4 Years Later - March 18, 2013

Four years ago, Josh decided to leave us.  I still ask "why?" but am no closer to knowing the answer than 48 months ago.

The day started with a wintry mix so by 10:30am there was a thin layer of snow on the trees and on the ground which was actually quite pretty.  But by mid-day the snow had turned to rain, and thick, grey, gloomy clouds had settled over us - pretty apropos for the sad day that it was.

I have gone back over the previous "anniversary" posts (The day after burial, 1 year later, 2 years later, 3 years later) and still find it hard to believe that this tragedy happened to us. It remains difficult to comprehend, reconcile, absorb and digest.  I don't deny that it happened but the disbelief is still strong.

I have put all our pictures of Josh on a digital frame which usually sits in the family room, but has been moved to the kitchen counter this weekend.  While I wait for the tea kettle to boil, I watch the slideshow of his life and just shake my head and think for the umpteenth time: "why Josh why?"  This is immediately followed by self-recriminating thoughts of how I did not give him what he needed - to live or to want to live.  This well-rehersed pattern of thought is not part of my intellect, (for I can reason my way out of guilt), but lies in my heart - the seat of emotion.  It is hard to reason with a feeling: especially one as strong as a mother's guilt.

There are a couple of things that make this day bearable.  One: we had our 4th annual Running to Remember Josh on Saturday which was a great success (a post will be coming shortly). And two: all the friends who have gotten in touch via the various way we communicate these days (text, email, e-card, face book) to say they are thinking of us and most importantly, remembering our beloved Josh.

Josh changed our life when he came into the world on January 16, 1992

This was our last family photo taken at Thanksgiving 2008

This shirt was created in memory of Josh in the first year and graces one of his friend's room in a frat house

My friend, Rox, wrote this while in Hawaii on a recent trip

The front of this year's half-marathon running shirt...

....and the back

Runners and supporters before the start 

On Sunday, Rox put up this wind chime on Josh's tree...

....and adorned his final resting place with rose petals

I went today - you can see the snow 

RIP Josh - loved and missed more than ever.

Letter to Grief - Almost 4 years later

Time relentlessly marches me closer to the four-year death anniversary on March 18th and I am powerless to stop him.  The house is quiet; I am alone.  I understand Paloma when she says "that silence helps you go inward" (in The Elegance of a Hedgehog, a recently read favorite book).   I need this silence to try and understand how I feel.  To help, I wrote a letter to Grief in my journal - read this post to see how I picture her.

Dear Grief,
You came into my life suddenly, without warning almost four years ago. I had not known you before, having never lost someone close to me.  And not just someone, but my own child whom I nourished in my womb and bore into this world over 21 years ago; who now lies frozen in time as a 17-year old man-boy; who, for reasons still unknown to me, decided to leave this world: no, how I really feel is that he decided to leave me.  I know I shouldn't take it personally (that he was not thinking of me that fateful night but of his own pain and suffering and the best way to end it), but as his mother, I can't help but take it personally.

And wonder yet again what I did wrong, or perhaps better said, what I didn't do.  For I plead "guilty" to the charge: sin of omission.  I torture myself thinking I should've done this or that; I should've said this or that.  But of course, it is too late and nothing I think, say or do will bring him back.  Death is permanent.  Irreversible.  Irrevocable.

Which is why you are still here and will continue to be until the day that I am reunited with Josh.  I am curious about one thing: when the inevitable happens and my elderly parents pass away, will a different version of you come or will more of you pile onto the current you?

If I am to guess, I would say that the part of you associated with Josh's death will be distinct and separate, perhaps only added to - heaven forbid! - if something happens to one of my other three children.  If that were to occur, I think you would become so enormous - a monstrosity - that I would crumble and break under the sheer weight: I could not survive.

For now, I acknowledge your presence without fear, flight or fight.  I do not fear you as I've learned that you are a measure of my love: love much, grieve much.  I know I cannot flee you for you reside within, so wherever I go, there you will be.  And fighting you is useless as your strength far exceeds my own.

I guess the question most on my mind is this: "What next?  Where will you be taking me on the 5th year of our journey?"

3 Years and 11 Months Later - Nothing Was the Same by Kay Jamison

After Josh's death, I read a number of bereavement books in an attempt to find answers and comfort from those who had suffered the same loss - see list.

While all have been helpful, I have found much food for thought in memoirs from celebrated authors who, having lost their spouses, penned their grief in literary prose.  See posts for more.

• C. S. Lewis's A Grief Observed
• Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking
• Joyce Carol Oats - A Widow's Story

Kay Redfield Jamison will be added to this list.  Jamison is a Professor of Psychiatry at Johns Hopkins and co-authored the classic textbook on bipolar disorder called Manic-Depressive Illness (published 1990).  Five years later, at considerable risk to her reputation, she bravely published a memoir called An Unquiet Mind which chronicles her own struggle with this disease. 

