up and wonder when it’ll all start falling apart. And if you think it’s falling apart for her, imagine what it’s doing with us.
Between mom’s Alzheimer’s and 14 years of magnified complexity with Bethany – lets just say we’re tired. It’s not uncommon for us to give up hope at least 3 times a day.
Today I thought the emotional storms had passed so I took her for a late afternoon drive in the ’78 MGB. Top down, breeze flailing all that black hair, nice music, and all the sunshine you could imagine thoroughly washing away all the worries and frustration. It was a great ride right up until she decided to start head-butting the passenger-side window. I was angrier with her for screwing up a nice ride than I was worried about either her head or the window. She breaks so many things that I don’t even flinch anymore. Fist through the wall, I can patch it. Break off a handle, mangle a vase, smash a window, rip the door off the dishwasher…you get the picture; I fix it.
Bethany, I can’t seem to fix.