THANKS FOR KEEPING ME COMPANY

         As I come to the end of this chronicle , I do understand that life was unbearable for Andrew and in some ways that made his life unbearable for me. His suffering and much of my suffering is over. For that, I am grateful.

It is certainly good to be able to talk about Andrew with family and friends and to write about the time I had with him. I feel peace on many days.

And then I remember that I will never see Andrew again. This thought fills me with a feeling of having all the air sucked out of the room and it takes my body a while to recover.

Many of you have shared your own losses with me. I truly appreciate all of your support. I am sad that I have come to the end of this reminiscence. Offering my thoughts to you and receiving your care in return has taken me to a place that I don't think I could have gotten to on my own.

Thanks for keeping me company as I remembered Andrew. Please keep us in your thoughts. 

Love Marge 

I MISS ANDREW

I miss Andrew. I have great sadness at the loss of him. As Marnie and Eileen have their children it creates a longing for the children that Andrew will never have. The grand children I will miss. He will never age beyond his 28 years. He will be like John Kennedy, always young and smiling back at us from his photographs, as the rest of us move along the graying timeline

FINDING THE ANGST WITHIN

     Despite the study of pathophysiology and related pharmacology,  mental illness is still barely understood today. There is a lot in the news about research and findings, but not much that is changing lives. We see the results of untreated or poorly treated mental illness in the paper daily, particularly when it results in violence and death. I suspect if we had an all-out public awareness campaign on the impact of mental illness to society we might come up with some new collective approach to diagnosing, managing, and treating it, that takes out the darkness and puts it into the mainstream, much like diabetes or birth defects.

          I often think what would happen if we made a TV series, that had mental illness as its focus. To mainstream and normalize discussion and understanding of the different manifestations might help to see affected individuals as ill rather than as criminals or ne’er-do-wells. 

     I know this will happen someday. Right now we  may not be ready, as individuals, or as a collective, to lose this convenient scapegoat for our shared anxiety that the mentally ill provide. It is so much harder to find the source of my angst within. 

COMFORT OF OTHERS

The Philadelphia Inquirer of 1-1-11 has an article describing an attempted suicide by a depressed young man who jumped out of a 9-story building and lived despite a fractured skill, and crushed legs and pelvis. 

My first reaction to the story was to think why didn’t Andrew survive and then to be even more horrified by the thought that maybe he did at least for 24 plus hours. When the family rushed to the hospital, the doctors told them that their son had 24 hours to live. The survivor told of being depressed before the attempt but having no recollection of jumping and when he found out what had happened he asked who pushed me.

I do not know if incidence of suicide has increased or my awareness and search for it has increased. I expect the latter. I do believe it is my longing to place Andrew and myself into the understanding comfort of others who have had similar experiences. Sort of a misery loves company. I know I long for some reassurance that Andrew was just doing what sufferers of serious mental illness do when they are overwhelmed by symptoms that are not well managed by currently available treatment.

      As if to make my point, this morning the coach of the Philadelphia Eagles lost his son. He was found dead in his dorm room at the Eagles practice facility. No signs of violence or suicide the papers said. He had a long history of drug abuse, which involved trafficking and reckless endangerment with a vehicle. 

I wish I had some notion of what the ideal solution is knowing what we know now. It certainly seems like we are letting a not insignificant portion of our young, more male than female population down, along with their families.

EVERY WHERE I TURN

     Before even finishing Eyes Wide Open, I came across letters to the editor of the New York Times Magazine in response to an editorial on involuntary commitment to mental institutions.  The letters related personal experiences that either supported the benefits of involuntary commitment or refuted commitment as a barrier to living life to its fullest.

     Obviously, there are costs and benefits to both sides of this argument. What came across in all letters was the pain and torment of the writers who all had bipolar disorder. 

     Shortly after reading this, I was leafing through a copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer when I noticed a picture of a middle-aged couple with two young adults. The caption told me that the son, age 24, committed suicide after suffering with Body Dysmorphic Disorder . The mother’s description of the family’s anguish at watching their “unfailingly kind, and universally loved, compassionate, teacher’s dream and a varsity athlete son”, sounded so familiar.

     She spoke of how people with this disorder find schooling, holding a job, or developing a romantic relationship difficult or impossible. She could have been describing Andrew. While the diagnoses were  different, her son was suffering from a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the life impact was very similar.

WHEREVER I GO

     I feel like I am running into Andrew’s story everywhere I turn. Most recently, I check out an audio book from our local library, Eyes Wide Open by Andrew Gross. I had read a good review of another mystery he had just published but was not available yet as an audio recording. I popped the discs into my car player as soon as I left the library, while still sitting in the parking lot. The tape player sprang to life with a familiar voice. I recognized this voice I liked from another audio book. I thought, great, this man is a wonderful reader. 

