Song for Father's Day

 

For those who have lost their dads, and the dads who have lost sons or daughters.

 

Dads

It suddenly occurred to me that just because I am fortunate enough to still have my dad, at this stage of my life, I am one of the very few who do.  One of my best friends just lost her dad in January. I know this will be a hard day for her.  He was 90 when he died and a WW II vet.  I look on facebook and see post after post of friends my age who are remembering their dads who are gone now.  Especially fun and touching are the black and white photos with my friends as children and their young dads with their Brylcream haircuts.  I notice that the passing of years doesn't seem to diminish the sense of love and loss, whether it's one year or twenty, or thirty.  We all get just one dad.

I can't imagine what it might be like to have a dad who died by suicide.  I had noticed when I was participating in one of the on-line forums that one of the women had lost her dad nearly twenty years ago, and was still working it through in her mind.  We say that losing a child is an aberration of nature, that parents should die first.  Yet, when a parent dies, it is devastating for a different set of reasons.  Our parents were supposed to be our security, the ones to help us.  To have them leave by their own hand, and what seems like choosing to not be there for us, must shake us to the core.  Especially if someone is young, they then have a whole lifetime of not having their parent.  The empty chair at graduation, the bride who doesn't get walked down the aisle, the grandchild that doesn't get held.

I don't want to say a lot, because I don't know how it feels.  I know parts of how it feels, and it always feels bad.  I know that fathers who lost sons are also feeling bad today, and I know my ex-husband is thinking of Erik.

So to all who are having a hard day today, I just want to say you are being thought of, and my prayers are with you.  God bless you.

Mental Health Care

Today I had taken a sick day from work and wound up clicking on the TV to watch Dr. Phil.  I tend to have a love-hate relationship (well, not a relationship, feelings toward him I mean) with Dr. Phil, because sometimes I think he is so profound with such common sense, and other times I think he is a little "too much".  But today I am glad I watched, only to be reminded where my heart is.

Today's episode guested a family of parents and two boys, young men, one of whom has severe conduct/emotional problems.  I suppose that it caught my eye because he reminded me of Erik in appearance, and our family structure was also one of two sons.  The young man had problems which on the surface seemed very different from Erik, but he was 25, the age of Erik when we lost him, and he also lived with his parents. 

During the program, they did not name a diagnosis for his problems, but referred to the family having sought help for him many times, including therapists and counseling, but all to no avail.  The greatest difference in this young man's problems and my son was the fact that he became extraordinarily violent with his family, and in fact nearly killed his brother at one time, hitting him in the back of the head with a wooden object.  His outbursts were so aggressive and violent, as well as frequent, that my heart just went out to the family.  It seemed they were in fear for their lives, yet were unable to find any solution to solve the problem or find the right help for their son.  They had tried everything, had been struggling for seven years, and had made no progress.

Been there, done that.

And here they were, on the Dr. Phil show.

At one point I had one of my tsunami moments and was brought to tears, which doesn't happen to me that often any more.  But throughout the interview, it was clear that this man meant no ill will to his parents and brother, and was at a loss to explain why he is unable to control his behavior.  His description of the despair and remorse he feels afterward, broke my heart.  Finally, at one point, he looked his mom in the eye and simply said, "I love you, mom".  She replied that she loved him as well. 

How unfair is this?  This typical family, good people, who had probably led a lovely existence and maintained their family life, torn to shreds by their son's mental health problems.  How were they unable to find help for their son?  Where is the medical community?  How is it that we can clone living things and transplant body parts, but we are so short of learning enough about our brains and body chemistry to treat mental health problems.  Or are there just not enough of us who care?  Or are the politicians not willing to designate enough funding for the research?

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I am sick to death of it.  Young men like this one, (and my son and young women), are healthy young people who should have an opportunity to live a productive and happy life.  These parents should be rewarded for their efforts in raising their children in a loving and nurturing home.  If destiny has thrown them a curve ball, and they continue to try, try for seven years, where is the help and resources they should be able to find?

I just can't believe in my heart that the medical community couldn't be doing a better job.  There is a missing link here.  I don't know if it is awareness, willingness, lack of compassion, or poor priorities when delegating dollars.

