Once everything was organized on the dining table, I took my seat, and suddenly the enormity of the task slammed into me. Slumping away from the table, I took several deep breaths and began to pray, because there was absolutely no way I could do it on my own. When the anxiety abated to a more manageable level, I scooted my chair in and pored over the books, scribbling notes when something struck a chord. Words and their meanings stared back at me.

Patients experience extreme mood swings. Emotional highs: euphoric, high energy, insomnia, quick to become agitated, chatty, delusional in extreme cases. Emotional lows: loss of appetite, moody, body aches, lethargic, suicidal.

Certain sections of the books described Dave Foster to a T. Those sections also outlined treatment options, and some of the options —like shock therapy —made me cringe. But what made me cringe more was the fact that there had been help out there all these years. I was ashamed that we let pride keep us from reaching out. Tears rolled down my face as I mourned for my dad and what he’d quietly endured. He’d been traveling further and further into his darkness. He’d been too far gone to be reached. I just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring my father back to us.

I chose not to look through the fancy-looking packet that night. There was just too much to process already without adding more. It remained on the dining table beside Pa’s almanac and Bible as I channeled my energy into finding the right facility for him.

That task had become a bigger endeavor than I would have ever imagined.

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The slowest month of my life passed as days were spent in medical offices. Having medical power of attorney for my father, all the decisions fell on my shoulders. I’d been doing just that for years. But that was out on a farm surrounded by fields and farm animals. This was a new setting, one that intimidated me and often left me feeling ignorant.

“We think you’ll do well here, Mr. Foster. We’ve added a new state-of-the-art gym and an art studio to the campus recently. We take field trips to Folly Beach.” The institute director sounded like a used-car salesman, but he made Pa chuckle as soon as we began the meeting, and that was a first in many months. His name, Donald Butkus, suited him. It was probably a magnet for laughter.

Pa chuckled again. “Art and field trips . . . wow. You make this place sound like a school instead of an asylum.”