Grief is weird...a.k.a...My address book is a mess.

 

Who would have thought that a simple tool could hold such emotional weight?

I'm sure we've all been through that moment when we go to the address book and see the name of a dear one who is gone and feel yet another edge of that loss.

This is always a sad moment, but after our son took his life in 2018, flipping the pages to check the addresses of family members became almost unbearable. 

I could certainly not erase his beloved name from the page. 

I may never be able to do that.

I also could not keep having my heart lacerated every time I wanted to send a card to any of our other family members.

It was too much.

I found a little pocket-sized address book that I think my mom gave me one time and decided to use it. I went through the pages of the old book, transcribing names and addresses to the new one. Our last name falls early in the alphabet, so I was in rough shape for most of this project.

This is why the book is a mess.

I was still in shock, exhausted, and battered by the pain of passing by Michael's name; not carrying it forward.This was, of course, the whole point of what I was doing. It was still heavy and hard.

In the four years since that day, I have found strings of names in the wrong sections, and worse, names and addresses I somehow failed to transfer. I have had cards to dear people come back to me, because I'd jumbled the address in the new book. I lost the addresses of two long-term friends, and only re-found the through roundabout means in recent months.

I look at the mess I made of this much-needed information and I feel frustration, but also...compassion for the sad and battered self I was on that day.

Grief is messy and hard and it complicates our lives. It shows up in weird ways, throwing wrenches in unexpected gears.

May we extend gentle grace to ourselves and to others in similar state.

Seeing life in Depression hair

I've been frustrated with my hair recently.

No matter how carefully I gather it up, and bind it into my braid, there is this chunk that falls down and just hangs there. It reminds me of that famous photo from the depth of the Depression years: the worn, exhausted mom with her waifs of children. They're all shabby and smudged, and pieces of her hair are straggling down. That's what I think of when I catch sight of myself with my hair wisping and falling down. It's frustrating. I don't want to look all bedraggled. It looks messy, and it makes me seem tired and sad. It makes me look like someone who is not doing well.

A while back, I was looking in the mirror, about to fix that hair flop yet again, and I had an epiphany. For once, rather than just being frustrated, I actually looked at the piece that keeps falling down. And when I looked, I realized something important. I realized why this piece keeps falling down.

It's much, much shorter than the rest of my hair.

I held that chunk of short hair in my hand, puzzled, and then all the lights began to dawn.

The rest of my hair is down to the middle of my back. This is only six or eight inches long. This is new hair, growing in.

In the months after Michael died, I lost a lot of hair. So did our daughters, my mom and my sister. The intense emotional stress and shock of his suicide caused all of us to lose hair. Stress will do that.

This falling-down hair, that has annoyed me so much, is actually a sign of life.

It's a sign of healing- of restoration.

This is my hair, slowly coming back- a quiet, hidden proof that in spite of all the trauma, I am still here, still alive.

My messy hair now makes me smile tenderly, as I gently tuck it back into my braid.

It's a symbol of hope.

The struggle to be still

"Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

Those words have blown in on the breeze, waved like a banner, and been spoken in the words of friends and strangers, so many times in the past year.

In my struggle to understand the "why" behind the massive transition of our lives, I slowly came to think that part of it was so that I would rest, and in that resting, learn to be still in the presence of God. To sit at the feet of Jesus and be loved, and learn- this made some sense of all the changes. Not of Michael's death. That was a bomb that exploded in the midst of intense and comprehensive change.

Some of you already know this story, but for those who don't: Lee first proposed the idea to me in October of 2017 that he would retire, we would sell our home, buy an RV to live in, and that he would work different jobs that hire people who travel. This entailed giving up our family home and leaving our kids, family, friends, church family, community, my work (teaching violin) and ministry that I dearly loved. It meant going from a life of steady income and comfortable familiarity to one of uncertainty and constant change.

When people would ask about our plans and I would explain the kinds of jobs Lee might do, the next question was usually, "So while he's working, what will you do?" Most often, I would answer, "I will rest and write." This sounded lovely, but every time I said it, something about it felt "off" to me. It seemed a little too me-focused. It felt like that shouldn't be the end of the sentence.

After a while, the lights started to dawn, and I added to my answer, "...and sit at the feet of Jesus." Now, the whole thing actually started to make sense to me. I needed rest badly, to help restore my health. In order to write, I needed a less busy life. In order to grow, I needed to sit with God and listen.

