Rhia doesn’t understand
For two weeks she has glared at me and repeatedly said “I want to go home.”
She complains about the way her new caregivers provide support because it is different from how I supported her. She doesn’t like how they wash her hair or make her bed. She wants me to show them how I do things because I do it “right.”
I talked to them and wrote everything down, from how she brushes her teeth herself to how she likes using a nonslip mat under her coloring books. But ultimately they will all have to figure out how to work together in her new home. I don’t live there.
Rhia’s anger simmers in her dark blue eyes. Occasionally it bursts out in shouts and tears. Once it exploded with a fist. I take all of her rage because I am the cause of it. I know she feels powerless. I’ve sent her to live in a group home so she will have more independence and find her community of friends. She will also have more care than I can provide now.
Rhia lives in the now, today, so hopes for the future are meaningless. Today she is unhappy. That’s all that matters. Telling her in time she will feel happy again is like telling her someday she’ll grow wings and fly. Metaphorically it’s true, but Rhia will just glare and say, “I’m not a bird!”
Rhia’s anger still simmers but the outbursts are less heated. She smiles more and doesn’t cry when I leave. Perhaps the worst is over? Perhaps she’s finding her way in her new life.
Perhaps one day she’ll forgive me.