Fearing that their child will become a victim of violence or self-harm is realistic. We’ve cited before that a person who lives with mental illness is statistically more like to harm themself than others. A parent once told us that when their daughter was unwell, she’d wander out into the night, wanting to help people. A young woman, incoherent, wandering into the park in the middle of the night is at risk.
Unfortunately, victimization of people experiencing psychosis is often, and documented, at the hands of police officers who are not adequately trained to de-escalate situations involving a person experiencing delusional thinking. Over the years, we have posted a few blogs on this very subject including these two:
On March 23rd, Daniel Prude was experiencing delusional thinking. Mr. Prude showed up at his brother, Joe’s home in Rochester, New York and was checked into a hospital but soon released–a scenario we have also heard retold by parents all too often (and discussed in this post from 2016)
The Prude brothers returned to Joe’s home and enjoyed a few hours together. But Daniel left the house and disappeared into the night. Joe searched for Daniel but couldn’t find him. Knowing that Daniel was not thinking rationally, he called the police for help.
In the body camera video of his arrest, Mr. Prude is naked, face down on the pavement, light snow is falling and there are at least five officers including the camera-wearer. Prude is ranting, but not violent. He is obviously delusional, speaking but not making sense. Prude speaks crudely and also praises god. He is cooperative when he is cuffed. At some point, an officer notes that he’s been out in the cold, naked, for at least 30 minutes. No one makes any gesture to put something around him to keep him warm. The officers stand around, watching him from a distance, ostensibly, awaiting an ambulance. When he tries to sit up, an officer tells him to stay down. At some point, an officer asks Prude if he has HIV. Officers are heard laughing at him. Prude starts to spit, not in the direction of anyone. An officer puts a “spit” hood over his head, which changes Mr. Prude’s affect and he becomes visibly and audibly more agitated. Only one officer is wearing a mask.
After the hood is put on him, he becomes agitated and he is pushed to the ground. It is during this time when his oxygen is cut off, causing his pulse to stop. An EMT revives him, but he ends up in the hospital, on life support. An autopsy report confirms he suffered asphyxiation during the arrest and was brain dead by the time he arrived at the hospital.
Mr. Prude was delusional, but he was not acting violently toward any of the officers. He can be heard saying, “Give me your gun. I’m going to kill yall” and praising god. With four officers, his hands cuffed and naked on the ground, the scene was contained until he started spitting. Even so, he wasn’t spitting at anyone.
To say that there is no other way but to use force to handle situations like this is factually incorrect. Elin and I both live in communities where police officers are trained to de-escalate situations involving individuals experiencing delusional thinking. We’ve witnessed officers handle a delusional person with calm and patience. In fact, in my town, there is an officer dedicated to helping with the nearly 90 percent police calls that are strictly mental health-related altercations that are resolved through de-escalation tactics.
Parents who have an adult child experiencing psychosis often need help to make sure their child is safe. In many cases, a psychotic person runs away because they are afraid. Their brain is churning strange and scary thoughts. Tessa often fears that her son, Riley, will encounter an officer who is untrained in de-escalation. Once, in an adjacent town, a friend of Riley’s was psychotic and killed by an officer. A slight young man, he was not carrying a weapon.
Joe Prude is quoted as saying, “I called the police for help but that was the wrong thing to do.”
For years, we’ve been telling parents that if they need to call the police for help with their loved one, request an officer who is Crisis Intervention Trained—A CIT officer. This designation can save a life. If your local law enforcement doesn’t have crisis trained officers, lobby your civic leaders to insist on it in the next budget review. It can save a life.
We’re not being political. We want to lobby for what we know can save lives. Mental illness doesn’t care about political affiliation. People experiencing psychosis can be helped and parents want them treated with dignity.
For a full accounting of Mr. Prude’s case, including audio:
During this time of year, social media posts abound with photos of unfathomably beautiful young men and women in glossy gowns, beaming beside one or two relieved parents, above congratulatory post after post. So Proud! What a future this kid has!
As it happens, this year, our extended family is blessed to celebrate the graduations of two young women of remarkable talents (if we do say so ourselves), one of whom is headed off to college and another who earned a graduate degree. I suspect, when all the ceremonies are done and dusted, there will be no less than two-dozen images posted, multiples of that in genuine congratulations.
But as it’s been said, participating in social media is a double-edged sword. Because for some parents, seeing their nephew, niece or even the neighbor’s kid positioned in that quintessential shot, though well earned, can be incredibly painful. Because not all parents get to watch their child make that customary journey, that straight line from Kindergarten to high school graduation, much less through college.
Many of the Behind the Wall parents talk of their struggle to accept the derailment of their child’s path as a result of mental illness. In many cases, their children had been good students, a few outstanding, and others were also musicians, artists and/or athletes. Until their middle grades, these parents had no reason to believe their child wouldn’t graduate high school and go off to college… like every other kid they knew. It had been assumed before even one page of Goodnight Moon was ever turned. As these parents witness the same cohort of men and women to which their child had once belonged and progressed with, grade-by-grade, now arrive at their graduation, they are confronted by the staggering challenges their own child faces. The graduation ceremony that should have included their child is a brutal reminder of an abandoned path. There is a sense of loss.
To cope with this reality, while still honoring the rightful celebrants, we turn to the wise Behind the Wall parents we interviewed. These parents are strong, their advice informed.
Esme’s daughter, Jennifer, became increasingly ill during her middle grades and into high school as she struggled with what was diagnosed as borderline then later bipolar disorder and complicated with substance use. Jennifer had always been a good student and yet, her brain disorder impeded her ability to finish all her coursework. As Esme put it, she couldn’t even finish a small assignment in English, what had previously been her favorite class.
Sadly, when teens struggle to finish simple coursework or cannot even attend school due to an encroaching mental illness, parents and their children are judged. During her high school years Jennifer also had a few public raging episodes. Talk of it traveled throughout her community. Esme knows that other parents blamed her for Jennifer’s behaviors. Esme says that for those who don’t know what it’s like to live with a person with emerging mental illness, it’s easy for others to judge; other parents assume, those parents let their child run wild, no discipline in that house.
One of the most painful experiences for Esme occurred the day that would have been her daughter’s high school graduation. That day, she drove her younger daughter to the ceremony to cheer on her older, graduating friends. Esme recalls how long that drive to the school felt for her, how excruciating the approach, thinking about what that day could have been for their family.
But Esme then corrects this thinking. It’s not her path. Not yet. What she now understands is that Jennifer will have to chart a different route for herself. There is hope; she can begin recovery and rebuild her life. When she’s ready.
