HAPPY PIC

A proper California fire.

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

THERE'S NO LIMIT TO WHAT A MOTHER WILL DO by Theresa Assunto

My father told me, "No one said life was fair,
Put a smile on your face cause the world doesn't care.
Our family's there to help you through."
I found out that this isn't true.
I wish they'd help - an ear to listen, a heart to care.
They can't understand mental illness from fear.
Fear that it's in their blood and, if it's true,
It can happen to their children, too.
So they blame me, my husband, my son.
It must be something that we have done.
I struggle alone to understand the disease you can't see.
I wish for the person my son used to be.
I'll do anything, fight anyone, learn all I can
I wish I'd known when this illness began.
I could have helped my son sooner, maybe.
I should have listened to the mother in me.
There are days I cry for the future I dreamed he would live.
I cry because sometimes I think I've given all I can give.
I cry because I'm loving a boy who can hurt me so,
Feeling guilty because I can't take more, I want to let go.
Then the days happen when I see him once more,
The son with the gentle soul I adore.
He will fight this fight and I will too.
There's no limit to what a mother will do.
My world has become all about this disease,
Praying to God to help him please.
Tomorrow's another day and I fear how it will go
I have painfully learned that I never know.
Some day I believe we'll rise from this storm,
Until then I'll fight, and I will be strong.

TAHLEQUAH & MOURNINGMOM: A TALE OF TWO MOTHERS by Dede Ranahan

Tahlequah, the mother of the dead orca, pushes her baby's body through the water as the world watches with horror and empathy. I feel this mother’s pain.

Mourningmom, the mother of a child with serious mental illness, fights for her disabled daughter as the world watches with judgment and disinterest. I feel this mother’s pain.

Tahlequah's grief brings attention to her endangered orca pod. A young orca appears to be starving. Scientists are tracking her and trying to feed her.

Mourningmom's grief does not bring attention to our fractured mental health system. It isn't tracking ill sons and daughters to make sure they get help.

Tahlequah’s devotion concerns whale watchers and other whales, including her son. Her attempt to keep her daughter afloat, for 17 days and 1,000 miles, could take a toll. Family members share their fish with her.

Mourningmom's devotion concerns one or two. Her struggle — for years and years — is taking a toll on her mind, body, and spirit. Family members retreat — from fear or from not knowing what to do.

No one will force Tahlequah to give up her calf before she is ready. (She carried it for 17 months and the live baby swam by her side.) Her maternal bond is too strong.

Everyone will force Mourningmom to give up her child — to lifelong suffering, to homelessness, to prison, to death — but she'll never be ready. Her maternal bond is too strong.

Photo Credit: bleeding_soul_88/Flickr.com

HAPPY PIC

From the order Clypeasteroida:  A sand dollar for you.

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

WHAT PARENTS WANT FOR THE SERIOUSLY MENTALLY ILL by Dede Ranahan

A couple months ago, I was asked to write an opinion piece that became part of a week-long series on Pete Earley. I'm reposting it here with his permission.

Mother of Son Who Died In Psych Ward Asks NAMI To Do More. What Parents Want For The Seriously Mentally Ill

Posted: 11 Jul 2018 04:30 AM PDTMother of Son Who Died In Psych Ward Asks NAMI To Do More. What Parents Want For The Seriously Mentally Ill

(7-11-18) This is the second in a series of blogs about a telephone call conducted by a strategic consulting group hired by the National Alliance on Mental Illness that was held with parents of individuals with serious mental illnesses. A majority of the participants on that call were members of an organization called the National Shattering Silence Coalition.  Most were long time NAMI activists which is why I agreed to post their blogs. You can disagree or agree by commenting on my Facebook page. )

What NAMI Needs To Do by Dede Ranahan

My son, Patrick, suffered from serious mental illness (SMI). In 2014, he died in a hospital psych ward where I thought he’d be safe.

So why am I still here as a steering committee member of National Shattering Silence Coalition, and as a former Mental Health Policy Director for NAMI California? Passion, I guess.

An inability to walk away from so much suffering. 

In 2016, I set up a website and blog in honor of Pat’s life and memory. I began posting two stories a week from SMI family members.

This blog has turned into a first-person testament and running record of the horrors and struggles SMI families go through.

It documents their efforts  to try to get help for their loved ones. It highlights the voices of those who are losing their children to prison, the street, and/or to death. If NAMI is sincere about wanting to hear us and help us, it may be worth its members time to visit this website at Sooner Than Tomorrow: A Safe Place To Talk About Mental Illness In Our Families. 

