The Pain of Grief, When Does it End?

It’s been raining a lot lately. Not outside in the heatwave warning of Kansas City weather, but inside. Inside me, inside as the tears spill over again and again. I can’t seem to stop them from falling. You’d think I would have grieved sufficiently for my deceased mother, but I can’t stop the crying sometimes, I miss her so much. She’s in no pain, has seen my father again after a long time, and other loved ones who have preceded her. Best of all she in the presence of the Lord, who I know with absolute certainty, told her, “Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.” I hope I don’t muff it so badly that I miss out on those words, missing all the joy and love and peace of the next life, seeing loved ones again.

Then the tears morph into what if I lost my only child, my beloved son. It’s irrational in some ways, but in other ways it’s not. I don’t know if I could survive that kind of pain and loss. He is at the command of the U.S. Army, and has to go and do as he is ordered. My pride in him is beyond measure, but while I always told him the military was a noble profession when he was young, I didn’t think he would go through with West Point and become an officer in the Army.

He is no longer my baby, my toddler, my school-ager, and teen that I can protect. He is standing on his own two feet, 25 years old. A safe Subaru car, a MG Midget sports car, and a motorcycle being rebuilt slowly in his garage. I guess he’s got to get it out of his system before he settles down, if he does. I am no longer holding my breath for grandchildren. Will is 67 and I am 59. He seems far away from marriage and children.

But this grief and fear grips my heart and will not let go. Both parents gone, I am parentless. But my son, who I have poured my life into since the day he was born he, is still with us. Perhaps I am projecting the wildness, stupidity, and addictions of my life. Will keeps reminding me how level-headed our son is. But Just like Cat Stevens sang, “It’s a wild world out there.”

So where is God in all this? Where is the comfort of the Holy Spirit, where is the intercession of Jesus? I have been in and out of the hospital three times this past year with the Bipolar Disorder. Where is the break? New meds, new doctor, repeated ECT’s. Yet, I cry, a lot. I fear. I grieve. There is only one verse that says Jesus wept. I am not becoming very Christ-like very quickly in that area. Something needs to happen to me. Grief comes in cycles. I grieved off and on for my dad for years, but my mom hasn’t eased up at all. It’s almost constant and it’s been nine months.

Went to their house today, for the last time that I would be able to look around, but it was empty. I visualized furniture and my parents sitting in the easy chair and on the couch. I saw my bedroom, the posters on the walls, the lava lamp. I was such a difficult child. I pictured the office and their bedroom, and all the things that filled the basement and garage.  Empty, of all that had made it a home. And I cried. It’s been closed on, keys handed over. It’s done.

I wish I could say I was cried out, but even as I asked where God is in all this, He is surely near me, holding my hand. I just can’t feel it right now through my emotions, but the intellect, battered about as it is, tells me the Trinity has not left me bereft of all comfort. I feel it from my family, my husband, and close friends who rally around me. I want to feel his touch and his words directly, but I hear what he has to say through loved ones, the bible, and church. It’s all I have for now. God says his grace is sufficient for me. Even through the pain, it’s there upholding me. I am just not aware of it. Hasten the day that I am once again joy filled.

The Christian Response to Mental Illness

This is a touchy subject. Opinions are as numerous as denominations. I have personally experienced a few faith approaches that made things worse. I can't say for sure when I first began exhibiting mental  illness. I became suicidal in high school. I kept my mouth shut except for one friend (and it was because she feared for my life. We would all do well with such friends.) and it got back to my parents. I played it off as a joke and stayed out of the psychiatrist's office. But it wasn't a joke. I felt that way.

I got got caught up in a bible study group apart from my childhood church in which I never heard a sermon on the topic. This bible study group  was lead by young 20-year-old somethings with no formal training and a pastor of  large charismatic church who came to help get it up and running. I don't remember who invited me, but it was very different from what I was used to and as a sort of rebellious teen I decided to stick around.

The pastor was totally into demonology. Something  new and crazy sounding. I knew nothing about it so I stuck around to learn what it was all about. Basically  there was a Devil's henchman (demon) for  everything bad in the world when it came to people. He pulled out a few bible  verses to back his theology  and began telling us we should come forward for deliverance for the sins he began listing. Among them was depression. No faithful Christian was ever depressed. So, I went up to have the demon of depression kicked out. The only problem, I felt the same. Then he said if you weren't free, then you wanted whatever you had. The deepening despondency drove  me to leave. Obviously that wasn't the answer. If it was, I was toast.

