I. Am. Sick. Dammit!

Today I got calls from both Reg and Henry. Reg didn't get through, but Henry did. He was tearful, angry, depressed, and miserable.

About New Year's Eve, where he was alone in the hospital. About his wedding and class rings, which he lost when he was airlifted to the hospital back in October 2018. He insists they were stolen by a hospital worker.

I don't know what triggered all this. I couldn't get him to tell me. He sounded tired and drunk and was completely unreasonable. As near as I can tell, he saw his GP today, and that doctor recommended a psychologist. I don't know why this would rattle him so.

I told him I'd been in therapy. I told him I thought this was positive. (I actually said "Yea!") I told him a shrink could help him be strong, independent and happy. That's my mantra with Henry: strong, independent and happy.

New Year's Eve ... the rings ... New Year's Eve ... the rings ... over and over.

Now it's nearly 7:00 on Saturday evening and I'm still in my nightshirt because I am sick. I have been sick all week. I am achy. I am tired. I am coughing. I can't breathe. I don't want to hear about New Year's Eve (18 days ago) and the fucking rings (more than a year). Henry can be very selfish.

I don't believe Henry is serious about suicide, but I am not a doctor. I am not a shrink. Henry is in Key West. I am in Chicago. It's not like I can just get in an Uber and check on him.

I have called Reg, who is asleep because he has to be at work at 4:00 AM. I have called Patrick, who is staying with them. I believe he's on a date and isn't answering.

I don't want to involve the police for a wellness check. I worry what the legal ramifications would be of that. Would they try to take Henry away?

I wish Reg or Patrick would call me back.

I am sick. I am trying to be empathetic, I am working at remembering that everyone is doing the best he can, but I am sick.