So many things crossed my path in those months with the message, "Be still," confirming this idea.
I started looking forward to this time of rest and spiritual refreshment. It seemed simple.

The reality has been much more of a struggle than I ever imagined.

For the first several months of this new life, we were basically on vacation. That time of rest and togetherness was much needed and very healing. It was only when Lee went back to work in late March that I started having long spans of alone time. Somehow, it didn't go as I'd expected, and it took me quite a while to understand why.

Instead of quiet hours of study, prayer and worship, or of richly creative writing, I went face-first into the internet and stayed there. I would spin the hours away crawling through Facebook or watching one YouTube video after another.

At first, I just thought badly of myself for wasting so many days this way. After a while, though, I finally started to wonder why I was spending my days (and nights) this way.

After a long time of wrestling with the issue, I finally asked myself the right question:
"Why am I afraid to be still? What am I afraid will happen?"

Oh. There it was. Yes, it really was fear-based. But why?

The answer lay in my struggles with sleep. No matter how many calming, soothing things I did before going to bed, the moment my mind stilled, intensely upsetting things would flash into my thoughts, usually things to do with Michael. This was upsetting, to say the least.

This was the thing that was stopping me. It was not an unfounded fear. From experience, I knew that if I tried to Be Still I would be tormented by painful thoughts. I would suffer a fresh outpouring of agonizing grief, and I was tired of being desperately sad. Deep grief is exhausting. It wears you to the bone, then pounds your bones until they break. It is miserably hard.

Identifying the problem was good, but it did not solve anything. It was a relief to understand the reason behind my avoidance, but it did not fix it. I talked to God about it, saying, "I see the problem, but I don't have an answer for it. Being still does not feel safe to me." This was my position for a month or two more, seeing the problem but having no clue how to move from that stuck place.

As I was traveling back to the Northwest in late May for a visit, my feelings finally began to shift. I started to feel that the day would come when I could be still. I knew that the pounding waves of sadness would sweep over me, but I began to see that God would meet me in those moments and help me through them. I would not be alone in that storm. He would be with me and would hold me close and comfort me and give me strength. I could see a time, once I went home to my quiet little corner of the world, that I would feel safe enough to go to that place of stillness.

I've been home for a few weeks now, and I have still been shying like a skittish foal from the specter of stillness. I came home completely exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. It was absolutely wonderful to see my people, but all of the people time, travel, busyness and goodbyes wore me out and used me up. Two days after I got back was the first anniversary of Michael's death.

If I had been in a less exhausted state, I might have leaned into Jesus and let His peace carry me through that painful "deathiversary." All I could do, in the state I was in, was to be very still. Not in the lovely, "Be still and know that I am God" way; more the frozen state of a rabbit who senses a predator nearby. That is exactly how I felt- like a terrified rabbit, holding desperately still, knowing that any movement might trigger the predator to attack and destroy me. I had imagined that I might do something emotional and meaningful to mark that first year, but I couldn't. Through those few most-intense days, if I even thought about Michael, I felt like I might start screaming, or throwing up, or both. The pain really is that intense.

All I could do was hold very still and breathe quietly until those days passed.


Colossians 3:15 "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts." <3

I have been using devotional plans through the Bible app on my phone. The other day, the message was about merely existing versus really living. I thought about that, and it rang very true. For people in grief, this is probably pretty common. This past year has been one of gut-level survival. It has not been about shining or achieving or living victoriously. We have survived. So...yeah, in light of this devotional, I am existing rather than living. It's all I can manage, most days, and that's okay.

I do have a tentative hope that the day will come when this changes.

I do believe that someday, maybe soon, I will take a deep breath, take hold of the supportive hand that Jesus is holding out to me, and step into stillness. I know it may unleash a flood of agony, but I also know that it won't end there. I know that in time I will move through the agony and into a better, restful stillness; a stillness that heals.

Far off, somewhere on that hopeful horizon, I can imagine a time when, not only outwardly, but from my heart, I will once again truly live. I will not only survive, one clutching moment at a time, or drift quietly through the days avoiding the pain, but I will live.

Real life

Everyone who loves me wants so badly for me to be okay. Their hearts ache for my loss as a mom, and they long for me to have happiness.

