Marykay shares and The Elephant

My stepmom called me and said she finally read my post on dad's death.  It felt like a disconnect to her. She said it was like she entered an alternate universe when reading my experience because it was nothing like her own experience.  Well that makes sense to me because we were coming from different places. I wanted to hear what was her experience at that time. She wasn't open to discussing it on the phone but said she would talk about it when we get together next weekend. That made me think that is probably very true on the other deaths I discussed here. I will ask others who were also there if they would be willing to share their experiences here.

There is this story that Ann Landers shared in one of her columns years ago about the elephant in the room. In that article it had to do with a woman's death and everyone in the same room not taking about it when it was obviously on everyone's mind. This woman's death was the elephant in the room. It took up most of the space, but they talked around it.  Well the other story about the elephant is about several blind men touching the elephant at the spot where they were standing. So when each gave a description of what the were touching, all their stories were different.  That seems to be the issue here.  Our perspectives are different. 

I asked my friend Marykay Feit if she would be willing to share her experience about the loss of  her previous husband by his committing suicide.  She did.   "I couldn't sleep so I thought I would finish this. I hope it is helpful and gives you insight  into my experience and feelings.  Love, MK".  Here is her story.

A friend reminded me that every time we peel away the scab, it allows the wound to heal faster.

As I write this, I am playing the sound track of The Hours composed by Phillip Glass taking the journey back to my  feelings of the life and death of David.  I slowly descend to that degree of our life together.  It was the time of my life that I was most hopeful and most challenged.  The story of The Hours was so close to how I felt about the experience of depression.

To write a explanation of my relationship with David, I need to explain how we met when we were friends with spouses and much younger; 26 and 30.  We didn't spend much time together, but when we did it was very casual.  David and his wife were invited to our house for a meal with their two children.  "Friendly" is the best way to say it.  We stayed in touch (his family and I) for the year following that first meeting; it was comfortable to talk and share experiences.  I watched him till the soil in his garden.  As my marriage was crumbling, I would wonder what made his life look so perfect.  We lost contact for over ten years as he and his wife moved away because of job changes.  I had always felt I had much more in common with him than with his wife who was somewhat different than me.  She shared superficial information, but I learned later she was a closet drinker.  David never talked about this part of his life then.

I visited them after going through a really bad divorce from my first husband.  They appeared to be the same, except they had kids in high school now.  Time passed and I went into another marriage of thirteen years and three children before this marriage died and I had the courage to say "enough is enough".  It took four really tough years to divorce this man.  During this time I received a phone call from David who wanted to see me.

He was taking a trip to Nepal and had joined the Peace Corp (something he had always wanted to do).  We met at my house for coffee and a chat.  We caught up on our lives of the past ten years and he explained that he had divorced his wife of 25 years.  His daughter was now a nurse who bought her first home and his son was in college.  He had indicated that he and his wife were estranged most of their marriage as she was a closet drinker.  They both taught special ed children.  We were both Catholic.  It was important to both of us.  My children were between the ages of five and ten.  Again, it was comfortable to talk sharing the events that brought us joy and pain.  He ended our conversation by asking if he could write to me and would I respond to him while he was in Nepal.  I agreed.  I truly thought it would be a nice thing to do.  I didn't see it as complicating the events and trials of my life.

The first letter came and I was so astounded by his openness and his good heart.  It was a chance to see the whole person and the soul of this really good man.  I read these letters like they were a travel log.  They were opening up a world in a faraway place,  painting a picture of a place that was so different than what I was experiencing with my day to day struggles as a single mother keeping the finances afloat, going through an ugly divorce with a man who wanted to control me.    His thoughts started to include me.  I got glimpses of how he felt about us.  When I read them to a friend she said, "he really likes you".  I hadn't really thought that was what was being said, but I thought she was reading between the lines.

He didn't stay in Nepal for a full year as his mother was dying and he wanted to return.  It was tearing at him.  Emotionally he couldn't handle it he would tell me later.