In her second memoir, Nothing Was the Same, Jamison writes about the loss of her husband, Richard Wyatt.  What I found interesting and unique was her differentiation between the darkness felt in grief and that of depression.  I wrote a number of quotes in my journal.

About grief:

Grief conspires to ensure that it will in time wear itself out.  Unlike depression, it acts to preserve the self.

Mourning, as Freud made clear, is a natural part of life, not a pathological state. "Although grief involves grave departures from the normal attitude to life, it never occurs to us to regard it as a morbid condition and hand the mourner over to medical treatment.  We rest assured that after a lapse of time it will be overcome." 

Grief is not a disease, it is necessary. 

Grief gives much to the living, slows time that one might find a way to a different relationship with the dead.  It fractures time to bring into awareness what is being mourned and why. 

Grief, lashed as it is to death, instructs, it teaches that one must invent a way back to life.  Grief forces intimacy with death; it preserves the salient past and puts into relief our mortal states.  All die, teaches Grief.  

Grief is at the heart of the human condition.  Much is lost with death, but not everything.  Life is not let loose of lightly, nor is love.  There is grace in death.  There is life. 

Grief vs depression:

Grief, like depression is a journey one must take largely unattended....I had less energy but enough to see me through.  This is never so in depression.  Weariness pervades the marrow when one is depressed; it is what renders despair intolerable.  I bled out during my depressions.  This was not so after Richard died.  My heart broke, but it beat.  

Time alone in grief proved restorative.  Time alone when depressed was dangerous.  The thoughts I had of death after Richard's death were necessary and proportionate.  They were of his death, not my own.  When depressed, however, it was my own death I sought out.  In grief, death occasions the pain.  In depression, death is the solution to the pain.   

I read deeply, if fitfully, after Richard died. Such consolation was never possible for me during the times I was depressed.  When depressed, I could not concentrate well enough to read; little made sense to me and the written word left me cold.  When depressed, nothing could open my heart or give me courage.  I was too dulled, too incapable of receiving life; I was dead in all but pulse....Grief on the other hand, rendered me able to take solace from those who had written so well about loss and suffering. 

I found her thoughts about grief helpful - that to be human will mean, eventually and inevitably, that one will face the death of a loved one and will need to grieve.  It is unavoidable.  It is a part of living.  It is a part of one's journey.  And to grieve is absolutely necessary if one is to reconcile with death and find a "way back to life."

Her descriptions about depression are haunting.  They remind me of William Styron's thoughts in his powerful memoir, Darkness Visible.  Did Josh feel this?  If so, why and how did he hide this from us and his psychologist?

For those diagnosed with clinical depression, I have more empathy.  For those teens in our high schools who suffer from undiagnosed depression, it is imperative that they are educated enough to seek help.  This is our foundation's mission.  We must succeed so other lives may be saved.

RIP Josh

3 Years and 10 Months Later: Hippolytus by Euripides

There is much in this ancient Greek tragedy which resonates with me on this anniversary month.

First, some background of the story:  Handsome, strong, athletic, virile Hippolytus whole-heartedly worships Artemis, virgin Goddess of the Hunt.  He has absolutely no romantic interest in women and has gone so far as to call Aphrodite the "vilest of the Gods in Heaven."  Because of this, the vain Goddess of Love determines to punish Hippolytus by causing his step-mother, Phaedra to fall hopelessly in love with him.  In keeping these incestuous feelings a secret, Phaedra suffers mightily; becoming depressed and suicidal.

Phaedra speaks of the power of shame:

Then there is shame that thwarts us.  Shame is of two kinds.  The one is harmless, but the other a plague.

This "plague" fills her body and mind, leading her thoughts towards death.

Then I believed that I could conquer love,
conquer it with discretion and good sense.
And when that too failed me, I resolved to die.
And death is the best plan of them all.  Let none of you
dispute that. 

A haunting description of Phaedra's suicidal ideation:

For she would willingly bring her life to anchor
at the end of its voyage - the gloomy harbor of death. 

When the awful deed is done, the chorus says:

Woman unhappy, tortured,
your suffering, your death,
has shaken this house to its foundations. 

You were daring, you who died in violence and guilt.
Here was a wrestling: your own hand against your life. 

Who can have cast a shadow on your life? 

Her husband Theseus' words echo perfectly what I felt 46 months ago, on that horrible, unspeakable day.  (My edits are in parenthesis).

