I am, and will always be, thankful to God for giving me the gift of Malcolm. My husband and sons are my reason for being. If I could go back in time would I choose not to give birth to Malcolm? It was a difficult pregnancy; I hemorrhaged and eventually lost his twin. I was on bed rest for nearly 2 months with continued spotting. The doctor suggested a D & C — a termination — because of the blood loss and the possibility of damage to the remaining baby. Would I have preferred a termination then to watching him struggle with depression and finally lose at 24? Look at his smile and answer that for yourself.
Malcolm was a precious, precious gift and I will be eternally grateful for his presence in my life. He is part of me always. His smile brought joy to my heart, his humor brought joy to my life.
Happy Turkey Day Malcolm, I miss you so much!
Categories: family · losing a son
Oh, Why? That’s what I keep askin’
Was there anything I could have said or done?
Oh, I had no clue you were masking a troubled soul.
God only knows what went wrong And why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a song.
Why, Rascal Flatts
Categories: Uncategorized
I came across this quote today:
“If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it. This is the most basic kind of peace work.”
Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh
Categories: meaning of life
Yesterday I had a birthday. My husband was out of town and that was OK because it hurts to celebrate a birthday without Malcolm. Our family tradition was to get up and share a birthday breakfast on everybody’s special day. My choice was always McKenzie’s sweet rolls. The boys liked a variety of donuts, especially chocolate with sprinkles. My husband liked buttermilk drops. We would put candles in the middle of the donuts. And of course we would take a photo. Mal would take the picture of my birthday and the boys would be on either side at the kitchen table. The photo at the top of this blog is my birthday morning in 2006. James was away at school, Malc was back living with us for graduate school and, although he liked mornings as much as I do, he got up for the traditional breakfast and photo. I love this photo, it captures his beautiful smile, so natural.
And now James will have a birthday tomorrow and he will be the same age as Malcolm was when he died. Next year he will officially have outlived his brother. But one thing that will never change is the memory of those birthday breakfasts where the best presents I could ever have were the people around the table. Happy Birthday for tomorrow, James. Know that your brother loves you still.
Categories: Parenting · family · grief · losing a son · loss
The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is holding a walk in New Orleans on December 5th, 2009. I am participating in it and if you would like to support it you can go to this page. Or if you live locally, consider walking too.
Out of Darkness Walk, Dec. 5th
Categories: losing a son · suicide
This month the 19th was a Monday, like the day Malcolm died. It felt worse because of that. 31 months; 31 19ths. I can’t fathom how it can be more than two and a half years since I saw Malcolm last. Like I said to the policemen that night, I don’t understand, I don’t understand. Tonight I’m just really sad and really missing him and I still don’t understand.
Categories: depression · grief · loss
October 10, 2009 · 1 Comment
It is a cliche to talk about living with depression as a roller coaster ride, but cliche or not it’s true. And grief feels like depression in this way. There aren’t real “highs” so much as incredibly intense moments of joy when one recalls and shares a memory, a story, an event. But such joys are a double-edged sword (another cliche) because as intense as that moment of bliss is, that crest of the roller coaster, the intensity of the the following fall is magnified exponentially, as the realization of the loss hits one’s psyche like a punch in the gut. And like a roller coaster ride that goes through a pool of water, you are left feeling breathless, submerged in sadness, wondering if you will have enough energy to complete the ride, enough air to take you through to the next stretch of track.
Categories: depression · grief · loss
September 25, 2009 · 1 Comment
It is still not OK to talk about depressed children. When you have a child who is depressed you cover up, you make excuses, you lie. Anything but tell people he is suffering from depression. Why? In our case I could say that we wanted to spare our son embarrassment and that sounds noble, right? But why should he be embarrassed? Is it because we are embarrassed? Do we think that others will blame us for our child’s depression? Sadly, they might. But that is their problem. We can’t control that.
By keeping things secret we are just adding to the shame that the depressed feel. Would it have helped Malcolm if we had been more open about his depression? If he had been diagnosed with diabetes, would we have kept that from his cousins and grandparents and teachers? No! We would have wanted them to know, so they could help support his healthy behavior and look out for signs of any medical crises.
