Four years Eight months...how am I still here? Here is the answer.

 

 

Four years and eight months ago, at almost this exact moment- 10:30 AM, on what was that year a Sunday morning, our beloved son Michael, twenty-six years old, ended his life.

The heavy weight and razor-sharp edges of this loss never change. Sometimes we feel them more acutely and sometimes they sink below the surface, but they never diminish and they never leave.

The closest thing I can think of to living with loss, especially a shocking and brutal loss, is the sudden amputation of an arm or leg. Over time, the initial wound does heal, and the person learns to adapt to life without that limb...but the arm or leg never grows back. That place is permanently empty, and that void affects life in big and small ways every moment of every day for the rest of the person's life.

This is how the death of our son feels to me, nearly five years in. 

Yes, there has been solid, deep healing of that initial bloody wound. We are not as shell-shocked and wide-eyed with horror as we were in those first days. Our lives look...normal, now. This is where my amputation analogy breaks down. Unlike with a missing limb, our devastating loss is not readily visible. Its impact is felt, though, in many ways.

I have learned that my reserves of energy- physically, emotionally, socially, mentally- are limited. Those tanks are far shallower than they used to be, and they leak.  I seem fine to those who don't know better and that confuses people. Looking at my seeming strength and capability from the outside, they may be puzzled that I don't do more. They can't see, and don't know, unless I - again - explain the tragic why behind my limits. They don't know that, emotionally, I am missing a leg and that makes it hard to run the way others do.

What enables me to function so "normally?" There are two answers to that question, both springing from the same source: Jesus.

 ***I have intense, unbearable regrets as a mom. Every parent fails their child in some ways, because we are imperfect humans. Those failures are thrown into a painfully bright spotlight when that child dies, and if they leave by suicide that hindsight only gets more vivid and harsh. No kind and comforting assurances can change the raw facts of my failures in my relationship with Michael. Nobody else actually lived that relationship. I did. Michael did. He and I are the only people who really know the ways I let him down. Yes, I fought for that relationship and did some things very right and loved him and hung in there with him when it wasn't easy. I did the best I knew how, to love him well. I loved him and he loved me, and I found out from others after he was gone that he was very proud of me, and that means the absolute world to me. I also let him down in important moments and ways that only became clear in blood-stained hindsight. 

There is only one thing that makes this hard truth bearable: the mercy of God. The first time I deliberately waded into these hard waters of truth, a friend threw me a lifeline of God-laced hope: "That's rough. I'm so glad God has mercy on our failures." Those simple words were a spark of help and hope that I needed desperately. To this day, this truth is the only thing that helps me keep breathing when those regrets hit hard. If I could look Jesus straight in the eyes and say, "Lord, look at the ways I failed my boy," I think he would not pat me on the head or try to brush away my regrets. He would look at them honestly with me. He would speak hard truth, and as he did so many times in Scripture, he would say it with love and follow it with mercy. He might say something very similar to what my friend said; something like, "Yes, beloved, while you got some things right you also let Michael down in ways that hurt him." And he would turn to me, and rest his hand gently on my shoulder and look me in the eyes and say, "Beloved, I forgive you for your failures. They are covered by my mercy. I know they pain you deeply, but I will hold that pain for you." 

There are aspects of our loss of Michael that are actually unbearable. This is how we are able to bear these unbearable things: Jesus carries them for us. When I am overcome by the searing weight of pain or regret, I let the pain out through tears and then I turn to Jesus and say, "It's too heavy for me. Will you carry it for me, please?" This is what I do with my regrets as a mom. The weight is unbearable, but I am not alone and I do not have to try to carry it on my own. Jesus carries all my sins and failures, and this one is no different. He looked down the halls of time before I was even born, saw every single way I would ever falter and fail and said, "Beloved, if you'll let me, I will carry that for you."

