Losing One More Time

I heard an author on NPR today discussing his book about his second son's health crisis, after having lost the first to drugs and suicide. He commented, as did his host, about feeling like lightning was NOT supposed to hit the same place twice and, despite all odds, it did, forcing him and his wife through a second agonizing and difficult journey. While intrigued, I couldn't help but feel, “only twice?” That's not bad; I'm on my fourth—or is it 5th-- agonizing slow loss of a family member, who's still here, but gone all the same.

A phone call yesterday from a long lost friend, whose daughter is about the same age as Janai, has me thinking about her and my granddaughter Janelle. The rumor mill has Janai back in Malden, living with her old boyfriend. Brian, and his family, while pregnant again by another guy. Her Facebook page says we hate her, but I fully expect her to call the next time she's in a crisis and wants rescuing again. Twice we (my granddaughter Erin, daughter in law Carol, and I) brought her to the Cape when the verbal, physical and emotional abuse was more than she could take, and both times she ran wild almost immediately making decisions based on her own impulses, not what was best for her infant, Janelle. She behaved in some of the same ways that got her placed in residential school four years ago, and made it impossible for Erin to continue to offer help, too.

She left , claiming I didn't help her, but what really happened is that I gave her the help she needed and not what she wanted....she wanted someone to take care of her and let her have her old life back, despite having a child. When we got her services and supports, lined up multiple resources and she was placed in a shelter for young moms, she only felt trapped having to be with Janelle, 24/7. So, instead of making a plan, she abandoned her daughter to social services, claiming that that was the only way to take care of her...Janelle is in foster care, now, nearly 200 miles away, and legally I have no rights unless I offer to parent her myself, something I just can't do.

Janai's actions continue to be attributable to her mental health problems. The research I've done on bi-polar girls says that it's a really difficult disease to treat successfully and then only if the person wants to defeat it and struggles mightily with both medication and therapy. Janai will do neither. Sexual acting out is very common and the complication of reactive attachment disorder means that since puberty, my bubbly happy little bundle of energy has been slipping away from me. Janai flits from relationship to relationship, and everyone is her “best friend” or the “love of her life.” She truly believes it in the moment, which is so sad. She doesn't stick around long enough to overcome obstacles and build her own confidence and esteem; she runs away, emotionally or geographically. And always she tells the people around her what she thinks they want to hear—her truth remains hidden, even to her.

The constant drama of mental illness takes a toll on the entire family. Everyone else seems angry with Janai, except me. I'm the one who seems to take it all in, and get up each day without a lot of emotional baggage. That's probably because I'm getting to be a pro at this after losing --in one way or another--Andy (adoption disruption), Kayla (autism), Mark (Multiple Sclerosis) and more recently Aunt Adele (dementia). Janai is sick, and I can't control the future for her.

When I do cry, it's for Janelle, who's now 9 months old, and hasn't seen any of her family down here since February. I made the mistake of getting attached to her while I was driving Janai around to services and babysitting a time or two. Infants are so precious and innocent and it was a joy to be around Janelle and try to engage her attention with words and music and colors. I only hope that the social workers, who certainly chose their profession from noble instincts, will do justice by Janelle in their choice and supervision of her placement. Maybe I can convince them to let me visit or receive photos and letters as the years progress.