I'm often pretty quiet when I'm not doing well, partly because I don't want to make people sad.
Also, partly because when my resources are low, I'm especially unable to handle a flood of helpful (unsolicited) advice on how to do better. I usually just lie low for a while, until things improve.

So how am I doing?

I'll tell you.

I'm not doing the best that I could be doing.
I'm doing kind of the best-ish that I have at this moment.

I've been better.
I've been worse.

Sometimes, I have days when I do all of the things to help and support my own well-being.

Other times look like tonight- listening to Andrea Boccelli while washing dishes at 1 AM because that's when I finally managed to drag my most-reluctant self into the kitchen to do them.

Sometimes it's different.
Sometimes I listen to Piano Guys. Or Lauren Daigle.
Sometimes I wash the dishes at midnight or eleven-thirty.

Here's the thing...

Underneath all of the extra complications, I am still me and I still struggle with the same things I always have. It's just exaggerated now because of grief and loss and all that goes with that.

I'm not feeling especially sad right now. I'm just tired and overwhelmed with all that needs to be done. It wears me down and makes it hard for me to do the things.

I don't share my struggles as an appeal for reassurance or sympathy (though I am so grateful for all the love and kindness you dear people have shown me on here) but to tell the honest story of what this journey is like for me. My hope is that maybe someone else who struggles will read my story and know that they are not alone. Or that opening the doors on my life will help others grow in understanding and compassion. Those are the reasons I write- to build understanding and to offer encouragement and hope.

So...this is a glimpse of my real life when I'm not soaring in victorious glory.

This is what it looks like, tonight, this week, for me.
And if that's what it takes for me to carry on, that's okay.

One of the most important things to do when you are going through a hard time is to extend immense and gentle grace to yourself.
Be kind to yourself about where you are and how you're doing.

You are loved, right where you are.
You are enough.

Grief Dressing

No, this is not about salad toppings for sad people. ;)

From those first days last summer I have thought about clothes in relation to grief.

Color~
In the old days, people "wore mourning" when someone died. There were specific rules, a general understanding about what was worn, and by whom, and for how long. For a spouse, a woman would usually go into full-black clothing, sometimes also with a heavy black veil. Anyone who saw her knew at a glance what she was going through. For someone less closely connected a man might wear a black arm band or hat band; a woman might wear gray or lavender clothing-the shade being lighter or darker, depending on the closeness of relationship.

I think that there was a real benefit to that system. Anyone could tell at a glance that here was someone in need of extra kindness and understanding. It was also a way to show respect to the person who was gone; to honor their memory.

Now, there's no real way to do that; no simple visible way to let the world know you're suffering.

I actually did look online to see if there are just, like...."I'm grieving" buttons or something.

There are.

But looking at them, it seemed too flippant for the depth of my loss; too cutesy.

For the first several weeks, I did my own private version of mourning clothes. I wore a lot of black and dark gray, dark burgundy. I didn't go out and buy new clothes, but just chose things I already owned in those colors that fit how I felt.

Later, I started to wear the broader range of colors in my usual wardrobe, but in those first weeks the dark colors just felt right. I wanted strong outward evidence of the heavy load my heart carried. It was one of the things I did to honor the private state of my heart, and it felt right to me. It helped.

Comfort~ 
I was already fairly invested in the comfort of my clothes, but that shifted to a whole new level in the wake of Michael's death. I was in such unbearable emotional pain that my body could not stand any level of extra pain or discomfort.

In that place, I needed physical comfort in a deep way. The shock and grief were so intense that I felt like my molecules were barely hanging together; as if my physical and mental self might disintegrate into jagged shards and go spinning away into the storm.

I could not handle uncomfortable clothes.

I wore only soft things that did not bind or constrict anywhere. With every nerve in my body in high panic from the shock, my skin needed only the softest things touching it.

This went on for a long time.

There came a day when I suddenly lost all patience with any of my underwear that were too small or that rode up or bagged, or just caused me annoyance in any way. There was so much incredibly big, unbelievably hard stuff in my life that I could not stand having basic garments that added to my burden in even the smallest way.

I threw out half of my underwear. Yes, it was sort of a dramatic, "I am DONE with you!!!" moment... which also made me smile at myself for making such a scene over underwear. And I ordered new ones, making sure to get the size and style that work best for me, in colors that I like.