 

***"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18) "When you go through deep waters, I will be with you; when you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown." (Isaiah 43:2) "Yet not I, but through Christ in me..." (lyrics from a song, paraphrased from Galatians 2:20)

These words of life and truth have kept me sane and breathing for the past four years and eight months. The only reasons I am functional at all are the powerful tenderness of Jesus, that carries me when I can't walk and holds me close when my heartbreak boils to the surface, and his love that holds my deep and painful regrets and covers that bleeding wound with his mercy. 

God doesn't shy away from the hard truth of our failures, but while he looks at our messy lives under the clear, revealing light of his holiness, his eyes do not hold scorn or disgust or condemnation. He looks steadily at us with clear eyes that lay bare our most uncomfortable truths. He may look at us seriously or sadly. He may get intense in his urging us away from paths of destruction. But all of that, always, is fully infused with his intense love for us, and our pain and regret and repentance are met with unbelievable mercy. 

This is how I am able to live with apparent normalcy-

The mercy of God for my failures.

The tenderness of God for my great grief.

The comfort and strength of God to hold me close and keep my chin above water.

His capacity pouring through me, to enable me to carry on when I do not have what it takes.

The mercy of God and his tender care for my heart are the answer; the reasons I am still standing. They are the reason I am not only sane and mostly functional, but able to laugh and love and live.

When you wobble, widen your stance

My dad is an interesting man, full of ideas and theories and a wealth of knowledge. Our family has some wonderful memories of hiking and backpacking trips in wild and lovely places. Something I have been thinking of recently is one of his bits of outdoor wisdom. It applies to my current journey in a way I'd never considered before.

Some of our hikes to our favorite wilderness areas were conducted after dark. This may have something to do with lack of time management, or with Dad's boundless optimism over just how much he could accomplish before leaving town, but sometimes it was simply due to a pileup of delays. One time, our late departure was caused by Dad having five flat tires in the space of just one day! Yes, five! All four tires and the spare, one after another! He would just get one fixed and get back on task, and another tire would go. On that trip, we reached the trailhead at 9 pm, loaded up and started the hike down into the river canyon. We reached our campsite at midnight. Memorable. :)

On those after-dark treks, Dad would use the opportunity to teach us new skills. He is all about teaching in the moment! He showed us that even without a flashlight, once our eyes adjusted we could usually pick out the trail. We did have flashlights; he just wanted to show us that we could survive without them if necessary. He also showed us how, when it really was too dark to see the trail, we could still follow it by feeling it with our feet. Most mountain trails are slightly cupped, with the edges rising up a little. He showed us how, if we would widen our stance and set our feet further apart, we could feel the upward curve of the trail edges. This enabled us to follow the trail, even when we were blinded by the dark. It was slow going, but not impossible.

Lately, I have been thinking of this philosophy in broader terms. Often, if a person feels a little unsteady on their feet, just widening their stance will help. I have seen Dad do this as he has aged. Instead of a quick narrow stride, he walks a slower, more careful, wider-set pace. It gives him better stability. Any time you feel a little unsteady, a little wobbly on your feet, setting your feet into a wider stance can help. Even in the shower, with your eyes closed while washing your hair, widening your stance can keep you steady.

I have thought a number of times about how Dad's approach can apply to daily life...but then I took the idea even farther. In the past four months, under the heaving load of terrible grief and tremendous change, I have wobbled severely. I am usually a pretty independent person, tackling tasks on my own rather than letting others help. This journey has changed that.

I have needed the help of those around me, to help me keep going, to keep me from toppling over.

I have accepted offers of help with cleaning and packing, with errands, with just washing dishes so I could move forward. I said yes when a friend offered to launder Michael's clothes before they went into storage.

In a way, this is just like what Dad taught me on those trails through the night woods, decades ago. This path was too rough and too dark for me to walk it alone. My load was too heavy, and it threatened to knock me off my feet. So, I widened my stance. I took hold of the hands reaching out to help me. I accepted the support of my friends and community. I let them help me carry the load.

