On New Year’s Eve, police knocked on Tracy Robichaud’s door with news: her son Ryan’s car had been found smashed into a tree and he was nowhere to be seen, she says.

Worried sick, she stayed up until he arrived after 4 a.m., having walked 14 km home.

What she didn’t know then was that those long hours waiting were just the beginning of a desperate, months-long attempt to get help for her adult son.

“It’s been a horrible, scary, terrifying experience. And because he’s 23 years old, it’s been roadblocks after roadblocks,” she said.

Two weeks after the accident, Ryan left home, turning up sporadically in the U.S. In occasional calls to his mother, he has talked about hearing voices, she says, igniting fears he is facing mental health issues.

On Jan. 19, four days after he left, he called from a hotel room outside Boston, “saying that he needed to hear my voice,” she said.

When she asked where he was, she says, his response was illogical and scattered. “I was trying to listen to him, trying to guide him back here, back home this way,” she said.

But the two-hour call bounced around, with talk of voices, people spying on his thoughts, and a higher power guiding him on a journey.

“And I thought, ‘Oh my god. We’re in trouble,’” she says.

Days later, Ryan called her from a Staples store in Los Angeles, not sure how or why he was there. With the help of store staff, she managed to get the Los Angeles police involved. They dropped Ryan off at the airport after his mother arranged a flight home. But he never boarded the plane.

On Jan. 27, police found Ryan again and had him call his mother from an LAPD station. The short call, their last conversation to date, didn’t provide many answers, Robichaud said.

She thinks the police deemed Ryan to be someone on vacation, and didn’t pursue the case further.

Tracking her son’s movements through credit card statements mailed to their home, Robichaud saw him move south to Huntington Beach, a smaller city in Orange County. The last transaction she can access shows him withdrawing $43 on Feb. 15.

Three days later, Ryan, who is not religious, was baptized and had breakfast at the First Christian Church in the seaside town — according to a certificate she received in the mail later.

The last reported sighting of him was in nearby Westminster on March 18, where he was spotted looking thin and pushing a shopping cart, according to a missing person flyer from the local police department.

“Those people out there in California have been a godsend to me,” Robichaud said, crediting locals for posting flyers.

Despite the support, Robichaud wants to get on the ground herself, and has a crowdfunding campaign going to help her with travel costs.

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“He’s my son, he’s my baby. I need him home. Something’s wrong,” she said.

She fears he’s having a mental health crisis, such as episodes of PTSD or schizophrenia, triggered by the car crash. “We don’t know until we can get him back to get assessed,” she said.

Steve Lurie, executive director of the Toronto branch of the Canadian Mental Health Association, says an assessment is a critical first step.

The accident could have resulted in an acquired brain injury or PTSD; a psychotic disorder could be presenting; or other issues could be occurring, he said.

The bottom line is a professional assessment should be done, and preferably in Canada, he said.

“Considering that he's a Canadian citizen and that the U.S. doesn't like to provide free health care to anybody, his best bet is to get home,” Lurie said, adding that matters are simpler when the individual acknowledges the need for intervention.

"That’s often a challenge for family members where family notices a change in behaviour but the individual doesn't think they have a problem,” he said.

Robichaud knows her son is not acting like himself.

“Nobody knows someone like a mom,” she said, adding that she and her four sons are very close. “That’s why we’re so afraid, because it’s like it’s a different Ryan. He has a loving home to come to. He’s not homeless, but right now he’s on the streets with no means. And he’s never lived like that.”

The Star could not independently verify all the details of Robichaud’s account.