When I visited my family in Montreal after spending two weeks in a psych ward abroad, I quickly understood one thing: I would be living out of my carry-on while my family figured out what to do with me.
My parents never understood my motives for admitting myself inpatient: most often, a calculated plan involving stockpiled prescriptions. However, from hundreds of miles away, Grandma Bevy repeated over the phone, “I’m proud of you.”When I overdosed on pills in 2019 and received my diagnosis, she announced, “It will be OK, sweetheart. It isn’t right now, but you’ll get through it.” Her determined voice got me to discharge.
In December 2022, she treated me to a round-trip train ride to Toronto. When I came home, it was like the fall of Rome;It was my father’s birthday that Sunday, so we brought cupcakes and candles to Grandma Bevy’s apartment. After a couple of tired weeks, we were amazed by her incredible burst of energy. I witnessed my grandmother devour an entire chocolate cupcake, icing and all. It was quite the rarity for a woman who daren’t eat a french fry.
“How am I supposed to do this without you, Grandma? There’s no one to insist I buy jeans without rips in the knees or revel at my new pair of homemade earrings. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.” With some diligence and the help of my friends, I overcame these obstacles over the five-day sojourn. Our usual all-nighters were replaced by charcuterie boards and 10 p.m. bedtimes, we scheduled naps to recharge between activities, and the hosts let me use their dumbbells to blow off early morning steam when I couldn’t adjust to the time difference. I ensured the trip was a success for my Grandma Bevy, to continue to make her proud.