Here We Go Again

This weekend is my birthday on Saturday and Easter on Sunday...double whammy for the "holidays make us sad" club.

In my mind, I am perfectly fine.  I am not worried about being sad.  I don't feel apprehensive or worried.  The weekend is filled with fun plans to the brim.  I am even planning on getting a birthday present from my boyfriend...my first birthday present from a man since my divorce!

But all week long, I have been dragging around...with a myriad of excuses as to why I am not in a good mood...I am tired (always a favorite), I have a headache, I am worried about my dad, I am worried about my friend, I miss my friend who passed away, it's the end of winter blues...and so on.

My sister keeps asking how I am.  My sister who knows me too well.  My sister who should be completely focused on her family's vacation and not worrying about how I will be for Easter.

At the same time, I cannot deny the increase in my thoughts of Erik.  Those visual flashbacks.  The feeling like he's floating around in the car while I'm driving.

The wondering why anyone has to die in the first place.  Why didn't God just put us all on earth at the same time, and leave us all here forever?  I mean, if we believe in eternity, why not make this eternity?  And if there are too many souls, just spread us around the planets and galaxies. 

And worst of all, the loss of all defenses, with such a strong urge to be able to hug him one more time surging through my body so it hurts, and for a split second I am sure I can change time and he'll be there.

However, I am well, I am doing fine, I journey on just as I have promised I will.  Still, it's just a  little harder this week.  I feel my heart inside of me...even though we are not supposed to "feel" the presence of our internal organs.  I know I have to be on guard for surprise meltdowns.  I can only do my best.

So we will see how it goes.  At least I am making plans and know I will enjoy being with my family.  At least I am not skipping Easter altogether because I don't want to talk about Easter eggs and chocolate bunnies.  At least it is not my first birthday after he died, knowing I had told him I was getting too old to "do this anymore", and feeling so guilty it was almost unbearable.

Maybe I will even color a few Easter eggs...we'll see.

 

 

 

Silver Lining Playbook

I promise this blog will not turn into an entertainment review, but thinking about seeing "Next to Normal" reminded me that I also recently saw the movie,  "Silver Lining Playbook".  I think about these things, because it is one more part of the suicide survivors' existence, always being ambushed by a surprise attack of a reminder.  For example, if you have lost a loved one to suicide, how many times since have you been with someone who is being dramatic and says, "I could kill myself", or "I felt like jumping off a bridge", and a split second later they look at you with either mild discomfort or pure horror, either just a little embarrassed or terribly worried they offended you or made you sad.  Then you end up being the one who has to comfort the other person,  because your situaiton is making them uncomfortable.

It would be really nice if we could eliminate every reminder in the world of the ugliness of suicide and the sadness it brings, but of course, that would be impossible.  Or, we survivors could hide in the house for the rest of our lives, to make sure nothing upsets us unnecessarily, or more than we already are.

But hopefully, sooner or later, we must brave the real world, with news media, entertainment, and social conversations that depict or talk about topics that hit way too close to home for us, and yes, hurt us more than most people.  I'm not sure why I wanted to see a movie and a play about bipolar disorder and mental illness.  I hate to say it but I think it was part morbid curiosity, along with wanting to see what others had to "say" about it, and perhaps even "compare notes"... most of the reasons probably aren't very altruistic.  I guess I liked the idea that I at least was in control of the decision to go see them, or  maybe I was testing my limits a little.

When I went to see "Silver Linings" I walked in knowing it was about a young man with bipolar disorder, and that it got good reviews, and that the acting was going to be good.  I had no way to know how many times in that two hours I would be watching scenes that jogged too many memories.  The wonderful man who went to the movie with me began shifting in his seat five minutes into it, urgently whispering "do you want to leave", to which I of course stubbornly said "No".  A few minutes later he asked me again, so I assured him I was okay, and if "something horrible" happened, then I would ask him to get me out of there!!!

The young man in the movie totally reminded me of my son, same coloring and height, same intense blue eyes.  He had been in rehab and brought home by his mother, to his father whose best way to handle the situation was to ignore him.  And then the scenes began: the visits to the psychiatrist, the not taking the meds, the taking the meds, the outbursts in the middle of the night, physical altercations between father and son, the difficulty handling social situations, and on and on.  Some of the things truly did make me uncomfortable, especially the depiction of the stuggle with meds making people feel worse than the illness, and of course the family arguments. 