      No sooner had I lulled myself, when I realize that the opening sequence was a very detailed description of what was going inside the head of a young man. It began when he reached the top of a rock he had climbed with the intention of committing suicide. He is hearing voices and the voices are encouraging him to jump and free himself of pain and suffering. He admits being afraid, but the voices reassure him that he will be going to a better place. He feels sad at the pain he will be causing his parents. In the end, the voices are more powerfully persuasive and he jumps to his death. 

     I listened to this voice very analytically, trying to compare it to my sense of how Andrew might have spent his last few minutes of life. I felt like Andrew had made up his mind months before he actually jumped from the train trestle, but maybe he did have second thoughts. As I was listening I recall thinking that I must get John to listen and get his read  This book, billed as a mystery, goes on to describe the parents anguish and blaming themselves. 

GLAD TO PUT IT DOWN

I noticed my feelings of hostility toward the little gray haired volunteer who was not quite sure how to direct me, and then I moved onto feeling annoyed about the loud radio being played at the registration desk. After that, I was sent to a booth to be registered and experienced a pleasant efficient young man who ended our interaction by sending me to the wrong floor. For whatever reason, I forgave him.

On my journey to the wrong floor, I was still in a bit of a snit. When I was redirected to the correct floor, I realized that I still had my back up and was looking for trouble. Then it occurred to me that I might make it easier on myself if I could just relax and connect with the people I was encountering. I found myself opening up to the stress test technician. I was friendly and outgoing, not my normal style when visiting doctors. I typically have a chip on my shoulder, and I always want to get in and get out as fast as possible.

I think, somehow I blame it on the staff that I am there and want everyone to know that I am not sick, so do not try to put that label on me. Despite this attitude, I am usually well treated.

It was very nice to be briefly free of the need to have a chip on my shoulder. It made me feel more able to connect with the stress test tech and I ended up telling her about Kathy’s death after a stress test. It was nice to tell her about it and what is more it let me in on my own little secret, that is, how anxious I was on some level about having the test.

Until then I was completely unaware of what I was feeling. Actually, once I decided to connect with the staff I was relieved of my burden. I am not even sure it was anxiety but whatever it was it was a heavy load and I was glad to put it down.  

FEAR THAT I AM UNAWARE OF

Recently my approach has been to listen to try to see what my body might be trying to tell me when I have a strong reaction to a person or event. For me getting at a feeling is harder (read that nearly impossible) than formulating an explanation. Rationalizing is so much easier. I think if I could learn how to better read my body I might be more in tune with myself and with others.

 My one reliable emotion is anger. I am more likely to feel rage or hostility than any other emotion. 

Today I was having a cardiac stress test and I was not looking forward to going to the Medical Center, parking in a multilevel garage, finding my way to the nuclear imaging department and dealing with the inefficiencies of a big bureaucracy. I was angry and making various negative predictions about long waits, impersonal care etc. All of this might have been my defense against feeling my fear related to the actual stress test.

 As I mentioned earlier, my family, particularly on the maternal side is riddled with cardiac disease. This usually presents as a heart attack. My sister Kathy actually had a stress test the day she died. So, as I was saying, I probably had some fear that I was unaware of. 

THE CONFLICT I FEEL

       Change is an interesting word. It has only been recently I realized that most of the time for me,change is driven by discomfort and conflict.

When I think of conflict, a few clichés come to mind. The first is “No pain, no gain” and the other is, “If it does not kill you it will cure you. While I have heard these expressions used often and have even used them myself, I did not realize the wisdom of contained within.

 My default setting in these situations is to seek a change in someone else for relief from my angst. Where things can become more difficult, is trying to see how my actions are responsible for the discomfort or conflict I feel. 

GROWING UP AS I GROW OLDER

Getting back to what I want to do as I grow-up, it occurs to me that I am probably most happy when I have a variety of things going on in my life. In addition, I know I need flexibility. These two preferences are probably true of 90% of the population. 

I like doing things with my hands, such as, painting or clay work. I know, however, that if I do these things too much, I either burn out or get bored as demonstrated by my low level of energy when contemplating either task. I like group work, especially bridge, which is helpful in figuring out where I need to grow and change.

Playing duplicate bridge is the ultimate social network. Participants cross almost the entire spectrum of human diversity.  My reactions to my bridge partners and opponents serve as my psychic maturity meter or psychomameter, my new word. It is utterly amazing to see the difference in how I feel about someone after I recognize my projections and attempt to reclaim them. Hey maybe I am finally beginning to grow up. 

