Unending Grief: Mourning the Ordinary
We are sisters
We are in a continual state of grief
We mourn for a child that’s still alive
We wish for things to settle into ordinary
We learn to accept the ups and downs of MI
We are sisters
Tears stream down my face as I write this. Today I am mourning, yet again, how we can never sustain any “normal” phase of life for more than a few weeks before the mental illness (MI) demons rear their ugly heads to fuck it all up.
As mothers of a mentally ill adult child (MIAC), we’re always waiting for the next shoe to drop. This low-key feeling of dread – because history has taught us that any stability is fleeting – drains the happiness out of the good times. Yet we know it's only a matter of time before the tentative peace is shattered, and we grieve the loss of normalcy over and over again...
Nobody ever talks about the unending grief that accompanies a severe mental illness (SMI)* diagnosis. Doctors, social workers, and hospitals all talk about recovery, but in my experience, they don’t discuss how regular relapses make recovery impossible. How each relapse or psychotic episode damages the brain further.
Maybe there’s truly no way to prepare a parent for that, but a head’s up about your new reality after the diagnosis of your mentally ill child has to be better than the painful years of hope followed by crushing disappointment. Each hospitalization causes more heartache, more grief over what is lost. There is never a conclusion.
SMI doesn’t follow a normal path of illness, treatment, recovery, and reentry into life. After each episode the recovery bar is lowered; there is no return to the previous level of health. No other disease wreaks the havoc that severe mental illness does on both the adult child and the parents.
Back to today.
My son is heading for another hospitalization, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
His severe paranoia manifests as an eating disorder. This time he’s insisting he can’t eat gluten. Last year his food was being poisoned, and the year before that he refused to eat meat. The delusion changes, but the outcome is the always the same. He’s not eating and is losing weight again. He’s down 40 pounds in the last four months.
“I understand that this situation, just like his mental illness, is out of my control.”
Even though I’ve learned to expect this in the spring and fall, it still guts me to see it happening again. My son’s mental illness is an unending series of crises for everyone involved with this wonderful young man.
Sometimes, like today, it feels like too much.
My mother’s heart is suffering… I want so badly to be able to convince him to “just eat”.
However, I understand that this situation, just like his mental illness, is out of my control.
This blog post is a reminder to myself to lean on things that I DO have control over, and I hope it helps you, too.
Ways I cope when things seem too hard:
I spend time outside walking in nature.
I meditate to calm my mind and find my peaceful center.
I write about what I’m feeling.
I talk with friends, and cuddle my pets.
I ask for support from other moms.
I watch a funny movie. (My go to is Trains, Planes & Automobiles.)
I talk with the director of my son’s residential care facility to form a plan.
I give permission to have him hospitalized because I know he will be in good hands.
I remember this too will pass.
The diagnosis and the symptoms for your MIAC might be different, but you know first-hand the unremitting anguish that loving someone with mental illness causes.
You are not alone. I encourage you to reach out for support, and take care of yourself.
Just for today:
I will choose to enjoy the good days.
I will learn to accept the grief as part of life.
I will accept that MI is an ongoing illness.
I will focus on my own health and well-being.
*SMI is a smaller and more severe subset of mental illnesses. It is defined by NIMH as one or more mental, behavioral, or emotional disorder(s) resulting in serious functional impairment, which substantially interferes with or limits one or more major life activities.