Bianca, whose son became very ill early into his college years and has a diagnosis of schizophrenia, reminds parents to look at the progress of their child not in weeks or months, but over the course of a year. Where was he last year? Is it better? She’s referring to what recovery looks like for a person who is learning to manage their own mental health, particularly after a significant health crisis. What she’s saying is that parents can’t set the timetable for their children. Everyone has to set their own path and timetable.
One young man we know has become a successful tradesperson and is still, one of the kindest persons I’ve ever known. Another, Stella, had been an outstanding student throughout her life. In high school, she had to relearn how to learn during her recovery from a profound episode of psychosis. But she did learn to work with her own challenges and graduated with an engineering degree in a highly specialized field of study from a highly ranked university. For Esme, she is grateful for now that her daughter is working toward recovery, which is progress.
It is worth noting that a young person walking at graduation following an accident or hospitalization that derailed studies is often celebrated at graduation ceremonies. “Look! He’s back after that illness!” We’ve all seen the social media postings—standing ovations. Tears.
Not so much when a person takes leave of absence to address mental illness. That return is quiet. But for that too, we can hold out hope.
As I prepare to write the card and prepare the sentiments to the graduates in our family, I know I will remark on their accomplishments, that they have such promise in their future. These things are all true. I am deliriously happy for them. And this is the distinction that I have come to learn through the wisdom of Behind the Wall parents: That the success of my loved ones is not my own. That their failures aren’t either. What is to be celebrated is their achievement of their goals that they set out to accomplish on their own.
Amongst the pictures and postings of the young people and the less young ones, I will be celebrating goals met, futures open, whatever that looks like for the loved ones in our lives. Even if the accomplishments aren’t marked by graduation gowns.
We welcome your thoughts and comments!
Most of us remember our first bike—mine was red— and the feeling of cruising the neighborhood with a pack of kids, jumping curbs, racing and bombing hills. I also have fond memories of running through the neighbors’ yards, playing kick-the-can at dusk on hot summer evenings. A little bit sweaty and my skin splotched with the sticky remains of an ice cream cone and bug bites, heart racing with the thrill of the chase. I was one of the youngest and always got caught. But still, the thrill of playing pushed away any thoughts that could trouble a child-brain.
A few years ago, my husband and I were asked to join a softball team. I was not asked because I am good at softball. Truthfully, my eye-hand coordination is frequently the source of comic relief and that’s fine by me. But amongst our friends, there was a shortage of female players and the coed league has quotas. Lucky me. As it was throughout my whole athletic career, I wasn’t great, but I had a blast. We all had a blast despite losing every game. Well, maybe the more competitive and skilled players got less enjoyment than had we been a winning team, but no one will deny that the thrill of anticipation when the ball sails into the outfield (where of course I would be installed) or hurtling toward home plate is a magical, adrenaline pumping moment. I may not have been able to make a beautiful play, but the idea of it, maybe more like a fantasy, offered the rush I remembered from playing childhood games and school team sports. Heart pounding. Forgetting about all the other stuff.
And that’s just it: forgetting all the other stuff.
Elin and I talk a lot about the importance of “self-care” for parents who advocate for a child who has a serious brain disorder. Finding activities that bring joy and peace are an important piece of self-care. Finding an escape from day to day discussions of “the illness” benefits a person’s well being. These activities can be things that a parent likes to do alone or with the other parent or a friend. Or on a team. Ideally, a family can participate together in an activity like hiking, swimming, skiing, or cooking together. A father we interviewed for our Behind the Wall story collection, who has a daughter living with serious mental illness, advises doing whatever activity your child (or children) enjoy(s), whether that’s snowboarding or crocheting, but something that gets away from thinking and discussing the illness.
Basically, have some fun. Feel joy. Feel like a kid.
Recently, I rediscovered cycling. One day I took my mountain bike out of its long hibernation in our garage and started riding. I get nervous on tight, gravelly curves and steep, rocky descents. But the process of working on my fears in the physical world takes my mind temporarily away from real life issues I’m juggling. Riding on the trails offers that same thrill of freedom I felt as a kid in our neighborhood. A few weeks ago, my son joined me on a ride and showed me how to conquer the steep descents, specifically, a short set of concrete stairs. He made it look fun and compared doing the jump on our bikes to the thrill he gets skateboarding. He made it look easy too. Truthfully, with good body positioning, it is easy on a mountain bike. So, there I sat, poised at the top of the stairs while my heart knocked around my chest and he calmly talked me through each move through the descent. “You can do this Mom. We are not leaving until you do it smoothly. Without freaking out.” Roles were reversed; he was showing me how to play like a kid. No one talked about homework, financial issues, health issues, or future plans except what was right there before us. Those stairs, and the next ramp we’d tackle. One of the best afternoons of my life.
There really is nothing like the rush of adrenaline and being out in nature to cure (even if temporarily) whatever is nagging at you. It’s certainly working for me. I’ve also started riding a road bike too. I go with friends, or alone, with a loved one, and feel the positive effects for days after. It’s my thing.
For Elin, it’s riding her cruiser at the beach, swimming in the ocean, rowing on her kayak and walking her sweet dogs in the woods. Find your thing. Do your thing.
It’s what your loved ones need you to do.
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In our story collection and book, Behind the Wall: The True Stories of Mental Illness, as Told by Parents, the parent-contributors offer advice and talk in-depth about the emotional journey—rife with grief— that defines their experience advocating for a child with a persistent mental illness. As heartbreaking as it is to watch their diagnosed child suffer, parents also acknowledge the pain their “well” children endure. At almost every speaking engagement for our book, we are asked, “What about the sibling(s)?”
Parents tell us that their children, who are the siblings of a chronically mentally ill person, grieve deeply. There are several sources of a sibling’s grief. Shifting dynamics within the family is a significant factor. In a typical scenario, a very ill child with immediate and all-consuming needs hijacks parental attention while other children are inadvertently ignored. Parents typically focus on the child who constantly gets into fights, has run-ins with the law or is abusing substances. Meanwhile, a sibling may be quietly suffering without acknowledgment. Kids need to know a parent is emotionally available, which is not necessarily the case when another child is in crisis.
Though one child’s emotional health may be the most grave, all children need support. In fact, the whole family unit needs support. But sadly, grieving parents, who are also in triage mode, may be temporarily incapable of recognizing and/or providing for the emotional needs of their other children. Parents admit they were even unaware of their own grief while experiencing it. Most worrisome is that a young person’s unchecked grief can develop into more serious health issues later.
