Sunday, February 15, 2004

LIFE OF BRIAN 7: Everything falls apart (Brian says good-bye to Betty the social worker in L.A.) My home was visited and evaluated and I was interviewed. Positive recommendations went out from Butte County and in September of 1982 the traveling Mrs. Brown drove Brian to our door, visited briefly, handed me some notes scribbled on the back of an envelope, and then drove away. My kids were crazy about him, my husband caring and helpful. My request for medical records from L.A. resulted in a single doctor's note: "This is a lad with Down syndrome." He had mysterious little circular scars on his back and a bony protrusion under a scar on his forehead. I learned he would slam his head hard into a wall when frustrated. I learned he had petit mal seizures. He spent his first days and weeks with us running around like a just-uncaged animal. I got him enrolled at Loma Vista School, an excellent program for the developmentally disabled. He started there badly --he was unruly, used his foul language liberally, struck other students. When it came to controlling Brian at first, "nice" had no impact. Body language and facial expression meant everything. If you asked him to please not do that, he became Godzilla on wheels. If he saw anger on your face, though, he'd stop misbehaving immediately. He really wanted approval, but acting scary was the only way to convey disapproval, in the beginning; he just couldn't fathom language. Inside of six months of family life Brian began speaking to communicate. When he walked into the kitchen one afternoon and asked "What's for supper?" it seemed like a miracle to me. As time went on he revealed a fan's vast knowledge of Kirk-era Star Trek and Bruce Lee movies and soul music. He loved to dance. He became obsessed with Michael Jackson and Peter Gabriel. Gradually he became the peaceful, funny, loving, hardworking guy he still is. In 1983, Mom's life in L.A. was going to pieces. She'd walked away from her job, was unable to keep any of the several she got after that. She was miserable and frantic and her life felt out of control. She never saw any connection there with her alcohol consumption. She'd made the down payment on the house we were buying in Chico. Now she believed the only solution to her problems was to move to that very property and be near her family. She'd make a new start in Chico. I couldn't cope with it. I'd been able to live my life reasonably well as long as I'd confined our relationship to occasional holiday visits. But in the year following her move to the little house in our back yard I succumbed to a state of paralysis even Al-Anon couldn't help me with. We abandoned that property to her and rented a place a couple of miles away. But the cascade had begun. I lost my job of five years with the academic press, and it moved to Atlanta. I became ill with some mysterious malady. I miscarried a five-months pregnancy. My husband walked out. We were evicted. And my brother fell ill with pneumonia so severe he was nearly septic by the time we got him to the hospital. He stayed in intensive care for two weeks, strapped down and morphined. The hospital grief counselor dogged me the whole time, urging me to "just let go." But I hung onto him for all I was worth. In spite of their best efforts to kill him off with surgical errors and who-cares cost-cutting, Brian survived. I'd prayed and promised, and I felt like I'd physically dragged him back up over the edge, but I'm pretty sure it was his own choice. The two of us recovered and adapted and began moving forward again. I learned late in 1985 that I could get a wage from the state for taking care of Brian, and with that to help us back on our feet I went on to write for the local daily, work part-time at a used book store (the same one) and as parent aide in the high school English department. For two years I associate-edited a magazine, and I worked at a weekly newspaper for three more. My sons are terrific people, bright and loving, understanding and tolerant, and they were fun to raise during this time. Brian graduated from his program in 1990 and went into a work training program. My eldest son graduated from high school, and then my youngest, and they each left home to get on with their lives. And then it was just Brian and me. And we lived three blocks from where my mother lived with her mother. And we got the heck out of town. 12:21:14 PM    say something if you feel like it []

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