DREAM OF ANDREW

      I recalled that I had a dream last night that Andrew was alive, well, and looking for work. He told me he wanted something meaningful and not boring. He said, “I can’t keep _______ for the rest of my life”. The blank space represents a blank in my memory of the dream. In the dream I was completely empathetic and encouraged him to think of things that he loves doing. I also advised him to form his own company so he could be in charge and not worry about being hired or fired. I said, “You will only be accountable to yourself and your customers. Andrew was not depressed in the dream. He had a lot of energy and it was so good being with him. I tried to think of what this dream might be telling me.

 It occurred to me, that of course, it was my own occupation that my dream of Andrew was highlighting. Here I am not working at a regular job. I am filling my days doing what I feel like doing. Bike riding, bridge, art, reading, visiting with friends, doing yoga in the morning with Lou and bopping down to DC to see the grand babies whenever the time is right.

 Maybe my dream was trying to tell me that I need to find what I love doing. Should I have a focus or a goal or just take each day as it comes?  Right now, I love the options being retired has given me. Each day seems a bit like a blank slate. This may be the first time in my adult life where I have had what feels like complete freedom. I am finding it invigorating and somewhat unbelievable. 

DEATH WITHOUT A WILL

          We buried my sister Kathy’s ashes with my parents and my brother Mike last Friday. I think this is what Kathy would have wanted, as do my siblings. 

       Since Kathy left no will, we are not sure of her wishes. Kathy dying without a will, has prompted Marnie and Eileen to talk to John and I about redoing our wills to leave them specific instructions about what we want and don’t want at the end of life. 

GOING IT ALONE VS DOING THINGS TOGETHER

       As I continued to consider having Andrew buried with us I got to thinking about how I wanted to be buried, or if I wanted to be buried. That took me to which, of John and I would die first, and should Andrew be buried with the first of us to die, or the second.

       I posed this question to John and his first response was the last, adding that ideally they would commingle all three of our ashes and disperse them together. I told him of my concern that if both of us were dead there was a decreased likelihood of our wishes being carried out. I said, “If we are able to bear it, maybe the last of us alive should see to it that Andrew is buried with that parent, ensuring that he be with at least one of us”. John agreed.

         I am sure that our daughters,  Marnie and Eileen would honor our wishes if they are able, but if the last of us alive sees to it, it takes the burden of it off them. So, I guess this is what we will do.

From here, we moved to cleaning out the refrigerator. When I suggested this to John he countered with, “Let’s do it later”. I said, “Let’s do it now because the thought of doing it alone overwhelms me. He agreed. As we finished, John said, “It is so much easier doing things together than going it alone”.

BURIED WITH US

     As I type this, I asked John how he felt about having Andrew’s ashes with us until we die. He said, “That’s fine”. Then I said, 

     “And let the next generation make the decision about what to do with his remains?” John said, “No, he is our son, we need to make the decision and not pass the buck”.

     After a minute, he added, “Maybe our decision will be not to make a decision”. After another pause he said, “Let’s have him buried with us”. I said, “That sounds good to me”. 

ANDREW;S ASHES

     One place where I find peace is with Andrew’s ashes in our den. The peace relates to him being with us in our home as opposed to in some cemetery. 

     My heart almost leaps for joy when I drive by a cemetery and see people visiting graves, laying flowers or tending the grounds and I realize Andrew is not there. 

     I still cannot even bear the thought of distributing his ashes.  I know, at some point this decision will have to be made, maybe not by me.  

LOST AND OVEWHELMED

     
     Almost immediately, after we found Andrew’s last dorm, we found the restaurant and sat in the parking lot, completely lost and overwhelmed. We were no longer interested in dinner, if we had ever been. We limped home, struggling to discuss what had just happened. 
     It was a powerful night and for me the very beginning of the realization that we could keep searching but we would not find Andrew in the places he had been. This awareness continues to confound me. It hits me hard

SEARCHING FOR ANDREW IN WEST CHESTER

Shortly after Andrew died, I am not sure exactly when, John and I decided to go out to dinner. I had recently read a review about a restaurant in West Chester. I guess it should have occurred to us that traveling to Andrew’s college town might be provocative but it never did, not to either of us on a conscious level.

As I type, I remember it was dark as we began our trip and that means it was probably late fall of the year Andrew died. We drove without speaking much at first. West Chester is about 20 miles from our home and we headed out our usual route to the college. As we got closer, we were trying to figure out just where this restaurant was. We were using the GPS system built into my car. John was driving per usual.

