November 15 is my son's birthday. This year he turned 27.
There have been years when I have no idea where he is when his birthday comes around. As some of you may know, he has some combination of mood and psychotic disorder as well as fetal alcohol syndrome. He cannot come to live with me, and has a hard time dealing with rules and the other people in the group settings he is in and out of. Last year we met at a local restaurant for lunch.
This year for the first time he invited me to his apartment.
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Some background for those who have not followed my diaries about my son and his difficulties:
My son has mental illness and fetal alcohol syndrome and substance abuse disorder. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when he was 14; since he is an adult, he has some kind of psychotic disorder as well as, or instead of, the bipolar. It is impossible to diagnose mental illness accurately until after a year or two of being clean and sober.
He has been treatment as long as I've had him - he came to me when he was seven; April will be 20 years. He has been on disability since he turned 18. He is unable to focus, to understand cause and effect, or the concepts of time, distance, or money.
Since he stopped living here (by necessity), he has lived in several board-and-care homes. He has a hard time dealing with rules, and has a hard time getting along with other people. So he has also spent time in jail, in mental hospitals, and on the streets. Sometimes I don't hear from him for months at a time.
This month was one of those times. Then, a week before his birthday, he called. He wanted me to go to see him that day. I couldn't, but suggested doing something for his birthday. It was not a great conversation, and he got mad that I said I couldn't afford a gift this month. But he called the day before his birthday, and we arranged to meet downtown and then go to his apartment.
He has told me before that he has an apartment, but it never seemed to last more than a month or two. I think those always were with other people. Once I went to an apartment with him, and another young man was there. I bought peanut butter, bread, and orange juice - they had no food in the house. I have thought that the other people he has lived with took him in for his money - his representative payee pays bills, and gived him money weekly.
But this time he has been in the same place for a few months. On his birthday he was where he was supposed to be, and we stopped at Little Caesar's to pick up a pizza and a bottle of Coke before going to his apartment.
Well, it really is an apartment. The whole thing looks like it used to be a motel room, perhaps 16 or 20 feet square, but it includes a tiny kitchen, another tiny room that has a small table, two chairs, and the curved portion of a sectional sofa; it is separated from the kitchen by a half wall, so it does not feel cramped. This room leads to a bedroom that is more like a room, with a bed, an open closet, a TV, and the entrance to the bathroom. It has all the parts an apartment should have.
It is in need of repair, there are holes in the wall over the doorway and around outlets and light switches. I told him it seemed to have everything he needed, and he smiled and agreed. He said he got it because he knows the owner, which makes me feel hopeful that he will be able to stay there at least through the winter.
He still wanted to come home with me, but accepted it when I told him he could not. He asked if I would come and visit him sometime. It was a very poignant question. I told him I would be happy to come if he invited me, but that it was too far to come when he might not be there.
My visit lasted perhaps a half hour. It is probably the best visit I have had with him in years. He seemed relatively organized and functional, and without the quick turn into anger that he has often shown.
It may not last, but I am more hopeful than I've been in a long time.