Anxiety

I was five years old when Danny was born; he is my youngest brother.  He has Down Syndrome.  I spent a lot of time taking care of him when I was younger and loved almost every moment of it.  There were definitely times of frustration when he'd get stubborn and refuse to do what he was supposed to, or when I couldn't do things I wanted to on account of having to take care of him.  Beyond frustration, there were also times of anxiety.  Danny has this problem with disappearing.  No, not like a magician, more like a leaf tossed into a river bed, drifting downstream and getting lost in the glitter of the moving water.

There are more stories than I can remember of him disappearing--sometimes in the evening at a carnival, sometimes in the afternoon when he's supposed to be doing chores, sometimes at three in the morning when our mother would be arriving home from work.  Some of the stories are really funny.  Some of them are tragic.  All of them are scary, to varying degrees.  It's always scary to think that you've lost someone you love--not knowing when or if you'll find them.  Or what state they will be in when you do.

Today I had promised to take Danny to get a haircut.  Well, to be honest, I had promised him on Sunday to take him to get a haircut "tomorrow."  Don't you hate how "tomorrow" keeps getting pushed off....one day after another...?  I finally kept my promise and took him today.  He loved getting his haircut.  He's so mature.  He's twenty-one now and wants everyone to know how independent he is.  He did a great job of filling out the client sheet when he first arrived.  He was chatty with the hairdresser.  Things were going really well.

After his haircut, we headed out of the mall, but we had parked outside a department store.  On the way to the car, we passed some great sales on kids clothes.  I am rarely out in a store that sells kids clothes, let alone able to get a moment to look at them.  Another brother had taken my toddler, so I was free as a bird with just a wiggly infant.  Wahoo!!  Danny told me he had to use the restroom and assured me many times that he knew just where it was.  I told him he could find me right in that same area when he was done.

While he assured me that he knew where the restroom was, I had failed to ask him if he knew just where we were at that very moment....  So, half an hour later, baby was crying, ready to eat, and I was freaking out.  Where in the world was he!?!?!?

Probably more than an hour later, thanks to helpful mall customers and the mall police, I was at last reunited with my brother--both of us extremely worn out from the stress of the entire situation.  We had a great conversation on the way home about how "people make mistakes" (he reminded me of this again and again).

What's really amazing to me is that after at least 15 years of these kinds of situations, the anxiety is never less.  I am never less nervous when I loose him--regardless of the fact that it's happened probably fifty times or more.  I am always just as scared, just as panicky.  Terrible thoughts still go through my head of what might happen to him or who might take advantage of him.  You'd think I'd get more used to it, but I don't.

The reality is, when the people you love go missing, it's terrifying.  And that's all there is to it.