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Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Leaving the Jail

From the jail I drove to the Post Office to mail a birthday card to Cuz.  I sat in my car for a while listening to the long version of “American Pie” and trying to wipe my mind clear of the scene at the jail.  It didn’t work.  I finally got out of the car and went in the Post Office and mailed the card. 

I wanted to drive home, undress and put on my gown and crawl into bed with Honey.  The pull toward my house was like an under-toe, strong and cold.  I started in the direction of home but managed to veer onto I-75 in the direction of Kristy’s office.  I promised her some cauliflower soup I made the day before.  

We sat outside and smoked and I told her the story of my visit to the Parrish at the jail.  I flashed back to the concrete room echoing the screams of small children and wondered again what they were doing in a jail.  I was clearly undone, and Kristy is a kind listener, so I left for WalMart with some sense of relief that I had her support.  She has been supportive of me all along, but I had an aching need for confirmation.

The visage of Parrish’s unshaven face behind the thick dull glass followed me everywhere I went, even to WalMart.  Once there, I maintained some sense of organization and was out of there quickly.  

I was back home for the Falcons’ game and spent the afternoon hiding behind football, Words with Friends and cryptograms.  

Thank God for Cymbalta.  Since I started taking it, my mind is clearer and more organized than in a year and a half.  My problem solving skills are sharp, and I can stay focused on this horrible predicament without bursting into tears.     

When I went to bed, Parrish’s face, just his face, hovered over my comforter.  I drove it out by sheer will and determination and began to wonder if my visit to the jail was wise.
The last few paragraphs were written in the waiting room of my therapist’s office.  I had an appointment there.  Right?  Wrong.  I had a rheumatology appointment at 2:00.  My therapist is tomorrow.  I do not know what woke me up, but I rechecked my calendar and learned of my mistake.  

I was 15 minutes late arriving at the rheumatologist’s office, and the receptionist would not say I could be out in time for a 4:00 appointment with an attorney who is going to help me deal with the Parrish situation.  
I suggested I reschedule.  The receptionist told me to sit down and talk to bah-blah blah about the appointment.  I have sat here for 20 minutes while the doctor takes all the patients who were already in the waiting room when I got here.  There are two new ones.  Clearly I will not be seen before my next appointment.
I rescheduled and drove home, fed the dogs, then drove to Chuck Lanford’s office.  It is interesting.  The front door, showing multiple layers of chipped paint, is pocked with what looks like areas where the paint was assaulted by a screwdriver.

I walked into the waiting room to find a shabby but warm space with stacks of Reader’s Digests on the tables.  I waited on a comfortable green sofa, and surveyed the room.  It is decorated with dead turkeys and ducks.  One of the attorneys’ desks is in the waiting room.  I actually know her and we chatted for a while.

The attorney, Chuck Lanford, is the son of one of Clint’s friends, and for years the two men and their sons (including Parrish) went on an annual fishing trip with a whole crowd of other fathers and sons.  It is nice to deal with someone with whom I have some connection. 

Chuck advised me to seek guardianship of Parrish as a first step toward getting him to a safe place.  In the past, I was leery of guardianship, thinking it would make me responsible for his actions and criminal activity.  Chuck assured me that it did not.

He filled out a long document requesting the guardianship and I signed it and left, promising to drop by a check for $1500.00 tomorrow.

Shortly after I returned home, Parrish called wanting to know what Chuck said.  I could feel his back go up when I explained that I am seeking guardianship.  He insisted that he would not go to hospital.  He said he had lined up a boarding house through another inmate.  

Chuck is planning to visit Parrish and talk to him and work out what he wants.  This takes a great deal of weight off of me.  My son is beginning to see me as the enemy.  


Viki said...

I hope with your son visiting with the lawyer, it works out. Take care!

Linda @ A La Carte said...

My brother just got released from jail and is in a rehab. I am praying he stays and realizes his options are limited. I hope this works out for you and your son! God Bless! Linda