On the recent phone call with NAMI’s strategic planning consultants, I listed seven points that I, as a parent and advocate, want NAMI National and the affiliates to give import and attention to:

1) Establishment of a Family SMI Council. NSSC wants to work within NAMI not outside it. It wasn’t clear on the phone call that this request is being given serious consideration.

2) Reclassification of SMI as brain/physical diseases. This would be a first step to gaining more parity in mental health care and more funding for research. It would also address stigma.

3) Remaking of HIPAA. When my son was on his last hospital journey, I couldn’t get a doctor to talk to me. I was on my son’s Advance Care Directive which we filled out together in good faith but that didn’t matter. Finally, after three weeks, a doctor called. He said, “I’m sorry. Your son died fifteen minutes ago.”

4) Assisted Outpatient Treatment promotion with regulations that it be delivered with respect and compassion.

5) Repeal of the IMD exclusion.  Sleeping on the ground is not better than sleeping in a bed.

6) Peer/Family Reconciliation: This point is a big one for me. When I worked for NAMI California over ten years ago, I wasn’t prepared for the hate and loathing that flew my direction from consumers who wanted nothing to do with talk about involuntary treatment, family rights, and anosognosia. I got it. These peers had suffered at the hands of our medical and judicial systems. They were competent and wanted to make independent decisions for themselves.

But families like mine had different stories about people so ill they couldn’t make good decisions for themselves, would never achieve meaningful recovery, and, if not for their families, would be in much worse circumstances.

Can we please acknowledge that all of us, peers and families, are suffering and that everyone’s experience is valid? Can we simultaneously acknowledge that everyone’s experience is not the same? We must seek a range of solutions to address needs across a spectrum. We need peers and families to work together.

7) Incarceration Reform: On my blog, I’m beginning to exchange correspondence with some mentally ill inmates in the California prison system. On 6/26/2018, I received a letter from a patient in a prison hospital psych ward. He writes:
“I’m at the mental hospital now and a lot of way out things happen here and it’s like no one cares for anyone here and a lot of people here don’t even belong in prison because they’re so far gone. It’s sad they even got convicted when you can clearly see they weren’t ever stable. I find myself trying to help them and get yelled at by the cops to mind my own business like they thrive on their suffering. It’s disgusting. My toilet was broken for two weeks with piles of feces in it. I asked if I could eat my lunch in the dayroom cause the smells made me nauseous and they said, ‘No, I got to eat in my cell.’ I felt dehumanized like I was some kind of animal.” 

NAMI must promote treatment not prison. It must be a watchdog against criminal and inhumane care of mentally ill prisoners.

This is a big, overwhelming list. I didn’t even mention the need for supported housing, for supported education, and for mental health/illness practitioners. There are many moving parts that must be prioritized and synchronized. NSSC wants to work with NAMI to address these issues.

Photo of my son before our world came undone.

About the Author: (Taken from National Shattering the Silence website ) Dede Ranahan established the Institute for Mental Illness and Wellness Education at Cal State Hayward, served as walk director for the first two NAMI walks in San Francisco, and was the first Mental Health Services Act Policy Director for NAMI California.

She also created the website, Sooner Than Tomorrow, A Safe Place to Talk About Mental Illness in Our Families. One section of the website publishes first person stories of families with serious mental illness. Another contains a diary that she kept from 2013 to 2014 not realizing she was capturing the last year of her son’s life. He died in 2014 on a psych ward where she thought he’d be safe.

Dede’s essay about serious mental illness, “A Canary in the Coal Mine,” is included in a new book, We Rise to Resist: Voices from a New Era in Women’s Political Action  available on Amazon.

The post Mother of Son Who Died In Psych Ward Asks NAMI To Do More. What Parents Want For The Seriously Mentally Ill appeared first on Pete Earley  

A PROBLEM SHARED IS A PROBLEM HALVED by Mara Briere

In my case, I've come to the realization that, although very much impacted by serious mental illness in many of my family members, I rarely talk about what it looks like and feels like — to me. It is, of course, the biggest motivator towards my founding the organization Grow a Strong Family for family members to receive the information and support so desperately needed. I realize there's a healing power in sharing these deeply felt emotions and, as is taught in 12 step programs, a problem shared is a problem halved.

