Josiah went into the hospital August 29th. Every day since then I have kept an over night bag packed. Every morning, as if on vacation, I pull my make up bag out of it to get ready for the day. Then I plop it right back in. Every day when I go to see Josiah I take it with me. I have everything inside I might need should I spend the night.

It seems like a joke at this point. With Josiah’s increased agitation I barely get a 5 minute visit let alone a lengthy one. Maybe toting the bag in and out of his room every day gives me hope.  It seems like such a silly thing but offers a morsel of comfort.  Having pj’s, a toothbrush and other essentials helps me feel confident I can be there for Josiah, no matter how long he needs me.

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It’s getting worse.  I showed up at the hospital with a balloon, a ‘string’ toy and some other goodies from home.  Josiah’s immediate reaction to me entering his room was agitation.  I can’t be sure but I think he grunted.  He got up off the bed, pushed me out of the way and signed ‘finished.’

I asked about his night, I asked about his morning and I asked about his general mood.  The assistant in the room with him said he had been doing well.  As I stood talking with her, he once again got off the bed, pushed me away and signed ‘finished’.  Each of his attempts to get me away from him was followed by an instant punch to his head.  It went like this, push, ‘finish’, punch.

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Most days when I go to see Josiah he is sleeping. This is how I found him yesterday afternoon. It doesn’t seem to matter when I get there.  I’ve tried different times of the day, hoping to catch him wakeful and excited to see me. I haven’t had much luck.

For the past 3 days he has pushed me away and seems irritated when I try to get close.  He signs ‘finished’ and if I don’t immediately retreat from his personal space, he hits himself repeatedly in the head.

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Josiah is temporarily placed in this new hospital one hour away from home. He will be there for 6-8 weeks. His life has changed immensely in such a short time and will continue to change from anything he’s ever known. He used to live at home with us. He had his own room, with a large trampoline smack dab in the middle. He jumped on it often, many times in the middle of the night. He had a bunk bed with a fort area down below where he would sometimes lay to watch a video on his ipad. He had his Skweezer sheets to snuggle up under at night.  He had his glow in the dark stars on the ceiling he used to stare at when the lights were turned out.

He used to go to school.  He used to ride a bus.  He had a classroom and teachers and friends. He could swing in the backyard on the swing set. He could help take Mocha, our dog, for a walk around the block. He could ride in his bike trailer.  He could splash in the water at the neighborhood pool.  He could go to the movies, even though the only part he truly seemed to enjoy was the popcorn and the movie credits at the end.  That’s his very favorite part.  He could go for a ride in our van, which he frequently loved to do.  He could go to the store with us and go to church.

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Rick and I were so relieved to know Josiah was going to be transferred to a different hospital. We were incredibly thankful our insurance company came through at the very last minute when it truly felt all hope was gone. We were thrilled Josiah was going to be getting the help he needed.

The day after Josiah’s admission, we met with his new psychiatrist and felt as if finally, someone understood. We only spoke to him for 20-25 minutes. Yet, in all of Josiah’s 13 years, I don’t think anyone has had a handle on him quite like this man.  For the very first time it seemed Rick and I didn’t need to be driving things.  This guy knew his stuff.  He was confident.  He was experienced. He had a plan.  We could relax.

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