I think Benjamin is coming home today. We will not know for sure until we meet with the staff, but it looks like the steps are in place. The last time he was hospitalized the facility recommended in home support but insurance nixed that so he has gone for over a year with no therapists to help him navigate life. No paid ones that is, as he has been supremely blessed to have the attention of two kind friends who take him for walks and one who does reflexology. 

 

Family members brought him the puzzles he got for Christmas, which seems apt. In fact he was fitting one that afternoon we were trying to decide whether to take him in. He had his puzzle. We had ours. 

 

Ben loves the challenge of a good jigsaw. There is the initial overwhelm, when piles of oddly shaped scraps of cardboard offer little to go on. Then he starts to sort. Blue stripes here. Edges in a line. Patterns start to emerge, and each successful match brings with it a surge of encouragement. If by chance at the end there is a stray piece on the floor he will hunt for it, until the whole smooth picture is complete. He is proud and wants us to see. 

 

One he has finished half a dozen times is a Norman Rockwell print of a little girl outside the principal's office. She is smiling, but has a shiner. The administration doesn't know what to do with her. Sounds about right. The sheer number of professionals who have weighed in on Benjamin's behalf shocks me. It started at Children's Hospital of Los Angeles, when a dozen doctors bent over their notes to figure out why this child struggled. Since then there have been scores more people in a spectrum of specialties who all ponder the enigma of what Ben needs.  

 

Sometimes I feel a pang of guilt that his share of attention dwarfs that of his siblings. None of the others have collective records that amount to more than a manila folder. The answer that I console myself with sounds better in my head than on paper, but here it is. Caring for someone, even when it is messy, is not a one way proposition. It somehow bends back to enrich the life of the giver as well. Which makes no sense. Supporting people who have mental illness, or physical concerns, or emotional turmoil can be exhausting. There are bruises to heal, and tough calls to make. 

 

Yet there is that smile, that moment of joy even though it is wrapped in scars.  For a fleeting moment I can believe that it all fits together.