I do know that the suffering is excruciating, and that the number of people visited by this tragedy is growing every day. 

There is movement toward doing better.  There are organizations and individuals campaigning for awareness and raising funds.  If you do an internet search, it would seem that help is everywhere.

But it isn't. 

Take my word for it.

The Military and Suicide

On Sunday, I watched the PBS program done every year in Washington DC, to honor and remember our military and their families, and especially those we have lost or have been injured in service.

The program was beautiful, with tributes and music to stir our souls and make us take time out of our busy lives to remember those who deserve to be remembered.

Partway through the program, Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise did a re-enactment of the story of twin brothers who had both been in the military, and been deployed several times in the past decade.  At times they were in the same arena, and others were not.  The younger brother sustained serious injuries in his last deployment, including amputation of one of his legs.  His older brother never got over the thought that he should have somehow been there to prevent it from happening.

The older brother also witnessed other losses and horrors of war in his deployments.  Upon returning home, he found the adjustments difficult and suffered from PTSD.  He struggled to participate in a "normal" life with his beautiful wife and three young children, always keeping in touch with his brother.  However, as the years wore on, he was unable to progress out of his depression and dark moods, and he ultimately died by suicide.  The story was so poignantly told as the two actors, each speaking of one of the brothers, presented the strong emotions of both brothers on their journeys, including the surviving brother's thoughts after the other was gone.

The surviving brother, wife, and three children were in the audience.  I thought they were so brave to be there, with tears flowing freely as they listened to this short depiction of a situation so heart-wrenching on so many levels.  Afterwards they were greeted and embraced by Joe Mantegna and Gary Sinise.

 

I was filled with so many emotions...but the predominant one was to stand up and cheer for the producers of this program.  Congratulations to them for bringing this out in a respectful and honorable way, in a way that said that these young men who come home with PTSD and TBI's, who are unable to re-enter the mainstream of life, and who are at such high risk of ending their own lives deserve as much recognition as those with very visible injuries.  Thank-you to those who supported putting a spotlight on this problem, to make people aware, and hopefully obtain better care and support for these soldiers and their families, and my sincere condolences to this family who will never stop feeling the effects of these events.

Coping Strategies

So Mother’s Day is over.  Here are some of my coping strategies.

I spent the day with a very nice person who has come into my life, he is very understanding and supportive.  One of my favorite expressions is from Dr. Phil.  He calls that person in your life that you should be able to depend on and rely on, “your soft place to fall.”  I just love that.  Everyone needs a soft place to fall.  It may be a spouse, a significant other, a sibling, a friend, or most anyone.  They become as they say on Gray’s Anatomy, “your person”.  (After my divorce  my father became the one who I felt was always there, and who would give me sane advice, and hopefully would support me in my endeavors.  He was “my person” then.)

Good thing I was with my person, because the beginning of the day was spent fighting back tears, and mostly losing the battle.  This was my fourth Mother’s Day without Erik, I didn't know why I was so upset!  I had promised myself I would spend the day with my son Jason and my grandchildren, but decided a sobbing grandma was not a great asset at a picnic.  Jason happened to call in the middle of one my meltdowns, so when I started apologizing he told me that I should do what I needed to do to make myself okay, and if I wanted to stay where I was, that it was fine with him.  So that was my second strategy, doing what I had to do for myself, instead of feeling guilty and going to a gathering I would have a hard time feeling a part of. 

My third strategy was in spite of all the support I had, at the end of the day, I ate a lot of cookies.  Now, I am sort of joking about this, but not really.  For me, sugar is my addiction of choice, and it is apparent in my dress size.  Often people figure that it is better than drinking, gambling, narcotics, etc.  But the reality is, as we all know, it really isn’t  healthy. 

I am sharing these ideas with hopes that others found ways to get through this day and any others that are difficult.  I used two smart ones, and the third not so smart one.  If you are new to the survival game, they are something to think about, and it is okay to very deliberately plan how to get through certain anniversary days or holidays.

Plan on being with someone who can be your “soft place to fall”.  It may be that the person who used to be your soft place to fall is also fighting their own battle for survival, and for a little while can’t be there for you like they used to.  It’s okay.  Try to rely on others.  Surviving the death of a family member, especially a child, is extraordinarily hard on relationships. 