 I hate to drive and he likes to. The GPS directions were not making a lot of sense to us and we were unsure of where we were. As we drove around, in what seemed like circles, I spied Andrew’s first dorm arise out of the darkness. Both of us realized it at the same time as I called it out to John and he nodded slowly in agreement.

We were still unsure of how to get to the restaurant and were getting more agitated as we rolled around the poorly lit suburbs of West Chester. Next, we landed at Andrew’s last dorm and we both began to share our agitation.

I said, “What are we doing, why are we here?” and then I started to cry. John shared his near horror at the power of our unconscious nee  to search for Andrew under the guise of searching for this restaurant whose name I cannot now remember.   

STILL CONFOUNDING ME

A NEW WORD ADDED TO MY PERSONAL LEXICON

          Since Andrew’s death, I have found that I am constantly looking for him wherever I go. I am constantly seeing one of his cars or his truck. If I see a tall dark haired man, my heart skips a beat. Somewhere inside me is a desperate plea, “Please let it be Andrew” and then a harsh realization that it is not him. Finally, a question of what would I do if it were. Am I wishing him back to a life of suffering, or am I wishing him back cured and fully himself once again.

Glasadness or sagladness, the words for the joy I feel when for an instant I have him back in his old car or truck or walking down the street toward me only to have to sink into the harsh sadness that I don’t have any choices in the matter. I think Glasadness is more accurate, because the first emotion I feel is gladness and then the quick, without even a full breathe, sadness. He is not coming back well or healed in the traditional sense.

Then I hit myself with the question of “Would you want Andrew back if he were still sick?” The answer is I know how hard it was for me to suffer with him. Then I think, well maybe because I am different now, somewhat more aware of the difference between his suffering and my own that maybe I could be a better support for him than I was before. 

           The realization that I could not then and cannot now live Andrew’s life for him, manage his pain, is becoming clearer, but it is still confounding me.  

MORE THAN UPSETTING-ACTUALLY PAINFUL

Living in the world as an introvert, Kathy, might have experienced life’s events as more stressful and outside her  control.  In the U of P study that I mentioned earlier, the mice that were deemed less able to manage stress were more passive and withdrawn. Kathy and Andrew went about meeting their needs quietly and often alone. They managed their spaces to reduce stress by minimizing change.

       Andrew, I know felt better when  I left his room as is. As I mentioned before, when my oldest daughter got married at our home, I wanted to spruce up his room a little and he was very resistant, saying to me, “Mom, it is fine the way it is-please don’t change anything”. I did manage to talk him into a new duvet and shams, which after they were in place he liked. I believe it is the uncertainty of how the change would affect him that was so daunting. Once he was able to see that the change made for a nicer environment for him, he was always fine with it. 

      I tried to be careful with change though for I knew how upsetting the process was for him. I did not really understand then that it was probably more than upsetting, actually painful. 

IS LIFE HARDER FOR SOME THAN OTHERS

I wanted to get back to Kathy and the lattes. Kathy was suffering from many physical issues, particularly back and leg pain. This made it very difficult for her to walk. Life seemed harder for her than for me.

One question I have is “Do introverts suffer more than extroverts do?” I believe they may. I have heard different definitions of introversion and extroversion. Carl Jung may have been the first to use these concepts. His description of an introvert was a person concerned primarily with how other people and life’s events will affect him/her; Jung’s extrovert is primarily concerned with how s/he will effect other people and life’s events.

Extroverts may see life’s events and relationships as having less potential risk to them. Extroverts can be risk takers because they may feel more in control of outcomes than the introvert does.

        My informal test for the extroversion introversion question is how people respond to a request. Introverts in my life often either say “no” outright, stall or equivocate when responding to a request. They seem much more comfortable if they can initiate the plan. This might give them time to consider the potential risks and rewards ratio.  

BACK TO JAY LENO

Back to Jay Leno and what I have been feeling of late about Andrew.

           Andrew was devoted to Jay Leno and spoke of him often. He told Marnie that if things were not better for him by May 28^th, he would do something about it. As I mentioned before, Marnie thought he meant going back on his medicine.

During his last week, Andrew mentioned several times that Jay Leno was going off the Tonight show. He said, “Nobody can watch anything else when he is on, I need to see every show”. I said, “What is so special about Jay Leno?” Andrew told me about how funny he was and that he went to bed watching him every night. Andrew had a great deal of trouble sleeping when he was not taking his medicine and he was sleepless that last week, as I mentioned earlier.

          He kept saying to me, “What day is Jay Leno’s last day?” and I said I have no idea. He said, “It is either May 28^th or 29^th”. I said what difference does it make; he will still be on, just a little earlier. He said, “It won’t be the same. 