Such was the case for Kerri, whose son, Tomas, is prone to rages. When he doesn’t get what he wants, she says, he threatens to break things and then does it. His behaviors ruin special times for her daughter and make it uncomfortable to have houseguests. Kerri says her younger daughter had “enjoyed the time when Tomas was away at college. She had felt free to bring friends around, not worried her brother was going to do something weird” (qtd. in Widdifield and Widdifield 44).
Tomas’s all-consuming illness draws attention from his younger sister’s needs due to his demands, anger, and the way he often puts himself in harm’s way, creating one crisis after another. Tomas’s destructive behaviors and the resulting stress in the home, Kerri believes, have affected her daughter’s health.
I’ve always felt he’s ruined things for his younger sister. Here we are, trying to look at colleges and had planned a whole weekend… Our daughter, who’s a great kid and good student, was having health problems, and I always wonder if it was connected to the stress of her brother’s illness and all the uncertainty he has caused. She was first diagnosed with Lyme disease then later with chronic fatigue syndrome with fibromyalgia. We’ll never know her diagnosis for sure, but she became depressed from not feeling well, always feeling tired and run down, and it finally got to her. (qtd. in Widdifield and Widdifield 47).
When Tomas is at home, Kerri says, the family often feels as if they are “walking on eggshells.” Their home is not always a place of calm and peace because of Tomas, clearly not an environment conducive to entertaining friends much less healing.
In another scenario in which parental attention is diverted to the child who is acting out, siblings may subsume their own problems for fear of causing their parents more heartbreak. But unaddressed or unresolved emotional issues can bloom into larger problems. Still, other siblings use the shift in attention to engage in risky behaviors while remaining under the diverted radar of parents who are emotionally and logistically consumed.
Grief also derives from siblings feeling that they have “lost” their bother or sister to the illness. A person with a brain disorder often suffers cognitive (and personality) changes that may be permanent. Sometimes there is memory loss. It is bewildering to all family members and siblings that their brother or sister creates so much trouble and refuses to follow basic rules they once could understand; or that behaviors that are not tolerated from any other family member are excused for the “ill child.” Children are understandably angry with a sibling who creates unnecessary drama and seems to ruin every family event—from birthday dinners to vacations.
Sadly, a young person can’t often escape the impact of their sibling’s behaviors through supports outside the home, either. The stigma of mental illness means that a loved one’s health challenges are not usually disclosed to extended family or close friends for fear of being judged or, as one parent says, because others “can’t possibly understand what I’m going through.” Parents know that because of the bad (sometimes bizarre) behaviors of their child whose illness may be undiagnosed or under-treated, their parenting is scrutinized by those who don’t understand mental illness. Other family members are scrutinized too.
Esme, a parent-contributor says that her daughter, Laura, suffered directly when attention became focused on Jennifer’s chaotic, raging behaviors caused by her mental illness. Laura, a naturally easy-going and upbeat person, was banned from the home of a long-time friend by his parents who believed she would become like her sister, Jennifer. Not only did the community conflate Jennifer’s behaviors with Laura’s, but also Laura’s emotional needs were subsumed by her sister’s volatile, demanding behaviors. Being misunderstood in one’s community is hurtful, especially for young people. About community judgment Esme says,
I was hurt, but there was no action I could take other than console Laura who had by then been affected more than once by the community because of Jennifer’s behavior. That’s what stung the most. At that time Laura was starting to experience depression, which was also crushing. We definitely never intentionally ignored her, but we did ignore her because we missed cues that could have informed us of her well-being, and we shouldn’t have. It was accidental because we were focusing 98 percent of our attention on one child. (qtd. in Widdifield and Widdifield 37).
Growing up with a sibling or any close family member known for disruptive behaviors can lead to feeling isolated from one’s community. This isolation compounds the grief of “losing” a loved one to a brain disorder, especially when friends and community don’t acknowledge loss or recognize support is needed. A brain disorder, as many know, is not a “casserole disease.” Yet, all loved ones, including the person living with mental illness, suffer from a loss the relationships before the illness became symptomatic. As Bianca, a mother we interviewed astutely observes,
When a person has a brain disorder it’s traumatic for the family, like experiencing a death. If Miguel had been in a car accident and had brain damage, everybody would have enfolded him. The loss [his brother] Arturo felt about Miguel’s illness affected him the way I felt the loss and hurt of my divorce: if the man had died, I’d have gotten a card. Flowers at least. You are left with pain and grief that no one acknowledges. (qtd. in Widdifield and Widdifield 226).
Still, it’s important to know that families can heal and recovery is possible for a person living with a brain disorder. The grieving process represents progress, allowing for a “new normal” to bloom. Families of a person with serious, chronic mental illness are forever changed but they don’t have to remain broken. First, parents need to take care of themselves in order to support their children. Parents like Esme also recommend spending one-on-one time with each child to strengthen the parent-child relationship. Though creating that “normal” one-on-one time with other family members requires some work at first, it doesn’t have to involve complicated plans. Says Esme,
I’ve been learning to have balance and spend more time with Laura when her social schedule allows. When she was taking driver’s education I’d spend time in the car with her. We take moments. “Let’s go have dinner, just you and me.” Or, “Let’s go driving for an hour and stop along the way and go into shops . . .” Anything to steal a moment so she feels connected. (qtd. in Widdifield and Widdifield 37-38)
Even as adolescents and young adults rebel or seem to rebuff parental attention, children do need time with their parent(s). As another parent recommends, find something, anything that your child likes to do and share that activity. “Maybe it’s crochet,” he says. Many families do find fun activities that involve every family member to help heal relationships and reach a ‘new normal.’ Activities can be simple, such as hiking, biking, playing a board game, working a puzzle together or watching a movie at home. Start with something small if that’s what it takes.
Siblings need time to heal from their own journey grappling with “losing” the sibling they knew, escaping the chaos the illness creates in the home and/or accepting their loved one’s mental illness. Siblings may escape or lose regular contact with the family for short-term or long-term. In some cases, the sibling relationship becomes (or is deemed) irreparable, even toxic for one or both persons. For others, siblings come to an understanding and may even be drawn closer. Having shared joyful, meaningful early years together can determine the long-term relationships between siblings and those who understand mental illness, usually become in awe of their loved one’s strength to manage it.* Many siblings we met became the compassionate, adult healthcare advocates, managing their own journey loving and supporting a person with a chronic brain disorder.
No matter what the scenario, the journey of the person whose sibling lives with a serious and chronic mental illness must be acknowledged.
We recommend finding support at your local National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) affiliate and participating in the free twelve-week Family-to-Family course to learn evidence-based information on mental illness, how to communicate with your loved one and about healthy self-care. NAMI was a resource many parent contributors found to be helpful in their journey.
