I visited my sister, Amy, today for the first time in
months. I was a bit over-generous with my belated birthday presents for her
since the occasion was almost three months ago and I had missed it. Buying a
couple extra things helped assuage my guilt, which was forgotten the minute she
joyfully ripped the packages open before I even had a chance to get them out of
my car.
My sister turned 50 on May 25 of this year. She’s not quite
sure, but she thinks she’s about 16, which is the age her mental illness first
became apparent. Perhaps I should say that that’s how old she was when we had
to drop everything and try to get her some help.
She lives in a group home in Ortonville, Michigan with about
20 adults who all have some kind of mental problem. They seem pretty peaceful,
but maybe that’s because they’re heavily medicated. When I was there today,
there were several residents sitting around the t.v. watching something insipid
featuring a hairy puppet I didn’t recognize. The show had the look of a cheap
Sesame Street knock-off.
