When my mother struggled with manic episodes, I wanted her to take her meds. I longed for her to be stable. A mom who didn't make threats, or wear outrageous clothes. There were days I wanted her to take me in her arms and say everything would be alright. But the clear thinking woman was lost to me. 

I prayed for her, as did my father. It might appear that those prayers were not answered. She still waffled emotionally until her body was too weak to sustain the effort of accelerated thinking. 

But what I wasn't sure of, was whether it was so that she would be free of tumultuous moods, or so that I could have a calm home.

More recently, I wonder if I long for Benjamin to be released from anxiety so that he can live more fully, or is my motive to lessen the pressure on myself in dealing with his anger? Ben is at this moment telling me jokes. 

"Why can't you hear a pterodactyl eat its vegetables?"

"I don't know."

"Because the p is silent." 

"What do you call an octopus with only six legs?" 

"Hmm. What do you call it?"

"A hexapus."

"Who do vampires take on a date?"

"Who, Ben?"

"Anyone they can dig up."

In moments like this I want nothing so much as for him to be happy. Maybe it is alright that sometimes I forget.