Tonight I called my mother-in-law. She'd just been released from the hospital. I haven't mentioned it in the journal, since I haven't really known what to say about it, but she's been there for several weeks now, in the mental health ward (links are to my weblog posts about it). Apparently, she's been extremely depressed since around Christmas, and she hit a real low point where she was delusional and paranoid. She was hospitalized when family members started to become concerned that she was a threat to herself.

I only got to speak to her a couple of times while she was hospitalized; much of the time, she was dazed-sounding and unable to carry on a conversation. Eric spoke to her more, but was reluctant to talk about it, beyond saying that she was "out of her mind." Last night, she called to say that she was being released today. He was shaking his head when he got off the phone; although she was no longer deemed a threat to herself, she was obviously still not lucid.

So I called her tonight.

"Hi, Rita. How are you doing?"

     "Oh, just fine. I got out of the hospital today."

"I heard! How are you feeling?"

     "I'm feeling good. I know there's a joke going on, and I'm going to figure it out."

"What do you mean, a joke?"

     "About me being put into the hospital. How's Sam doing?"

"Um, he's fine. He's had a rough day, with lots of tantrums. I think it's because he's working so hard on learning to walk, and he's getting frustrated."

     "Where are you?"

"In the living room. He's getting tired, so I'm going to put him to bed soon."

     "We sure do miss him. I can't wait to see him."

"Oh, us, too. We need to set up a visit soon - maybe another Pittsburgh trip. It's been too long."

     "Well, I know there's a joke. I know you're here."

"What?

     "I know you're in West Virginia. You're coming over."

Deep breath. "Rita, we're in Ohio. I wish we were in West Virginia, but we're not."

     "Okay, then." She chuckled. "I'm glad I'm out of the hospital. There was nothing to do! You couldn't really talk to any of the patients; they were crazy."

"Well, did you read any?"

     "No...I know there's a joke."

"Rita, I promise you that we are not there. If we were there, I'd come over and visit you; I wouldn't stay away just to play a joke. We miss you!"

     "Well, okay."

"I've got to go put Sam to bed. Do you want to talk to Eric?"

     "Yeah, let me talk to him."

"We love you."

Eric came up to the bedroom after he hung up. She had continued to believe in the joke, he said, and believed, besides that, that it was Saturday and that it was still June. She thought it was still before Sam's birthday, and that she hadn't missed the party.

I don't know what to say to Eric to help him feel better. Will she ever get better? Will her memory return, and her mind unbend? There's really no way to know, and reassurances ring hollow. He doesn't seem to be visibly shaken, so I have a difficult time comforting him; if he doesn't want to confide in me, then I can't force him.

However much I may have butted heads with Rita in the past, I do love her. She's a sweet woman, and if she never fully returns, I'll miss her very much. I've thought about what we could do to help the family, wondering about the feasibility of moving to West Virginia so that I could help care for her during the day. Eric says it's not possible, that there are no jobs for him in the area. I want to do something and I feel so impotent about the whole matter.

For now, all I can do is pray: pray for Rita, pray for her family, pray for Eric and his brother. Pray for myself, that I can find the wisdom to know what else to do.