I have diabetes, Type II. I take medicine twice a day and I know that if I don’t manage my blood sugar levels I am putting myself at greater risk for heart attack, stroke, blindness and limb amputation in my future. I don’t fight taking my diabetes medicine. But my depression medicine? That’s another story. I struggle all the time. “If I were a strong enough person and more in control I could do without it.” “I don’t need it any more, I am feeling better.” It is so easy to dismiss depression as something I can control, “if I put my mind to it.” Even though I know that depression like diabetes is a bio-chemical issue. Regardless of whether one has “emotional issues” depression is, by the time it manifests, a bio-chemical problem as well. Even with therapy, an adjustment in one’s body chemistry is usually going to be necessary. One’s chemistry has to get re-aligned; one’s serotonin levels have to get adjusted up. Maybe your body will be able to sustain the appropriate levels once it has readjusted, but for many people, like myself, medicine is necessary long-term. I know because I have tried multiple times to do without, only to discover that, yes, it really does make a difference in how well I can cope and how low my mood gets.
I hate myself for needing antidepressants; I don’t hate myself for needing diabetes medicine. What’s the difference? Again I come back to the issue of shame. I feel that I am judged by society as being “responsible” for being depressed. As if it is a character weakness. But because I am not morbidly obese, and therefore not obviously “responsible” for my sugar levels being abnormal, society doesn’t judge my diabetes as a character flaw. The truth is, both probably have a genetic cause to some extent, and my behavior has certainly contributed to my developing diabetes. On the other hand I have done nothing to “cause” my depression.
So, what am I saying? I am saying we need to redefine our attitudes to depression. We need to be supportive of family members who are depressed and not communicate any shame messages. Ask them how they want to deal with telling people, but encourage them to share information with others in order to get support. Don’t encourage secrets because that suggests to them that you are ashamed of their depression. Let them know clearly that you are not ashamed, and if secrecy is their choice, you will comply only because they want it, not because you do. Of course, if you have been hiding your own depression it is hard to support this attitude convincingly. So maybe the first course of action is to be honest about your own illness, if you suffer too. Joining a support group, getting on medication, and or getting into therapy yourself can model a good attitude towards depression. You don’t want to share your “issues” with your children but you can show them that depression is a medical condition that one need not be ashamed of. And you need to keep telling yourself until you really believe it.
Categories: Parenting · depression
Anniversaries don’ t happen just once a year. They happen every day at 3:30pm. Every Monday at 3:30pm. Every 19th of the month. Every March 19th.
My husband marked every day at 3:30pm for a long time. Maybe he still does, he just doesn’t talk about it. I couldn’t do that. It was just too awful. But I marked every Monday at 3:30pm for at least a year. Now I have moved to every month on the 19th. And this month it was two and a half years. We toasted our son at 3:30pm on Saturday. That was the time of day when he put a gun to his chest and shot himself through the heart. I still feel strange to be toasting him. How can one toast a tragedy? But I remind myself of the Irish tradition of raising a glass in memory of a loved one who has passed, and then it makes sense. We live in a permanent state of “waking” our son, in the Irish sense of the word: gathering together to console each other, to share stories about the one who has passed, to celebrate their life and wish them well in their journey. I know Malcolm would approve of the “raising a glass” part.
Categories: losing a son · loss
Amy Grant, Carry You
Lay down your burden I will carry you
I will carry you my child,
Lay down your burden I will carry you
I will carry you my child, my child.
I was reminded of this song today. I once sang it as a duet in a Holy Week service. I always found it so moving as a song about God’s love, but it takes on such a different poignancy imagining it as a mother singing to her child. The truth is, we can only carry our children as long as, or when, they allow us to. As soon as they can walk they wiggle out of our arms to get down and be free of restraint. But when they’re tired they let us carry them again.
I have two great-nieces now, and I love holding them when I get the chance. They is nothing as tender as the pure and absolute trust of a child who rests in your arms and falls asleep on your shoulder.
How can anyone abuse a child? The abuse of that trust is at least as violent as any abuse perpetrated on a child’s body. A world in which child abuse can happen so often, and with such impunity in the case of abuse by priests, is a world that can seem overwhelmingly dark, hopeless, airless. I feel responsible for exposing my sons to that world when they became aware of my story; perhaps silence would have been better after all.
Did my abuse help to darken the world in which Malcolm found himself? No doubt. I realize that it was not the reason for his death, but it must have made living a greater struggle for him. Did he dread a future filled with the same kind of ongoing battle with depression he witnessed in my life? Did he feel unable to share his struggle for fear he would be adding to my burden? Did he fear having to “carry me?”
I am so sorry Malc, for adding to your pain. I wish I had another chance to carry you and ease your suffering. I love you so much.
Categories: faith · grief · losing a son · loss
