THANKSGIVINGS PAST - by Judy Waldo Bracken

We lived in Hobbs, New Mexico. It was Thanksgiving Day, cool and crisp outside. The two males in my life at the time — a blond 29-month-old toddler, and a tall, handsome 31-year-old man — filled my home with love. I was hugely pregnant and ready to pop, due in 9 days.

Cameron, my first son, had been born 10 days early, so it was entirely possible that I’d have a Thanksgiving baby. And I'd been having some of those familiar “birthing” twinges all day long. Questions filled my mind. If I ate a big meal would it interfere with the delivery? Would I have to have an enema or something unpleasant like that? My mother was supposed to visit in three days to stay with Cameron. What would we do with him if the birth happened sooner? 

We decided to go on as if all was normal, cooking a delicious turkey dinner and taking a walk afterwards. We put Cameron to bed and relaxed for a bit before settling in ourselves. And guess what? As soon as I laid down, I began having strong contractions at regular intervals. We waited about 45 minutes, and as the intensity increased, we decided to go to the hospital. After a few quick calls, arrangements were made with a neighbor to take Cameron and we rushed off.

When we arrived around 11:30 p.m., I was taken right away into the delivery room. Our regular doctor showed up, but he was not feeling well. Apparently, he'd eaten something earlier that day that didn’t agree with him. He had to keep leaving the room; thank goodness we had a capable nurse assisting. In no time at all, right after 1 a.m. my second child was born. A healthy 6 1/2 pound baby boy, delivered mostly by the nurse. He wasn’t born on Thanksgiving, but Ryland’s birthday now falls on or around that holiday every year. 

Ryland grew up, becoming a top student, an athlete, and an Eagle Scout. He had a great sense of humor and enjoyed friends and computers. Seven years ago, while a senior in college, he had his first psychotic break and has struggled with serious mental illness ever since.

This year, for Thanksgiving, Ryland was in a locked care facility. His dad passed away three years ago from an aggressive cancer. His younger brother and I enjoyed Thanksgiving lunch at the facility with him and some other families. For his birthday, we took him on a picnic — his first outing in months. Thanksgiving, this year, was much different from Thanksgiving 29 years ago.

I’m so thankful that Ryland is getting the care he needs—thankful that he is still here and we can be together.

Judy, Ryland, and StewartThanksgiving Day 2017

Judy, Ryland, and Stewart
Thanksgiving Day 2017

OH, WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR CAN MAKE by Christi Anne

Oh, what a difference a year can make! 

My son, Ryan, has just realized a long held dream and vision for himself. He's enrolled in a job training program at the Marc Center and will be participating in employment enclaves earning $10.00 an hour. Ryan experienced his first psychiatric break in 2006 and was not well enough to work for over 10 years.

Just one year ago, Ryan was in crisis, experiencing psychosis, and needed to be hospitalized. Earlier in the day, he'd been served with an immediate eviction notice and was facing homelessness. He was frightened and refusing to leave his home.

Ryan's treatment team petitioned to amend his court ordered treatment. A judge signed the petition for involuntary treatment and a pick up order was sent to the Glendale Police Department. At approximately 6 p.m. on November 10, 2016, a swat team surrounded my son's house and began what would end up as a six hour negotiation. As a last resort, officers broke out the windows of the house and threw in tear gas and smoke bombs. Ryan huddled under his blankets on his bed and stayed in the house for 20 more minutes. Finally, the swat team forced entry and shot Ryan with beanbag guns In order to remove him from his home. 

Ryan spent the next 4 four months as an inpatient at a psychiatric hospital. The psychiatrist suggested we put Ryan on the big gun of psychiatric medications, Clozaril, because no other medication had worked. The medication is working and Ryan continues to improve. He's had minor setbacks over the last year but always gets right back on track. 

I look back over the last ten years and know how hopeless it once seemed. I see how far Ryan's come and it's nothing short of miraculous. If I've learned anything, it's to take one day at a time and celebrate each victory. Never give up. Never ever lose hope. Ryan's story isn't over and neither is yours.

Oh, what a difference a year can make!