*For an example of sibling compassion and understanding, please see our March 20, 2014 guest post from Michael Ross about his sister Michele, Eulogy for Michelle: Defining the Success in My Sister’s Life”
If you would like to share your story, please connect to us privately through this website or private email at: mwiddi [at] yahoo.com. Identity of contributors remains anonymous to protect family members.
Of course, we welcome any comments:
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My sister, Elin, and I bid farewell to our dogs within four months of each other. Interestingly, they were both German shepherd mixes, who shared similar black and caramel coloring and reliable, painfully loyal temperaments.
In peripheral vision, one could be mistaken for the other, though my Sweetie’s build was slight and less muscled, with a soft belly that comes from motherhood.
Sweetie, the (dog) love of my adult life, my loyal and constant companion, experienced a tragic, unexpected death. One moment she was in my life; suddenly she was not. Maggie Leigh’s illness progressed slowly. Elin watched as her once athletic companion began to move deliberately, then became increasingly wobbly until she suffered a stroke. But she remained mostly mentally capable until the end, always tracking Elin. Maggie Leigh left this world gracefully.
No one will ever convince me that grieving a dog’s passing isn’t profound, no matter how the end comes. While sometimes we can sort of prepare, that first morning without the familiar greeting of unconditional love from the bond born the moment eyes connected through metal bars at the pound, delivers a gut punch. I’ve heard it said that dogs teach us lessons we need at the precise life phase we need it. Dogs make us better humans if we allow for it. That is, if we are willing to open ourselves to that same connection that inflicts the excruciating pain in their passing.
When Elin met Maggie, she was sick with pneumonia, barely able to lift her head off the cold concrete, and according to Elin, was not nearly as beautiful as her sibling. Elin’s husband couldn’t understand why she wanted that puppy when there were so many quintessentially adorable ones putting on a show in their kennels. But Elin knew. In their last moments together, Elin thanked Maggie for being exceptional, a dutiful champion of Elin as she trained for her first, then second-degree black belt—running at her side, always eager for walks, reassurance, and affection. They canoed and kayaked together. In Maggie’s early years, she swam alongside the kayak, driven by the desire to be near Elin. Later, during challenging years of my sister’s life during which she grieved deep losses, Maggie was there, watchful, forcing Elin out of the house to do the activities they both enjoyed and nosing Elin forward to engage in life. Maggie and Sweetie had a way of resting their head on paws while their pecan-colored eyes followed us around the room, waiting for acknowledgment and eager and patient for the next outing and task. One thing to love about dogs is that no matter what kind of bizarre experience one has at work or with another loved one, the dog will always be thrilled to see you and agree with you. They never talk back. They remind us, “Everything will be alright.”
I didn’t want a dog when Sweetie came into our life. I said I’d only take a dog who didn’t bark and was easy going, and I listed other criteria too unrealistic to fulfill. But then I got the call from my dear friend, a “dog-whisperer” type who said, “I got the one for you.” She was right. I fell in love. She wasn’t a beauty though, at least not objectively. When my husband and I met Sweetie, she stood and leaned over the edge of the low wall of her pen to greet us while four of her seven puppies hung from her teats, desperately sucking. Her ribs protruded and her stomach swung as she walked. Having just transcended that phase of motherhood myself, with toddlers hanging off me, I understood completely her joy and relief to take a walk with us down the country road without the babies. And I also identified with the way she checked on each one upon her return. Her first night home with us, alone, she slept through the night, gloriously sprawled on her back, in her own bed. We understood each other.
For the rest of her life, it was her preference to sleep alone in her bed, only retiring after she’d checked on each family member. Sometimes she’d nudge us to come up to bed because it was getting late.
Family life is not easy. Adding children to the mix can bring much joy, but it’s also like filling a giant, old urn with water. The cracks of the parental relationship are exposed by the leaking water; if the thing is fundamentally unstable it all comes apart. For us, children certainly added new dimensions of stress, logistical challenges, and forced closer inspection of our marriage and ourselves. Fortunately, we have been moving through it, but the process has been fraught with chaos as well as grief, frustration, sometimes pettiness and anger. But throughout these transitions, we had good intentions. And we had Sweetie, who reminded us to get out in nature and offered unwavering loyalty and affection.
Sweetie connected us to outsiders too, which is notable considering my penchant for a hermetic life. She was a perfect citizen. She was also co-parented by our next door neighbors Patricia and Richard, whose dog, Molly, trained Sweetie on the ways of the neighborhood, barking furiously when Sweetie strolled too far down the street towards a dodgy intersection. Patricia and Richard also generously hiked with Sweetie, even after Molly’s passing, and kept her when we traveled; we never had to experience the guilt of leaving her in a kennel. When Sweetie was left alone, she was devastated, but since she loved these neighbors, known for feeding her steak when she’d stroll over for a visit, she seemed to see it as a spa vacation.
We’d had Sweetie only a few weeks when we were walking downtown and I reminded her at the curb, in a soft voice, “Wait.” She stopped dutifully as if we’d always done it that way. The first time I took her leash off, she looked at me, as if to say, “Thanks for trusting me,” and never really needed one again. She’d hear my commands in my normal speaking tone of voice, and in fact, we never raised our voice to her. There was no concern for her getting into an altercation with another dog either. When she sensed trouble, she’d simply walk a wide arc around the problem and never look back. She was a good role model for me.
I took Sweetie everywhere. Though dogs are not permitted at the elementary school, I often brought her to the campus when collecting my children. Many of the kids knew her by name and she loved the attention as if she knew it was her role on earth to be kind and represent her species well, especially for those kids without dogs at home. We’d often be approached by kids on the street who knew Sweetie and would greet her affectionately.
My identity became linked to the sense of her being constantly at my side. Like a true therapy dog, which she essentially became, she kept me calm and grounded. Sweetie was also a delightful companion. I talked to her constantly. We loved going to the beach and even enjoyed the cold Pacific water. She loved creeks too. And simply being with her pack. Dog love feels pure to me. Sweetie brought so much unconditional love and joy into my life.
So, as the years passed, and I noticed the white whiskers around her face, I promised I would be with her to the end of our natural time together. I promised her I wouldn’t allow her to feel pain. It’s the least one can do for an animal so devoted and special. Yes, I would be with her until the end. I earnestly whispered this, pressing my lips into the soft fur of her upright shepherd ears. I also swore I would never get another dog because I knew I could never do better than her.
I broke these promises I made to Sweetie. I failed the one who held unconditional love and devotion for me. It’s sickening.
