Intervention

Today I am involved in an intervention. A young man with mental illness and addiction needs help. This kind young man was an acquaintance of Colby's, and has an addiction to cough syrup. I am surprised to find that cough syrup is one of the leading types of addiction. This is especially scary because, like prescription drugs, most cough syrups can be purchased over the counter. An overdose can cause extreme psychosis and even death.

Five family members and a social worker are also at the intervention. They have a place for the young man to go: a dual diagnosis center that can help. The young man is angry. He says he can't have a problem; cough syrup is legal. He is given a choice of going to the treatment facility or to the Nashville Union Rescue Mission. The choice is his. He says he will go to the Mission and runs upstairs to gather his things.

When he comes back down minutes later he looks for an out. He rationalizes and decides to go to the treatment facility. The real possibility of the Mission, the streets, and homelessness have frightened him. He is still angry, but a ride awaits and he gets in. I hear later that he checked in safely. He made a good choice. He has a hard road ahead, but he also has a chance at a long, productive life.

Another person was at the intervention, one of the Board members for Colby's Army, the nonprofit organization several others and I founded in memory of Colby. I have not mentioned this in a while as we have been laying the organization's foundation. You can learn more at ColbysArmy.org, but one of the things we do is help people with mental illness and addiction, like this young man today, get the help they need. That did not happen for Colby. But it can happen for others and we will help many. Today's young man was just the first. 

Colby's Army recently got the okay to accept tax-deductible donations and every cent will go to help people with mental illness and addiction, as well as animals and the environment, causes that were very close to Colby's heart. There are several programs in the works, which will be kicked off as funding allows. I think Colby would be pleased. I think that because I felt Colby at the intervention today. I felt his spirit in the room. To me, that was his unconditional stamp of approval. I miss you, son.

Fog

I think in a fog. Without clarity, without reason. Sometimes. My brain is on overload and I know I am not functioning on all cylinders. I look at my toothbrush this morning and can't figure out what to do with it. Oh. Yea. Teeth. My grief counselor says these memory gaps, this fog, is my body's natural way of insulating me, my mind, my brain, when there is too much to process. I am not thinking clearly.

Colby came to me in a dream last night. I haven't dreamed of him for some time. Not since the first few weeks after he passed. In the dream we are at my mother's house, although I know she is not at home. In the living room, Colby has a newborn baby leopard. It is sitting next to the chair he is sitting in and he reaches down to pet it. It's cute, I think. It has a cute face. But how did he get it? What is he doing with a baby leopard? "It's a squirrel, Mom," he says. I know this is not a squirrel, but Colby insists that it is. Then he gets up, goes into the kitchen, pours a gallon of cooking oil on the floor and begins to spread it around with a mop. "What are you doing?" I ask. I am panicked. This is going to be a huge mess. He is mopping the floor, he says. He knows I am upset about the squirrel and wants to do something nice for me.

The dream fades, as dreams do. I waken and think about the dream. Before he passed, between the addiction and the mental illness, Colby had not been making good choices, thinking clearly. I am sure there is a correlation here, but I do not know what it is. Yet. I will think about this today, as I sort through more of his things, run my errands, finish up a writing assignment.

As I think, I am aware of my own fog. These days I proceed cautiously in everything I do. I want to be sure I am not unintentionally doing anything that will cause harm to me or to others. Thank goodness the stove blew up last year. At least I don't have to worry about that. But I am extra careful when driving. Always looking for those stop signs, red lights, bicyclists, dogs. I tread carefully going up and down steps, think before doing anything. Anything at all. I think the difference between Colby and me is that I know I am living in a fog. I am not sure that Colby did. More to ponder, think about, process. More reason for the fog.

Cubes

Yesterday was a very emotional day, but whenever I was at my lowest, someone called. This morning when I wake my face is so swollen from the tears that I don't recognize myself in the mirror. But I feel calmer. I needed the emotional release. And, I decide that the bruise on my leg is just that. A bruise and nothing else. Whew.

This morning I make a mixture of tea, juice and water, and drop in a few ice cubes. An hour later, when the glass is empty, I find that one cube has not melted. Odd, I think. Then I look closer at it and smile. The unmelted cube is one Colby bought years ago at the Mall of America near Minneapolis. He was maybe 10 or 11. This cube is a piece of plastic shaped like an ice cube with the image of a fly embedded inside the cube. I haven't seen it for years. And how it got into my ice tray, one I had filled not all that long ago, I have no idea. But I am glad it was there. I put the cube back in the ice tray and know I will smile every time it turns up in my glass.