I tried another church. I stayed a couple of years before I admitted I had a mental illness, though I did not call it that at the time. I just knew something was wrong and I figured God was not pleased. The prescriptions were to read the bible more  and pray harder. There was the demon thing by a couple, but the main thing I heard was that I was sinning by being depressed and those who committed suicide went straight to hell. I tried the "cures" but I ended up faking it for a while, then another pastor came who was so condemning of many things, even Christmas trees were evil. I proudly announced that I had one and left the church.

If I hadn't had a child, I would have never gone to church again. But I needed to find a sane church that would help and accept me, and I finally found it at South-Broadland Presbyterian Church. By then I had finally gone to see a psychiatrist because I was suicidal and the thought of doing that and leaving behind a four-year-old with that legacy was too much to bear. That is when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It was that because I would have times of the opposite feelings. High energy, extreme irritability, hearing voices and other symptoms. Then I would crash into deep depression.

I began with the pastor who showed compassion and wanted to help anyway he could. The pastor we have now gets it entirely and is a stalwart source of help and mercy. No demons, no extra prayer assignments, though some scriptures designed to help lift me have been suggested. No accusations of not having enough faith, no sinning because of it.  In fact the last  hospital stay, she came twice to visit me and brought comfort, encouragement, understanding, hope, acceptance, and prayer.

I am still battling but with an understanding and loving family, a church that is sensible and sane, and a pastor who doesn't make up theology, but teaches based on the bible and who has been to seminary for a foundation to pastor a church. I  have hope  even when things don't look or feel good.

At the end of each service she says, "God is good all the time." And the congregants respond, "And all the time  God is good." And he is. I am here alive despite all the odds against me and all the condemnation over the years. I honestly know some meant well, but for some their right is wrong. God is good. He  kept me safe and guarded me during some of the darkest times of my life. I can praise him even when low because of his many unlisted blessings to me over the years.

I hope the whole of Christendom will one day treat those with mental illness as God would have them treat them, with love, compassion, understanding, and peaceful, gentle words of hope. And an invitation to have dinner with Jesus in his heavenly kingdom, where there will be many mentally ill who were left to fend for themselves on the mean streets. Find a way to help at least one person, if only to be a steadfast friend  who has the patience and compassion to go the distance. The reward is worth it.

Reaching out to the Suicidal

I would have written this entry sooner, but was on a wonderful vacation. Got to spend time with my son and see some of the most beautiful places I have been: Washington State. Mt, Rainier  in all its massive snow peaked glory. Water falls everywhere, and the tallest trees I have ever seen. I was able to let go of some of my anxiety and seeing my son helped lift my depression. I felt a sense of peace.

But it didn't last. I came home to another ECT treatment the very next day and a session with my shrink. The depression isn't going away and the insomnia is worsening. He asks me each time he sees me if I am suicidal. Last year I was in the hospital for a week and took the full 12 FMLA weeks off work. I had enough sick leave to stay paid. But this last time I spent 10 days in the hospital and began ECT treatments again while going to work. I don't have the money to stay home this time. Now comes  the medicine merry-go-round. Changing the medications to find a combination that might work.

Then I also came home to the news that a famous person who struggled with addiction, as I did until I went to AA 30 years ago,  but the Bipolar ups and downs were ever present. And right now it is the depressive side that is tormenting me. I want to says I have been in his shoes, but I am not faced with an un-treatable disease on top of it.

But I  do know the pain of deep depression. People often use that word when they are just blue over something for a few days or a week. But clinical depression is way beyond having the blues or just feeling down for  a couple days  because something went wrong or didn't work out as had hoped, or any other many reasons.

If you use that word, then go see a psychiatrist. It is a life  altering disorder and has the potential to lead to suicide. And  even if it does n't go that far, it colors your whole world and the people in  your life are affected by it, too. Deep depression can disable a person to the point that they can no longer work, maintain hygiene, be unable to carry on conversations, or even leave the house, isolating completely.

Those are the most severe cases, but many feel that way, but have, with all their energy been able to hide the depression and function.  But inside they are slowly crumbling and no one seems to notice. Still there are signs. Self put-downs, lack of a higher level of normal energy, poor  appetite or gaining rapid weight. Less creativity, and a level of isolating. When you see these things, it's time to  attempt to be a friend who tries to draw out feelings and listen carefully. If the word suicide is ever  mentioned, it's time to take it  not as a joke, but a cry for help. Encourage that person to go to see a psychiatrist, or even offer to take them to an ER. Plans for how to do it may already been made.

Clinical depression is a serious disorder that can be treated if you can provide a trusting friendship where the truth can come out and going to the safety of a hospital. There are medications, ECT, therapy and support groups. Suicide doesn't have to  be the final step in dealing with depression. So pay attention to those who exhibit those signs and get them to the help they need. It  may take some effort, some convincing conversations. Educate yourself so you can be the difference  between a person's suffering and their getting help. You  may turn out to be the only one who makes the difference.

