Saturday, November 6, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Where are you this rainy Friday night?
I'm actually not sure that it IS raining tonight but it drizzled all day and was cold and just looked and felt miserable. I had returned home by 11:30 am and spent the rest of the day sorting through tubs which haven't been looked at since we moved in here. It's just another coping mechanism. Every day I have a routine I follow; it get's me out of the house and helps me hold onto my sanity. Most days I meet someone I know, but not all days. Although the social contact is important to me, I think the more important issue is that I am dressing and going out the door.
For many montha after Michael died, I went back to bed every morning when my husband left for work at 5:30 am. I would turn on the classic movie channel and just lay there watching old movies. The longer I stayed in bed, the more difficult it was to get up. One morning I decided that I would try changing my habits a bit. I choose to think of this as a step forward, however small it might have been: I moved my pillow and quilt downstairs to the chesterfield and curled up there, turning on the classic movie channel. Baby steps.
I didn't want to see anyone, but gradually, as friends and my daughters encouraged me, I was able to start to go out once a week. I made that my goal, just one time each week, making arrangements to meet someone for coffee. I cried most of each day and every night and I depended on anti-anxiety meds for respite from the pain and also for sleep at night. But there were other things I felt were important to start us on our road to any kind of healing. The most important of these was my need to continue Michael's battle with some of the beaurocratic mistakes which had been made during his last two years with us, and which contributed greatly to his stress. I did have my say. In a rather cliche-ish act, I took three 8 x 10 glossy photos of him to people involved so they would put a face to the name. Michael would not just be another statistic. I was very angry. The anger is still there. Had anyone admitted that perhaps some error of judgement had been shown, if anyone had said "I'm sorry" my anger might have started to dissipate but what I have learned through this is that very few people accept responsibility for anything.
I realize that Michael chose to end his life. Ultimately that decision was his, and his alone. But, the amount of stress, unnecessary, unfair stress he was subjected to aided in making his life unbearable. Michael had a mood disregulation which made it very difficult for him to accept things which he saw as unjust. Some people can just walk away from things like that. Some can't. Michael continued to fight, right to the end of his life, for some fairness. It never came.
So, I continue to look for ways to make it through my days, without making those days worse.
For many montha after Michael died, I went back to bed every morning when my husband left for work at 5:30 am. I would turn on the classic movie channel and just lay there watching old movies. The longer I stayed in bed, the more difficult it was to get up. One morning I decided that I would try changing my habits a bit. I choose to think of this as a step forward, however small it might have been: I moved my pillow and quilt downstairs to the chesterfield and curled up there, turning on the classic movie channel. Baby steps.
I didn't want to see anyone, but gradually, as friends and my daughters encouraged me, I was able to start to go out once a week. I made that my goal, just one time each week, making arrangements to meet someone for coffee. I cried most of each day and every night and I depended on anti-anxiety meds for respite from the pain and also for sleep at night. But there were other things I felt were important to start us on our road to any kind of healing. The most important of these was my need to continue Michael's battle with some of the beaurocratic mistakes which had been made during his last two years with us, and which contributed greatly to his stress. I did have my say. In a rather cliche-ish act, I took three 8 x 10 glossy photos of him to people involved so they would put a face to the name. Michael would not just be another statistic. I was very angry. The anger is still there. Had anyone admitted that perhaps some error of judgement had been shown, if anyone had said "I'm sorry" my anger might have started to dissipate but what I have learned through this is that very few people accept responsibility for anything.
I realize that Michael chose to end his life. Ultimately that decision was his, and his alone. But, the amount of stress, unnecessary, unfair stress he was subjected to aided in making his life unbearable. Michael had a mood disregulation which made it very difficult for him to accept things which he saw as unjust. Some people can just walk away from things like that. Some can't. Michael continued to fight, right to the end of his life, for some fairness. It never came.
So, I continue to look for ways to make it through my days, without making those days worse.
Last night I had written quite a bit when I stopped and re-read and decided I wasn't ready to let go of some of the thoughts, so I deleted them. Today I think I can share a few of them.
The night Michael left us, I had gone to choir practice. It had been a very difficult day for him, but he had many difficult days. However, something that evening triggered his final decision and as his dad sat upstairs watching tv and I was at church he changed his clothes, fashioned a well-practiced noose, stood on a chair and kicked it away, exiting this earth. By tracing his phone calls we assume this was about 7:20 pm. I arrived home at 7:30 to find him hanging there. He was unconscious but alive. The paramedics and advanced life-support team were unable to bring him back to us. As much as I wanted my child to live, I understood his decision and respected it because it wasn't a decision he had come to easily.
There is an intimacy that comes with holding your dying child. It is as sacred as the moment you share when they draw their first breath. I feel blessed that God allowed me to have those last few moments with my son. How terrible it would have been to have had a stranger arrive at my door to tell me his body had been found somewhere. Michael chose to die where he was not alone. His greatest fear had always been that of being abandoned. It is a major trait of patients diagnosed with borderline personality disorder: the fear of losing those you love. He left our world knowing in a sense that he was "safe" at his parents house.