When we started to spend time with each other, it was clear that he wanted to be closer to me.  However, it was clear that there were things that needed to be dealt with and I now was living in another town, closer to my parents who were a part of my children's lives so that I could return to work.  I said I would never marry again unless I could get married in the church as I was raising my children Catholic.  Then he disappeared.  I didn't know what was happening but he would call now and then wondering what I was doing.  I was angry and sad that it appeared that our relationship was disappearing.  I was a full-time mom and a working woman and I had plenty to keep me busy, but I missed the attention from him and didn't blame him for being scared of taking on a woman with three children; but, it seemed that it was so abrupt. There were times I just was so dumbfounded and felt so strange that I just couldn't figure out what caused him to leave.

A year later, I got a phone call from David inviting me to have coffee with him at Denny's.  That was just like him; a casual meeting.  I arranged to meet him there.  It was so curious how comfortable we were sharing small stuff.  We shared the usual: family, health, events and what was coming up in our lives.  He took my hand and said, "Will  you marry me"?  And then he told me of the process he had been through with the church to receive his annulment.  We started to take steps to marry.

Looking back on it, these times seemed so normal.  You know "normal"; do this and that and the expectations of this and that all in the realm of what is expected and both of us being very happy.  He was a "doer" and was so proactive in problem-solving and sharing with the children.  It wasn't as if I didn't know that this was "work" as blended families are hard work, but he was there with me doing the things that needed to be done.  The year following our wedding, we sold my home and moved to another town. We purchased a home and helped the children adjust to all this "change", focusing on them - their lives and needs.  In all truth, we appeared happy and I thing he was.  I know I was.

One day, I can't really tell you the day, but I knew it was a year after our marriage, he came to me with a serious expression on his face and his eyes were glassy.  He said "I need you".  Puzzled I told him, "You've got me, you need yourself".  He started to explain that he was feeling depressed.  He said he had felt this way several times in his life "off and on", and it was back again and he couldn't shake it.  Now, I had worked at a psychiatric hospital for about two and a half years and and I knew several psychiatrists of good repute.  I encouraged him to go to one of them until he found one he liked.

I was really surprised by all of this.  It wasn't evident to me that he had ever felt depressed.  The next five to six years was a learning curve for both of us.  He continued therapy , however, he didn't respond to some of the medication trials.  They then started him on a medication cocktail [different medications together].  Then the doctor retired and a new doctored start to "correct" what was identified as Depression to another and move involved diagnoses of Bi-Polar Disorder.

Our relationship was strained and changed to another road of ups and downs.  It was a real struggle to stay connected emotionally as I am now dealing with someone who has changed and although I want to support his needs, I got the feeling from him that he wasn't there to interact with me, my daughters,  or deal with the situations of everyday life.

One of the realizations of the "truth" was on a Saturday, as I sat at the kitchen table, he emerged from the bedroom with a backpack telling me he was going to go to his sister's cabin for a few days and spend some time alone following his summer school teaching classes.  This time he didn't tell me in advance that he wanted to do this. I felt so alone and it became one of those truths, that he will leave someday and I wouldn't know when or why.  He did this at Christmas time too.  He would get dressed and tell me as he was hold the knob of the door, "I am going to meet my children and their mother for Christmas dinner and exchange gifts".  I was not invited nor did he ever explain further than to say he had promised his children that he would do this for them as part of the separation agreement with their mother years before.

I'm jumping now to March of the last of our eight years of marriage when he emerged from the bedroom on a Sunday appearing very drunk-like.  I asked him what had he taken or done and he said he took all of his Ambien. He couldn't walk very easily.  I locked arms with him and shouted to my children that we were going to the hospital. There had been many conversations and explanations with my daughters about his depression.  And now, it was a new level of chaos.  He couldn't hold a conversation and as I was in the emergency room, the doctor came to me saying, "you can sit her if you want" and then followed it with the explanation that they, the hospital staff calculated from the prescription and the date, he wouldn't be going anywhere.  They would hospitalize him and stabilize him and he would sleep for a while.  With all the concern and turmoil of my emotions, I sat there with the thunder of other noises and machines in the emergency room listening to him snore.  I wanted to kill him!  How could he do this to himself, or me, or to his children, or to my children!  I stopped myself from getting on the pity pot and started to look at this as a challenge of "what to do next"?!!!!