When I was five, my family moved from a veteran’s development in Flushing, New York to live in my grandparents' two family house in Bayside. This was a big move from a relatively crowded neighborhood to a quiet suburban community. My grandfather was retired and became a founding member of AA in Queens, New York. My grandma was manic-depressive (now referred to as bipolar) and in and out of the hospital. The move meant that my mom would take care of us (two little girls, five and nine) and her mother. It was the time when lithium was first introduced and little was known about it. The state hospitals were colonies where the very sick would live out their lives. In the middle were the occasional “regulars,” like my grandma, who'd become too sick (manic and not sleeping for a week before plummeting to suicide attempts or immobility and staying in bed for weeks on end) and return home when stable only to return as another episode would strike. It became our job to monitor grandma. We'd call mom, mom would have her hospitalized, and then grandpa would get her when she was ready to come home. Mom would visit; us kids rarely. Throughout this, we didn't talk about grandma or the impact her serious mental illness was having on us.

Fast forward. I went to college to become a social worker. Although my education has since taken many turns, the influence of my grandmother's suffering and the family silence left a deep scar in my soul. I wanted better services. I really wanted more efficient communication and understanding for our family. I wanted solutions that would support the whole family.

I danced around my calling, even with education, professional training, community work, and a strong focus on family until my beloved daughter, Erika, was diagnosed with a serious mental illness at age 25. In the interim, other family members had been diagnosed and treated, but there had never been a conversation about symptoms or the impact on the family unless I brought it up.

My daughter and I were very close. She was a velcro child. She was sensitive, sweet, creative, bright, had a great sense of humor, and knew she was loved and supported no matter what. Ours was a bond I’d dreamed about since I was a child and wanted to be a mother. We had similar interests, played games together, went on trips, shared music, and enjoyed a convivial relationship. There were times, of course, when there were family issues and our family addressed them openly and honestly. We knew how to ask for and receive help. For example, after graduating with her BA, it was hard for Erika to find work. We supported her need to be independent, while managing depression, by providing financial and emotional support. Even with all that, serious mental illness distorted our relationships, caused confusion, and tore us apart.

When she was first diagnosed, Erika relied on me in ways that had never been needed before. There was a plea to “help me understand.” “Come to my med appointment with me.” “Help me with graduate school.” “Help me with my assignments.” It was hard for both of us since we were assuming uncomfortable roles.

At the time, she had an awesome prescriber who was excellent at explaining the symptoms, the illness, and how to manage it. My daughter had a strong support system and the odds looked good for her recovering from her first manic episode with little negative consequence. However, she was also making medication decisions that prolonged her instability. During this period, she recognized that she needed more frequent therapy sessions but her past therapist was unavailable. She needed me to help her find a new therapist, which I did, and I made sure to emphasize that the work needed to be around her diagnosis and how to manage it.

By the time she finally ended up on lithium, (to which she responded, “Why did I wait so long?”) the nature of her therapy work changed and focused on historical family issues. Why any therapist would do this kind of work with an unstable client is beyond me. While my daughter was getting clearer, the focus was on rewriting the past and a rift grew between us. It went from, “I need space,” to “I hate you! You've never kept me safe!” The “space” grew.

After six months, I started a campaign to reconnect by sending funny cards, postcards, cookies, and other care packages but Erika emailed me and told me to stop. She said, “I hate your attempts to buy me off. Don’t waste my time. I just throw everything away.” So, I stopped. At another point, my husband, her dad, was in the hospital and I texted her and her response was, “I don’t care.” A year later, her uncle died and I emailed her to let her know. Her response was “Send my condolences. I really don’t care.” In spite of all of this, I held onto the hope that she would stabilize and return. Her responses were very hurtful. I found myself alternating between extreme anger (retroactive abortion anyone?) to overwhelming compassion because I knew that, as much as I missed her, she had to miss me even more. I was always the "I'm here for you" person for her and her illness pushed me away.

After a couple of years of silence, Erika defaulted on the student loans I co-signed on her behalf. I called her to see about resolving the loan issue. With no response, I decided to send her the things I held in storage for her. I didn't want her to lose her childhood mementos just because I sent them so I used the name and address of someone she was in contact with as the return address. Oh, my. This caused such a ruckus. She took out a restraining order on me and dragged me to court to defend myself. That is when I found out she had changed her name. When I first received the restraining order, I said to the officer, “It's very easy to stay away from someone you don’t know.” Alas. I brought a lawyer to court with me and the order was vacated since there was no threat involved. As we left, my attorney said, “Stay away. No more contact. She’s not safe for you.” And I have. It's  been two years since that incident and there's been no contact.