If it is too hard, be honest with family members and tell them you don’t want to hurt their feelings, but that you need to not attend the party or gathering.  I have tried just going to a family gathering because I felt I had to, and it set me back.  I have tried just saying I wasn’t coming, and then worrying about it, and it was almost as bad as if I had gone.  If you can find the right person, and say – “I can’t come, and the reason why is…”, you will open yourself to their support and then spend that time trying to take care of yourself instead of  worrying about someone being upset with you.  When Jason told me it was okay not to join him and the kids at the picnic they would be at, I believed him.  And I felt good that I had at least let him know that I wasn’t indifferent to his feelings, that I had wanted to try, but just wasn’t there yet.

And finally, be aware that these are the times that our more unhealthy coping mechanisms will surface, and God knows we might think we have a good “excuse” to go back to them “just one more time”.  So remember to be cautious if you have old demons that don’t believe in letting you do something “just this once”.  Plan to otherwise occupy yourself, or have support around you.  If you have serious issues and have a support group or sponsor, call them.  It is okay to say, “I know it’s been four years, but I think I’m going to have a really hard time getting through this day.”

And once the day is over, know that you made it through one more thing, and will continue down the road you're on.  And if you took a little detour, that’s okay, just follow the signs to get back to the highway.  And once you're back on path, we will all be there together.

A Poem for Mother's Day

Always

 

Your time with us was so much shorter than I ever wanted it to be.

We tried so hard to keep you here, your grief we couldn't see,

A mother would always give her own life for her son,

But you didn't give me that chance.

I would have done just anything to keep you here with me.

 

Twenty-five years was shorter than I ever thought it could be.

The treasure of your existence, something I clung to desperately.

I just didn't want to lose you,

Life sometimes isn't fair,

But I know your destiny was set, by something greater than me.

 

The world has taken you away, some say by your own hand,

I know you wanted to stay, but just couldn't understand

how to find some joy and solace, how to make your life okay.

I never was angry you left me, I know you did what was planned.

 

So sometimes I think the universe won,

Your time here was short - a mother should never lose a son.

 

But there is something that you taught me,

A lesson so great and so real,

That on this day of all days, this is what I feel:

 

I did not have you for only twenty-five years-

I had you then, til now, and for always.

Because you still exist, your spirit so strong,

You're here every minute, and will be my whole life long.

 

So not for twenty-five years, but for always:

 

I have your little baby self, head on my shoulder and forehead so soft, always,

I have the toddler with white-blonde curls, always moving and climbing, always,

I have your preschool graduation, with you so shy you turned sideways as if no one could see you then, always,

I have the little boy laughing so hard on the living room floor at his favorite cartoon, always,

I have the bigger boy playing soccer, running as fast as the wind, always,

I have the basketball star, a picture of joy and ease on the court, always,

I have the young man so wise beyond his years, consoling me when I was in tears, always,

I have those last years we were together, as harried as they were, always.

 

And that's what I hold tight to now, that I have the spirit and joy of you,

Always.

For that I am grateful, with no regrets, always.

 

by Mary Ann Kirisits

 



A Song

This song always makes me think of Erik.



Being Erik's Mother

My beautiful Erik...he was something.  He was a handful from the start, cranky as a baby, never sleeping through the night, and always on the move.  He had blonde hair that was almost white and curled, but just at the ends, and the brightest blue eyes.  As a child he was always on the small side, which just made him all the cuter.  He was the opposite of his brother in every way,  but very funny and very sweet. 

I know I have said it before - but it seemed that everyone especially loved him.  I think it was because he always had a bit of a shy nervousness about him, which just made him more appealing and caused people to reach out to him.  I remember that his preschool teacher had always obviously favored him, and told me once that he was a favorite of the other little kids at the preschool.

This continued on that he was always popular and likeable, and while school was hard for him, he excelled on the soccer field or basketball court.  I may sound like a biased mother, but I often heard other parents or people watching the games, saying, "Hey, look at him", or, "look at that guy run", or, "look at him pass the ball."  I think he stood out because he always, in that one venue, look relaxed and so joyous.  He was never a poor sport, or hard on himself or the other players.  He just loved being there.