When my husband lowered his body to the ground Michael lay on the lawn. Often during the spring and the summer I would curl up on the spot his body lay and just put my hands on the grass trying to feel some sense of him there. People used to ask me if we would continue to live here after his death. Part of me wants to go away and never come back to this town but part of me wants to never leave our little home. I don't want anyone else ever to live here. This is not a time for decision making and so we are content to be here travelling to see our daughter who cannot return home yet. Her time will come but her grief is too raw to face the town she feels is responsible for her brother's death.
Michael's birthday is coming up. I fear it more than I fear our first Christmas without him. November is also the month of his anniversary. I clearly remember this time last year. It was not a good time and the only consolation I have right now as that he is no longer in the terrible torture he was last year. There is more to Michael's story: things which contributed to his stress, his frustration, his anger, and his loneliness, but these are in the past and to talk about them is painful, and, they are Michael's, not mine.
Michael, like my other children had a genetic predisposition to mood disorders. So the part of me that screams "This was not fair!", also cries out for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry Michael. I didn't know. I didn't know."
The night Michael left us, I had gone to choir practice. It had been a very difficult day for him, but he had many difficult days. However, something that evening triggered his final decision and as his dad sat upstairs watching tv and I was at church he changed his clothes, fashioned a well-practiced noose, stood on a chair and kicked it away, exiting this earth. By tracing his phone calls we assume this was about 7:20 pm. I arrived home at 7:30 to find him hanging there. He was unconscious but alive. The paramedics and advanced life-support team were unable to bring him back to us. As much as I wanted my child to live, I understood his decision and respected it because it wasn't a decision he had come to easily.
There is an intimacy that comes with holding your dying child. It is as sacred as the moment you share when they draw their first breath. I feel blessed that God allowed me to have those last few moments with my son. How terrible it would have been to have had a stranger arrive at my door to tell me his body had been found somewhere. Michael chose to die where he was not alone. His greatest fear had always been that of being abandoned. It is a major trait of patients diagnosed with borderline personality disorder: the fear of losing those you love. He left our world knowing in a sense that he was "safe" at his parents house.
When my husband lowered his body to the ground Michael lay on the lawn. Often during the spring and the summer I would curl up on the spot his body lay and just put my hands on the grass trying to feel some sense of him there. People used to ask me if we would continue to live here after his death. Part of me wants to go away and never come back to this town but part of me wants to never leave our little home. I don't want anyone else ever to live here. This is not a time for decision making and so we are content to be here travelling to see our daughter who cannot return home yet. Her time will come but her grief is too raw to face the town she feels is responsible for her brother's death.
Michael's birthday is coming up. I fear it more than I fear our first Christmas without him. November is also the month of his anniversary. I clearly remember this time last year. It was not a good time and the only consolation I have right now as that he is no longer in the terrible torture he was last year. There is more to Michael's story: things which contributed to his stress, his frustration, his anger, and his loneliness, but these are in the past and to talk about them is painful, and, they are Michael's, not mine.
Michael, like my other children had a genetic predisposition to mood disorders. So the part of me that screams "This was not fair!", also cries out for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry Michael. I didn't know. I didn't know."
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
A beautiful day in the Valley - trying to muster some enthusiasm
It was so nice today that I saw people wearing shorts. This is November. It isn't normal for our weather to be so mild this late in the year. I mean we're only 7 weeks from the shortest day of the year. I wanted so much to get out and feel that little rush of happiness that usually comes with a bright sunny day. But, I think my meds are starting to kick in. While overall this is a good thing, at least for now, the downside is that the medication also makes it difficult to feel the little highs that would normally come along. At this point in time, though, it's more important for me to feel I have some control over the depths that my grief and depression take me. So the logical part of me looks up at the sky and sun and acknowledges that yes, it is a beautiful day and even though, at this particular time I can't respond emotionally, I appreciate that at another time, this kind of day would give me great pleasure. Is this being mindful? I'm not sure, because I don't quite understand mindfulness.
I only cried a little today and that was at a therapy session. The rest of the day I managed. I see people looking at me uptown and wonder what they see and what they think. Ten years ago, what would I have thought if I knew someone whose son or daughter had committed suicide. Would I have pitied them, would I have had any idea what to say, or would I have just said hello, pretended I didn't know and keep going, or worse, would I have crossed the street to avoid them because I didn't know what to say. It's been more than 8 months and I still need to hear people say "I'm sorry". No one really does anymore. And when they don't I become afraid that my boy will be forgotten. My son, whose great great great grandparents were pioneers in this town cannot be forgotten. A life, so full of hope and promise, ended far too early. But we won't let him just fade into people's memories. Somehow he will be remembered. We are going to dedicate and plant a tree for him in the park uptown. There will a plaque with his name on it and his daugther will be able to go to Daddy's tree when she is older. But we need to find another way to keep him alive in spirit.
I miss him so much. My special child. Yes, he was a grown man, but in my heart, he will always be my baby boy.
