Revisiting Grief: What Mental Illness Steals

I can't complain. Really, our family usually lives in a place of gratitude these days. Ben is doing well. He actually has a job, after eight hospitalizations and ten years unemployed, and has celebrated his one-year anniversary there. He cares about school now, and made Dean's List once again at college. (Got a grade of 98 on his Final Essay on how his stasis was changed by reading Macbeth. Wow.)

Yes, we can't complain. This is miraculous, compared to where Ben could have been. Compared to where he would be, without treatment.

When asked how Ben is doing, I usually respond, "Today is a good day." I look to the sky to see if the other shoe is falling, but these days we are okay most of the time, certain that Ben is taking his meds and therefore inching forward with his life. We are grateful and relieved.

But - every so often - grief sets in, for what we have lost. For what Ben has lost. For what could have been, if schizophrenia had not become our reality.

This happened to me twice this week. I fill in as a radio personality sometimes at our local NPR radio affiliate, WSHU. This particular station is housed at Sacred Heart University in Fairfield, CT - and, as a result, I get the occasional glimpse of campus life - not a commuter college like the one Ben attends part-time, but the living-on-campus life.

As I drive in to work this week, I see beautiful, cheerful, smiling students waving all visitors onto campus. Signs: "Welcome, Class of 2016."

Freshman Orientation! And there they are: 18-year-olds walking ahead of their excited parents, toting pillows, sleeping bags, cell phones and huge smiles.

Monday and again on Wednesday, I see those young, fully present, smiling faces. The look I miss seeing on Ben's face, so much. Bright eyes, full of hope. Energy that points outward to the world.

This is the sight that, unexpectedly, brings tears to my eyes. Especially the Sacred Heart "Ambassadors" - the experienced students, guiding the newbies to their new possibilities.

Ben's face now, once so dulled by blunt affect, is more expressive than during the worst times - but that spark is hard to bring out now, and to maintain. He shines, still, but the flame is unsteady.

Mental Illness and Young Adult Life

Ben never got to have this experience. He'd always hoped for it, mourned its loss, and still
occasionally wishes he could "go away to college." He's earning the right, certainly: almost done with enough credits for an Associate's Degree and admission to a Junior Year somewhere. And, at last, a good study/work ethic and excellent grades.

But, let's face it. He is too old to go away to college - and I doubt he'd survive the stress. Still, he wishes. Ben was robbed of most of his late teens and early twenties. He was busy developing schizophrenia, and he missed out. He is now 30 years old. Campus life has passed him by.

Yes, Ben was robbed. Robbed of the chance for a normal timetable of development for his young adult life. Sure, he is doing great. But sometimes - well, it's just not fair.

Mental Illness steals. Young adults, in particular, miss out on a normal timetable for their lives during the time most are going through predictable stages. They don't get to have experiences, and the things we learn from them, like:

• High School

  [caption id="attachment_938" align="alignright" width="153" caption="What Schizophrenia Steals - or Stalls"][/caption]

• Sports Teams
• Graduation
• First Love
• College Life
• First Job and/or apartment.
• High School and/or college friendships.

Families miss out, too. Siblings lose "big" brothers and sisters, and pass them by. I'll never forget the look on Ben's face in 2003 when his little sister went off to college. Ben was in the hospital, finally on his way to stabilization. He was well enough by that time to tell his sister how happy he was for her when she showed him pictures of the college she was going to attend. Ben had missed "family day" there, and would miss Ali's move into the dorms as well. So Ali was robbed too. And so was I.

But on this day, it wasn't until his sister left the room that Ben turned to me and said, "Mom, how come my little sister gets to go off to college before I do?"

It broke my heart. Sometimes it still does - but only for a moment. That's all I can allow.

I never go and seek out grief. But sometimes it comes to visit , unexpected and uninvited. And I have to let it visit for awhile, have a a moment in its grasp, to let off some emotional steam, before returning to a more positive state of mind. If I reject its grip, it comes back even stronger.

You have to let it have its moment; then let it go. Grief and loss are part of the mental illness picture, but so are, if we are lucky, hope and accomplishment. As I often repeat to myself, it is what it is. Acceptance is vital - but sometimes, it needs to step aside for grief. For just a moment. Because there is still so much work to do - so we can keep hoping, and moving forward.