I also treated myself to a couple new pairs of socks; the special ones with the thick, cushy soles. They're like walking on little pillows, and they're really soft inside. It was like giving my feet a hug.

One of the most important things I have done through this whole time was to be very loving toward myself. As I shared the other day, I made sure to eat things that felt soothing to my soul. I also saw the value in making sure every part of me, from my bum to my toes, was only touched by  comfort, surrounded by softness.

Every aspect of my being sustained such a severe and lasting shock that I have needed to give thought to every kind of mental, emotional or sensory input. My systems were on extreme overload and none of them could handle anything jarring or abrasive.

Soft, gentle, comforting and comfortable. These were the things that I needed.

~~~~~

Easy, comfy clothes and underwear that do not annoy.
These made a difference in my ability to cope with this intensely hard journey.

Who has time for underwear that add insult to injury?

Grief eating...carrot sticks and gummy bears

Grief eating? It's just all over the place.

I've been thinking about this post for a while, partly to clarify something I said in an earlier post, and partly just to talk about it.

When I was writing about the wonderful people who brought food those first couple of weeks, I made a comment about what a comfort it was to see my family fed, even though I could only eat carrot sticks. "Johnson Girl Disclaimer" (my mom and sisters will get that- the Nice Girl compulsion to explain so nobody's feelings are hurt)-  it was not that I was being pitiful, like, "Oh, poor meeee. The food is food that I cannot eat. Poor me, eating these lowly carrot sticks." The meals were lovely. It lifted a huge weight off of all of us, having meals brought. None of us had it in us to think, plan, shop or cook. Those meals, and the groceries and supplies that people brought to us were a godsend!

Here's why the carrot sticks: they were one of the few things I could stand to eat.

For the first two weeks or so, the horrible shock and unbearable grief sat in my throat, choking me. I could barely eat, and when I did eat (even something small and gentle, like one square of an allergen-free waffle) I would feel sick to my stomach for quite a while.

Our family often uses bits of dark humor to help us cope with things. The day after we got the news of Michael's death, I remember saying, "Well, this should be a good weight loss plan." Dark humor.

But it was also true. A few times a day, I would choke down a piece of waffle, one small carton of (dairy-free) yogurt, or a few carrot sticks. Those were about the only foods I could stand to put in my mouth. And then I would feel sick for an hour or two, until eventually my body would calm down, like, "Oh. Okay. That was not a hostile enemy poison attack. That was just yogurt." About every two days or so, I could actually eat a meal.

Everyone was worried about my not eating, but my body was in such a state of horrified panic that food was more than it could handle.

My husband, my mom and sister, and the kids, and my friends, were all worried and watching to make sure I ate, and I was keeping an eye on my husband, worried for him. I was relieved to see that he was actually able to eat meals. I mentioned this to one of our girls and she said, "Yeah, he eats, but a lot of his food ends up thrown away." "What do you mean?" She explained. Sure, I would see him with a plate of food; see him sitting down and eating with the family. What I had not noticed was that, as soon as a card came in the mail, with beautiful words of compassion, or someone stopped by to bring flowers or food or hugs and tears and prayer... the emotion would hit him so hard that he could not eat another bite, and would quietly go drop his meal in the trash. For both of us, the tidal waves of emotion made eating a problem.

I also ate a lot of gummy bears in those first days. In fact, one of the darkly funny moments, to us, was this:

My husband and our eldest daughter came in and saw me sitting at the computer. Them: "What are you doing?" Me: "Eating gummy bears and shopping online for cremation urns." Them, with wry humor: "Of course you are."

I needed to find an urn for our son's ashes. Horrible, hateful nightmare of a task. I also needed to eat lunch. The emotion of the search made me queasy, and the only thing I could stand to put in my mouth right then was gummy bears. So...I had gummy bears for lunch and hunted through the online jungle for just the right urn.

I've actually drawn a comic about this, and some of the other moments of this journey. One of these days, I'll share them on here.

Anyway, as predicted, this horrible loss was a "good weight-loss plan." And then it wasn't. Because everyone was so worried about me, I kept a watch on my weight just so I could reassure them. Overall, I lost about seven pounds. Since I'd started out about twenty-ish pounds over my ideal healthy weight, this was not a problem. My weight was not my main priority at that point. I kept an eye on it to be sure it didn't get dangerously low, but how my pants fit was by far the least of my worries.

I had been shaken and shattered so completely on every level that I needed to be very gentle and nurturing with myself. I was suddenly, deeply fragile and every single nerve felt raw and battered. I needed soft voices, kind words, comfortable clothes and comforting food. Comfort food was a legitimate need.

