I knew he had been on the edge of something for awhile.
I had warned people.
I had asked for help.
I wasn’t strong enough to fix him alone.
Three weeks earlier, I came home from work mid-afternoon and found his truck in the driveway. It was too early for him to be home and I assumed he was with one of the other men who worked with him and didn’t think much about it. I fixed dinner and ate with the kids, started laundry, cleaned up from dinner, folded laundry. Just a normal at home evening. The kids and I watched a Disney channel movie but still no contact from him and his cell was going unanswered. No text messages were returned.
Around 9 pm that night, I was trying to start the process for helping all four kids wind down their day. They started taking individual showers and I walked in my room to put clothes away. I opened the door to my closet intending to hang clothes on the rod when I noticed the floor was all disheveled. Shoes were piled up in weird ways. Blankets were wadded up and piled high underneath.
I was actually quite angry when I saw a pair of my leather flats tossed under some dirty boots. Grabbing those red shoes, the pile moved and I could see his hand. He was underneath it all. Sleeping. Or catatonic. Or maybe he was delirious. I wasn’t sure. I started throwing things off him. He had created a nest for himself. It was scary. It was disturbing. I tried to coax him out. He resisted. I tried to pull him out by his legs but he kept snatching them back. His speech was mostly agitated babbling. I asked questions that went unanswered.
He started covering himself back up, hiding away in the safety of his self-created cocoon. I knew he needed help. I knew I needed help. I knew I needed privacy to call his parents so I walked outside. I wanted them to come down and help me. They both got on the phone, I explained the situation, and instead of jumping in the car to try and help their son, the only answer I received was, “Well, we will pray for you both to figure it out.”
Wait. What?
They want to pray for us?! I told them a second time that he had covered himself up with shoes and was incoherently talking. Again, they chose not to come help. I was blown away. What parents hear their adult child is sleeping under footwear and they don’t break their necks to eyeball him asap? I called my parents.