O city, city! Bitterness of sorrow!
Extremest sorrow that a [mother] can suffer!
Fate, you have ground me and my house to dust,
fate in the form of some ineffable
pollution, some grim spirit of revenge.
The file has whittled away my life until
it is a life no more.
I am like a swimmer that falls into a great sea:
I cannot cross this towering wave I see before me. 

My [son]!  I cannot think
of anything said or done to drive you to this horrible death.
You are like bird that has vanished out of my hand.
You have made a quick leap out of my arms
into the land of Death.

I have no doubt that "pre-Josh", these gut-wrenching words of sorrow and woe would have gone in one ear and out the other, bouncing off my naive heart.  Instead, they have pierced and penetrated my death-initiated soul with arrows of truth.

Happy 21st Birthday Josh - January 16, 2013 - updated with original poem

Josh - You would be 21 years old today!  To commemorate this momentous birthday, I've listed twenty-one things that you liked in your short seventeen years of life.  Your siblings helped with the list.

1.  Barney

2.  Yellow Blanket

3.  Legos

4. Drawing - you did such a good job with the Cat in the Hat!

5. Dragonball-Z

6. Yu-gi-oh

7. Pokemon

8.  Buddy

9.  Benji

11.  Food - Bulgogi, Ramen noodles

10.  Back scratch (just like Grandpa)

12.  Video Games:  Zelda, Gears of War, Guitar Hero, Halo

13. Football and lacrosse

14. Sleeping

15.  Shades

16. Listening to your iPod (Bob Marley, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Slightly Stoopid, Sublime, All American Rejects)

17. Texting on cell phone

18. Girls

19. Girlfriend

20.  Best friends

21. Being silly

RIP Josh.

We love and miss you on your big (legal) birthday!

May 27, 2013 update

Reading and writing poetry has become a small but significant part of my grief journey.  At the coffee shop yesterday, after my weekly visit to his gravesite, I was re-reading a short poem written at the beginning of the year, a couple of weeks before Josh's 21st birthday and immediately and unexpectedly started to cry.

21 

Sue Anderson

I see him, in my mind's eye:

     strong

     tall

     proud

     twenty-one year old.

He looks good:

     healthy

     broad-chested

     formidable shoulders

     lean waist

     mop hair

     trademark smirk.

Mirage looks so real! 

Poem: "Shadows" by D. H. Lawrence

It continues to be my regular practice to visit Josh on Saturday's, clean his stone marker, untangle the chimes on his tree and write a weekly letter to him.  A newly added ritual is to stop at a local coffee shop and spend some undistracted time reading.  It was here, armed with a lite caramel latte, amidst a lively morning weekend crowd, that unexpectedly, tears began to fall as this poignant section of Lawrence's poem ploughed deep into my fragile, recovering soul.  (The edits in parenthesis are mine.)

And if, in the changing phases of (a mother's) life
I fall in sickness and in misery
my wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead
and strength is gone, and my life
is only the leavings of a life: 

and still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion,
and snatches of renewal
odd, wintry flowers upon the withered stem,
yet new, strange flowers
such as my life has not brought forth before,
new blossoms of me -  

then I must know that still
I am in the hands of an unknown God,
he is breaking me down to his oblivion
to send me forth on a new morning,
a new (woman).

The "changing phase" of my life has dealt what could be an unrecoverable blow - the suicide death of a beloved seventeen-year old son.  Indeed the aftermath, as aptly described by the poet, is shattered bones, a dead heart and deep fatigue from shouldering such grief, guilt and remorse, leaving only a mere shadow or "leavings" of the former naive life.

On the outside, I may look the same as the "pre-Josh" days but internally, nothing is the same.  I am not the same person; I am irrevocably changed.  Before reading this poem, I thought the difference was because of the Josh-shaped vacuum in my heart.  I have also described it as an internal amputation; the instant I found him, and my brain registered what happened, a piece of me was brutally hacked off.  So the focus was on what I didn't have, what was missing, what was lost and gone - never to return.

These words made me realize and acknowledge that even in the midst of death and destruction, loss and misery, the"withered stem" can give birth to "odd, strange, wintry flowers" that have never been seen before.  And that these are new bits or "blossoms"of me.  Writing very openly on a public blog is a new blossom.  Reading new genres and authors over the past 3+ years - also new blossoms.  The fact that I ran a half-marathon a year later to help raise money for the foundation in Josh's name (I despise running) is a big blossom.  My perspective on life is different; another new blossom.

The poet says this is evidence of the tender work of God.  And that despite it all, I am still in the palm of His hand.  I believe it.  This realization filled me with such solace that tears flowed.

Merry Christmas Josh

Our fourth Christmas with our white tree, in memory of Josh. 

His initials, JLA, underneath a white dove. 

RIP Josh.
Everyone was home this year and we missed you!