It’s hard to accept that you cannot go back in time to change events. As much as I know it’s fruitless and an act of self-flagellation, I continually run the tape loop of how I could have prevented the accident that killed her. I could have found her sooner, before the accident. I know I could have saved her. All this excruciating pain could have been avoided.
When my dog-whispering friend, Cate, learned of Sweetie’s passing, she reminded me of the lessons Sweetie taught me. This did not immediately assuage my grief. Instead, I grieved more deeply because she had given so much and I failed her miserably. I betrayed her. Not a day goes by I don’t think of her.
My husband and I get a lot of compliments on our new dog, Pepper, a year-old Dutch shepherd (yeah, it’s a thing) puppy we adopted from a dog rescue to fill the giant chasm Sweetie left. Her glossy brindle coat and athleticism belies the digestive problems she had for the first four months we’ve had her. She wasn’t fully house trained during some of that time either. Last week she ate my son’s candy and threw it all up at three am, wrappers and all, on one of our good rugs. She’s still shitting wrappers. She requires a minimum of two hard workouts a day. Along with plush toys and tennis balls, there are random shoes, socks, baseball caps, TV remotes, and whatever else is within her reach strewn throughout the house, as it is her habit to carry something around to get attention. Luckily and surprisingly, she chews only her toys and bones we give her. She exhausts my husband and me. And of course, all four of us have fallen in love with her. Hard.
Which may be why this dog came to us. She has forced all of us to actively engage with her. All. The. Time. And while Sweetie was in fact, the most perfect and loving dog, she was not one to cuddle, which is arguably the most critical requirements for the well-being of adolescents and teens; nothing soothes better than a pet snuggling with you in bed on those dark, cold nights after a day when your friend(s) never returned your text or ignored you at lunch. Our house is one in which we’re all struggling to grow into something better—whether it’s into a new or changing career, getting through high school or getting the hell out of middle school in one piece. Pepper is distracting us all from the banal by needing us to play, and care, and cuddle.
It’s not always possible to make sense of why things happen the way they do. Even if we could know, I’m not sure it’s useful to know why we suffer a loss, heartbreak, or a joyful moment. I know for sure that we cannot control most of the heartbreaks we experience. I also know Sweetie pulled me into my community by being perfect; loved me unconditionally during a particularly turbulent family phase. Maggie served as a steadfast companion to Elin when she most needed it too. And now, Pepper seems to be shaking up the household in a whole different way. And to think, we almost re-homed her only two weeks after we’d brought her home.
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When our extended family was seated around my grandparent’s thick, oak dining table—one given to our great-grand-father as debt payment during the Depression and that had been elongated by inserted leaves for the gathering— the discussion would inevitably escalate until one of the men slammed a fist on that table and stomped out of the room. Usually this was Pop, my mother’s father, disgusted over where the political discourse had gone. Incredulous that these people in his house were so damn backward thinking. Not infrequently, it was my own father who’d set him off. My father had a prickly relationship with Pop. On the other hand, Mama, my grandmother, loved everyone, brought out the best in all, including my father (plus he was Catholic!) and that was reciprocated. But she’d get pissed at theatrics. “Oh N.S.!” She’d hiss, always calling my grandfather by his initials. “For god’s sake!” She’d toss her napkin down and go through the swinging kitchen door to retrieve the desserts for the rest of us.
My father got into it with my uncles too. Later, my sisters, who are a decade older than me, battled it out with Pop, a white, upper class, college-educated man who’d lost his fortune in the second big market drop of the Depression in ‘34. Throughout adulthood, he’d had a rough ride with substances but finally committed to sobriety on the day his first grandchild, my sister, was born. Those drunken years deeply affected his family and were especially ugly for Mama, whose wifely duties were primarily to cover for him. My sisters, however, brazenly challenged Pop’s views on charged topics like civil rights and Middle East politics. They were living and attending nearby colleges and had fresh, compassionate, vibrant minds with perspectives my grandfather couldn’t possibly fathom. But despite fundamental differences in their belief systems, he relished their verbal sparring and witnessing his granddaughters passionately debate. He always believed that as they matured, they’d come around to see the world as he did. On that point, he was wrong about my sisters.
I was too young to get in the fray and, frankly, too interested in getting to the dessert course. Mama had a special technique for swirling cinnamon into her pumpkin pie. But the gentle, old-married- couple bickering, sometimes all-out barking, between my grandparents remains in my memory, as does the way Mama plied my father, her son-in-law, with the fig preserves he loved to eat for breakfast while patting his shoulder lovingly, even on those mornings after a blow-up with Pop. Food has always been currency in our family culture.
I’ve been thinking a lot about sitting around that big table with my uncle who knew it irked my disciplined, raised-on-nothing father when he ate an entire roast beef in one sitting, or made us hysterical with the jokes thirteen-year-olds tell that no polite person would repeat. Especially at the dinner table. Mama’s children, my mother and two uncles, often joked about the horrific events that had happened in that house with a raging alcoholic. Or when there was no money. And it was hilarious. These were flawed and scarred adults who, along with the kids, shared a love for one another despite the chaos and ancient familial grievances; we also shared in our love for Mama and her pound cake, apple pie and the chocolate sauce she taught all her granddaughters how to make (for the record, and contrary to my cousin Janet’s assertion, mine’s the best rendition). I can still hear the din from the television console and smell the sweet pipe smoke wafting from that tiny den, where my grandfather would plant himself in that squeaky leather recliner whether after storming out of a room or just because it was that time of the day. Or because Jeopardy! was on and we’d all compete to show him who was the most clever.
Of course, Mama and Pop are now gone. Many heated discussions amongst family members outlived them. Raised voices. Storming out of rooms. And likely there are more to come. At more recent family gatherings, cousins laugh about the differences; we roll our eyes, grateful we’ve even stayed connected (thank you Facebook). It goes unsaid that we share a deep love for our flawed grandparents who we are sure would love us as much today as ever, even though we casted votes for candidates they would certainly consider ghastly.
Mama had a way of cutting through it all with a sense of humor. I wish I had her talent. On this Thanksgiving, I am grateful my grandfather lived his later years sober, and that I now understand how difficult this was for him. I am grateful we have recipes. And most of all, loved ones to feed.
Here’s wishing that you too find that which surpasses the ugly discussions in life on this day of gratitude.
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The following was, in similar form, published in The Marin Independent Journal. We thought we’d also share it here.
In well-heeled Marin County, staggering homeless statistics are visibly apparent in downtown San Rafael, near where I live. And this problem exists in urban areas across the country. The 20 percent, or 263 persons who are chronically homeless, cost the public greatly in emergency room visits, interaction with law enforcement, and incarcerations. In-depth media coverage reports that providing permanent housing and supportive services significantly reduces these costs.
