Mother's Day

In a few days it will be May.  In Western New York, springtime is a long awaited happy and fun time, after what is usually a fairly long winter and sometimes not so great spring.  The effect of the warm and mild weather with long days of daylight until 9:00 o'clock PM on one's activities and mood is hard to imagine unless you live in an area of four seasons.  It truly is a tangible experience!

I am like everyone - so excited, relieved, and happy for the nice weather.  However, I have to say, that along with May comes the inescapable holiday of... Mother's Day.

I actually recall going through the first Mother's Day after the loss of my own mother, more than ten years ago.  Like the phenomenon I have written about so many times before, it seems that during these times, our perceptions play cruel jokes on us.  I remember that I tried to shop for a card for my mother-in-law the day before, and as I started reading the cards was barely able to contain myself.  I looked around the store, and suddenly the whole store was mocking me with roses, pink and red items, and pretty little things to buy for your mother.  I remember leaving the store, and when I got in the car, the radio announcer was talking about Mothers' Day.  I went home in tears, and am embarrassed to admit, I think I called my poor mother-in-law to tell her I was sorry and wouldn't be buying her a card, when I had a complete melt-down and started complaining that Mothers' Day was a stupid holiday and who the heck "invented it" anyway!  Little did I know then, that there would be greater challenges to face.

Of all the holidays since Erik's death, I am least successful in finding a way to cope with Mothers' Day.  There are no other things to focus on such as trees and gifts for Christmas, or dinners and flowers for Easter, all to be shared with a number of cherished loved ones in our lives.  Or for many, Christmas and Easter have great spiritual meaning and can be embraced for the comfort that they may bring.  Unfortunately, for those of us who have lost a child, there is no escaping the singular purpose of Mothers' Day: to pay tribute to motherhood. 

Motherhood, a word that imports the strongest of emotions, the greatest variety of circumstances, and a universality and longevity that surpasses all other human relationships...motherhood.  The closest connection one human being can have to another.  Unconditional and undying love.

I have often said that I respect and reach out to all those who have lost someone in any relationship to suicide - that while people say losing a child is the most difficult experience or loss a person should have to go through, I don't believe it should be held apart from other losses...
but...
for this one day, I take it back!  For this one day, it is the worse kind of loss, the most unimaginable, the cruelist twist of fate.  I have found no way to make it better or easier, and now I already dread it, two weeks away.

I don't know what it would be like, nor can I imagine, what it might be like to lose an only child to suicide, or to any other death.  My heart goes out to those who have lost their only child. 

I do have my other son, as well as my grandchildren.  But to be honest, it seems like this just makes the angst of the day all the worse.  For while there is no way to avoid being consumed with the thought that I am the mother of a son who is lost, at the same time, my other son is desperately trying to make it up to me, to remind me that I do still have a child, I still am a mother, and please find joy in that.  I know that if it weren't for him, and because my own mother is no longer living, I could easily hide away for the day and just pretend it didn't exist, or at least try to.  Or I could just for this one day regress and wallow in my pain and sorrow, that I am a  mother who's child left her by his own hand.  But I can't.

And I won't.  I will find that mix, that strength of all that is bittersweet, and celebrate the day with my son.  I will thank God that I have him.  I will appreciate him even more than I might have under "normal circumstances".  He will perhaps be more kind and thoughtful than most sons would be on Mothers' Day under "normal circumstances".  But, we are now like this all the time, and could get by without the special day.

So, I realize my attitude is very skewed and "not normal".  But I can't help it.  I hate Mothers' Day.  And who invented it anyway?  And I wish the stores and radio would just shut-up about it.  It's going to be a long two weeks.  Stupid Mothers' Day.

Limbo

A few weeks ago, I was speaking to someone who had lost a daughter through illness.  She spoke of going to as many as three different support groups, and had found them helpful.  What caught my ear, is that she said one of the groups was very informal and was composed of parents who had lost one of their children more than two years before that.

I think the week she told me about it, I was feeling particularly...something. 

I feel this something just a little bit all of the time, and a lot every once and a while.  I am at a loss to explain it.  It is nothing terrible, not sadness, not despair, not depression, nothing that interferes with my day to day living.  It is just a very vague, underlying, undefineable gnawing feeling of floundering just a little bit, as if the ground has become slightly less solid under my feet.

