mental illness

breakdown

A phone call - an update, reassurance - we both feel uneasy.

He comes home from the psych ward today.

The docs will pack him into an Uber

and send him ‘home’.

A home that’s emptied of wife and child

Who have fled to safety of their own

Leaving Dad and sister to fend with

this other him.

Uneasy after changing the locks.

Uneasy after calls for protective order

Uneasy after screwdriver sunk into the electrical fuse box in the basement

to keep the carbon monoxide out of his head

and electricity off.

Uneasy after the shattered doorway opened by force

and physical threats to both father and sister

and tenant above.

Uneasy.

Ten days away and their world has changed

Into open wounds of adversity and uncertainty and no reassurance.

He’s fine, they say.

On meds and understanding his state of mind, they say.

“He’s playing you,” his wife contends.

Too late for reason; he’s out the door.

Seventy-eight years old and waiting

for furious storm to hit this afternoon.

He’s hoping his son moves out as promised.

Heartbroken.

“Observe his eyes and movements,” I say

Drumming into him what he already knows.

There’s no way to reach him.

Either one.

“You’re not as strong as you once were,

Now he’s got you outweighed.”

“I know,” he says, and silence falls.

I hope 911 won’t be too late.

Uneasy, he and me on the phone.

There’s nothing more I can say.

In the end, each walks alone.

For better or worse, we’ll wait out the day.

Uneasy.

(c) 2021 by Iris B. Struller