Thoughts and feelings following the suicide death of my wonderful, talented, beautiful and athletic son Andrew. He was a good friend, role model, and gifted writer.
I am forwarding this email on my blog, because it represents the sentiment I try to follow with the experiences I had with Andrew. Most people didn't realize anything was going wrong with Andrew. He was courteous and respectful in his daily encounters with people. I think only the immediate family and some of Bill's work crew were even aware of Andrew's decline. He simply withdrew from society as he dealt with the illness.
I remember going through the 10 days between his death and the memorial service, dealing with details in preparation of the event. I had lots of emotional conversations with people about Andrew, both in person and by phone, and exchanged messages via email. It was a welcome blessing to go and get a manicure and a haircut and not tell any of the people working on me what I was going through. I would go to a restaurant and get waited on, or go to the grocery store and purchase supplies, and thank God that I didn't have to tell any of these people what I thought or felt. It just made me realize that you never know what one is dealing with at any given time. It made me think that I should be gentle with everyone and speak softly and kindly and deal with people respectfully. Anyone and everyone you encounter in a day may have some terrible trama they are dealing with, silently and privately. You just never know. People didn't know about Andrew's pain.
There is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse. But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing. Looking into the eyes of one horse will disclose that he is blind. His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for him. This alone is amazing.. If you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field.
Attached to the horse's halter is a small bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow. As you stand and watch these two horses, you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting that he will not be led astray.
When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, it stops occasionally and looks back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell. Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we're not perfect or because we have problems or challenges. He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.
Sometimes we are the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those whom God places in our lives.
Other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way..... Good friends are like that ... you may not always see them, but you know they are always there.
Please listen for my bell and I'll listen for yours. And remember ... be kinder than necessary .... everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
Live simply, Love generously, Care deeply, Speak kindly, and Leave the rest to God!
I mentioned in an earlier blog entry how email and text messaging had made things easier immediately following Andrew’s death. I kept family posted while it was happening and let them know all the details of the services and so forth. I kept in contact with work, and I had numerous messages from friends and acquaintances that I was able to respond to right away. I think if I had to return phone calls, a lot of things would have gone undone or unanswered. I did try to return phones call during that time, but after a week or so I just ran out of steam. Emails are less personal. It didn’t take so much of my emotional energy to answer an email or text as it would have to have conversations during that time. I was able to save my energy for my immediate family and all the decisions we were dealing with, and for that I am so grateful.
I soon made a folder in my email file to keep everything involved with Andrew in one place. It includes updates to family, messages from friends, obituary and service information to printers, newspapers and the mortuary, jpeg photo files and quick notes to Jayne, Rebecca, Taylor and Lee about the many details we were deciding on.
I think of it now because I just sent a note to one of my friends from high school and I mentioned Andrew’s death. I saw her on a television show last night—she is an accomplished choreographer in Hollywood. She reminded me she had sent an email to me back in April, which I had for the moment forgotten, so I went back and looked for it in my email folder. Oh yes, now I remember! I am so glad I saved everything. I can re-read all the messages and follow up with people now that I am getting back into things. I really want to connect and spend time with my friends and people who knew Andrew...its good to share and remember him.
I made a point to have lunch with another old friend about two months ago. She had come to Andrew’s service, and I remember making a little mental note on how frail she was looking...but she is in her 70’s now. When I had worked with her, I was a teenager and then young mother, and she had given me such gentle advice and guidance during those years. Do it now, I told myself, don’t wait on this one.We had a great visit over lunch that lasted three hours, sharing things that had gone on in our lives since we worked together over 20 years ago...how had the time sped by like that?
So now I plan to read all those emails I saved from four months ago and make some plans to catch up with people, my friends. I will have to plan it, one-by-one over the next four months or so—maybe it will take a year, and try to meet up everyone who said they wanted to get together for lunch and so forth. They are old friends from high school, parents of some of my children's friends, relatives, former co-workers and employers, people from the many sports organizations I had been involved with for the children. Many of us have moved on to other things and our children are grown up, but getting together will help me, I know. If I keep reaching out, I will heal all the more. As I heal, I hope to bring my daughters along with me, and their father, and my fiancé and his son, and my nephews who were also Andrew’s brothers.
That is my wish, my plan, my therapy for the coming months.
Okay, revelation of the week: we don't all agree on the label "mentally ill" in regards to Andrew. "We" meaning Bill and I. Dear God! Here I have been writing about his mental state and all the events that led up to his suicide...now I feel like I have been betraying my ex-husband. After listening to some sharing during our family counseling session, here is all I know: Andrew was scared. He definately had some paranoia. Was is schizophrenia? Was he bi-polar? Chemically imbalanced? Is a label for it all that important? It's an unresolved issue, because we never had a diagnosis. It wasn't something that could be tested for by taking a blood sample or a biopsy. He needed to be evaluated over time, and that didn't get to happen.