        Little did I know then why that date was so important.  I believe he had decided to go out with Jay Leno if he was not feeling better. It seems like that is what he did

       Just to demonstrate how volatile and irrational my emotions are, last week the Philadelphia Inquirer ran an article on the late night TV wars. It included a discussion of Jay Leno’s move from late night to the 10PM slot. The article enraged me, as I thought to myself , if they had not moved Jay Leno to 10PM, Andrew might still be alive.

MY SISTER KATHY'S DEATH

I will eventually get back to Jay Leno but let me digress for a bit. One month ago my sister Kathy died unexpectedly of a heart attack; most likely complicated by a pulmonary embolism, immediately following a chemical cardiac stress test.

 I was and still am in denial. How can Kathy no longer be in my life? She was thirteen months younger than I was and we were polar opposites. She was the introverted, stay-at-home reader who did not date or marry and never had children opposite to my very extroverted life as a sales consultant with husband and children.

 She was so good to my children and to me. Shortly before she died, actually less than 3 weeks, she and I were riding over to my sister Jane’s to help her make curtains. On the trip over, we stopped at Starbucks and she asked me to get her two extra-large lattes, which I did. 

While we were meandering thru Rock Creek Park out of nowhere I started talking about my feeling that humans operated much more in their irrational spheres than their rational. I added that the rational thoughts we do have are often a rationalization of a feeling that we are having based upon our irrational interpretation of life’s events.

Kathy said immediately, not me, I am rational 99% of the time. I said, “what about these lattes, they don’t seem rational to me?” She looked over to me and said, “They are rational, I know exactly what I am doing.

As we continued whizzing around the Capital Beltway from Chevy Chase to Alexandria, I startled at my realization that she meant she did not care if they killed her. I said, “But what about your back pain?”  

She told me she did not want to talk about it and became angry with me for continuing. I reminded her of how often I listened to her diatribes and she apologized for her tone.

As we got to Jane’s I was still holding the lattes. Getting out of the car with them, the tray they were in literally leapt out of my hands and fell to the ground spilling. Kathy looked at me and said, “Well I guess you really didn’t want me to have those lattes". I said, “I guess I didn’t”.  How much awareness did we have about the nearness of her pending death. I look back on the spilling of the lattes as my body's  expression of my acute but unfathomable, unknowable distress - of Kathy’s approaching death.  It was and is too big a loss to really understand in the day to day.

WHY I CANNOT WATCH THE JAY LENO SHOW

WHY I CANNOT WATCH THE JAY LENO SHOW

During Andrew’s last week with us, he, as usual watched the Jay Leno show in our den, sitting in his favorite chair.

 couple of years before this I had gotten a new couch for this room and had rearranged the furniture to allow for this additional seating. Andrew begged me not to move his chair.

 Because I knew how much relief he got watching the television I moved the furniture back. Andrew made so few demands on us and I wanted him to be comfortable.

It is only now that I am beginning to realize how painful life must have been for him. 

NEW STUDIES ON SCHIZOPHRENIA

On September 12, 2011, Tom Avril of the Philadelphia Inquirer writes about a new epigenetics study done at the University of Pennsylvania that speaks of the maternal stress of mice in previous generations effecting the fetus of future generations. This phenomenon is thought to play a role in both autism and schizophrenia in humans.

The author cites a Danish study that shows an increase incidence of schizophrenia when the mother experienced the death of a close relative during the first trimester of pregnancy. Because this is hard to study in humans Tracy Bale, Associate Professor of Neuroscience at the University of Pennsylvania studied the grandchildren of mice subjected to stressful but non-painful stress (exposure to fox urine).

In order to rule out deficiencies in child rearing only the offspring of male children of the stressed females were selected for the study. The thinking was that if male offspring can pass it to sons then we know that there will be a marker in the sperm. Indeed the grandsons with the stressed grandmothers were more sensitive to stress and the genes involved in their brain development followed the off on pattern of their grandmothers.

          When I read this fireworks went off inside me. I began doing a personal inventory for stresses that I had undergone during Andrew’s first trimester and to John’s mother’s level of stress during her pregnancy with him. I immediately remembered that John had been admitted to the hospital when he was less than one month old with a diagnosis of failure to thrive.

 His grandmother (mother’s mother) died in a car accident when she was returning home from a visit to see John right after his birth. 

STRANDED-continued-2

As I listened to these survivor descriptions, a feeling of calm and peace came over me and then relief in thinking of Andrew’s death as a peaceful, joyous transition to another existence.