I moved through those days that followed as the professional, being a social worker, contacting his family who visited him in the acute care and sharing their concern with him.  I have always wondered if he ever discussed with his family about his depression, but it wasn't clear.  He went into a psychiatric inpatient facility for over a week and he was placed on a new medication.

I was now working at one of the Regional Centers where I was surrounded by other professionals in social work and other mental health fields.  I started talking to some people who could help me deal with getting him the best help he could get as he started telling me what he was experiencing.  He and I did not like his doctor's approach and they recommended that we find another doctor.

I'm getting exhausted just remembering the phone calls and changes that led to new directions for the care and wellbeing of this man who was so distraught.  He was also starting to "fight" me.  He was doing things that I didn't think he should do: i.e.. drink beer every night.  OMG, I started to count the beer bottles and track how much he was drinking!

I drove him to Stanford Hospital to the psychiatric department offices.  We met with one of the psychiatrist who spent two hours with us.  She listened to his story of years of dealing with depression without formal treatment and the increased impact of the past year on medications that didn't work or weren't very effective.  She was so helpful and I felt hopeful that there was going to be a change.  She wasn't going to be the primary doctor as we lived three hours away, but she wanted to be part of the "team" to treat David.  She told him to seek out a new psychiatrist.  We did do this, bust we sought one in a larger town away from where we lived.  This doctor would be the primary practitioner (who did the physical and communicated with the other physicians in the team).

I decided to seek a counselor (MFCC) for an opportunity to start therapy for myself.  I don't remember if David even knew of this decision, but I needed someone to hear my thoughts and feelings.  My brain and heart were on overload.  I couldn't talk to David about my fears, anxiety, anger, feelings of abandonment and my sadness.  Every week, I saw this woman and she allowed me to pour out my feelings and heard what I had to say.  She gave me a platform to hear that I was sane, normal (however that is defined) and told me it and I were "ok" and safe.  At least, this is what I felt when I hid from him and others some of the personal anxiety of my "truth".  I knew when someone had attempted suicide and "failed" to complete the task, the next time they would find a way to do it again and succeed.  It haunted me to the point I became hyper-vigilant  and distracted.  Little by little in the weeks of April, May and June of that year, I was able to focus on being there for my senior in her last months of high school, I stayed connected with my oldest daughter who was living out of state on her first career job and I communicated with all my daughters about life giving me peace and connectedness.  I was able to continue to be successful at my own job.  During this time, it was clear to me that my relationship with David was so estranged, but it was important to me to stay connected and remain calm as he finished his school year and continued therapy with the psychiatrist.  He didn't share much with me, but we ate our meals together, became involved with the girl's activities and were able to function as if everything was "ok".  It was like walking on pins and needles at times.  I used to think about staying in the moment and finding comfort in the daily routines.  It was easy at times and very difficult at other times.  I found that sometimes I would smile when I was really masking my uneasiness.  He kept busy.  He did yard work, schoolwork, and went to the end of year activities with his staff at the school where he taught.  There was a rush to complete paperwork, documentation of the children's progress and also meeting with parents and caregivers.  Nighttime routines were watching the clock slow down, lowering the lights and doing bathroom routines  (I can talk about this so clearly now.  As the weeks followed his death, I would cry hearing the water run in the bath, hear the sprinklers turn on and off outside.  I avoided being in the house when no one was there.)

As was his practice, after the end of school, he packed his backpack and informed me that he was going for some time at his sister's cabin in the mountains.  He liked to hike with his walking stick and take pictures.  By this time he appeared to be much more comfortable with his new medication regime,  and was going to his doctor appointments.  Although he didn't talk to me much about his thoughts or feelings, he appeared to have returned to being involved with life.  During this time, our relationship was ok to the outside world.  I felt more like a caregiver than a wife and it was somewhat lonely in the midst of the hustle and bustle of life.