December 18, 2012 - 3 Years and 9 months

It was a big week for the Josh Anderson Foundation.  We are accomplishing our goal - to bring programs into high schools that could have impacted Josh, given him the tools to stop himself that dark night and choose life, not death.  See post for details.

I went to a couple of Jordan's presentations and while it was encouraging to see the impact of his words on both teens and parents, I left feeling sad which was surprising.  And the heavy feeling stayed the following day.  Why?  There is so much good that is happening - we are making a difference - we are doing something to save other young lives.

I guess it is because I am reminded once again, of our loss.  Hearing Jordan's story makes me wonder anew what I could've, should've done; the guilt and regret is so heavy, it smothers.  Familiar questions race through my mind, yet time does not make anything clearer.  I feel confused, baffled, helpless - just like the first year.  It is like groping in the dark for the light, which never turns on.

I am sure the sadness is also rooted in the holidays.  The boxes of decorations in the basement stay unopened - for the 4th year in a row. The extent of Christmas cheer will be wreaths on the doors, a tree and stockings - a far cry from Christmas' past.

All our kids, sans Josh, will be home this year which will be nice, but of course, not the same as it was before.   So it is two-fold, a double-whammy: grief over our loss but also grief over what will never be.

I have been watching The Voice and one song in particular, has resonated.  "Over You" was written by Blake Shelton and his wife Miranda Lambert, in memory of his older brother who died in a car accident when Blake was a teenager - see YouTube video of the performance.

"Over You"

Weather man said it’s gonna snow

By now I should be used to the cold

Mid-February shouldn’t be so scary

It was only December

I still remember the presents, the tree, you and me

But you went away

How dare you?

I miss you

They say I’ll be OK

But I’m not going to ever get over you

Living alone here in this place

I think of you, and I’m not afraid

Your favorite records make me feel better

Cause you sing along

With every song

It really sinks in, you know, when I see it in stone

But you went away

How dare you?

I miss you

They say I’ll be OK

But I’m not going to ever get over you

At the park, loved ones are remembered with mini trees, wreaths and poinsettias; bursts of red, white and green pepper the serene grounds.  Dear friends sent me ornaments for Josh's tree which I put up last weekend, along with his wreath - in Seahawks blue and Saxon green.

RIP Josh.
We love and miss you.

Original Poem: "Work of the Living"

On a recent business trip to Norfolk, VA, I wandered into a local bookstore and found an anthology of poems edited by Harold Bloom called Till I End My Song: A Gathering of Last Poems.

These last phrases are taken from a particularly poignant poem by A. R. Ammons called "In View of the Fact."

...until we die we will remember every
single thing, recall every word, love every 

loss: then we will, as we must, leave it to
others to love, love that can grow brighter 

and deeper till the very end, gaining strength
and getting more precious all the way....

In the margins I wrote, "work of the living" which then brought my mind back to the work we had to do after the awful discovery. 

Work of the Living

by Sue Anderson

When the dead die,

     their job is done.

Not so with the living

    whose labor has just begun.

Unfair, unsolicited work

    is thrust on the living,

While the dead rest:

    calm, at peace, in a sleep-like state.

Not so for us:

    people to call,

    explanations to make,

    family to greet,

    friends to hug.

The house swells with those

    coming to do their job:

    Remember the dead.

To do lists:

    funeral to arrange,

    service to organize,

    casket to choose,

    burial ground to pick,

    pictures to sort,

    final clothes to gather.

While the dead rest

    and wait for their final hurrah,

    calm, oblivious to all.

Not to mention the tears,

    floodgates open.

Who knew the volume of brine

    that could come from within?

Grief

    she is a relentless taskmaster;

    non-existent in the past,

    omnipresent now.

Do the dead know

    what work has been place on their loved ones?

If they knew, would they have:

    jumped,

    shot,

    swallowed,

    sliced or

    hung?

Over time; however, 

    the work does lessen.

The load seems lighter,

    the burden status quo.

The job now is to light the candle

    of eternal remembrance,

Letting it shine in the world's dark spaces,

    to prevent other such deaths.

It is our job now,

    24/7.

NEVER FORGET

November 18, 2012 - 3 Years and 8 Months Later

Josh has been top-of-mind lately.  You see, over the past few weeks, we have been preparing for a bar fundraiser (our second) for the Josh Anderson Foundation (JAF).  It was held Thursday night at The Tavern in Great Falls and was another success, matching the amount raised at our March fundraiser.  See this post for more details and slideshow.

But what was truly heartwarming about the evening was the incredible community support for our family, for Josh, for JAF and ultimately, for the young people in our area that we are trying to reach.  In numerous conversations with new supporters, heads were nodding as I stated the obvious: teens today face tremendous pressure, academically and socially along with expectations to excel in athletics and/or extra-curricular activities.  Combine this with issues that may be occurring at home and one can see the "perfect storm" for mental health deterioration.