I also widened my stance in spiritual terms. I reached out for the support that was offered in my relationship with God, and in the promises of His Word. I grabbed onto God and leaned into Him, hard. I looked avidly for the evidence of His love and mercy in those first, very dark days, and I saw it so clearly. I fixed my thoughts on words like Psalm 34:18- "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." This helped so much.

So I encourage you, when you wobble, to plant your feet on firm ground and widen your stance. Take the hands of those who offer you support and let them help you to stay on your feet. Lean into the deep comfort of those spiritual resources, of our loving God and all His promises; hold onto them tightly.

It really does help.

Joy is awesome, but.....

*I started writing this about a week ago and am just now getting back to finish it.*

The juxtaposition of true joy and horrible grief can feel very bizarre, but it is also starting to feel...normal. I mean, it is my new  normal, but I am starting to feel sort of comfortable in this place.

I have had several really wonderful experiences recently. I got to have a long-awaited trip to the coast with my mom and my sister. My two daughters spent part of one day with us. That whole time was a wonderful, joyous blessing. I was home for three days, and then went to see some dear friends a day's drive to the south, a visit that included another couple of days of "ocean therapy." It was a truly wonderful time. Two days ago, I got to go on a really special day-trip with three very dear friends. We had a really precious time together. The weather was glorious, the scenery stunning, and the time spent together was a true blessing.

In the course of these wonderful experiences, I felt refreshed and loved and...happy. For the first time since that awful day in June, I felt like myself. I smiled and laughed freely and joyously. It felt so good.

I know that for the people who know me and care about me, it is a tremendous relief to see me happy; to know that I am feeling refreshed, and having joy.

But here's the thing.....

The fact that I have had fun, and have felt joy...does not fix my grief.

The joy does not wipe away my profound sadness. It's not one-or-the-other.

The joy and the grief exist side by side.

For nearly four months, the profound sadness has dominated. There have been small, quiet bits of gladness, but the grief has towered over them.

All that has happened, with the wonderful, happy times in the past few weeks, is that the joy part of my life got a serious boost; the balance became less wildly uneven than it has been.

It's not that having fun times suddenly, somehow makes me all better.

This grief will never go away. It cannot be displaced or replaced by another experience, no matter how deeply joyful. The deep well of sadness will always be with me now, for the rest of my life. It will not always dominate, but it will never actually go away. It will exist alongside every other experience that I have. This is part of the bizarre, and sometimes jarring, nature of grief.  I can be walking on the beach on a beautiful day with a dearly loved friend, totally enjoying the time and drinking in the restful joy...while talking about the gut-deep agony of Michael's suicide. For me, the beauty of the moment does not lessen the pain, but also, the reality of my grief does not rob the moment of its beauty.

Restful days, beautiful scenery, time with people who are precious to me...while these things cannot lift away my pain, in a way I treasure them more deeply than ever before. It's sort of like taking a beautiful jewel and setting it against black velvet. The depth of the darkness behind makes the jewel shine more brightly, enhances the glitter of its facets, intensifies its color, and draws your attention to its beauty.

I will go on being very, very sad for a very, very long time. 

In the midst of this long, wearisome journey of pain, I am more grateful than ever for those moments of love, friendship, relaxation and beauty. I am grateful for the gift, because it is a gift, of genuine  laughter.

I am so grateful for the merciful gift of joy.

The Cousin George Construct

So, this is another of the things that have helped...

In the week following Michael's service, we moved out of the house we've lived in for over twenty-three years. As we packed, I heard from the other room, "Moooom?" The voice of distress.

I was in one storage room facing a box of Michael's Christmas ornaments. Our daughter was in the next room, facing a box of his childhood treasures.  We had both been punched in the chest, stopped in our tracks by the sight of these boxes.. We knew that this would continue to happen as we packed.

I really feel that this was a God thing, that He gave me this idea in the midst of that difficult moment.

"Okay," I said, "we need to reframe this so we can survive packing. Let's say this: we have this weird cousin George who left a whole bunch of his stuff in our house. Because he is so weird, he wrote someone else's name on everything."