Here is something I'm proud of: even though I needed comfort food in a real way, I did not actually fall back into my old destructive eating patterns. In the past, I definitely used food to deal with my emotions. The day we put our dog to sleep, back in 1995, I ate almost everything in the freezer- even the old nasty frost-caked ice cream. I would pile food in until I could no longer feel the sadness. I would eat until the physical pain drowned out the emotional pain.

God and I have worked long and hard on this issue. To have experienced a trauma like the suicide of our child, and to come through it without reverting to those old habits feels like an incredible accomplishment to me!

Here's the thing, though...grief hits everyone differently. Some people stop eating and become dangerously thin. Some people eat their way through their grief and gain a lot of weight. It is not the same for everyone. In the past I probably would have had opinions about how other people handled things, judging whether they did it "right." I am so over that! This horrible experience has taught me a depth of compassion I did not have before. I look at how each grieving person struggles along, and I feel tender toward them. We are all, every one of us, just doing the best we know how. As my middle sister said recently, "Sometimes, people are doing their best and their best isn't very good, but it's still the best they have for that day." She's so wise.

There is not one, right way to do grief. It is so personal and so individual.

My way was hardly being able to choke things down, and then eating gentle comfort foods for many months. Eventually though, a diet of comfort food will catch up with a person.

Also, my health and eating were impacted by a whole different issue: RV life. Once we sold our home and started living full-time in a travel trailer, we both started to put on weight. When you live in about 275 square feet, you really don't move much. If I were not in all sorts of trauma, maybe I would be one of those energetic, motivated people who work out passionately, and vigorously counteract the effects of tiny-space living. Or maybe not. Maybe I'd still just be me. I am starting to make some positive changes now, cutting back on sugar and going for more and longer walks.

One of my favorite things about God is His gentle compassion. Through those long months of soothing my hurt with food, He just loved on me. Only after about seven or eight months did He gently start to nudge me about the food issue. Gentle is really the word. First, it was just coming across the phrase, "God of comfort" in something I was reading. When I read it, there was a gentle little touch on my heart. Soon after that, a pastor mentioned in a sermon that as He is the God of Comfort, we should really be turning to Him and not to other things. Again, the gentle nudge on my heart. I started thinking about that, and felt God encouraging me along that path; toward seeing Him as my source of comfort, rather than food. A couple of weeks ago, one of our kids said that God had been bringing her to the same message, in almost the exact same words. More confirmation that this was God's voice leading me.

I felt so loved. There was never, in all those months or in His redirection of my thinking, one hint of condemnation. He did not shame me. He truly is all-loving and all-compassionate. He knows the deep suffering of my heart and mind even better than I do. He has been so gentle with my broken heart. At the same time, He knows that there are better, healthier ways and when the time is right He gently leads me toward them. He loves me so much and He grieves for my sorrow. He also loves me far too much to let me continue on paths that will hurt me in other ways. He gave me time to get through those first agonizing months, just cradling me close to His heart. Then, with such love, He started easing me into ways that will lead to wholeness and health.

I think that one of the most important things, for those who are grieving, is to be gentle with ourselves. And for those around us to be gentle with us. We are all, every one of us humans, just doing the best we know how. Sometimes, our best may not be very good, but it is still the best we have to offer in that moment. We need to just love on ourselves and let ourselves be okay with where we are. And then, when God nudges us to move in a better direction, we need to lean on Him and let Him lead us there.

More signs that I missed

I am still smiling gently to myself over how many blatant signs I missed in the past couple of weeks; signs that something was amiss in my inner world. Along with what I wrote in my previous post ("When I don't even realize I'm struggling"), here are a few more things I've noticed.

~ For days, maybe even a week or two, I have spent most days sitting inside, with the shades down. Hint- hunkering down in a dark cave is an almost ridiculously obvious sign of depression!

