|Tim Parkinson on Flickr|
Three years ago she went to camp, and it didn't go well. "It didn't go well," meaning a few stolen knives, several broken down doors and one psychiatric hospital later she was still trying to recover. And that was with a dedicated camp counselor assigned only to her. To say it was traumatic for everyone involved would be a gross under exaggeration.
But she's doing better. Shockingly, miraculously better. She's wanting to make friends, trying to understand people and humor and friendship, noticing other's emotions and showing empathy. All things I was told, once upon a time years ago, she would never be able to do.
|Nicolas Raymond on Flickr|
I want to sit up together at night, after the kids are in bed, and say, "What do you think? How is she doing? Is she ready for a few nights in a row away from the security of home?" I want someone else who loves her and knows her and cares about her to talk with me about the pros and cons, to weigh the consequences, and to share the burden of making a decision about something that should be so straight-forward, but is about as clear to me as how to fix Social Security.
At the same time as the camp decision, I'm starting a new job and trying to stretch myself like Elasti-Girl to accommodate one more necessity. Fitting in twenty hours a week should be easy-- another straight-forward issue-- like resolving the national debt. I'm also working on a really great project with my older daughter, making a book about my mom and her childhood. While I love the project, I wasn't prepared for how facing the reality of my mom getting older would shock me like tripping over a tombstone in the dark.
|Aimee Heart on Flickr|
I don't want someone's hand to hold in church. I want someone to hold my hand in life.