I am hopeful that this is what he experienced and may continue to experience. It also made me wonder if part of every life is going back toward our beginnings, whether consciously or unconsciously, to the time before we inhabit our physical selves.

         Just listening to these survivors tell their stories of death and near death triggered a very positive feeling of the possibilities of death and afterdeath. In the end, 16 men were rescued after two of them walked over the Andes  mountains, with no gear or warm clothing and very little to eat.

         After walking for several days in unknown terrain, they found a shepherd who was able to get word to the rescue teams that would save them and the rest of the passengers. 

STRANDED continued

The other thing I resonated with in the movie Stranded, was the descriptions by the survivors of their experiences witnessing the death of others and their own near death.

They talked about the sense of peace and the feeling of rapture when they were hit by an avalanche, and the difficulty of coming back to their body as they were dug out and realized they were alive.

One man told of seeing the happiest moments of his whole life being run in reverse with the last image he remembered before returning to his body was of himself as an infant being picked up by his mother.  They also spoke of the look of peace on the faces of those who had died. They talked of being overjoyed to be alive and devastated to be brought back to the horror of their current situation. 

STRANDED

I watched the movie Stranded, about the 1972 Uruguayan soccer team plane crash. The team and many family members traveling with them went down in the Andes during a snowstorm. I was very moved by two aspects of the movie. One was the apparent randomness of who lived and who died in the initial crash.

There were 45 people on board, mostly young male premed college students from upper middle class backgrounds. Twenty-nine survived the initial crash. Of the 29, 25 had no injuries at all. The people who died were often sitting next to those who lived.

 I really resonated with the survivors who questioned this randomness of life and death. Why do some of us get dealt an easier hand, why do some of us die young and some live to be very old? Was Andrew’s life less because it was shorter? How much do we participate in how and when we die and how much of it is completely outside our control?  

WHY AM I WRITING THIS-2

I am writing this book for myself, to get the details of Andrew’s life and death into a form that I can hold, and read, and add to, and share. If I can put it onto paper—capture some of Andrew and my life together, it may help me  get to my goal of living to be 125 years old.

This means I have as much of my life to live as I have already lived. Andrew’s part in this second half, if I am lucky enough to get there, will be what I can remember, ponder, and maybe begin to understand.

If I can share these words with others and hear from them, in return, it seems like I might have a chance at sharing more.  Sharing what exactly,  I do not know.  Definitely more than just the horror.  Maybe the relief, the joy, the sadness, and the details of  our full experience.

Maybe that would ease my starvation, help me in my life’s work of connecting the dots. 

WHY AM I WRITING THIS BLOG

          That’s a very good question. At first, I thought I was writing it because I wanted to get more in touch with my feelings. I also wanted to recall Andrew before his suicide. The horror of it seemed to be taking up all my psychic space. Also, I am drawn to stories about suicide and its opposite, living to a very old age.

     I check the obituaries and look at the faces of the people who have died, searching for young people and very old people and reading their stories. If the death notice is vague, sometimes I go kind of crazy for the details. 

     Once, when I saw a picture of a young couple in the Sunday New York Times Obituary Page, I was obsessed with learning what had happened. I ended up googling them and finding their story of flying together to a vacation spot and never arriving; instead, dying in the crash of their private plane, very reminiscent of John and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. There were few other details of this tragedy and I found myself feeling starved, for what I am not sure.  

I BELEIVE I UNDERSTAND

I believe I understand Andrew’s decision and I appreciate that his decision in some way protected us from any future suffering, ravages or consequences that may have been ahead for him.

I wonder now if Andrew is still with us in some way, maybe only our memories. About 10% of schizophrenics commit suicide. I believe it was his concern about the worsening of his cognitive deterioration that got to him in the end, causing him to lose his job after being tortured so long by the critical job voices.

        He said to me after he received his unsatisfactory review, right before they let him go-"I don’t have to put up with this anymore" I said you’re right. There are other jobs out there for you. I think at that point he may have been talking about suicide although I did not  get it.

NOT WHAT I HOPED FOR

         Ever since my children were small, it has been my goal to figure out how to have an equal-equal relationship with each of them. The parent-child relationship being inherently unequal it seemed to me adult-adult is the only way to go. 

      That means giving up at a very instinctual level my need and demand to remain a parent and by inference my demand that my children in some way remain in need of parenting.

     For me this requires enormous self-discipline which is sometime less than successful. I have to be aware constantly of how I project my uncertainties, inadequacies and unlived life onto others particularly my children. This discipline and the confidence it requires are often illusive.

