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Meanwhile, at home, things weren't going so smoothly.
Jamie seemed to be more noisy than ever and would continually break into my room or into my studio and interrupting me during phone conversations and, usually, when I wanted to be by myself.
Michael seemed to be more shy than ever, and usually wanted to be by himself in the playroom, painting pictures that no longer featured anything real. Mostly, there were black lines and dots and were actually quite expressive. They transmitted a lot of raw emotion, especially for being such a young artist.
And Ryan continued to be Ryan, only worse. He retreated to his room and hardly talked anymore, except to tell me that he was going for a ride. He spent huge amounts of time in the bathroom and his room, and usually emerged looking gloomy and depressed.
And I have to admit that I was very concerned. I somehow understood that this was their way of grieving. Not that Josh was dying, nor close. But it somehow felt as if we were losing him.
Speaking of Josh, he was having fun at the hospital. No, seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. The methrotrexate took its toll on Josh's body (nausea and headache), but other than that, he was feeling great. He and his new buddies at the hospital (yes, Ben and Luke) were doing all kinds of things together. Visiting the newborn babies, racing wheelchairs down the hall, and making music together... you name it. Turns out this Ben is a guitarrist. And Luke is an Irish guy who can hold his own singing.
So the three of them liked to go down the auditorium (which is huge and rarely in use) and improvise on some songs, plus I took them tons of sheet music that they really enjoyed.
Meanwhile, I made an appointment with a psychologist named Dr. Hudson, who Brian assured me was really good, and I was going to be going on the 30th. He said he normally doesn't work between Christmas and New year, but that he was going to make an exception. I must have sounded pretty depressed on the phone.
On the 29th it looked like Josh would be home by the next day, and I was actually able to sleep for once.
But then, as luck would have it, I had a really terrible nightmare in which it was snowing. Then I entered our home, and it was on fire. My kids were there, screaming and terrified, and I could do nothing to save them and it seemed like everywhere I looked something was burning.
Then I awoke with a start. It did, in fact, feel like something was burning. The house was sweltering hot, I was sweating buckets, and I was sure the kids were, too. Did I really leave the heat so high?
As it turns out, I did not. When I went down to the living room to see what was wrong, I found Ryan sleepwalking around the living room, and it didn't take much of a guess to see that he had turned the heat up in his sleep. I awoke him gently (as you're supposed to do with sleepwalkers). He seemed really out of it, and was sweating, if that was possible, more than me.
"Take off your shirt." I suggested.
He didn't do that. Instead, he walked into Mike's room, took him in his arms, and announced that they were going to the yard until the house cooled down a bit. Jamie, in her room, was crying, and I also told her to go down to the yard as I figured out the thermostat.
I turned it down to the minimum, but I knew it would be a long time before the house was at a bearable temperature again.
I went out to the yard as well, but it occurred to me that Ryan had taken more charge of the situation than I had, myself. This made me feel weird, to put it lightly. I'm the parent, I'm supposed to be in control!
When did all this happen? When did things get so out of control?
This time I couldn't figure it out.