So.

Days are passing. Slowly. Grindingly slowly. Helped by family, friends, colleagues. Helped by cards that continue to arrive, flowers, messages of support, daily dog walking by lovely tinies, E and M (despite comedic ‘hide-under-the-sofa’ or ‘run-home-at-any-opportunity’ Bess actions). The shared experiences of similar, or related, (harrowing) happenings both ongoing, or historical. Outrage upon outrage on social media.

And the funny stories (LB was seriously, seriously funny) keep coming. They all make me chuckle;

On another school trip to an outdoor pursuit centre, we were all sat on the minibus early in the morning, moaning how tired we all were. LB sat at the back being really cool, pipes up in a silent moment: ‘ I don’t think I’ve been this tired since the last time I went bed’.

The dude was a refreshing antidote to tired, taken for granted, stale and often pointless ways of being and doing. What an oversight (mistake, loss, tragedy?) to channel him (as so many young people like him) down a path characterised by deficit, disregard and (non) care/health jargon. A complete failure to recognise and value what he could contribute to society. The loss we feel as a family, underpinned by the collective sense of outrage by others, underlines how wrong this all was.

I received the set of social care notes today. Another version of events. One in which I’m a right old problematic mum. There is more recorded about my interactions with the various staff members than LB’s care (or complete lack of). My rage, frustration and distress jotted down clinically with no sniff of engagement or reflection. That’s another dimension to the lack of care documented in this blog. Where is the basic humanity? Where is the thinking, feeling health or social care member reflecting on what I was actually saying? Imagining what the experience must be like? Thinking about us as a family rather than LB as an atomised being? It’s as if the space for thought or thinking (and common sense) is obliterated by the weight of engaging with (non) care plans, risk assessments and nonsense processes. And staff, at whatever level, sign up to this model. The bunch of bloody sheep model.