About 6 and a half years ago, Brian told me he wasn't feeling well and that I should take someone else to the Blues game. It was a close one, with Patrik Berglund scoring early into overtime. I got home and saw the deep, deep hurt in Brian's face and he told me we needed to go to the hospital.
While the ER staff called around for a bed at a mental hospital, I stayed up with Brian, curled up next to him in the not-designed-for-two-people hospital bed. Around 5 in the morning, we got word that he had a place to go and an ambulance would take him there. I followed, but there was some miscommunication, so I didn't get to say goodbye to him at the mental hospital. I was so sleep deprived and so scared and so worried. I screamed and cried and screamed in my car.
I called my friend Erin and was able to spend the day with her, getting some rest, watching movies, and eating Mexican food. When her husband (and Brian's good friend) Brent got home, we all went to visit Brian and then I stayed at their place that night. I am forever grateful for their support, and I know they were just as nervous and scared as I was.
I didn't know what to do, so I did a lot of reading about other people's experiences with a loved one being in the mental hospital. I called every day, I visited every day. I printed out fun pictures and articles from the internet, and brought them for him to read and laugh and stay informed. When the Blues were playing during visitors hours, I brought jerseys for us to wear, and we watched the game on my tiny phone.
I can only imagine the pain Brian was going through, and I can only imagine how devastating it would have been to come home any later that night. But I am so incredibly glad that he was able to tell me he was hurting and that he was able to stay at a place where all he had to do was focus on getting better.