Watch Christi's tribute to her son. Click on  Ryan Weeks The Overcomer

Ryan

Ryan

MY HOLIDAY STORY by Mary Barksdale

I grew up with large Thanksgiving and Christmas family get togethers and celebrations. So many happy childhood memories from these gatherings.

As time passed, things changed. As time passed, so did our family members. Some to death and others to the lives they were living. My adult holidays evolved into care-giver events. In the 1960s. my brother was diagnosed with a serious mental illness. Our holiday traditions depended on whether he was well enough to come home or whether we needed to be where he was. Later, my father's Alzheimer's disease dictated how we would celebrate the holidays.

In 2003, I got to see all three of my sons together for the first time in too many years. The eldest, being career Navy, could not get home often. Then, on January 2, 2004, my middle son, who had a serious mental illness, killed two police officers he believed were aliens.

The last few years Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent with my mother, who had dementia, in her assisted living facility. She passed away in September at age 103 1/2. (She wouldn't want you to forget the 1/2.) 

On Thursday, I'll spend the first holiday, ever, all by myself.

Mary's boys: Will, Farron, and Phillip

Mary's boys: Will, Farron, and Phillip

Read Mary's October 26, 2016 post: "Losing Farron."

BETWEEN NOW AND THE NEXT FULL MOON by Judy Waldo Bracken

Checking my calendar, I see that my next scheduled event is the full moon, over a week from today. Really? That seems impossible. Perhaps I’ve forgotten to write something down — an appointment, a phone call reminder, a volunteer commitment, or meeting. But no, it all seems to be in order. 

I’ve been trying to clear my calendar for months, years really, and I never actually thought it would happen. Trying to clear it so that I’d be open for the next crisis, the next call from the hospital, the alert from the police, the doctor visit, or the call from my son talking in nonsense statements. Whatever it was, I needed to be unscheduled to avoid the disappointment of having to cancel my plans due to that ever present possibility of a crisis. 

Why would I do this? Why do I feel I have to put my life on hold when someone in my family is not doing well? In looking deeper, I realize how unfair I’m being to myself. I am healthy and strong, independent, financially secure, with plenty of time on my hands. Instead of feeling free, I’m filled with a deep sense of emptiness. Empty nest, empty house, empty calendar. For some reason I’ve been conditioned to put my own sense of fulfillment aside until everyone in my family is happy and healthy. 

It’s time to put something new on my calendar. It’s time to take an “about face” in my thought patterns. It’s time to realize my own happiness is not so dependent on others. It’s time to accept the new family paradigm that includes my mentally ill son as he is or may be with the proper help. It’s time to realize that the challenges that turn our lives upside down and inside out can actually be experiences that strengthen and broaden us and our views of the world. It’s time to draw from my own strength and to continue to fight for my son. It’s time to be content with my life as things are right now. 

The fall leaf colors in my backyard are indescribably beautiful. The dog snuggling next to me is soft and warm. My muscles are exercised from a vigorous swim workout this morning. I’m breathing and my heart is steadily beating. My calendar is empty, but there is plenty to do and think about between now and the next full moon.

Judy and her sons, Cameron, Ryland, and Stewart with Shorty at the memorial tree for Judy's husband, Bryan, three years ago.

Judy and her sons, Cameron, Ryland, and Stewart with Shorty at the memorial tree for Judy's husband, Bryan, three years ago.

LORD, HAVE MERCY ON US ALL by Anne Schmidt Francisco

I've been scared a lot in life, but only one thing has left such fearful, indelible impressions on my mind. That is experiencing and living inside the third world reality that families like mine endure and fight against. Loving someone who is unaware of his broken brain, who lunges like a speeding train toward the horrors imposed by a society that is neglectful and uncaring. Today, and many days, I feel fearful and afraid. I can't erase the ugly nightmares along the road of losing Josh, nor the suffering of other families. Lord, have mercy on us all.

Anne & Josh

Anne & Josh

Anne writes: This is the last day I saw Josh smile. Delusions of grandeur prevailed in his mind. It was the next day that police took him into custody. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter of incarceration and solitary confinement that ended in his death in prison 19 months later.