However, the story was so intriguing and compelling, that I was willing to get through those moments and enjoyed the movie, so happy that I had chosen to stay.  Granted that I am a bit of a movie fanatic, and for me it is worth it to be uncomfortable for a bit and not miss a truly great movie, while many people would wonder why even take a chance of being upset, just for the sake of seeing a movie.  I get that.  But for me, I'm glad I did it.

And looking back, I have to confess, maybe I was hoping that if I stayed I would get to see a happy ending for someone with bipolar disorder...and I did...it was a great ending.  It was the movies after all.

"Next to Normal"

“NEXT TO NORMAL”

A musical about bipolar disorder…sounds like such a contradiction, almost offensive to those of us whose lives have been devastated by living with the havoc brought to family members of those who have mental illness.  But, when approached by a friend who invited me to see this play, I figured “why not”, I survived the real thing, let’s see how someone can turn this nightmare into entertainment!

 

The friend who invited me has a daughter who has bipolar disorder, who had made a number of suicide attempts.  I had a son with bipolar disorder, who I actually lost to his successful suicide attempt nearly three years ago.  So we agreed to go, for who knows what reasons.

The theatrical performance was at a very small theatre with a small cast.  I had no idea what to expect even in terms of the logistics and theatrics of the performance itself, and hadn’t realized it was going to be a musical until it started.   

From the moment the lights went up, I was completely spellbound and mesmerized.  The storyline of the mother/wife of the family having the mental disorder of bipolarism, was different from my personal experience, yet the challenges and heartbreaks of mental illness are pretty universal, and always a “family affair”. 

            It was a memorable performance by six actors, so extremely talented, one person’s voice more beautiful than the next.  And the biggest surprise of all? Not only was the play a musical, there were many lines that were laugh-out-loud-funny.  How several hours of time could present so many thoughts about the travesty of mental illness, in a way that I am sure stayed with the audience for a long time after they left the theatre, and entertain and educate at the same time, left me in awe and so grateful I had been there.

           The script left no stone unturned: the influence this mother’s illness had on her children, the combination of the children’s own struggles made worse by the mother’s illness - the son had committed suicide and the daughter struggled with illegal drug addiction, the frustration of trying to find medications which didn’t make the patient feel worse than the illness, the stress of never knowing what each new day may bring, and finally in the end, the husband’s inability to accept his wife’s decision not to take meds, and the dissolution of their marriage.  Also, the anger on the part of the daughter for her father in his attempts to hold the family together, which in the end resolved, hit close to home for me.

            I have a feeling that probably most of the audience were people who had some first hand knowledge of living with bipolar disorder.  The theatre company actually held an informational program after the play, which we did not stay for.  However, I feel hopeful that this performance is an indication of increased awareness of mental health disorders, and the need for us to be able to look at them full on in the face.

            Ironically, although my friend was worried about my reactions to sitting through the performance, in the end, it was my arm around her as she was weeping and thinking of all the sadness in her life as she worries and helps her daughter with her struggles.  But I am glad we went, and that we were there together.

 

           

The Beach at Night

 

 

 

The Beach at Night

by Mary Ann Kirisits

 

Told to choose just one small spot

To live out all my days;

I didn’t ask for miles of land

Or any paradise…

I only asked for room to lie

Beneath the solemn midnight sky,

With darkness for my comfort,

And stars to give me hope,

And the whisper of the constant waves,

To know I’m not alone.

The sand would be my cushion,

The salty air my high,

Excluding all the distant lights

Of time that must pass by.

 

Existing in my chosen world

Of solitude and peace,

You’d be there, present, all the while,

In heart, and mind, and soul…

For love is but a dream,

And dreams are not untold.

 



My Friend Marilyn

My Friend Marilyn

Four months after Erik died, one of my dearest friends Marilyn lost her very long battle with cancer.  She was one of those people who faced her illness the same way she lived her entire life, with great courage and grace, with little complaining, and always embracing and appreciating the beautiful and important things in life.  She herself was a beautiful woman, always meticulous in her appearance, soft-spoken, with a laugh that was like chimes in the wind and totally contagious.