Therefore the statistics in the 2011-2012 Fairfax County Youth Survey ( 31,106 students in 8th, 10th and 12th grades) are alarming but not surprising.  Almost one in three students (29.2%) reported "depressive symptoms in the past year" which means "feeling so sad or helpless for two or more weeks in a row that they stopped doing usual activities."   FCPS's 10th and 12th grader percentages are higher than the national average.

Students were asked if they had seriously considered suicide in the past year.  Affirmative responses were reported from one in five girls and one in eight boys.  Once again, FCPS's 10th and 12 graders are higher than the national average.

4% of students reported actually attempting suicide.  It is good to see that our 10th and 12th graders are below the national average; however, in absolute numbers, we are talking about over 1,200 of our kids attempting to end their lives!

In our work with local schools, it is encouraging to see that school administrators, counselors, schools psychologists and social workers as well as PTSA presidents all understand that our kids are at risk and are eager to partner with us. As a result, true inroads and impact are being made in local high schools and one middle school - see flyer.

So last Thursday was about community and a demonstration of the adage, "It takes a village to raise a child".   It was about people of all age groups coming together to show support financially and/or with their time for the Josh Anderson Foundation, born out of tragedy, that seeks to prevent other needless teen deaths.   We are making a difference.  Josh's death is not in vain.

All this was swirling through my head when a dear friend asked me, "How are you doing?"

I was thinking about this while on vacation in California at the end of last month.  I have been in contact with two moms who have lost their sons earlier this year - one by suicide, the other by an accidental drug overdose.  They are just starting their grief journey whereas for me, it has been well over three years.  They are facing their first holidays without their beloved boys; it is my fourth.  I can tell their grief is so raw and acute whereas mine is a dull ache.  At every moment they are reminded of their loss; for me, Josh's absence is a sad fact of life.

All this makes me realize that I am at a different place, doing what I never thought possible in the early months - I have moved on, while taking Josh with me.  I do not feel stuck in "grief quicksand", for which I am grateful.

Another thing that I've noticed is that my memories are no longer overshadowed by his death.  I can now look back in time, remember a certain event, gesture, comment, facial expression or interaction and see it clearly - without pain.

The dark, grey clouds that colored my landscape those early months; swirling, relentless and all-encompassing have lifted.  I cannot point to a specific moment when they dissipated; it must have happened gradually, over time, while putting one foot in front of the other.

Back to the question:  How am I doing?  Thanks to all the support from family and friends, I think I am doing okay, and not just flippant okay, but really, genuinely and sincerely okay.

RIP Josh.
We love and miss you.

October 18, 2012 - 3 Years and 7 Months Later

Once again, another month has gone by and it appears that my blog posts will be relegated to the frequency of these anniversaries.   There are times that I sit down to write, but nothing comes to mind.  I don't find it appropriate to share about mundane daily activities that fill my days.  For example, outside of my full-time job and working out several times a week, what is the significance of my sudden interest in WWI and WWII after reading the two tomes from Ken Follett: Fall of Giants and Winter of the World, then watching HBO's Band of Brothers and now reading the book from Stephen Ambrose?

And what does it matter that I am so disappointed in the Red Sox that I stopped paying attention in August; was hoping the Nationals would move on in the playoffs so baseball would hold some interest; wish the Patriots would play 60 minutes of football; am loving a new show (for me), The Voice; have lost interest in Glee and continue to like Homeland, The Good Wife and Blue Bloods?

Is this a sign that life has somewhat normalized for me?  That while I think about Josh every day, it is more in the vein of my other three kids, which means that his death is no longer front and center?  Could it be that I am "moving on"?  And if so, how do I feel about this?  The cursor keeps blinking while pondering.  I am not sure, so make a note-to-self; write about this in my next journal entry.  Whether I do or not, who knows, but at least the question is in my conscious.

In the meantime, Lauren's work with the Josh Anderson Foundation (JAF) is picking up.  We co-sponsored the powerful Active Mind's Send Silence Packing display on the University of Virginia's lawn" on October 4th.  Click here to see their blog post of the event.

Lauren had an opportunity to share with other students about that fateful day, when as a 4th year student at UVA, she learned of the devastating news that would change her life and work.  Click here to see the video.

We continue to make in-roads at local high schools and are being asked to fund a number of programs that will reach teens, our foundation's target audience; so much so, that we are considering an "emergency" bar fundraiser this fall so that we have enough money to last until the annual half/full marathon run fundraiser in March, 2013.   A good problem to have.

All in memory of Josh - whom we love and miss more than ever.

