Even the way my son Yerachmiel stared at the ballgame on the screen in front of him was so familiar though I knew he saw nothing so taken up was he with the images inside his head. Strange how such a place can become as comforting as home. Today’s visit took a different rhythm from usual. I had an appointment with the head psychiatrist and the community social worker would be sitting in. Together we’d be discussing the next stage in Yerachmiel’s care: discharge. As I passed the lounge where Yerachmiel usually sat I stopped for a minute and dropped a quick kiss on his head. He nodded in acknowledgment though he didn’t look up at me. After hesitating for a minute I forced myself onward to the set of offices. I knew before he said it whatDr.Marim was going to say. He didn’t disappoint me. We sat around on orange plastic chairs andDr.Marim hid his mouth behind the open palm of his hand. What does that mean? I wondered. The social worker was to my left and I knew this was done purposely to make me feel that she was on my side.Dr.Marim opened the meeting. “We’re very pleased with Yerachmiel’s progress. For a while now his condition has been stable. As long as he continues following the regimen of medication we can begin to think about discharge. There’s really no reason for him to stay.” I pushed my shoes down on the faded rug refusing to move. “I can’t have him at home.”