CHAPTER 72

2026-06-26

Lun's congenital disabilities have brought him much suffering and inconvenience throughout his life—none of which he ever chose, nor could he control. As his parents, we have appointed ourselves his honorary child protectors for life, helping him through every hardship.

Because of anxiety and emotional instability, Lun has been admitted to hospital. Tonight is his tenth night there, and his condition is gradually improving. I arrived shortly after 9:00 p.m. to relieve the staff member from his group home who had been staying with him. She told me that Lun was still pacing back and forth, but overall he appeared much calmer.

Both the hospital and the group home have limited funding and cannot provide one-on-one supervision around the clock to prevent patients from wandering off or leaving the hospital. Since I am retired, caring for my son naturally comes first, and so I have been "volunteered" to fill the gap.

The moment he saw me, the first thing he asked for was, "Brush teeth." Just as he had done the previous evening, he immediately filled a cup with water and placed his toothbrush inside. It seems that brushing his teeth has become, in his mind, the prelude to getting into bed, turning off the lights, and going to sleep. It signals the end of the day's routine, perfectly matching the fixed schedule at his group home.

Seeing that he is once again able to make sense of his daily routine, and noticing the return of a smile to his face, I know that he is steadily getting better.

Yesterday afternoon, the attending psychiatrist called me to explain that the medical team believed one of Lun's medications had been prescribed at too high a dosage and recommended reducing it. They asked for my consent, and I agreed.

Whenever I see signs of improvement, my heart grows lighter and I feel comforted. It also reminds me that seven years ago, when I was admitted to this very same hospital with acute depression, my own recovery only began after my medications were carefully adjusted.

Lun's congenital disabilities have brought him much suffering and inconvenience throughout his life—none of which he ever chose, nor could he control.

Perhaps because life has taken us through so many ups and downs over the years, I still cannot completely free myself from worry. I often dream that I am desperately trying to rescue situations that are slipping beyond my control.

Last night, while staying overnight with Lun, I had another such dream just before dawn. I suddenly found myself at a volunteer training session. Everything was chaotic. In the middle of explaining something, I abruptly lost my voice and became short of breath. Looking back, it was probably just a physical reaction during a certain stage of sleep. I cannot avoid this lingering sense of helplessness. The only response I have is to remind myself not to dwell on it too much.

Once Lun fell asleep, I was able to steal a few hours of rest before the group home staff arrived at 9:00 the next morning to take over. As his parent, all I can do is appoint myself his honorary child protector for life—a small way of comforting myself.