~ Most of those days in the cave have been spent face-down in the internet, mostly watching hours of YouTube videos.  Hint- losing myself in the cyber-world for hours (days!) on end, and doing very little in the real world? Classic sign of depression/running from my own thoughts & feelings. Other hint- often, when my thoughts, feelings or inner burdens are too much for me, I run from them until I feel better able to face them. Usually this looks like binge-reading. My supply of books is limited (one unfortunate aspect of tiny-home vagabond life), so I have been turning to the internet instead. This, to me, is not always a bad thing. Being able to escape from what feels overwhelming can just be a welcome respite, filling my mind with benign input rather than painful or exhausting thoughts...as long as it doesn't last too long and take over my life. :)

~ There are several unanswered emails, letters and text messages from dear, wonderful friends. I have read all of them, smiled over them, been truly blessed by them, been concerned and prayed over them... but I just have not had the emotional energy to answer them. Now that the clouds are starting to ease from my inner world, I hope to begin working on that backlog. Hint- if responding to messages from people you love feels like an impossible task, you just might be depressed! (And/or carrying an impossible emotional burden, like the sudden, tragic death of a child.) For me, this inability to respond can be a sign of depression, or a sign that the weight of our loss is pressing me down, which are very similar conditions. The response paralysis is understandable, given the long, hard journey that is my current life...but also an indicator that the waves are winning and I need to find a way to breathe.

~ I made our bed yesterday morning and suddenly realized that I could not remember the last time I'd done that. Now, whether or not you make your bed each day is not inherently a depression-marker. That is a simple matter of personal preference. If, however, you are someone who really prefers crawling into a neatly made bed each night and who likes beginning each day by creating that little corner of orderliness, and who takes pleasant satisfaction in the sight,  and suddenly the bed lies tumbled day after day after week, that is something to notice. (Hint, Hint)

~Something less specific, but also noticeable: many things just seem more possible all of a sudden. Like...washing the dishes, taking the dogs for a walk, making dinner. When everything just feels hard and like it's just too much....you might be depressed. :) As I emerge from the fog a little more each day, this becomes more clear to me. It is becoming easier for me to do these daily things, without a huge amount of effort, without mini-drama, without feeling that I am draaaagging myself through the task. Things just feel...possible. And with this, each day our little living space becomes slightly less messy and a touch more bearable.

And now, I think I will open the blinds! :)  I will let in the light, and I will turn on some pleasant music. I will walk over to the laundry house and see if I can put in a load or two to wash. We did a lot of laundry this weekend, but I still have a few loads to do. I will eat a good breakfast, and read my devotional book and my Bible while I do so. I will pull out my prayer journal and lift up those people and issues so close to my heart. I may even stretch my tight muscles and take a nice warm shower. I will put on comfy clothes that make me feel happy. Maybe I will choose a few more things in our living space and put them where they belong. Little steps, but all moving in the better direction.

I so appreciate every single one of you dear people who read my words. This means so much to me. You are wonderful. <3  I have appreciated your responses to my last post, in which you shared your own tactics for pushing back the clouds. Thank you for that. <3  This is another thing that helps- putting my thoughts out there and knowing that others read them. The thought that what I write may help or encourage someone else means a great deal to me. <3

****When I talk about being depressed, it is what I think of as "small d" depression, the kind that is helped by simple changes in thoughts or environment. "Big D" Depression (clinical depression) is a whole different animal. Someone close to me describes it as waking every morning in a "gray wasteland." It is deep and very long-lasting. In a post from a few months ago ("How do I keep my kid alive?") I wrote about some things that have helped people I know who deal with Depression on that larger, deeper level. You really can't just think happy thoughts to solve it, or "boot-strap" your way out of Depression (or Anxiety Disorder). These things need deeper intervention. All of the things I talk about- opening the blinds, taking walks in the sunshine, listening to positive music- will also help those with the Big D, but they cannot fix it. They are good to do, and they can make a difference, but they are not the solution. Big D Depression is rooted in brain chemistry, and it needs to be addressed on a gut-deep level (literally as well as figuratively-again, see "How do I keep my kid alive?"). It can also be the result of trauma, which most certainly cannot be "solved" by just thinking happy thoughts! That needs the care of trained people who know their business, to address the deep scars of heavy wounds. (I have been hearing good things about EMDR therapy, from people who have experienced it.)****

Okay, I really felt that needed to be added- I never want to seem to trivialize the depth of other people's emotional experience and wanted to make clear the difference. <3 Now I really will make a start on the things I need, to help this be a better day. So much love and gratitude to every one who pauses to read my words. You are lovely humans. <3