There is a stigma about mental illness. I think people confuse it with mental retardation. It's definately not the same thing. Back when Andrew first began to show signs of trouble, I did a lot of research. I have lost the terminology, but this is a synopsis of what I learned. People with mental retardation have a limited mental capacity; Andrew was really intelligent. Many people who are diagnosed with a mental disease, such as schitzophrenia, are super intelligent. Treatment should include therapy and medication. I gathered that it was something that could not be entirely conquered. The battles would rage over a lifetime, with insurrections and mutiny threatening constantly. Whatever was going on with Andrew, I had to view it as an illness, something he had no control over happening to him--a disease (just like cancer or a heart condition).
I think part of our problem in seeking treatment was that when he went to that hospital back in 2003 or 2004, many of the other patients had some sort of physical affliction that made them look weird to us and it was off-putting, to say the least. They scared the hell out of Andrew, actually. That hospital was not a comforting place.
It was hard to accept mental illness as a diagnosis. What do we know about it, anyway? If you run into a street person and see them acting strangely, you could assume they are mentally ill. When people exhibit very bizarre behavior, one tends to label it as mental illness. So how can a person, like my son, who looks perfectly fine, in fact, more than fine: a specimen of physical fitness, have a mental illness?
The other hard thing was that Andrew could control himself. After the stint in the hospital, he seemed to get better. He still worked, drove his trucks, did physical activities like jet skiing and snowboarding, mountain climbing and running, handled his finances and was courteous to everyone. When he did have a bad episode, Bill or one of us could usually talk to him and work through it with him. Bill was more effective at it than I was: Andrew would get upset with me and just leave. Many times Andrew would call me and tell me things that were upsetting him. I would chose my words very, very carefully in responding to him, but sometimes it would just fall apart. I wanted to keep him close and help him, but he just wouldn't let me most of the time.
In 2006, he moved out of our family home where he'd been living with Bill and his aunt and three cousins and rented a place with his sisters. They lived together for a year in Los Osos. That was a wonderful time for them. It was almost like being a complete family again: they had each other. They cooked together and did projects and just enjoyed being in each other's company. The girls were going to college and Andrew was helping them in every way he could. He stablized their lives for that year.
Andrew didn't socialize outside of the family, but he functioned just fine. Or so we thought, anyway. Hoped...
They showed up and shared...we had a big family grief counseling session tonight with my two daughters, my ex-husband, my fiance, my future step-son and myself. The therapist did a wonderful job of listening and reframing what was said back to us. I tried to sit back and let Bill and the girls do some talking. Interesting views to be explored, thoughts to ponder, insight to be gained. I am hopeful that, in time, we will begin to feel whole again, maybe better than before, as we share our love for Andrew and let go of our pain. That's all I can say for now.
On another note, Lee helped me sift through the mountain of mail I have been avoiding for 4 months. I simply did not want to deal with the bills and the mail...unless I absolutely had to. It's time to access where we are at and take care of our financial responsibilities...things I have been avoiding. I have a lot of shredding to do and a lot of checks to write. I've been in such a muddle with my own affairs, so it feels great to get some of this sorted out. At least I now have a starting point...
Today was something of a miracle. We put on a party...a celebration of my sister's marriage that took place almost three months ago. We were, in essence, the caterers for the event. It was a low-key gathering of family and friends of the newlyweds.
My ex-husband likes to barbecue. My oldest daughter's boyfriend Tyler has been a banquet captain and my girls worked with him for a while doing banquet serving while they were in college. Today my fiance and my ex-husband and my two daughters, the boyfriend, my older sister and Andrew's cousin put on the barbecue for 100 people and set up the room in an old barn for the reception dinner.
The boys set up the tables for me and Rebecca brought the linens, which she and Tyler insisted we must have. They were all white with some purple ones for accents. Rebecca and Tyler "clouded" the serving table with purple linens, meaning they gathered some tablecloths along the tabletop in pillow-top fashion and arranged the platters and food on top of it. My older sister brought gravevines which we used to string along the tables and on the walls for decoration. She had a bunch of spider plants in 4"container which she wrapped in purple foil and set amongst the grapevines. Rebecca and I had wrapped all the plastic forks and knives in purple napkins and tied them with green satin ribbon. I had made the bride's favorite butter cake with chocolate buttercream frosting and set up a pretty cake table using some grapevine swags for accents on a three-tiered cake stand. Jayne had decorated a guest book for the occasion and with some borrowed accessories like a grape-motif punch decanter and silver wine bowl and some electric swag grape-lights, we created a beautiful room in an old barn. It was all white and deep purple and green. It was really a sight!
