. . .
Several days ago (I've really lost track of time), my daughter, who had recently sent me a very negative, shall we say, email about our relationship, suddenly gave me a call. She was very upset, and was asking all kinds of questions about my health, and had I been feeling ill or in pain, and made me promise not to drive that night. (It was late, so that was easy.)
This continued for a day or two, and I also spoke with her father, who had had similar calls from her. She was disoriented and her speech wasn't making much sense.
Then she disappeared. She didn't call me when she said she would, and the next day her father went to meet her, as they had planned, and she wasn't there. Just before the 24 hours were up that are required to file a missing persons report, her father found her at the local hospital's emergency room. She had been treated roughly by the police (jerks, I hate them), then taken by ambulance to the hospital. Monday evening, she was finally admitted to a psychiatric hospital.
I couldn't visit that night, but I went last night and tonight. The psychiatrist has suggested an antipsychotic, but she doesn't want one. She may be willing to take an antidepressant, which she definitely needs.
And so it goes, as someone once said. Despite pain and fear and loss, the asters continue to bloom. I, for one, accept it and am grateful.
. . .