...Jennifer had always resisted being labeled as special needs of any kind. No programs. She wanted to live in her own way, no case worker or ward of the state or any of that. And I honored that, all of her life. When she was small, my aunt had suggested that I have her institutionalized. Nope. Could never, ever consider that.
....................................
Back to the story..... So I was about to be discharged from the facility. I received a text message from Jennifer saying "I can't live with you any more I want some independents (sic)" Okay, I replied, "Let's talk about this as a family very soon."
I was amenable to the idea of transitioning Jennifer to care of her sister, 200 miles away. That had always been the eventual plan for her and for me.
But something else was afoot. I was informed by the physical therapist that C had told the staff at the facility that Jennifer would be moving out of our apartment before I would be home. They had been informed a week before. No one had told me.
The gaslighting increased. And then a msg from Jennifer saying "Mom I can't live with you anymore. I need independents (sic)" "Okay" I wrote back "Let's talk as a family when I get out."
Next came the "care committee" meeting where staff and family would talk about my future. (Honestly, who granted them that authority??) When Jennifer and C showed up, Jennifer's face was stiff with grief. She said to me "I'm mad at you." Dumbfounded, I asked why. "C says you stole my life. She says you kept me from living my life" And then the meeting started. I was struck nearly speechless.
C. kept bringing up reasons why I should not go home. "Who is going to help you down the stairs and into the apartment?" "How will you manage the things that need to be done?" Yada yada yad.
What the hell???!!
I was firm. I'm going home. Now. I'm going home. I'm going home. End of discussion. End of discussion. A taxi will come and take me home.
C kept arguing with me. The social worker said "How about you leave in three hours so we can do the paper work.
And WHEN I GOT HOME I KNEW WHY C. was in such a hurry.
She had thought they had the weekend to get Jennifer's stuff out of there. But they had less than three hours.
The place was ransacked when I got home. A disaster in Jennifer's bedroom as they grabbed things to go. Totally ransacked. They forgot her coats and good shoes in the haste.
And before any reaction could be voiced, C. cut off all communication of any kind. This is known as "emotional cutoff" -- an outdated therapy from the 1960s.
It gets worse.....
= new reply since forum marked as read