Marilyn was one of those people in my life who I actually met twice.  The first time I met her, she was bringing her daughter as an infant to be seen for Occupational Therapy at our children’s rehab center in Buffalo.  They would come to the OT department, and we would all be on a mat on the floor, with myself gently moving Christine through her exercises and experimenting with positions that might encourage her to move to her next stage of gross motor development or more readily hold her toys.  Marilyn would stay throughout the session, as a comfort to Christine, and to learn how to do the movements and exercises at home.  I don’t remember how long we kept these once a week sessions, I know it was a long time…maybe a year.

 

In that time, we formed a convivial friendship and I always looked forward to the days they were coming.  What I especially remember, is that during that time I became pregnant with my first son Jason, and when Marilyn and Christine came for their last session, Marilyn walked in with a huge gift box.  I was so startled and pleasantly surprised that she would do this, and still remember the beautiful pastel blanket and sweater set she had crocheted for my son.  We hugged goodbye and wished each other well.

 

Then, ten years later, I began a new job at a small school for children with disabilities.  I quickly came to find out that Marilyn was working there as one of the nurses, and we were able to resume our friendship where we left off.  She was pregnant with her third child at the time, and I was returning from the birth of my second son, Erik.

 

The rest is history, as they say, and we became fast friends.  Marilyn was one of those friends who I not only had so much fun spending time with, but who I respected and admired so much, and was the first person I would go to when needing advice.

 

When we both moved on to our next passages of our lives, different jobs, different cities, her getting married and me getting divorced, we always stayed in touch and got together when we could.  Those last years before 2010, we were both facing challenges, her with her diagnosis, and myself trying to stay afloat after my divorce and helping Erik.

 

The last time I saw her, she hosted a gathering of friends at her home just before Christmas.  We had a great time as always, Marilyn was the consummate hostess, and had thought of all the little details to make it a fun afternoon, including Santa hats for all. 

 

I remember that it was clear it was a tiring day for her, and there were a few struggles and teary eyes, all of us wondering if we would be together the next Christmas.  I have always treasured that afternoon, it was the last time I saw Marilyn.

 

It was about three weeks later that Erik died.  There were so many times I wanted to see Marilyn one more time, or help out somehow, but I was barely getting through some of my days, and I never made it to see her again. 

 

She left us in May, four months after I lost Erik.

 

The reason this is in the forefront of my mind now, is that I was invited to go to her home with her best friend, Lynn, and visit with her husband and look at some of her jewelry, to choose a piece to have for myself.  Since the day Lynn asked me to go, I have been plunged into an ongoing soul-searching of how I felt about losing Marilyn.  Just the thought of going to her house brought tears to my eyes and made me so uncomfortable…what the heck was wrong with me, it has been nearly three years.

 

Then suddenly I realized, I had never truly faced the fact that she was gone, that she had died.  I remember standing at her coffin and looking at her beautiful face, with no emotion registering at all.  And throughout the morning of her funeral and breakfast, my eyes remained dry as everyone commemorated this beautiful woman, wonderful wife, mother, and friend, asking how could it be that she had been taken too soon in life, when she still had so much to give and receive.

 

Four months after Erik.  I thought I was acting very “normal”.  I thought I was appropriately sad, but able to be strong enough to go through my first funeral after Erik’s.  I wanted and needed to be there.  I am so glad that I went, to pay my respects and honor her life.

 

But now I realize I was like a zombie just going through my paces and pretending I was participating in the moment.  I wasn’t.  I wasn’t even there.  And this comes under the heading of those times I have talked about being in shock, or only having energy at first to breath and get through the normal aspects of everyday life. 

 

I guess our brains only let our hearts feel so much pain at a time.  Marilyn had been just about one of the best people I knew.  She spent the majority of her "kids growing up years" as a single mom, working full time, taking care of three children including one with special needs, but always making time and having energy for her friends.  I should have spent that week in May crying my eyes out for her, and shaking my fist at the universe, asking how dare  she be taken away too soon.  But I didn’t.

 

So now it’s three years later and I feel sad…really sad.  Weepy-eyed sad.  There is so much to remember and think about.  Some regrets I didn’t see her more that last year.

 

I didn’t go to her house…

 

But I want her to know I miss her, I loved her, and I think of her often.  I remember her advice and the times we laughed so hard.  And I’m so sorry it took me so long to face all this, but am glad I have let it all in now.  Because even though Erik has permanent residence in my heart at all times, there is room for her there too…and I just smiled thinking about her.