The Never Normal

Somehow it all fell apart.

We were visiting Jonah and driving “slow on the driveway” and managing okay. Then he started attacking in the car, so we stopped driving him around. Instead, we brought him lunch and did a campus walk together.

Then he started attacking on the walks.

As the situation deteriorated, so did Andy’s attitude toward me. Visits were merely awkward at first. He was quiet, even for him – only speaking to answer my questions, a sharp yes or no. Just before Thanksgiving, I told him I’d be bringing food down for he and Jonah.

“Just bring it for him,” he said.

“You don’t like it?” I asked.

“I. Don’t. Want. It.” he answered icily.

I figured he was in a bad mood, so I let him be. But the next Saturday was worse. My father fell the day before Thanksgiving and was hospitalized, and I’d had a tiring week. Now Andy seemed to be in a bad mood again. On our campus walk he admonished me as an angry parent would a small child, emphasizing the words in a cruel, mocking tone. “Stay AWAY from him. You’re going to get HURT, and then you’ll CRRRYYY.”

Wow. What? Tears sprang to my eyes from his words alone, no attack from Jonah necessary. I’ve never heard Andy use that tone since the day I met him. Never. If this hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t have believed it. Andy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body; everyone knows that. And yet here we were.

The next Saturday I arrived in town a little early and called Andy to tell him so, because it was raining and I didn’t know what kind of visit we could manage. Anderson has a visitor center with mock apartments and you can reserve a room, but I wasn’t sure whether or not it had been reserved for us this day.

When Andy answered, I apologized for calling him so early and asked if Briana had reserved a room at the visitor center. He said “I don’t know, you’ll have to call Briana.” I asked if he could please call, because I was still driving. When I arrived at Anderson I parked where Andy usually does, waiting for him to call me back. When he didn’t, I called him again. He was in the drive-thru line at McDonald’s, getting Boo some breakfast. “Did you get hold of Briana?” I asked.

“I left her a message,” he answered, clearly annoyed. Then suddenly he kind of exploded.

“Jonah doesn’t care if you visit,” he told me coldly, almost yelling the words. Then even louder, each word a punch: “He. Doesn’t. Care.“ The words stung, even as they rang true. I tried to stay calm. The meditation I’ve been learning came in handy just then. I’ve been working on creating a PAUSE between what is happening to me and my reaction to it.

“Okay, well, be that as it may, I’m here now,” I said. “I’m parked over by the dumpster behind the house.” He hung up.

I sat in the rain in my car and watched for him, trying to keep it together. After another 15 minutes, I got out of my car as Briana was pulling in. She was returning from a meeting and had just hung up from talking to Andy. “We don’t have the visitor center room,” she said, “but we’ll make something work. Andy is already here.”

For some reason, Andy had parked up by the visitor center and walked straight to the front of the house while I was parked in the back. Was he even going to tell me he’d arrived? Clearly his intention was to not find me.

By now I was frustrated, cold, and annoyed. Briana told me she’d get Jonah ready and would meet me out front, so I walked up to where Andy was standing on the porch. He said nothing to me. I said nothing to him. We stood waiting as a full five minutes stretched out torturously. The wind blew cold and the silence, colder.

When they finally brought Jonah outside, there wasn’t much for us to do but let him eat his food on the ledge by the porch, under shelter from the weather. We hadn’t planned this out very well, obviously; both Andy and I share the blame for that. Briana tried to help, offering to bring out some chairs. Before any of us could consider this, though, Jonah said “walk” and turned to go. The rain was only spitting by then, so Andy and I followed him.

I tried to talk and engage Boo as best I could, but he was walking so fast I could barely keep up. We’d only walked about 100 feet when he turned to hit me and I dodged away.

Andy looked over at me and screamed GO HOME!

No PAUSE this time. I yelled back. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but you don’t have to treat me like shit.”

And I left. And yes I cried and no he’s not going to mock or shame me for it – or anything else – anymore, because this time it’s mama who is all done. Later that awful day I texted him.

I’m going to schedule zoom meeting visits with Jonah once in a while, instead of driving down. I will call the house each night myself to see how he did each day. When I do visit Jonah in person, I’ll set up the appropriate accommodations with Briana. I’m done speaking to you and being around you. Don’t contact me until you can treat me with respect.

He hasn’t contacted me since, so I guess he can’t.

And just like that, POOF he is gone. Before December 5, we had spoken at least once a day since always. As recently ago as this summer he was joking and laughing with me, reading me the (excellent) mythology he has been writing, gifting best friend Erin and me with hand-crafted mugs for Mother’s Day.

It was not necessary for us to speak once a day, but it was nice to touch base – because he is my son’s father but also because he is my friend. I’m over being angry and hurt; clearly it’s Andy who is hurting. For now, I can hope my absence from his life is a source of peace.

Later that day, Briana and I spoke on the phone about what happened. I tried to keep our discussion about Jonah, not Andy and me. Briana was professional and kind. She reminded me that Jonah hadn’t had a single aggression for the whole 3 months+ when we couldn’t visit because of the Covid lockdown this past spring. That’s true, I admitted. He did do well.

She said maybe we could try Zoom visits and less frequent in-person visits. That worked out nicely before. That’s true, I said. It did.

Later, I thought about what Andy had said: he doesn’t care if you visit. That’s true, I thought. Andy might have told me so in a nicer way, and maybe it’s not entirely true, but yeah. He probably doesn’t.

And then I remembered what it was like to go away to college, almost exactly the same distance away from home. I sure as hell didn’t want my parents up my ass every weekend.

My son is 18 – but because of his disabilities, it’s been easy to treat him like a perpetual child. Maybe I’ve been doing him a disservice this whole time, both in the way I regard him and in the way I inflict myself upon him. I’ve been so doggedly determined to drive to Rhinebeck and visit for the smallest amount of time under the crappiest circumstances – and for what? For him or for me?

Or for others – relatives and friends and the imaginary judgmental society watching to see what kind of parent I am. If I am a mother who visits her child regularly.

Do I care so much what others think that I’d adjust my own logic to fit their expectations? Do others expect anything of me at all? Does Jonah?

My mind goes in circles. I am reminded I am mentally ill.

I tell myself I’m thinking and

attempt to

rest again in the breath.

And then came a solution.

To be continued…