Not clearly articulated are effective, holistic, long-term preemptive approaches. Largely because many don’t think the solution involves us. Or does it?
We know a myriad of factors lead to homelessness: environmental, economic, cultural, and bad luck. Brain disorders—also known as mental illness and includes substance abuse—is a leading cause of chronic homelessness. I bet all Marin’s overpriced housing that the 37 percent of homeless who self-report that they live with a “disabling condition” are underrepresented. Many also have anosognosia, a feature of serious mental illness that interferes with one’s ability to have insight that they are unwell. These individuals don’t accept treatment.
Fortunately, our city’s multi-pronged, reactive approach for current homeless includes a Police Department specifically trained for crises created by a person’s delusional thinking. A myriad of effective city agencies also support the homeless and those with brain disorders to reach independence. Still, a preemptive societal paradigm can address homelessness caused by brain disorders while strengthening community wellness.
It starts with knowing facts about mental illness and fighting stigma. Brain disorders don’t discriminate along ethnic or socio-economic lines. Bad parenting doesn’t cause mental illness either. One in five across the globe is diagnosed annually and an estimated 10 to 14 million Americans live with serious mental illness. Fortunately, brain disorders are treatable. But stigma prevents many from seeking treatment, which is devastating since early treatment equals greater outcomes. Let’s address brain disorders before a person becomes a statistic.
It’s cliché, but nurturing the whole child truly is a progressive investment in the whole community. We know that those lacking education are more likely to become low-wage earners and therefore statistically more likely to live on the margins.
Fostering youth wellbeing is possible through evidence-based programs in public schools. Initiatives fostering a healthy, inclusive school community can make the difference between a student feeling safe in his environment versus one who dangerously isolates. Adequate funding ensures reasonable mental health counselor ratios and also provides paid counselor training, psychological screenings for students, and most importantly that families can receive mental health education and support when symptoms first emerge. Brain disorders are lifelong illnesses that, similar to diabetes, for example, require ongoing management; with treatment, one can live fully.
Other youth programs foster wellbeing too. Studies show sports and enrichment programs promote healthy self-esteem and a sense of accomplishment. Feeling connected to one’s community, whether through sports, or clubs or other enrichment is critically important to young people. Engagement in positive activities reduces anxiety and depression disorder symptoms—possibly delaying onset for those at risk. Art, music, and performance arts provide students with beneficial life skills and tools for expression, valuable for us all, but especially for those who develop brain disorders.
Meditation positively alters brain structure, improves concentration and increases self-awareness, happiness, and acceptance. Schools with mindfulness and meditation curriculum have reported tangible long-term results.
Voters can also effect change by learning about HR 2646, the Helping Families in Mental Health Crisis Act of 2015 and lobbying their Senator to pass it. Importantly, this bill addresses critical roadblocks parents encounter in getting mental health treatment for their child. Presidential Candidate Clinton has also outlined a comprehensive Mental Healthcare Agenda proposing changes needed to guide a loved one from serious untreated mental illness to recovery.
It is likely your city’s many agencies and faith organizations are doing incredible work. If the long-term health of your community matters to you, consider getting involved with a school, an agency, or church; financially support relevant programs serving youth enrichment and intervention. Get informed, lobby your Marin County Supervisor and US Senator and vote. Because this is a big picture and we’re all in it.
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Motherhood is beautiful. And messy, challenging, sometimes exhausting, and wickedly unpredictable. The moment a child first gazes into his mother’s eyes, or writes her first grade poem about all the reasons she loves her mother, diminishes most of the heartbreaking events—like the first snub a child experiences by a friend, or a child’s serious illness. Motherhood can be a roller coaster of emotions.
Sadly, some mothers don’t get many of the kind of moments that balance heartache.
This is why I take umbrage at the “Lean In” concept perpetuated by Sheryl Sandberg. Designing one’s own life is possible only to a degree; many of us recognize that motherhood and life throws curve balls. The suggestion that women can be mothers and “have it all” is simply preposterous unless we re-frame the definition of “having it all”. Something has to give way to have it all.
The concept of reframing “having it all”, and how to work toward it was introduced to me by some of the most amazing mothers I know—those women we interviewed for our story collection, Behind the Wall: The True Story of Mental Illness as Told by Parents.
This is not a rant against working mothers. We need women in the workforce and leadership positions. Personally, I prefer a female doctor. Ms. Sandberg is remarkable for what she has achieved while also raising a family. She has raised the bar for what women can achieve in the high tech world, one in which women have not felt welcomed. But her “Lean In” movement feels disingenuous.
When we plan to have a family, we envision our little family taking walks in nature (without whining about taking the walk), teaching our child to ride a bike, and celebrating graduations, proms, and weddings. As my sister, Elin, says, “That first time you gaze into your child’s eyes, you don’t think, ‘Someday this child will grow up and develop mental illness or substance use issues.’” But for parents whose children are atypical, these simple dreams aren’t always guaranteed. Parents whose children have special needs or serious mental illness, for example, often must make career and lifestyle choices to meet their child’s needs. Bianca, a mother we interviewed for Behind the Wall, had to choose a nursing position that provided a schedule that allowed her to be available for her son who lives with schizophrenia and sometimes cannot be left alone. Bianca’s other adult son sometimes works from home to be with his brother.
Dan considers himself fortunate to have been able to work at home while his daughter, who lives with schizophrenia, was recovering from a mental health crisis. Tessa, a mental health advocate and mother of an adult son with serious mental illness, is challenged to find a window of time to take a vacation because she never knows when a crisis may erupt. And I’m not even talking about the financial impact on parents of an adult child living with mental illness. Or the stress on a marriage.
But yet, these mothers we interviewed do have it all. All of them talk about gratitude for what they do have, how the experience of raising a child with a chronic illness has made them more empathic and compassionate. They are generous, spreading the message of their experience in an effort to help others. They also understand the concept of letting go of control and accepting what cannot be changed and fighting fiercely for what they can change. These mothers are caregivers and gladiators. They understand more about life than most and can hold a range of emotions with utter grace. Their gratitude is genuine, and deeply felt. And whether the rest of society recognizes it or not, by taking care of their own, they contribute in immeasurable ways to our society.
How about we lean in and embrace the hard work they do every day that often goes unrecognized.
This post is dedicated to those mothers. Happy Mother’s Day.
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Our Behind the Wall blog and book explores the emotional journey of parents who advocate for their now adult children diagnosed with serious mental illness. The primary criteria we set for this project from the beginning was that the finished work remains worthy of the parents who contributed, contain useful information, effectively convey that parents are not alone in their journey and offer hope that recovery is achievable. Our intent is to provide truth and solace.
