So this is the thing: Do I really need this crown of thorns, after all? I have an embarrassment of riches. I am talented. I am loved. I have wonderful children, a loving husband. I have more real friends than anyone deserves.

And he sits in his room.

At least now it is clean. Not thanks to me, who used to turn the other way and let it all go to hell, for long periods, because I couldn’t stand it. But. Thanks to my relentless advocacy on his behalf, he now has DHS workers who come every day and care for him. They clean his apartment and give him his meds. My burden is lightened, his life is better, and yet I feel wrong because I am not wiping up the crap myself. Scooping up the cockroaches. My grandmother would not have foisted this task off on another. But I have. I travel the world and have nice dinners while a county worker cares for him.

It's funny, both his caregivers repeatedly tell me what a good mother I am. What is that? Do most others just abdicate completely? Yes, I keep track of everything, I make sure he is okay. I spend time with him. I take him places. I make sure he is safe and sound, every day. If we didn’t have the caregivers, I would do it all (hell, I did it for ten years). But does that make me a hero? I feel like I am doing the bare minimum.

And he sits in his room.

We make plans. We think of ideas. We sign up for things. And then he bails, at the last minute, almost every time. His father says I am a fool. Give up already. But I can’t. I cannot. The question is why? Is it for him? Because I want better, more, for him, or is it for me? Is his sickness a reflection in my ego? A verdict on my life? The final word: I failed. 

And he sits in his room.

I do know this. I love him beyond imagination. I am bound to him, carried by him, pulled into the bowels of the earth by him. And I would have it no other way. I know that I will never give up. But what I need to know is why. Is it MotherLove or is it my ego? God. Someone tell me. Only I can answer that question and I am frozen.

I was so full of pride. He was handsome, brilliant, charismatic...and then it was all gone. Did I do this? Was it my hubris that called this disease to him? To shut me up and teach me a lesson? Is he the victim of some cosmic retribution? I think it might be true. If I had had more humility, maybe the universe wouldn’t have picked him for this insidious disease. I hate myself. I just know this is my fault. 

And he sits in his room.