Then as his mid-teens turned into his late teens, he seemed to have issues and conflicts so much greater than the "normal" teenage angst.  And from there on until we lost him, life was a haze of mental health issues, frightening days, angry days, and sad days.

But this is not what I want to say right now.  What I want to tell the world right now, is that I never, ever, regretted being or wished I wasn't Erik's mom.  Maybe most people would say well of course that's true, but when I initially looked back over his last third of his life, all that we went through, and then the heartbreak of his death, I couldn't help but be surprised that I didn't walk around wishing I had gotten to be someone else's mother.

I even played out this little fantasy in my head.  I would pretend that I got to talk to God ahead of time, and he said to me, "Mary Ann, this is what Erik will be like, and how your life will be with him".  Then he would show me other sons to choose from, who were extraordinarily gifted, found school and careers easy, and lived long and very successful lives.  Then God would say, "So you can choose to have any of these souls to be your son, or you can choose to still have Erik, knowing how hard it will be".  And without even thinking about it, without missing a beat, I would always say in my fantasy, "Oh no, I only want Erik.  He's the one I want."

In my brain, I step back and think this is amazing.  Why would anyone choose to have a hard time instead of an easy time?  If there would be no judgment or penalty, why would I not choose a joyous easy family?  It seems like an enigma to me.

As I grapple with it, I guess there is only one obvious answer...it is the inexplicable ability of mothers for unconditional love.  It is that belief deep in our hearts that it was our destiny to be the mother of certain human beings, maybe one, maybe two, maybe ten, it is that  bond of motherhood.

And no matter how hard it was, and whatever heartbreak it brought, I will always be grateful I was Erik's mother, and would not have traded him for anyone in the world.  For me, this was motherhood.

I love you Erik.

Apology

I feel like I should apologize for saying that Mother's Day is stupid.  Of course, it is not stupid.  It is just so hard for me to make sense of the day now.

Mother's Day is actually a very beautiful day, and, if I remember right, it was "invented" by one of the presidents in honor of his mother.  It is so appropriate that the mothers of the world be honored and remembered in a special way, it is so inherent in our understanding about all that is love and compassion. 

My reaction to it is just part of the package of being a suicide survivor, and I realize it could take many forms over this one day.  What of the children whose mother left them because she committed suicide?  What about the poor dads who have to look at their broken-hearted children and support them while missing their spouses?  What about the siblings who know their moms will be extra sad?

My more rational self remembers that each type of relationship brings a unique pain to the suicide survivor.  I remember when I used to read postings in the support forums, it seemed the people who had participated in the forums for the most years were those who lost parents.  It made so much sense to me.  After all, our parents are supposed to be our security, our unconditional love, and our safety net.  I can't imagine what it is like to have that basic emotional security ripped out from under you.  To begin with, you are a child, so the process of even understanding what has happened probably changes every few years as you mature.  Then there are all the milestones that your parent is supposed to be there for...graduations, weddings, childbirth.  It is no wonder that these folks were still participating in the forums and searching for their peace and closure.

At the in-person support group, I remember feeling so badly for a woman whose husband had died by suicide.  She was so shattered, in so much shock, and in this situation, had so much anger.  And she also then had to deal with the reactions of their children and other family members.

Those who had lost siblings, in addition to their own grief, were so sad for their parents.  And yes, Mother's Day is extra hard for my son as well as me.

I guess it is the cornerstone of suicide that it brings a cruel reversal to many of life's events.  What should often be the most joyous or are meant to be celebrated, are reminders instead.  This happens for all the holidays for all types of loss...including divorce and children leaving the family home, separations for those in the military, etc.  But the sharp edge of suicide is that the person themselves caused their own departure.  Please notice I do not use the term choose to leave, since I am militant in my crusade against saying that people "choose to die".  No one would ever choose to die, our loved ones would have chosen to live life - had they believed it was ever going to be a possibility for them to do so with some sort of joy or peace, but they lost that hope.

So I will try to not panic so badly about Mother's Day.  However, I have to confess I will probably avoid obvious displays of the celebration of the day, such as the Hallmark stores and Sunday brunches.

And most importantly, I will on this day and all days be forever grateful that I was Erik's mother for twenty-five years, I thank God and the Universe for that.

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.