Our interviews with parents yielded valuable information and hope. Parents needed to tell stories and we were grateful and honored to be there to listen. Throughout the interviews, consistent themes bubbled up in the stories including chaos, feelings of isolation and grief, coping, hope and recovery.
As we travel around the country for book signings and other speaking engagements, we continue to meet inspiring parents and hear stories. We consistently hear that we are not alone. There are many who live in recovery or have a loved one who does.
Because we feel a responsibility to speak on behalf of parents who share stories with us, below are a few things we’ve learned on the road we’d like to share.
What we learned on the road by talking about mental illness:
We are not alone. We cannot say this enough.
Families are yearning for a voice that recognizes and understands the grief, chaos, confusion and frustration associated with living with a person who has untreated mental illness and is trying to navigate the mental healthcare system.
Hearing stories from others and telling one’s own story has shown to be informative and healing. We all need to be heard. We all need to know there is hope for the difficulties we are experiencing. Knowing what has helped others shines light into the darkness and unknowing of a mental illness diagnosis.
It often seems as if there is constant talk about mental illness in the media and the assumption is that there are resources. Yet at speaking engagements, we are reminded that when a parent or loved one begins the journey of advocating for another, feelings of isolation and grief are new, raw and overwhelming; it’s difficult to see past the roiling emotions to find resources and most importantly, hope. And that’s why we tackled this project in the first place—to address the emotional journey of parents. To help others see the long view.
In order to make a difference for families, we continue to talk about mental illness using factual, clear, non-judgmental language.
After a hospital stay, mental health professionals don’t always provide critical follow-up protocols or advice.
Recently, a parent told us that upon her son’s release from a two-week hospital stay following a mental health crisis, there was no discussion from the mental health professionals (doctors, nurses, hospital administrators) about support or follow-up. “Not one social worker or nurse recommended NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) as a resource or outpatient treatment, nor referred us to a doctor to renew my son’s prescription,” she said. “We had no idea what to do. There was especially no discussion on what we, as parents, should do or even what we could read to learn more…We had no idea how to help him reintegrate into the community and go back to school.”
This may not be the case in every hospital but it certainly was the case for this family and many others. We were disappointed to learn this but were not surprised. We are aware of countless stories (some our own) in which a healthcare provider did not fully understand the larger picture of managing mental illness, nor was the important historical perspective of the parent respected or considered in the treatment, which usually resulted in problematic or even tragic outcomes. Further, after a patient’s first mental health crisis, medical professionals often fail to convey that mental illness requires long-term management.
As family members and healthcare advocates, we can continue to talk about the reality of serious mental illness and that there is support. We can also work with—and on the behalf of—our own NAMI chapters to get information about resources into the hands of mental healthcare providers, especially after a psychiatric hospitalization.
Families and those diagnosed need to hear from health care providers that there is HOPE and RECOVERY.
We have learned that mental healthcare providers don’t always understand that the parent or the loved one who serves as advocate is crucial to one’s recovery. The parent or person serving as advocate needs to be included in treatment. Period.
Studies show that a person recovering from any health trauma has a much better rate of recovery when well supported by loved ones and community. Who knows a person’s health history better than a parent who watched the illness unfold?
While Elin was speaking at a university hospital to mental healthcare providers in October, a young man who lives with schizophrenia told the group that one psychiatrist told him he would find recovery and that there is hope. The young man said, “That is what gave me hope and today I am in recovery.”
Early diagnosis is beneficial… if it’s possible.
Research shows that early intervention makes a significant difference in treating mental health issues, yet finding treatment for a person under eighteen is thwarted by a lack of available pediatric psychiatrists, a pervasive myth that individuals under eighteen cannot be diagnosed and by HIPAA laws that restrict the communication flow between parent (advocate) and medical professional. Almost every parent laments, “If only my adolescent had been diagnosed earlier…” And, “I knew my son/daughter’s behaviors were more than ‘adolescent angst but no one listened.’”
As John G. Looney, MD, MBA, Professor Emeritus of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences and Professor of Pediatrics at Duke University advises, therapists can treat the symptoms that are seen. There is no need for a label as long as the symptoms are being addressed. It is critical for parents, healthcare providers, and the adolescent to work as a team to address presenting symptoms.
Parents and loved ones are hurting.
Unless one has lived a similar experience, the chaos and grief are unimaginable. At book signings, we often meet parents who are deeply emotional, feeling raw from the experience. Fortunately, everyone in the room understands. And that’s what we learned: there are deeply compassionate people in the world ready to hold others upright and walk with them through difficult times. Which leads to…
We can teach others how to support us by asking for what we need; by asking for help the way a parent of any sick kid does it. Yes, I’ll take the casserole and errand running, please.
The best way for parents to get support is to reach out, ask for help.
It’s hard to ask for help, but when dealing with a family member’s health crisis—let’s say it’s cancer— it’s perfectly acceptable to request help. Even commonplace to create a whole website about a person’s struggle.
Recently, my friend’s child was hospitalized for a series of procedures and surgery. They set up a CaringBridge.org web page so that friends and family could provide support—meals, errands, caring for the sibling— and could follow medical progress through the daily blog written by the child’s mother. Friends and family were thus able to provide support without feeling we were being intrusive.
Why wouldn’t we do this for a family supporting a person in a mental health crisis? Families whose loved one is hospitalized for a mental health crisis need support too. Most friends want to help but may not know how. Maybe they don’t understand mental illness. Chalk it up to stigma.
Because of stigma, mental illness is awkward. We can teach others how to support us by asking for what we need; by asking for help the way a parent of any sick kid does it. Yes, I’ll take the casserole and errand running, please.
Resources are available in most communities; accessing resources can seem elusive.
Families need to learn about evidence-based treatments and where to find them in their community. We are always surprised to learn how challenging it can be to obtain services for the ill person and support for the caregiver. NAMI is a great place to start in most communities, though there are many others.
Anosognosia, or the inability to recognize one’s own mental illness, is the most vexing challenge.
Anosognosia affects about 40 percent of people who live with serious mental illness. At almost every event, we get a question about how to encourage a loved one experiencing anosognosia into treatment. Anosognosia is the root of many challenges in advocating and treating a person with serious mental illness, especially those who are over eighteen. A person cannot move forward in his treatment without acknowledging the diagnosis. We always recommend Xavier Amador’s book, I AM NOT SICK! I Do Not Need Help!* Amador developed the LEAP system of dialogue to gently guide an ill person toward insight and ultimately toward recovery on his own volition.