September 18, 2012 - Three and Half Years Later

It has now been 3.5 years since Josh decided to leave us.  This might be a good time to take stock of where I am in my grief journey.

I continue to ask the unanswerable question, "why, Josh, why?" and still struggle with disbelief; not denial, but disbelief - there is a difference.  Guilt and her close cousin, Regret remain constant companions.  I visit Josh every weekend except when traveling, and write my weekly letter to him.  I do not ever foresee stopping this ritual.

I continue to find solace, comfort and illumination in books, most recently in the ancient Greek and Roman epics and tragedies.  A secret wish is to go back to college and pursue a literature degree.

Outside of my full-time job, I teach a couple of spin classes a week and have added running and Bikram yoga to my regular fitness routine.  The fact that I have continued exercising after Josh's death has probably helped me more than I give it credit.  I should ponder this further and perhaps write a post on this subject.

I have little to no patience with people consumed with the superficial, external, frivolous, shallow and trivial matters of life.  That probably sounds harsh but is true.

In contrast, Josh's death has brought a depth to all of my relationships: with my surviving children, extended family and friends who knew him.   I remain in periodic contact with several of Josh's friends which is a source of great comfort.

Fall always makes me think of football so I have thought about watching the highlight video of Josh's last football season but don't think I can.  We also have pictures and video of the memorial service, neither of which I have seen and not sure if I ever will.  I have not gone through his closet or desk - everything has remained as it was a couple of weeks afterwards when Tyler cleared/straightened things up (I could not go into Josh's room for that was where I found him).

I find hope in The Josh Anderson Foundation whose mission is "to provide teenagers with the mental health education, resources and support so that they will never turn to suicide."  It is critical that we educate the adolescent's mind, for in their darkest hour, if they do not reach out for help, the vulnerable teen who is seriously contemplating death must stop that dangerous dance.  Which means in effect, they are their own last line of defense.

With Lauren's focus on the foundation full-time, a good start was made in local high schools last spring.  I hope we can bring meaningful programs to many more schools this year.

I am excited that we are going to help bring the Send Silence Packing display to UVA's lawn on October 4th.   We funded the display in Fairfax, VA - see Gillian's moving You Tube video of the event.  I wish high schools would allow the display on their football fields for the student body - I guarantee the impact would be huge, perhaps bigger than anything else we could do.

I appreciate when high profile individuals have the courage to share their struggles with depression and even more pointedly, with suicide.  Tim and I watched an interview with Christina Kim, popular LPGA golfer in which she admitted to both.  She writes on a blog which Tim found for me - here is her "coming out" post.

Tyler forwarded me a post that he found via Facebook.  This guy, Chris Gethard, hosts a very popular comedy/variety late night show and took the time to respond to a fan who was suicidal.  The post is very raw and the language is explicit but comes directly from the heart.  I wish Josh could've read something like this on that fateful night.

http://thechrisgethardshow.tumblr.com/post/31345619495/for-gethard-anonymous-asks-gethard-i-know-youve

RIP beloved son.  Missed and loved now more than ever.

Love,
Mom

"He Who Learns Must Suffer" (Aeschylus)

In a recent journal entry, I wrote, "I feel as though I am shriveling up inside."  This doesn't sound very healthy and to be honest, surprised me so I continued writing....

I feel like I am slowly shriveling up inside - or better said, contracting within myself - bringing the world around me into a close circle: my home, my family, my work and that's about it.  My "people world" is very small and only by necessity.  Truthfully, I find being with people and making conversation, exhausting.     

But my internal world has expanded for I have gone back in time, all the way to the ancient Greek and Roman writers, and to Shakespeare in the Elizabethan time and have found a newly discovered genre, tragedy, from which to garner meaning around our own tragic experience. 

In my journal, I did reflect that Tim has continued seeking and expanding his external world which is fine - just another way that we have handled our grief differently.

So my physical world has contracted but my mental world has expanded, via my reading.  For in the past few months I have read the following works:

• The Iliad and The Odyssey of Homer
• The Aeneid by Virgil
• All seven extant plays by Greek tragedian, Sophocles
• The first play, Agamemnon, in the Oresteia trilogy by Aeschylus
• The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton
• Seven major tragedies of Shakespeare

To supplement my reading, I have checked out from my local library and listened to several audio courses from The Teaching Company; my favorites being on The Iliad, The Odyssey and The Aeneid  by Professor Elizabeth Vandiver.

What is it about these ancient works that have spoken to me, touched my heart and have provided inspiration, guidance and just plain "food for thought"?  I think it is summed up in the following quote:

God, whose law it is that he who learns must suffer.  And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despite, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.   

(Aeschylus in Agamemnon, quoted by Edith Hamilton in The Greek Way).