That weekend I helped my daughter prepare for her senior graduation for  a trip with eight of her girlfriends to Hawaii.  With David on his trip, and the scheduled plans for my youngest daughter's trip, I was looking forward to some time to slow down and do some things for myself;  I needed to relax alone; It would be like breathing.  You know, when I could take long baths, go to the store and look at other things in life,  going to yard sales, visiting my parents and taking a deep breath.

I had some thoughts about David's whereabouts on and off during his absence.  He had called on the second day and wanted to talk when I was in the middle of helping my daughter pack.  I asked him if I could return his call after I had finished with her as she would be leaving in the morning and I was almost finished.  He had agreed.  (as I write this I am hesitating, questioning if I remember my facts correctly).  When I called him back, he didn't answer his phone.  I called several times and there was no answer.  I was thinking he could have gone for a hike and didn't take his phone.  Or maybe there was no more time left on his phone.  In the morning, I called again and it continued to go to message.  By the late afternoon, I called his sister who lived in another town if she had seen or talked to David.  She told me she wasn't in the mountains and did not hear from him.  She reassured me that he liked to go for morning walks, sometimes several times in a day which could take him farther away from the cabin.  I called his daughter and shared some of my anxiety about the inability to reach him and asked her if she would try to call him as he might not be answering my calls if he was upset with me.  She did and then called me to say she too couldn't get a response.  By the third day, I didn't feel comfortable and needed to take more action.  His sister said she would call her neighbor in the mountains and ask him to check and see if there was any evidence of David's presence at the cabin.  She called me and reported that the neighbor couldn't see his car and didn't think there was anyone there.  Now, I wonder if he is safe and he may have run into trouble; maybe car trouble.  His daughter and sister and I decide to take the next step and contact the Sheriff's Department to make some kind of search.  Now I don't remember clearly the person who called next.  I do remember it was the next morning when someone called and said they found David.  I think it was a Sheriff or maybe it was David's sister.  He/she told me the coroner would be coming to see me later in the morning.

I remember a sense of feeling outside of myself almost numb.  The hours and days that followed were full of events that seemed foreign and strange.  I had not been here before.  I felt lost, I cried off and on, I made calls to my daughters who decided to come home, his daughter and son, and his sister who made contacts with his side of the family.  As I write this, I feel so far from that time now.  It was such a strange and awful time.  I reached out to the people who knew me for support and they gathered around me with such great and comfortable understanding.  I remember feelings of wanting to push everyone away because I didn't want their pity.  I called my boss and girlfriends at work and they were all so wonderful.  I was so scared, angry, sad, fearful and lost track of time and any events other than "taking care of business".  I couldn't have done this without the support of my daughters and friends.  My family (parents, brothers and sister) were as supportive as they could be however, they just didn't understand.  Rachel, your stay with me and the girls was so helpful to gaining understanding and support.  The two weeks that followed June 28th was full of foreign experiences.  By this time I could explain to my therapist what happened and I was so grateful for her insight and her kind words.  I felt exhausted, as if I had climbed out of a deep hole.

The funeral was big.  The priest wanted me to wrap the ashes in a form of a pretty package.  I just couldn't do it as David wouldn't have wanted that.  He was not a fancy man.  He was simple, plain and loved the music of Cat Stevens.  At the end of the funeral mass of several hundred people, the musician sang "Moon Shadow".  David would have loved that.

My journey out of the stages of death and dying: before, during and after David's death took multiple years.  I know I loved him.  I hated him.  I cared about him.  I thought he was a good man with a horrible disease.  I was angry he didn't tell me about his experiences of depression before he married me.  He was there and he wasn't there. We were together and we were each alone.  I was grateful for the best part of him and so angry for the parts of him he kept from me.  I survived.  Then I lived again as I went looking for "me".  I know I wasn't alone as my faith tells me that God loved me too.  And, I have held onto that fact.  I did everything I could to make a difference for him.

I was told by the coroner that I couldn't see him as he had been dead for several days and his body had started to decompose from the heat of the car.  He was cremated and I kept his ashes on the mantle in my living room for several years and would talk to him when I needed.  His family, even his ex-wife wanted the ashes to do what they wanted to do as far as burying them.  At the end of the third year following his death,  I drove them to his parents' grave site and made arrangements for them to be interred near by.  I remember him in my prayers.  It has been 12 years now.