          

        With Andrew, I eventually made a conscious decision, and with uneven effort, tried to allow him to be the decision maker for his life. The outcome was not what I had hoped for. 

ADULT CHILDREN THE OXYMORON

I have thought about the concept of adult children quite a lot. While I may say my son or my daughter we do not have a collective word for adult children in the English language. It is almost as though we  have formed a tacit agreement to ignore  the fact that our adult children are not children and do not need us in order to function successfully and independently in the world.

          Of course this delusion then allows me to behave as if I continue to be needed, necessary and responsible for my adult children's thinking and behaving. This notion when spoken aloud sounds ridiculous. However on another level parenting has grounded me and given me a reason d'etre for so long that it is hard  to impossible sometimes to separate myself from my children emotionally, physically, financially etc. 

A DIFFERENT ENDING

Italics below are still quoting from the interview with Karen Green, widow of David Wallace who committed suicide.

"You know, I still," she suggests, "have a different ending (for him, for me): it's the one where he controls his own damn poignancy, and also kisses me goodnight…"

I truly had a different ending for Andrew. I always felt we would get through it; we would figure it out, we would manage it. He seemed willing to try. I felt that my experience and education had laid the groundwork for helping Andrew. I felt he would someday have the life he wanted. That he would have his own home and his own family and yes that he would be around to give me a hug and share his life with me. 

THE MONSTER THAT ATE HIM UP

Italics still quoting from the interview with Karen Green widow of author David Wallace who committed suicide.

"I have these visual cues where it all comes back to me, and if there is any way you can make that stop then you will do. If it means bashing your head against the wall, or whatever. The fear that you won't get out of it is worse than the thing itself. I think that is where he was that afternoon.

  "People don't understand how ill he was. It was a monster that just ate him up. And at that point everything was secondary to the illness. Not just writing. Everything else: food, love, shelter…"

Andrew said he needed a rest. His disease wore him down. He wanted relief. He knew he was loved and he had resources but the disease was truly a monster that ate him up.

A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

The italics below are still quoting from the interview with Karen Green widow of author David Wallace who committed suicide by hanging.

Problematic for me is that there is a post-traumatic stress that comes from finding someone you love like that, as I did. It's a real thing. A real change to your brain, on a cellular level, apparently. 

      This I certainly share. My body has been and still is in a state of responding to and recovering from Andrew's death. This for me has been the biological equivalent of losing a limb, having a major organ replacement surgery or a near death auto accident. 

      At times, but less now than right after Andrew died, my body  alternates between humming with a pulsing energy that I had never consciously experienced before and numbness.

 
     I only rarely even get sleepy these days. I am in what feels like a constant ongoing state of shock. 

IS SUICIDE IN ANY SENSE A MEANINGFUL ACT

Quoting again from the interview with Karen Green widow of  David Wallace who committed suicide.

She resists the idea that suicide is in any sense a meaningful act. “It was a day in his life," she says, "and it was a day in mine. People tell me I should have been prepared, because of David's history with depression. But of course, I wasn't prepared at all. I wouldn't have left him alone in the house, ever, if I thought that would happen. I still feel like it was a mistake that was made."

I also do not know if suicide is a meaningful act. In one sense, it is a way to relieve the pain of suffering that must be pretty awful for someone to seriously contemplate suicide. I think Andrew planned his suicide with an escape clause, which for better or worse, he did not activate. As I mentioned, he told Marnie that he was going to go off his medicines, eat healthy, and see what happens. If that did not work, he was” going to do something about it”. Looking back with our 20/20 hindsight, it is so easy to see what he was considering. He was leaving us plenty of clues that he was planning to take his life.

      In some way, we all collaborated with him by being unable to see what was unfolding even though we were all in communication with Andrew. He spent the last week at our house and I spontaneously decided to take the week off work.  The conscious mind seems fragile to me. At least in my case, it seems I was simply not able to see what I could not cope with. I did not have the emotional know-how to deal with the reality of Andrew’s death, so in the end I was unable to see what is now so obvious.  

WHAT MIGHT COME NEXT

I do not know if there is a better or worse to any of this. Andrew obviously did not make the choice to hang around. 

I respect his choice and have gratitude for it in some very important way. I think my gratitude and relief are related to removing an unknown. As horrible as the known is in Andrew’s death, I guess for me it has a sanity that was eluding me when Andrew was living with frustration, disappointment, and suffering; and I was living with not knowing what might happen to him next. 

While I am usually quite good at putting a positive spin on life, the underlying anxiety of what might be coming next for him, usually not a conscious thought, played heavily on me. 

LIFE STOPS

"When the person you love kills himself time stops," the widow says at one point. "It just stops at that moment." 