An important note: a person is more likely to address his illness when his loved ones and others close to him are in agreement about the illness, diagnosis and treatment.
“Letting go” and self-care are difficult concepts for parents.
It goes against a parent’s instincts to think of oneself But taking care of oneself provides the sustenance to care for others. All the parents we interviewed and we meet stress the importance of taking care of oneself.
Let’s keep getting the word out about coping strategies, hope and recovery. Please introduce yourself if you attend one of our events. To find out where we will be speaking next, keep checking our event schedule at: www.behindthewallstories.com/home/gallery/
As always, we welcome your comments:
Within a few weeks of starting middle school, a sixth-grader in my son’s class died by suicide. The principal, who was also new to that middle school, acted swiftly and appropriately to the crisis. His communications to the school community contained information about how to talk to one’s child about the event and how grief can manifest. His message was clear: It’s confusing to process this tragic event and important to allow time to talk it through. In addition, resources were provided to students who needed them while at school, and to parents during an evening information session. Thankfully, ours is a supportive community.
Naturally, the school community was shocked. Death by suicide in the US is statistically more common in teens (ages 15-24), ranking as the second most common cause of death. The perception seems to be that suicide is low for adolescents (ages 10-14), but sadly, according to the CDC, it ranks as the third most common cause of death. These statistics are horrific.
The student from our community was also so young; begging the question, “How could a person who has lived barely twelve years have already given up?” Parents wanted to know more about the circumstances of this student’s life and mental health history, though this was thankfully kept mostly private. Maybe knowing some specifics could explain something we all had difficulty understanding and could prevent it from happening again. Secretly, we searched for a factor leading up to this tragedy that is not shared by our child or existing in our family life to assure us this tragic event was an anomaly. One can become selfish when it comes to our own. We look for the “Oh, I get it” moment that allows us to say, “See? There’s the reason.” But there really is no acceptable explanation. It’s simply heartbreaking.
What may cause a person to attempt suicide, particularly those within the 10 – 14 age group, is the impulsiveness that comes with an emerging or untreated brain disorder. Stress is a significant factor in triggering brain disorders that disrupt brain connectivity. Those living with brain disorders often have a lower stress threshold. But of course, we will never know the specifics of this student, nor should we unless the family wanted it so. I’m grateful that (from what I could tell) the family’s privacy was respected, without stifling important discussion.
Because of this event’s emotional repercussions and the concern over the copycat phenomenon common with teen suicide, education about depression and suicidal ideation that is commonly woven into high school curriculum was made age-appropriate and brought into this middle school. Students were taught how to recognize when a friend may need support or intervention and where to get it. Students were taught that if someone expresses he wants to “give up” or says something like, “what’s the point,” a responsible friend should seek advice from a trusting adult. Getting support for your friend, students were told, is not betrayal. These are important messages.
My son shared a class with the student who died, though they were not friends. Still, my son was affected by the event. In the days and weeks that followed, I remained open to difficult discussions about death and suicide and repeated the message to my children about the importance of identifying when a friend may require intervention and how to convey to a person who seems to be in distress that they matter and that resources exist.
But at some point, my son had heard about copycat suicides and worried that one of his friends might attempt suicide. He asked, “What if I cannot stop my friend from doing the same thing? What if he doesn’t listen to me?”
Oh my. In the interest of creating a safe and supportive community, had we burdened these young kids – barely out of elementary school – into thinking it was their responsibility to protect others? Were we setting ourselves and our children up to feel responsible for a person’s death by suicide?
The anguish in my son’s voice over feelings of helplessness and the recognition of his ultimate inability to protect his friends suggested I had placed undue burden. His sorrow was crushing. And familiar. All parents know this wrenching feeling of not being able to control all the levers and conditions of our child’s life. He was feeling that, though for his friends and loved ones.
It is not uncommon for suicidal plans to be disrupted by another’s simple act of acknowledgment and caring.
There is no question in my mind that thoughtfully engaging with a person who seems to be in emotional distress and encouraging him to seek help is more beneficial than ignoring odd behaviors and hoping for the best. Acknowledging a person who may be slipping into darkness can make all the difference for them in getting help or not; a person may not even know how unwell he has become or that there are resources to help him. It is not uncommon for suicidal plans to be disrupted by another’s simple act of acknowledgment and caring.
But when a person seems unable to get well, or more tragically, dies by suicide, it doesn’t mean that someone is to blame. This seems obvious, but the parent, loved one or friend of a person who dies by suicide always wonders if they could have done something differently. It’s even a fleeting thought for parents or loved ones who know on a rational level that they have provided all the support and resources within their grasp. It’s always there; the thought, I could have saved him.
There were many gems of advice provided by the parents my sister, Elin Widdifield, and I interviewed for our Behind the Wall project. These parents have adult children who live with serious mental illness and all of them have genuine fears about their child being at risk for self-harm or behaviors that make them vulnerable. Because death by suicide is common for those who live with serious mental illness, these parents are confronted by its reality. A parent once told us, that if you’ve done the best you can for your child, “You can’t blame yourself for their death or their success. There is only so much control you have.”
In fact, that was one of the most common and best bits of advice. There is only so much control you have. Accepting this fact is healing. A loved one can provide ample support and resources but a person must take the mantle to get better. Or not.
Still, witnessing risky behaviors of a child who has an untreated mental illness is worse than having your heart ripped out through your throat. Many parents share the sentiment that they’d rather feel the pain themselves than watch their child suffer. I can tell my child how to ask for help, and-remember-I-told-you-don’t-do-drugs, but out of my sight, I have no control. A person who has delusional thinking isn’t going to make good choices no matter how much he promised when mentally well, or sober or both. It doesn’t mean we are bad parents, loved ones, or friends.
I told my son that being a good friend or loved one means never giving up. But this does not mean a person has to endure abuse from others (another topic) or take responsibility for another’s actions. I will never give up on the people I love. I learned from my sisters and mentors, there is a solution to every problem and that’s what I tell my own children. And when he encounters the sadness that life brings, he will carry it, and his parents will stand beside him every step of the way.
But what I cannot do is solve his problems. I cannot make bad things go away. It’s simply not possible. Not realistic.
There but for the grace of god go I.
Suicide deaths ARE preventable. Here are online resources for suicide prevention:
 For more information about statistics regarding death by violence and death by suicide, please refer to the website for the Centers for Disease Control (CDC): http://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/suicide/statistics
 According to United States Department of Health and Human Services, “… people with severe mental illnesses are over 10 times more likely to be victims of violent crime than the general population.” For important information about Mental Health Myths and Facts, see http://www.mentalhealth.gov/basics/myths-facts.