I'm sure some of my family members and the guests who know us wondered at how I managed to get my ex and my fiance working together in this endeavor. I saw a couple of my brothers (I have six brothers) go over and give Bill a hug, and I was so glad. It can be hard to be the ex around relatives.
But the real miracle was that my ex was barbecuing and my fiance was his helper on this day. That had always been Andrew's job. My nephew was working there in Andrew's place, too, and that's good. Andrew showed them the way and they honored him today by taking over his duties. Of course, it took two of them to do his job... : ))
It's different for Bill, not having Andrew helping him, but I think he enjoyed today's process. It also gave him a chance to talk to my fiance, Lee, while they were barbecuing. After we got home later that evening, Bill called to let me know he and the girls will be joining us at our grief counseling session tomorrow. After four months, they are ready.
Every so often I go back to the obituary posted on Legacy.com and re-read it...just to remind myself of the great life Andrew had, the great light he shined. Then I read the comments people left in the guest book, and feel warmed. He mattered to more people than just me, Bill, Jayne and Becca...he mattered to his cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends, parents of friends, teachers, coaches, team mates, neighbors...so many people.
I made sure to share all the cards with Bill and the girls, and also with Lee and T as they came in. Some went to my house, some to Bill's. Some people sent each of us a card. But we shared them all, and now I keep them in a big box decorated with leaves and flowers. I really cherish the heartfelt sympathies people sent and memories they shared with us of Andrew.
You know some people never read their sympathy cards?
Death can be so tragic, come so suddenly, and leave people so stunned that they can't bear to face it and deal with it in the aftermath...they just avoid feeling for such a long time. I wanted to make sure we didn't do that. I wanted to grieve, and share, and remember my son. Hard as it was, I prompted the family to do so with me. But I had to learn another important lesson: don't push. Everyone deals with death differently, and whose to say what way is correct? My fiance, Lee, shared with me how no one would let him alone after his mother passed away when he was 13 or 14. They wanted to keep an eye on him, I guess. But he felt stifled and unable to express his grief...so it took him many years to really let go of the anger and let out all those suppressed feelings of grief.
Okay, so I got that message, and I am so glad he shared it with me. I was pushing Bill and the girls to share Andrew by having a public memorial, and they were really scared to do that. Mostly, I think, because "people" would see them grieve. They might see people they hadn't seen in a long while and it might be awkward. I felt it might be wonderful. When the day was over, I think they thought so too.
Luckily, we spent a lot of time together in between Andrew's death and the services, a lot of time alone as a family of four, time with our new extended family, time with relatives and friends and time together, just me and Bill. I thank God that our lives have progressed to this point where we are able to be in each other's presence without anger and resentment...it wasn't always that way. I am thankful that I have a new mate who understands my need to be connected to the father of my children and to family and friends. He never puts barriers in my way. He isn't jealous or insecure about any of it. Do you know what a gift that is?
One of the hard things about grieving is that you really do just want to move on…everyone else wants you to move on, also. But sometimes you are not ready. Or you seem too, but then you digress. Or you want to, but are held back by others…
I have days when I bring Andrew up several times during the day, and then a week goes by without me mentioning him to someone else. I don’t really do it intentionally, but I do say my thoughts of him in a conversation when I am talking to someone, because it’s comfortable for me and I want it to be comfortable for them. I would never want anyone to have a thought about Andrew (or anyone else they might have lost) and be afraid to mention him for fear of upsetting me. I think it’s really sad when someone close to a person dies and no one ever feels comfortable saying their name in casual conversation.
Of course, I don’t want to talk about him ad naseum, so I find writing is a great outlet. In sharing, I get some heartwarming feedback that lets me know he’s been on the minds of others and they miss him, too. This sharing of my son and our family tragedy has been wonderful therapy for me; maybe not so wonderful for Bill and my girls. They are so much more private, so as I go forward I try to respect their boundaries, as well.