     I look at Andrew’s wonderfully handsome face in pictures and think he will never grow old. He will never age. He will always be 28. This thought is filled with sadness at all of Andrew that I will never experience and also with a deep relief that he will never deteriorate, never land on the street talking to himself and waiting for help from a passerby. 
       Maybe this would be preferable to being dead or with no hope. I don't know 

COULDN'T SEE A WAY TO BE

      As I continued with Pale Horse, I also found references to his wife and immediately wanted to know more about her, as a survivor of suicide. I sat down and searched online for the author’s name and found an interview with his widow, Karen Green, done by Tim Adams for the Observer, on Sunday,  April 10, 2011. Certain portions of their conversation resonated deeply with me.

      “He couldn't see a way to be." Andrew was not able to find much peace in the options that were available to him.  He seemed most worried about not being able to achieve what he wanted. Maybe this was the most lethal part of his disease. 

REDUNDANCY

After reading the book review section of the NY times a couple of Sundays ago, I ordered the Pale Horse by David Foster Wallace from the local Library. Novels are not usually on my selection list but I was drawn to this review because it led with the story of his suicide by hanging.  

When I picked up the book, I immediately read the cover flaps to remind myself what I had ordered as I usually forget. Seeing again a description of the author’s death, I read on with something close to voyeurism.

The book itself, about boredom, did not sound interesting but did remind me of something that I often say, maybe for its shock value, that the leading cause of death is boredom.

Seeing it now, in the context of someone’s work, who would eventually commit suicide, I wonder if boredom really is a terminal disease.

 If life seems redundant, which maybe it did for Andrew, does it turn to hopelessness and then to suicide?  If  Andrew experienced redundancy it may have had to do with the unrelenting and emotionally exhausting symptoms that he felt ruled his life and kept him from achieving what he wanted. 

BLACK AND WHITE

This was different from when Andrew first got sick. Then he had dismissed his consideration of suicide. When I asked if he had considered suicide he said he could “never do that to you and Dad”.  

While Andrew spent the last week of his life at our house I never asked him about suicide. Looking back at that week it seems like there were many clues that Andrew was at risk that I didn't pick up on.

I believe we were all well intentioned and were doing the best we could with a difficult situation. Explicitly our goal, that is John, myself and Andrew, was always trying to improve things for Andrew.

This may actually have  been the outcome depending on how you view the afterlife. Andrew said, in his note to us, that he needed peace and wanted to set his love free and I feel like he did that.

         In some way our family dynamic implicitly and largely unconsciously, supported  the actual outcome of Andrew’s early death, for better or worse.The further I move away from Andrew’s suicide the less black and white life and death become.  In many ways I do not feel like Andrew is gone. It seems he is around me most of the time.  

FREEDOM TO LEAVE

I thought that if I could learn to manage my own anxiety by being aware of myself, Andrew would be relieved of at least my portion of the family anxiety. Then he would only have his own anxiety to deal with.

I never considered that this family dynamic was all that Andrew knew and if we took it away from him without simultaneously discussing what we were doing that he would lose an important relationship dynamic.

Even when Andrew said “You don’t need me anymore”,  I thought he was talking about being displaced in my affections by Angus. It never crossed my mind that he might be saying you don’t need me anymore to contain the family anxiety.         

         It occurred to me later that this may have left Andrew with the emotional freedom he needed to decide to leave us.

AT MY WITS END

At some point, I became aware that I should and could begin to manage my anxiety moment to moment by claiming it, rather than assigning the blame to Andrew’s illness or some other hapless family member, usually John.

I felt like my years of projecting my anxiety onto Andrew and other family members was all I was able to do at the time, but it simply wasn't working any more.

While this felt like I was managing the situation, I was making it worse by expecting Andrew to be or do what I thought was best.

          Instead, I was actually blindly ensuring that all my energy was tied up in being anxious, angry and tired. It became untenable. I was at my wits end. Something had to give. 

NEGATIVE PREDICTIONS

Seems it takes years to never to internalize the wisdom of self-awareness. At some point, I realized that while anxiety is existential I do have choices about how I use my anxious energy, probably my  greatest survival tool. It definitely had me by the balls, or whatever the female version of that is.

        All those feelings of rage and bewilderment I directed outward where I had no control. I constantly felt lost and without options. My life seemed painfully driven by Andrew’s illness. The feeling associated with my incessant anxiety was usually anger. 

      I know now that my anger/anxiety, rather than being caused by Andrew’s illness was actually being fueled by my habit of making negative predictions about the future. I expected the worst and then acted like it was already a reality.