When I don't even realize I'm struggling

You would think that by now I would recognize the signs that a quiet wave of depression has curled around me. But no. Yesterday, I had to laugh at myself for how I'd missed the obvious yet again.

When there is such big emotion hanging out in the background all the time, the more subtle shifts of mood don't always stand out in a noticeable way. If you had asked me how I was doing as the nine-month mark rolled around, I would have said that I was doing pretty well. It didn't take me down in a big way. I did not have a big, teary breakdown. I actually felt pretty good, which was such a relief.

A while back, I read that people often go into an emotional slump in the days leading up to a grief milestone. I want to take good care of my mental health, so I try to pay careful attention. In the week before this "monthiversary" I was taking my emotional temperature regularly, checking in on my mental state. My inner weather was a little bit overcast, but there were no big storms looming.

And then yesterday, when I washed my hair for the first time in four days, the lights dawned. Oooh. One of the easiest signs to read, to indicate that some level of depression has showed up, is when daily self-care starts to feel like too much effort. Right. I know this. But for all of my watchful care, I missed it. I thought I was doing pretty well, and in a way I was, but I overlooked the part where I just sort of stopped moving for all of Monday, and that while I had showered, washing my hair just seemed like too much work for a few days.

Apparently I was a little depressed as those hard days rolled around again. As we said back in the 80s, "Well, duh!" Of course the clouds closed in. Of course they did! I should be concerned if the days of Michael's death came around and it did not impact me.

So if you ever wonder whether you're dealing with subtle levels of depression, that's a tell-tale sign to watch for: that basic things like showering, getting dressed or making food for yourself just seem too hard to bother with.

If you do realize you're in that place, what can you do? For me there is a quick antidote that, while it doesn't "fix" the reality of my emotional state, does move me into a better place. It's simple- I go outside. Yesterday afternoon, as I was pondering this, the lady from the RV park office called to say that we had some packages to pick up. (Our Amazon orders have been rolling in. Yay!) It's a very short walk, but as I was on my way back to our trailer, I suddenly realized how much good it had done me. Just those few minutes of fresh air and sunshine had shaken me out of the rut. It gave me just enough of a boost to help me head in a better direction.

I love what a friend shared recently on Facebook. She had been depressed, so her daughter invited her for a hike. That's so perfect! Not, "You need to pull yourself together," but, "Mom, will you go for a hike with me?" What a loving way to reach out.

When someone is in that sinking state, big, energetic interventions may not be the answer. I did not have the energy or capacity for some high level of exertion or engagement. A simple, gentle walk, though. That I can manage. Gentle, simple things are the answer for me at that point. Take a shower. Put on clothes that lift me up. (Which involves getting out of the jammies!) Take a little walk. Eat something healthy but easy, like an apple and some nuts. Get hydrated. Put in a CD of pleasant, uplifting music.

Which leads me to a whole other face of this struggle. As with all of those practical ideas, the things that are vital for spiritual health also fall into that "just what I need, but so hard to manage" space. I know for a certainty that reading God's Word and talking to Him help me in deep and life-giving ways. But when the clouds roll in, those things, like all the rest, just feel too hard. A key for me, something that feels possible, is putting in a CD or playing worship music on my phone. Having those Jesus-focused words flowing into my space helps move me to a place where the other good things start to feel possible.

All of God's love and help is all around me, ready to comfort my heart and lift me up. I know that all I have to do is reach out for it...but depression makes that hard to do. Depression is like having layer after layer of soft wispy draperies drifting down over me. Their touch at first is imperceptible, but as they accumulate, they weigh me down until I can hardly move at all.

Maybe next month, when the 24th and 25th roll around, I'll remember to be prepared for the impact it will have on my basic ability to function. I won't have a big list of things that I hope to accomplish on those days, so I won't beat myself up for failing on the list. I won't expect myself to accomplish anything. I'll be sure that my favorite comfy, comforting clothes are clean. Maybe I'll plan to watch an easy, happy movie or two. Maybe I will have cooked ahead, so that I have easy, good options for meals already prepared on those harder days. Maybe I will write myself a note with a few simple reminders, like playing worship music to blow the clouds away and lift the layers that weight me down, . I will reach out and take hold of the hand of Jesus, and let Him help me. And I will go outside, even for just a few minutes, to breathe fresher air and feel the sun on my face.

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.