I know it has to do with Erik, although it is quite frankly more about me. 

If forced to define it or try to figure it out for myself, I guess I might say it is that ever present subconscious presence of knowing.  Knowing that no matter what I do, or how far I come, or how much I look like everyone else on the outside, I am forever different from the majority of people on this earth, for while the numbers are so much more than we want them to be, the percentage of people who lose a child through suicide is very small. 

Sometimes when I hear others talk about their children, or see others with their children, especially adult children, I think to myself, I think, "Oh, you get to be a regular parent, one who doesn't lose their child by suicide."  Or I just plain think, "Oh, you are a normal parent, it won't end for you in this bizarre twist of fate."

And the worst part of it all, is that as time goes by, it doesn't get better, it just stays, like some pesky little annoyance of the insect world buzzing around my ear, that I can't see, can't squash, and just will not leave my side.  And the more time passes, the more I know it is never, ever, going to leave. 

So this is very frustrating.  After so much "working through my grief", after rebuilding, after all of the conspicuous ups and downs of the first two years...and then three...I am left in this state of Limbo.  I am not figuring out what to do about this.  I need a support group!!  Or advice!!  Or some sort of epiphany to help me accept the something feeling and let it go.

I am grateful to be past the worst of it.  I as always assure others it is possible to feel better.  But today I am "fessin' up".  This is not perfection.  This is not heaven or hell.  This is Limbo...and it can feel a little lonely at times...

(If there is anyone out there who feels themselves in the same predicament, please remember my
e-mail address is at the side of this blog, and feel free to drop me a note, especially if interested in an informal cup of coffee.  Thanks!)

Alliance of Hope

The Alliance of Hope is an organization for survivors which provides a comprehensive forum including information, booklists, memorials, and a community forum. I hope you find it informative and helpful.

Out of Our Hands

I just heard the press release about Pastor Rick Warren's son who committed suicide.  The story of this young man is all too familiar by now - a kind, good person who was well liked and cared about other people, who had a life-long struggle with mental illness and depression.  The pastor's son, Matthew, had actually spent the evening with his parents, and then when he went home ended his life.

I am so sorry for the family and for Matthew.  It is so frustrating that this loss of life cannot be stopped.

When I hear these things now, and then go to scan a little information about what happened, my brain seems to have a radar system for certain phrases that are written and remarks that are made.

For this young man's story, the first things that compute for me are:

• Rick Warren is a pastor and author, living in California, a leader of people, with a comfortable financial situation I am sure.  So as much as I know in my brain that these things don't matter, my heart lurches and there is a voice in my head that is screaming, "How can it be that this poor man could not find a way to help his son?  How can it be that he is smart, spiritual, and wealthy, and he could not accomplish what I am sure was his heart's greatest desire - to provide a cure for his son that would allow him the joy and stability in life he deserved?"
• Trailing close behind that of course is the thought that I did not have the resources of this man, so no wonder I couldn't help my son.
• The press release offered by the family stressed that they lost their son in spite of years of medical intervention and therapy, that he, like my Erik, had struggled for nearly ten years to conquer his demons, to overcome his depression. 
• The reports also say that Matthew was especially kind and compassionate to others, wanting others to be happy in spite of his own sadness.  This also reminded me of my son.
• And finally, my heart broke reading that they had just been with him, watched him leave to go home, and had no idea that there lives were soon to be torn apart with that horrible shock and grief we all experience when we first learn we have lost our loved one.

I can't seem to come to grips with the fact that this keeps happening.  I suppose that if we haven't found a medical cure for some cancers, there is no reason to think we should have a fool-proof cure for depression and mental illness.  It is such a cliche to say it seems "unfair" that some families have this as their destiny, but it does seem unfair.  It is too sad. 

So I go to my place in my heart where I believe that we have to accept that this is a part of our humanity, that some of us were meant to be here for a shorter time than others, and for those left behind, we must take care of each other, embrace our memories, and move forward.

But for today, my heart is with the Warren family, and I am so sorry that they have to be so sad.  My condolences to them.