When Kevin was in the psychiatric facility he didn’t receive the correct combination of meds. The nurse didn’t have his anti-psychotic on the list. They messed up the dosages on his other meds as well. On his birthday, he had a psychotic break and yelled out he was going to hurt several people. The psychiatrist reported Kevin to the Sheriff’s Office. There is a law that was passed in the 1970’s about mandatory reporting.
I leave the Sheriff’s Office with Kevin.
“Why can’t I say hi to them, Mom?” Kevin asks me.
“Because when you were in the hospital you threatened them.”
“I don’t feel like hurting them now,” he says.
“They don’t know that,” I say.
“What if I see them in the store?”
“You’re to walk the other way and don’t walk past the middle school anymore with Nick.” Nick is the social facilitator who works with Kevin twice a week. They often walk downtown and practice purchasing items from local stores.
“Are you going to tell Nick? What if you don’t remember? Sometimes you forget to tell him things.”
“I’ll remember to tell Nick, Kevin.”
“Where do they live?”
I tell Kevin the addresses he’s to stay away from. We live in a small town. He needs to change his route. We live across from the school he’s to stay away from.
He’s to stay away from their cars as well. I guess I need to email his transition teacher about what type of cars they drive. I also need a photo of her son. She put him on the restraining order as well. Kevin is to stay away from the Farm Stand where I buy my produce. Because Jose works there.
“Go behind our condominium when walking downtown and don’t walk on the streets by the beach. If you want go to Albertson’s walk across the bridge and go that way,” I explain.
“Are they going to call the Police if they see me?”
“I don’t know Kevin.” I’m becoming weary of this conversation and oh so tired.
“I don’t want to go to jail, Mom.”
I’m thankful the Sheriff’s have compassion.
“He doesn’t seem to be a threat. I’m recommending this be reduced to an incident,” he says, “When we found out he had autism, we realized he shouldn’t be in jail.”
“Thank you,” I say. I’m grateful someone in this town has our backs.
I wonder about autism and privacy laws. We live in litigious times. People are so influenced by happenings in the media.
“What about the Down Syndrome Association parties?” I ask the Sheriff. “These people are at those parties. This is the only dances Kevin gets to go to each year.”
“If you’re there first, it’s okay,” the Sheriff says. They can’t tell you to leave.”
“Well, Kevin the good thing is, Eric still wants to work with you.” Eric is Kevin’s full-time aide. Thank God for Eric. It seems each year one person steps us and is a true friend and advocate for Kevin.
“Am I going to be able to go to City College next semester?” Kevin asks.
“I don’t know Kevin. Maybe Ventura College.” Now I know Carpinteria wants Kevin far away in another state.
“Think about a residential placement. There’s a good one in Ohio.”
“I don’t want to go to Ventura College. I want to go to City College. Ryan’s going to be there,” Kevin says.
We have a meeting on Friday to discuss Kevin’s placement.
“Am I a bad person, mom?”
“No Kevin, you’re a good person. I’m taking care of this for you.”
The good thing is this entire incident is making us reconnect with wonderful people from our past. Yesterday the preschool owner Marilyn Discoveries contacted us, his old teacher Amber reached out in support, and I receive dozens of emails from around the country. Deputy Powers, who now is working at UCSB reached out as well.