We really had to work out how to do the memorial service. It was an emotional process in itself. I really wanted to celebrate Andrew’s life. I knew there would be many people who knew Andrew or us and would want to grieve with us. It would have been so much easier to pull back and just avoid everyone and the tears and emotions the day brought out, but afterward, Bill and the girls thanked me for it. We had a family service first and got to see everyone we were related to (about 100 people) and then we went to the baseball field at the lake for a public memorial. My family was nervous about being in front of everyone, so I suggested sitting in the dugout. It was perfect. We could listen and cry and see who all was there for us without feeling like we were under a spotlight. The minister who conducted the service had known Andrew as a JV football player, so his eulogy was genuine and uplifting. His considerate help in preparing our family for the event was priceless. Afterward, we greeted a long line of people who wanted to give their condolences, and it was awesome. Bill and the girls came to understand that it was easier to do it this way, sharing and talking, than if they had avoided everyone. Then the next time they would run into someone, say at the store or something, it wouldn’t be so awkward…sharing your grief is liberating, I think.
I also wanted to add that email has been a lifeline for me. During the two days Andrew was in the hospital and afterward, I would go home and type a single account of what was happening and send it to our family members who I wanted to keep informed. They were able to share the information with others who were asking and it cut down on phone calls and so forth. We were so exhausted and just needed privacy when we got home. Bill and I both have such large families…we wanted to keep them updated but we didn’t really feel like talking to everyone at that time. I also sent some versions of the emails to work and asked my supervisors to share it with the department. That way I answered most of the questions people had before they even had to ask, and when I went back to work, I could accept their sympathies without rehashing the details. It worked beautifully. At times I worried if I might have given too much information, but in the long run, people would hear rumors and it was better to have dealt with it head-on, providing the details in my own words.
It’s been more than four months since Andrew died, and I have experienced so many emotions in that time span. You can move through your feelings of shock, sadness, anger, tension and so forth so automatically that sometime you don’t even recognize what you had been feeling. These days I am really missing Andrew and wanting to share about him. I had written one essay shortly after Andrew’s memorial service and decided now was a good time to bring it out. Since I, like many others, haven’t gotten into the whole world of blogging and am just learning how it all works, I sent emails to some of my Facebook friends, people who know me or knew my son or our family, for sort of a preview. I have been getting comments back, but they are all in private emails, not attached to my blog, and their remarks are so emotional! I don’t know if people would have said the same thing in a public forum, but I thought I might like to share some of the comments anonymously.
Here are some excerpts of the initial response to my blog:
“I am moved beyond words after reading your essay, ‘Therapy didn’t have a chance to work.’ I can only imagine how you and Bill must have felt when you were watching this amazing boy ‘lose it.’ How could any of us understand paranoia, or mental problems?”
“Absolutely beautiful…it must be very, very hard for you to do and yet at the same time maybe bringing you peace.”
“I can understand your concern for the rest of your family who might not feel comfortable making all of it public but I think … making it public would help a lot of people understand … what Andrew was going through. I really think that has been a huge part of why I have been so affected by Andrew’s passing; because I couldn’t understand it.”
“Wow…I’m in tears…he’s been in my thoughts too… Thank you for sharing. It was moving and I felt his presence…please write his story.”
“I’m having a hard time responding…its so weird how you think you’ve dealt with something, then, Bam! And I still have my (daughter)! …the pain we had for those years watching her self-destruct just came sailing back at me while reading your writing. (She) is doing so well now…I never fully let my guard down enough to fully feel it all.”
“Sounds like Andrew gave the disease a good fight, and I assume that’s all someone can do – do their best. You should be so proud of the man you raised.”
“I have problems with my son, too, so that is why I am so keen to hear what you saw Andrew experiencing. What you are sharing helps those of us questioning our situations and whether or not we should be concerned…”
My son is gone and I miss him. Bill lost his son and best friend. Jayne and Rebecca lost their wonderful, loving and giving protector. His cousins lost their friend and role model. My fiancé and his son have been grieving with me every day. It is a great loss for many. But still, I feel gratitude. I am grateful for having so much time – 26 years – with a beautiful, sensitive boy for whom I can always feel pride. I am grateful for every practice that went late and forced me to watch, every field trip I went on and every hour I spent at the school or a game or anything that had to do with Andrew. I am glad that I got to meet his friends. I cherish the gifts he gave to me and the services he performed to ease my burden. I am grateful that his suffering is over. I am glad it didn’t get worse: that he didn’t end up estranged, roaming the streets or living a cruel life alone somewhere. I’m grateful that he was watched over by his father and family during those years of torment. I’m also glad he never ended up in an institution being “taken care of”. I am glad he made his own decisions in life and in death.
I am also grateful for friends and family members who have shared their experiences with us, both about Andrew and about their family struggles. It really, really does help to know that we are not alone and entirely unique…everyone has “stuff” that they deal with every day that is painful and yet, they go on. If any of this helps someone else in some small way, I am also grateful to be a part of that.
