Journaling my thoughts...
A small square room with four chairs, a desk with a computer and office chair, one window with blinds, bookshelves, a couple of plants. One psychiatrist, one mom, one child. The things unseen are indescribable. Not one person in that room can feel the emotions of another, nor hear the thoughts of another. The time here feels like a crap shoot. A roll of the dice.
The psychiatrist speaks, directing questions to the child, then listens for responses. The child's words are almost inaudible. His eyes in constant flux...blank gaze, quick glance, side to side, blink blink blink. He traces the brads of the leather chair with one finger...across, down, around, up, across, around. He moves his head...side to side, up and down, back and forth, briefly hangs it down. He wriggles his bottom in the chair...shifts left and right, forward and back, bounce bounce. He repositions his legs...crossed, open, in the chair, dangling. He takes breaths...deeply, shallowly, rapidly, slowly, pauses the breathing for a few seconds, sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair. He looks at his mom with eyes pleading "help me". He has very few answers. He has no focus. He can't remember clearly. Answers require focus, memory. Answers don't come because the child does not have the ability to concentrate or accurately remember the things he's done or experienced in the previous week. The time here feels like a crap shoot. A roll of the dice.
The psychiatrist speaks, directing questions to the mom, then listens for responses. The mom's words are clear, strong. Her eyes are intently focused on her child, astutely absorbing every move, every sound he makes. Her fingers clasped together in silent prayer asking that the answers be revealed. Her head pounding with the inability to feel her child's emotions, know his thoughts. She sits in the chair, still. She shifts her body slightly. She takes breaths...deeply and slowly, hoping to regulate her child's breathing. She rubs her forehead. She looks at her son with eyes pleading "tell me". She has very few answers. She has unwavering focus. She can remember everything, clearly. She remembers the things he's done and experienced in the previous week. She hates that he has to live it and that he has to relive it through her voice, her words. The time here feels like a crap shoot. A roll of the dice.
The child looks up. The mom looks over. Their eyes meet. The child winks. The mom mouths the words "I love you". The child smiles. The mom smiles. The tears quietly stream down his cheeks, her cheeks. The time here feels like a crap shoot. A roll of the dice.
They rise. They walk through the rectangular door of the square room. The mom gently tousles her child's hair, gives him a hug. The child wraps an arm around his mom's waist, squeezes. Their love is no crap shoot. No roll of the dice. Their love is mutual, deep, powerful. Through the love and the plan of God they are mother and son...no umbilical cord ever joined them...the bond was born of heart and soul...and she would die for him.