The works of the four greatest tragedians (Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides and Shakespeare) have explored the depths of human pain and suffering and the resulting dignity, resiliency and fortitude of the human spirit.  Lessons abound in these works.  And Aristotle is right - a catharsis does occur when reading or viewing tragedy, which is a difficult paradox to explain.  How is it that I feel purged, cleansed or more connected to my own deep feelings when I see or read about the suffering of others?

I googled the beginning of the above quote and found a talk given by Herbert Golder to The Alpha Omega Counsel in January 2010 called The Greek Invention of the Human.   Of special interest was the part where he talks about how Jackie Kennedy gave her brother-in-law, Bobby, a copy of The Greek Way, saying it was one of JFK's favorite books.  Bobby had been devastated by his brother's assassination and was unable to find solace anywhere.  This book helped so much that he took it everywhere, memorizing the quote from Agamemnon.   Just what did Kennedy find in the Greeks?  The same thing I did.

A civilization eager to look death in the face, but one that seemed to draw strength from what it found there.  The more the ancient Greeks pondered the transience and fragility and pain of human life, the more convinced they became of its dignity and its significance...So what Kennedy found in the Greeks was an ethos that embraced the tragic complexity of life and didn't back away from it, that wasn't afraid of it, embraced it, but drew strength from it and not defeat....Freedom to choose - the courage, the manner, and the dignity with which one confronts that fate; to turn death, to which we are all bound, into destiny. 

I wrote these quotes from Golder's talk in my journal because they express the relevance of the ancient works to our times, for despite how different my life is to those who lived in the 5th century BC or in Shakespeare's time, our hearts and souls are the same.

Here is a list of posts from my reading:

Dec 12, 2011 -  Quote from Romeo and Juliet
Feb 12, 2012 - Book review: Macbeth by Shakespeare
Feb. 26, 2012 - Thoughts for grieving parents from Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet
Feb 26, 2012 - Teenage suicidal ideation in Romeo and Juliet
March 31, 2012 - Book review - The Iliad of Homer
June 5, 2012 - Death, grief and suicide in Hamlet - Part I
June 8. 2012 - Death, grief and suicide in Hamlet - Part II
June 23, 2012 - The grief of Achilles in The Iliad
July 28, 2012 - Book review - Othello by Shakespeare
July 29, 2012 - Book review - Oedipus the King by Sophocles
July 29, 2012 - Book review: The Aeneid by Virgil

RIP Josh. I am learning through my suffering but it has come at a horrible cost.  I would gladly give it all back and be my old ignorant self - to have you here.

Three Years and Five Months Later - August 18, 2012

I am off this weekend to move Gillian to NYC.  Too bad Josh were not here; he would enjoy a short weekend in the city, seeing his baby cousin and eating lunch at Katz - he loved their pastrami sandwiches. 

I want to share another poem from Billy Collins - it is actually the one that titles the collection.

Horoscopes for the Dead
by Billy Collins

Every morning since you disappeared for good, 

I read about you in the daily paper

along with the box scores, the weather, and all the bad news. 

Some days I am reminded that today

will not be a wildly romantic time for you,

nor will you be challenged by educational goals,

nor will you need to be circumspect at the workplace.

Another day, I learn that you should not miss

an opportunity to travel and make new friends

though you never cared much about either. 

I can't imagine you ever facing a new problem

with a positive attitude, but you will definitely not

be doing that, or anything like that, on this weekday in March.

And the same goes for the fun

you might have gotten from group activities,

a likelihood attributed to everyone under your sign.

A dramatic rise in income may be a reason

to treat yourself, but that would apply 

more to all the Pisces who are still alive,

still swimming up and down the stream of life

or suspended in a pool in the shade of an overhanging tree.

But you will be relieved to learn

that you no longer need to reflect carefully before acting,

nor do you have to think more of others,

and never again will creative work take a back seat

to the business responsibilities that you never really had.

And don't worry today or any day

about problems caused by your unwillingness

to interact rationally with your many associates.

No more goals for you, no more romance,

no more money or children, jobs or important tasks,

but then again, you were never thus encumbered.

So leave it up to me now

to plan carefully for success and the wealth it may bring,

to value the dear ones close to my heart,

and to welcome any intellectual stimulation that comes my way

though that sounds like a lot to get done on a Tuesday.

I am better off closing the newspaper,

putting on the clothes I wore yesterday

(when I read that your financial prospects were looking up)

then pushing off on my copper-colored bicycle

and pedaling along the shore road by the bay.

And you stay just as you are,

lying there in your beautiful blue suit,

your hands crossed on your chest

like the wings of a bird who has flown

in its strange migration not north or south

but straight up from earth

and pierced the enormous circle of the zodiac.