I only cried a little today and that was at a therapy session. The rest of the day I managed. I see people looking at me uptown and wonder what they see and what they think. Ten years ago, what would I have thought if I knew someone whose son or daughter had committed suicide. Would I have pitied them, would I have had any idea what to say, or would I have just said hello, pretended I didn't know and keep going, or worse, would I have crossed the street to avoid them because I didn't know what to say. It's been more than 8 months and I still need to hear people say "I'm sorry". No one really does anymore. And when they don't I become afraid that my boy will be forgotten. My son, whose great great great grandparents were pioneers in this town cannot be forgotten. A life, so full of hope and promise, ended far too early. But we won't let him just fade into people's memories. Somehow he will be remembered. We are going to dedicate and plant a tree for him in the park uptown. There will a plaque with his name on it and his daugther will be able to go to Daddy's tree when she is older. But we need to find another way to keep him alive in spirit.
I miss him so much. My special child. Yes, he was a grown man, but in my heart, he will always be my baby boy.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Someone told me that God doesn't give us more than we can handle....
....But to some people, He does. I don't think He wants any of us to suffer, but we can't blame Him for everything that goes wrong in our lives. I prayed daily, nightly, many times a day for help and I may have received it. Maybe Michael lived longer than he would have without my prayers and those of others who cared about him. Don't you think God must really have his hands full if we hold Him responsible for every rotten thing that happens in our lives? This is the part of me which wonders if this means my faith is faltering. I don't think it is, but maybe someone else will.
Living, after the suicide of a family member, is so full of complications. Some people have asked, "How could he do this to you?"...Michael's suicide was not about ME. It was about his own incredible pain and deep deep sadness. I've also heard, "How could you not see it coming". Well, the sad answer to that is that I did see it coming. I watched it get closer and closer and closer..and the fear grew until it bordered on panic. The frustration of knowing there was absolutely NOTHING I/we could do to help him is indescribable. Had we been wealthy we might have found a facility in the USA where he might have found help. That kind of treatment can run upwards of $100K. We do not have those kind of resources.
Michael's suicide has generated self-blame, post traumatic stress disorder symptoms like panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares, inability to sleep and the inability to be around people very much. What it hasn't given us is any sense of shame or embarassment. And for those who do suffer with this I am sorry. Suicide is not about the survivors, it is about the inability of the person suffering, to cope with the depth of his/her pain.
We are told that there will be normalcy after Michael's suicide. I find that very difficult to believe. My hope though is that as we continue to learn about suicide that we will become stronger and by doing that, be able to help others
Living, after the suicide of a family member, is so full of complications. Some people have asked, "How could he do this to you?"...Michael's suicide was not about ME. It was about his own incredible pain and deep deep sadness. I've also heard, "How could you not see it coming". Well, the sad answer to that is that I did see it coming. I watched it get closer and closer and closer..and the fear grew until it bordered on panic. The frustration of knowing there was absolutely NOTHING I/we could do to help him is indescribable. Had we been wealthy we might have found a facility in the USA where he might have found help. That kind of treatment can run upwards of $100K. We do not have those kind of resources.
Michael's suicide has generated self-blame, post traumatic stress disorder symptoms like panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares, inability to sleep and the inability to be around people very much. What it hasn't given us is any sense of shame or embarassment. And for those who do suffer with this I am sorry. Suicide is not about the survivors, it is about the inability of the person suffering, to cope with the depth of his/her pain.
We are told that there will be normalcy after Michael's suicide. I find that very difficult to believe. My hope though is that as we continue to learn about suicide that we will become stronger and by doing that, be able to help others
Monday, November 1, 2010
Just a few words on this rainy Monday.
I spent the day going through tubs of photographs. I disposed of one full tub of them. So many memories of days which seem so long ago now. If I could do it again I would take a picture every day of my children's lives. We have lots of pictures but now it seems there just aren't enough. I want to be able to remember every day of our life with Michael. I also wish I had journaled. Even a sentence or two would give me something to read now. Of course it never occurred to us that we would outlive our child. Losing a child isn't the natural way of things. No parent should have to go through this incredible pain because it is a pain worse than any other. But I think I have said all this before.
Tonight we have come upstairs to bed to watch television because it is too difficult to be downstairs. Our son lived with us for a few months before he died and he had his own tv upstairs in his room. How I wish I could have those three months back and encourage him to come down and watch whatever he wanted with us. I remember one night he said "I can't believe the Olympics are on and you are watching Poirot." Wasted evenings...I would give anything to have him back, just to sit beside him on the chesterfield.
So, I guess all I am striving to say tonight is: any day can be the last you have with someone so live your life with them so you never have to regret the wasted or lost time because time is precious, and it is fleeting and it is out of our hands and in God's. Cherish every minute you have with your loved ones.
Tonight we have come upstairs to bed to watch television because it is too difficult to be downstairs. Our son lived with us for a few months before he died and he had his own tv upstairs in his room. How I wish I could have those three months back and encourage him to come down and watch whatever he wanted with us. I remember one night he said "I can't believe the Olympics are on and you are watching Poirot." Wasted evenings...I would give anything to have him back, just to sit beside him on the chesterfield.
So, I guess all I am striving to say tonight is: any day can be the last you have with someone so live your life with them so you never have to regret the wasted or lost time because time is precious, and it is fleeting and it is out of our hands and in God's. Cherish every minute you have with your loved ones.
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