After Marykay wrote this, we responded back and forth by email.  She made a good point about the meaning of doing this for herself and I would like to share it:

OMG!  It took almost four hours to write as it did tap into those experiences which I thought were a part of my past.  However, as I wrote it and read it to Mike [her husband now], I think I am so lucky to have moved beyond it.  The girls have moved ahead.  All of us have a respect for this experience we all went through.  And, respect for David's memory has been a part of the healing.  I have gained some insight into my own journey which brought me here.  I now share much with Mike regarding losing a spouse [his first wife died of cancer].  It was a different process, but it was the same.


I shared my experience of David's suicide on August 31,2014.  My blog is at racheljerdin.blogspot.com   If you go here, you can scroll down to it.  The title was            The Impact of Suicide.

From a blog  by The Shiksa and the Urban Girl.  This one is specifically on loss:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=784095138302937&substory_index=0&id=695008073878311

I think we need a language for grief and bereavement .  I'm talking about what we can say to each other when we are hurting so bad from a loss.  I do say and have said I'm sorry for your loss.  But, this doesn't really cut it. Of course someone would be sorry, but that doesn't help me.   The things that were most helpful were when people were willing to listen and be with me. What words have helped you?  What action done really meant a lot to you?  It may not be the same for all of us but I think there would be something genuine, from the heart and from a vulnerable place we all can go to when connecting with another person.  

This is My great grandson waiting at the doctor's office.

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10204264246517741&substory_index=0&id=1575518000

I'm getting stronger in therapy and I have much less pain.  Linda Mather is an excellent occupational therapist.  I don't expect to be all "fixed up" when I end my treatment after five more sessions, but I know I'll get better.  It is very heartening!  

My watercolor class with Carol Bradshaw was very good. We watch her do it, then we do it. My hot air balloon improved a lot. I didn't work much on my pumpkin, but will do more. We are also working on a beach scene and learning to do clouds. It was fun!

This one barely started - Sand Dunes at the Beach

Hot Air Balloon

Pumpkin

I had my last class with Nina Landgraff at Bakersfield College. I learned a lot. Of course, a lot of it was repetition from the last class I had with her.  Really enjoyed this. I did my homework mostly with pen this time. See below. Others did some great work. It was impressive to see what people did.  I'd continue to take classes from her when they are offered.

Boxes Going to the Same Vanishing Point - Done in Graphite

Drawing Textures in Ink

Using Textures for fish Scale, Eyes, Horn, and Feet Done in Ink

Squirrel done in Ink and Charcoal

I met a friend I hadn't seen in years, Jeanne at Mimi's Cafe. We got to know each other when we worked in hospice together (she is an RN) and it also was when I was initially diagnosed with breast cancer, had surgery and then chemo. She has a special place in my heart.  We had an excellent team at the time.  We all felt our work was a "calling". We had a wonderful leader in Susan who also had a great sense of humor. We were very supportive of each other and we all felt we were growing with the experience.  It was the best working situation I was ever in.  The patients and their families all helped us grow.   We talked about reading and what we like.  I told her my favorite escapist literature has been The series by Diana Gabaldon starting with Dragonfly in Amber and the other being J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter.  I never thought I would get into either style of book, but they were great and they both have a huge following.  Jeanne lost her husband of quite a few years about three years ago.  She was his caregiver for a long time because he had become so ill.  She remarried a year ago and is now doing very well.  She reads my blog because it normalizes some of the feelings she has.  

Janet and I got together at Mexicali's.  I vent to Janet when we get together.  Not much but it allows me to let it go and get on with life.  I really am very fortunate.

So Michael Feit came to my rescue in explaining how to put the pictures on my blog.  Got it! Thanks Mike!  I really do appreciate it.

I think this enough for today.  I hope you are doing well.  If anyone is in a place that they are willing to share like my friend Marykay did, please send it to me.  I would be glad to help edit it if it is needed.

I'll see you next Sunday.        Rachel