We had so much to do, and we did not have the physical or emotional energy to have our hearts broken every time we came across something of Michael's. We needed a way to just keep going, to move past those moments without falling apart.

Curiously, the Cousin George idea really helped us! We have used it often.

Any time something is a little too close to the bone, a little too close to the deep pain, we "Cousin George" the moment. If we need to talk about something revolving around his death, and it's a moment when it just hurts too much to say his name, we say George instead. We talk about George's clothes, George's birthday, and so on.

There are still some things that are just too deep and too raw, that you just can't "Cousin George" your way out of, but in many moments this past four months, this way of reframing the situation has proven truly helpful.

How can I keep my kid alive?

This is something that I have been asked in the past few months. And I'm pretty sure that there are others who have not asked outright, though they'd like to. I've been finding out how very many people are just desperately trying to help a loved one stay alive.

I'm not going to go into detail about Michael's death on here. We did end up learning some things about what led up to that fateful moment. It might answer questions if I talked about it, or maybe even be of help to others, but several people in our family really feel that this is private information and so I'll respect their feelings by not speaking about it publicly.

What I would like to do is to share some really helpful and important things my family and I have learned about mental health. There really are some things that can make a genuine difference, and my deepest hope would be that maybe some bit that we've learned might be of help to someone.

***I do not presume to give medical advice- I just want to share things we've learned, to maybe point others in a helpful direction, to give ideas for folks research and try.*** 

>>> If you or someone you love is having suicidal thoughts, please please please get help! In a crisis situation, medication can be life-saving. Even if a person later shifts to "natural" remedies or lifestyle changes, the most critical thing in the moment is...life. What helps the person stay alive, right now today, is the right thing. There is a new suicide hotline number in the US: simply dial 988   

Michael was not in a season of depression when he died, but many people wrestle with depression and suicidal thoughts on a regular basis, and I'd like to speak to that.

Depression can have both neurochemical and emotional roots.

If a person's depression originates from emotional issues or trauma, it is vital to find a counselor who is a good fit, to really help them deal with this in a healthy way. It can truly help to talk with someone who does not have an emotional investment in their well-being. They can speak more freely to someone who won't be hurt by their inner truth. A counselor can also offer really helpful tools and strategies for coping. There should never, ever be shame over needing to talk to someone about inner problems, or troubles in relationship. Probably most of us would truly benefit from such counsel.

There are medications that can be truly helpful, easing one back from the sharp edge of the cliff. There should be no shame, ever, in needing medical help with mental health.

There are also medications that can actually increase suicidal thoughts. It is vital to be under careful supervision by a medical professional if a person is on anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medication.

They can be real life-savers, but can also have the opposite effect. It's really important to be careful with medications.

Now, here is what has been really good news for members of my family...

We have been learning some really interesting things in the past year, about the powerful link
between gut health and mental health.

The short version is that many neurotransmitters (brain chemicals) are actually produced in the gut (intestines). Isn't that wild? I had no idea. These are the things like Epinephrine, Dopamine, Norepinephrine, DHEA, GABA...the things that govern mood, motivation, focus, etc.

A person whose gut health is compromised often has depression and anxiety, and the reverse is true- that people with mental health struggles often also have compromised gut health. Sleep issues are also a big part of this loop.

All kinds of things can impact gut health. In my own situation, it was some heavy-hitting antibiotics that saved my life but wrecked my gut. I'm thankful to be alive, but I do deal with long-lasting consequences.

Even simple things like NSAID painkillers (i.e. ibuprofen) can kill off good gut bacteria. There is some really good information about this in the book "The Plant Paradox." I'm not sure that everything in the book is legit, but the information about what kills the good guys in our bellies is astonishing.