Josh - I wish you were still swimming in the "stream of life" with us and all your friends.  We miss you.   

Poem: "Grave" by Billy Collins

We are on vacation - our fourth without Josh.  I keep thinking what he would be doing if he were with us.  For example - would he have gotten up to play morning rounds of golf or hiked the mountain or would he have wanted to sleep in?  Probably the latter.   I know he would've loved The Dark Knight Rises, the new Batman movie that Gillian and I saw yesterday.  We did some shopping at the outlet stores before the movie; it is still hard for me to walk through the men's section in places like The Gap.   There are too many things that I can picture him wearing. 

While at a bookstore in Wellesley, MA, the title of a collection of poems, Horoscopes for the Dead by Billy Collins caught my eye.  He was the US Poet Laureate from 2001 - 2003 and the Poet Laureate of NY from 2004 - 2006.  His poems are refreshingly accessible; written about everyday events in everyday language, albeit in surprising, witty and whimsical ways.

This is the first poem in the collection - poignant and touching.

Grave

by Billy Collins

What do you think of my new glasses

I asked as I stood under a shade tree

before the joined grave of my parents,

and what followed was a long silence

that descended on the rows of the dead

and on the fields and the woods beyond,

one of the one hundred kinds of silence

according to the Chinese belief,

each one distinct from the others,

but the differences being so faint

that only a few special monks

were able to tell them all apart.

They make you look very scholarly,

I heard my mother say

once I lay down on the ground

and pressed an ear into the soft grass.

Then I rolled over and pressed

my other ear to the ground,

the ear my father likes to speak into,

but he would say nothing,

and I could not find a silence

among the 100 Chinese silences

that would fit the one that he created

even though I was the one

who had just made up the business

of the 100 Chinese silences -

the Silence of the Night Boat

and the Silence of the Lotus, 

cousin to the Silence of the Temple Bell

only deeper and softer, like petals, at its farthest edges.


RIP Josh - forever loved and missed.

"Pain Is The Great Teacher" - Three Years and Four Months Later

Last month, I found a new genre of books which closely resemble the memoir; it is published diaries.   I read a few books about such journal writers - see this post if interested.

In one such book, The Hidden Writer: Diaries and the Creative Life, Alexandra Johnson focuses on the lives and journals of a few - the one whom I quote below is May Sarton; a struggling poet and novelist who became famous later in life for her published diary, Journal of a Solitude. 

Pain is the great teacher.  I woke before dawn with this thought.  Joy, happiness, are what we take and do not question.  They are beyond question, maybe.  A matter of being.  But pain forces us to think, and to make connections, to sort out what is what, to discover what has been happening to cause it.  And, curiously enough, pain draws us to other human beings in a significant way, whereas joy or happiness to some extent, isolates.

I like this quote very much; it is succinct and feels true.  What can be learnt from joy or happiness?  As she says, they are states of being that we may aspire to obtain but then what?  Once there, isn't it simply a matter of enjoying and hoping to prolong that state of bliss?

Pain is a different story.  Pain is the great teacher.  I think of physical pain first.  When everything in the body is functioning as it should, we are pain-free.  Again, nothing to learn.  But when there is pain, we know something is wrong and are motivated to address it.  X-rays, MRI's, CAT scans can disclose the culprit.  The cause and effect is more readily seen.  If the ankle is broken, one cannot walk.

Then I think of mental and emotional pain - internal pain of the mind, of the interior, of the soul.  The symptoms are more vague and often hard to describe.  How does one accurately depict what is going on inside their head?  Their feelings?  In a way that others can understand?    I feel bad, I feel sad, I feel empty, my mind won't stop racing, I feel someone has high-jacked my mind, etc. 

It is this internal pain, within teens, that the Josh Anderson Foundation wants to acknowledge and address: by broadcasting loud and clear that it is OK to be open with their feelings and the craziness that sometimes spins around in their head;  by busting the mental health stigma that traps them into silent suffering; by letting them know where and to whom they can turn to for help.  All this so that NO other child will turn to suicide as THE solution to their pain.

My last thought on this is that pain does cause solidarity.  A brotherhood.  Suffering alone intensifies the pain.  Shared pain is lessened pain.  This is why people gather at funerals.  Why so many kids came to Josh's memorial service; they all felt pain and wanted to be with others that felt the same way.  And seeing all of them lessened mine. It was a cathartic gathering that provided the opportunity to say a collective "good-bye" to a beloved son and friend.

RIP Josh.  I am so sorry that we did not see your pain, that you could not share your pain with us and that this pain became so excruciating and unbearable that you could not see a way out.   I wish I had known - I would have helped you through it.  And I know many others would have been willing helpers too.