Fear of the Water, Fear of the deep

Here I am hurtling through the air at who knows what speed a 737 does.  We've just taken off for Seattle on our way to see our son. It will be a three hour flight. The longest non-stop flight I've ever been on. I am feeling rather relaxed because that’s what Ativan does. Two pills and my fear of flying eases. But three hours is a long time to me. I don’t know how people are able to fly across the Atlantic. I would have to be knocked out.

Flying for me is fearful in and of itself, but crossing the ocean is beyond fearful. It is terrifying. I have respect for water, and I can swim, but a pool is a far cry from the tempestuous, never still ocean. It is full of swells and when it storms, ships are tossed about like rag dolls. The largest ones weather it better, but still, the oceans can break ships and send them to the deep.

It is that awful power and darkest depths from where no one is ever found or returns that terrifies me. One can only tread water for so long. Then there is becoming a meal for a shark. But the vastness and unforgiving power to destroy is what makes me refuse to cross any ocean. For some it is a source of fascination, but for people like me, it overwhelms and melts the courage of even the normally steadfast.

The ocean makes me think of the Lord. He is vast, powerful, endless in motion in the affairs of men, and for those who have been taught incorrectly, just as the ocean so, too, he can instill great fear. In my past I had a distorted concept of God. He was like the hound of heaven, busily seeking those he could destroy by tossing them into hell. No mercy for those of us who had wandered too far from religion and faith. My actions put me high on the list for eternal torment. At one point in the bible, Kind David felt as if God had turned away from him and he said God’s waves and billows had washed over him.

In a foolish and twisted mind, I knew I was going to hell, so what I did mattered not. Yet, at the same time, I kept running from him as fast as I could. Somehow I thought I could keep out of his reach, I could go on living as I was, staying far away from him as I could. The restricted space of a blog keeps me from telling my whole story, so I shall just say that I finally was cornered, and the relentless hound of heaven had me right where he wanted me. I expected the worst, but what I got was mercy, grace, faith and forgiveness. I was utterly changed. Some things right away, some things took some time, but I did a 180, and the understanding I had of God would never be the same.

He is like the ocean he created. Vast, deep, and awesome. Like how the ocean beckons sailors, so he beckons us. He seeks those who will go into the spiritual waters where we cannot touch bottom. He bids to go well beyond the visible shore; deeper and deeper. If we desire an intimacy with God unlike any other, then we must go beyond wading in ankle deep water.  The Holy Spirit will cause us to walk where only one man walked, and that is Peter when Jesus called to him to come out of the boat. But Peter, seeing the swells from the storm and feeling the wind the churned the water, sank like a rock and Jesus had to rescue him.

God wants us to follow where Jesus walked, defying natural fear and get out of the boat. The wind and high foaming waves are not to be our focus. Our gaze needs to always be on Jesus. He will lead us in safety. That doesn't mean there will be no storms, but he will keep us safe. That is a promise.

I haven’t convinced myself that I want to cross the ocean by plane or ship, but I will get out of the boat that I have been clinging to. God has others yet to be rescued in the deep waters and those of us who have been graciously set free and forgiven must follow where the Spirit leads and reach out to those drowning in their sin and self-imposed bondage, the chains that are dragging them under.

Are you afraid to get out of the safety of the boat? I am. But get out is the command and I must obey, Not because I will be punished if I don’t, but because I will miss out on the wonderful and great exploits of reaching out to the drowning and through the power and grace of God, bring them to Jesus who will take it from  there and turn another life around.

In the book of Psalms, at one point there is a verse that has always been mysterious to me. It is “deep calls unto deep.” As I rack my brain trying to remember where it is, I think it might be in the Psalm I referenced earlier. There is no depth deeper than the mind of God. His thoughts are above our thoughts and his ways above our ways. He doesn't call the wise of the world, nor the strong and naturally brave.

He calls ordinary people, like me, and perhaps you, the reader. He calls the timid, and weak. He calls those the world calls foolish. He calls those who know they need a Savior. They recognize they are calling one last time in desperation for someone to save them as they sink. It is Jesus through us who grabs their hand and pulls them to the safety of salvation. Deep calls unto deep: The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. And as we grow, we begin to know the mind of God, and listen for the deep calling the deep.

We are on our downward descent into Seattle. I have made it three hours in an airplane. I spent the time writing this. It may not be one of my better ones, but a couple of anxiety pills and two screaming babies next to and behind me…the entire flight hasn't helped my concentration. I could have complained, but I've been told I was just as bad if not worse. There’s grace in that.