I see a Naturopath who has really helped me. In the world of naturopathy, there are all sorts, from complete quacks to those who really know what they're doing. Part of what I like about my doctor is that she uses normal things like blood tests to look for answers. I hope it's not too much information, but I did a urine test kit that she gave me, to check my neurotransmitter levels. It tested epinephrine, norepinephrine, GABA, DHEA, glysine, histamine, and some others I don't recall right now. The results were enlightening. Instead of taking anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medications, I take natural supplements that help my body produce what it needs. I really like this approach, as there simply are no harmful side effects.

A family member has taken a different approach to mental health, with impressive results. She already ate a diet low in sugar (she just doesn't like most sweets), does not drink, smoke or use any drugs, and eats a pretty healthy diet with lots of veggies....but she still lived in the gray wasteland of clinical depression, and had very low energy levels. She learned that sardines have something in them that can really help with certain neurotransmitters. She got some good quality canned sardines, and just started eating one or two each morning. The very first day, she felt a level of optimism that she had not experienced in many years. She has also addressed her gut health with high quality probiotics and raw fermented veggies- both of which help to restore gut health. Her energy, mood, and mental clarity are dramatically better than they have been in years. It is exciting to see!

The testing and supplements I have used are pretty costly. High quality probiotics can be costly. (but so are pharmaceutical medications!!) I believe that they are far cheaper than the steep cost of poor mental and physical health, but the cost is still a real consideration.

Sardines are a much easier, less expensive first step. A person could just eat them from the can (tons of respect if you can- that's too much for me!), or maybe make sardine toast- mashing them up on toast with maybe some avocado and hot sauce, or whatever is healthy and sounds good. Olive oil, roasted veggies, green onions, minced garlic....

Other things also impact mood and gut health, like sugar (America's drug of choice!!!). Cutting way back on sugars and refined starches greatly reduces inflammation in the whole body, which helps the gut and the brain, and pretty much everything else. Artificial sweeteners have all kinds of detrimental effects on many systems in the body (they're death to gut health!).

There are good things that are naturally anti-inflammatory, like coconut oil (preferably organic, unrefined). It is so good for our bodies and our minds! They're learning a lot now about the link between inflammation, elevated blood sugar levels and dementia. Including a healthy plant fat like coconut oil in your diet can make a big difference in overall health, and brain health in particular.

Lowering the glycemic index of your diet can really help with inflammation and gut/brain health- eating complex carbohydrates (like veggies), rather than simple carbs (like pasta, potato chips, sugary treats), and using natural sweeteners that have less of an impact on blood sugar (such as natural stevia, or coconut nectar).

So many of the pieces of advice for lifting the dark clouds of depression are difficult for a depressed person to implement. If it's all you can do to get out of bed and function, deciding to start up an exercise program can seem just impossible. For someone in that place, making a few dietary changes might feel more doable. Maybe they can start eating organic yogurt with live active cultures in it. That's a start. Maybe they can handle taking a probiotic supplement once a day. Maybe they can handle the sardine idea. That one is definitely worth trying. They're like tiny miracle fish. :)

I've been amazed to see how a few simple dietary changes can make a truly positive difference in the mental health of someone I love.

Here is another, very important consideration: be careful and informed about anything that you put into your body, even something "healthy." If you're on medication, do the research on what can interfere with it or cause bad reactions.

Also, be very careful and informed about stopping taking things. Never just quit a medication without talking to your doctor or pharmacist. Let someone who knows all the ramifications help you to wean off of medications, if it's safe for you to do so. Someone we love just had a stroke after she stopped taking her medication, because she felt it was too expensive. So, so sad.

Even things that people take to help get better results with exercise can have potentially serious or even fatal side effects. Be so, so, so careful with anything you put in your body!!! It's just not worth the risk. Also, be extremely careful about stopping taking things. That can also be so dangerous.

I really love that what has helped my loved one are things that have no dangerous side effects or damaging potential.

If someone you love is wrestling with depression and suicidal thoughts, my heart is so with you. That is such a scary, painful road. I pray that your story and theirs will have a happy, healthy ending.

I hope that maybe some bit of what we've learned might be of help to you and your loved one.