I think about Erika everyday as I accept that, for her, this is what her illness looks like. She has no family support. She has no ties to her own foundation. Through her illness, she's morphed into a person I can't connect with and a way of being that is anathema to me. Yet, I miss the daughter I knew and loved. I grieve for her everyday. I want her to find her way back to me. I don't know where she is, what she's doing, or how she's doing. 

On the other hand, I still have much work to do as I'm the primary support and case manager for another family member with serious mental illness. It's an uphill battle. The work is difficult because models of care don't acknowledge serious mental illness or the lack of insight, resources, and ability.

I founded my organization because I needed to understand what was not being made clear to me as a family member. With so much focus on the identified client, the family system is ignored. The outcomes are much better for everyone when there's open communication, factual education, and an understanding of how to manage serious mental illness effectively.

Mara's organization is Grow a Strong Family, Inc.
https://growastrongfamily.org/ 
https://www.facebook.com/growastrongfamily/ 

Mara and Erika

HAPPY PIC

Ladybug on burlap.

Hope you have a good weekend everybody.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO? by Sherri McGimsey

Tomorrow, I have to go into a team meeting to discuss my son, Matthew, who suffers from schizophrenia. They want me to sign papers giving permission for them to start looking for a new placement for him. For my son and his beautiful mind. He has (for how many days?) been housed in a mental hospital ward, not the ideal place for your son to live but it’s the only place he’s been stable and safe for the past year.

After fourteen years of watching him suffer through depression, delusions, and overwhelming fear, (“Having a rough time“ — that’s what he would call the bad days) how does a parent do this? Sign their sick child away?

If you’ve never seen a young adult decompensate from schizophrenia, it’s like watching your loved one being tortured by his mind. You stand by helpless. Nothing you can do but love him enough to fight him to get the help he needs. I'm not sure if I’m brave enough to let him go after 53 odd hospitals stays, and five times tracking him down when he gets paranoid and does a walk-about. Will all the progress he's made, all the stability he's gained be lost?  

The only place they can find for him to live is far away. Too far for weekly visits, too far for passes on Saturday or Sunday afternoons, too far to cherish the few family moments this illness allows us. Moments others take for granted — to sit and relax, to walk the dogs, to just be with family.

Yesterday was the best he’s been in years. Finding a comfortable, safe, and caring place for him to live shouldn’t be so difficult. But it doesn’t exist — not for our children who suffer from serious mental illness.

So I sit here shaking and wondering if will we survive another calculated risk. Another shift that could send Matthew back into the dark of his illness. He fights the horrible betrayal of his mind, and I fight a system that is broken, and a world that really doesn’t understand the failure to help those who suffer with serious mental illness unless it happens to one of their own. 

I’m going to let this rest for now and enjoy the remainder of my day with our other son and his family. But tell me, what would you do if you had to walk into a meeting tomorrow and sign your sick child away? Would this broken system break your heart too?

Postscript:  I want to thank everyone who had us in your prayers and thoughts yesterday. You will never know how much that means when we're navigating the unknown of finding a forever home for our son with SMI. I would also like to say thank you to his team who has cared and worked to get him so stable.

I could not sign our child away.

There is no cure for schizophrenia. Stable is as good as it gets and I want Matthew this stable for as long as humanly possible. Sending you all thank you's, hugs, and love.

Matthew and Sherri

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan - GOING FORWARD

Hi Everyone,

I'm back from my blog break and posting more stories on Blog 1 (Your Stories) beginning tomorrow. My blog of Sooner Than Tomorrow - A Mother's Diary is completed. I'm leaving the blog (Blog 2) open for new readers while I research the best way to get my writing published. It's a daunting undertaking.

While attending a writer's conference, one speaker gave me this good news. She said (to the audience): "The publishing world is changing."
"If you're an unknown writer over 70, don't try to find a publisher."
"If you're an unknown writer of a memoir, don't try to find a publisher."
"If you're writing in diary format, don't try to find a publisher."
"If you're writing about mental illness, don't try to find a publisher."
"If you're writing about someone who died less than ten years ago, don't try to find a publisher."

Hmm? My writing checks all her boxes. What should I do? Give up? Go away? Write something else that means nothing to me? These are fighting words.

I've lots to consider. If I self-publish, among other things, I have to buy an ISBN number, apply for a LCCN number from the US Library of Congress, hire a professional cover designer, hire a professional graphic designer to format the interior pages of my print book and/or to convert it to an eBook, possibly purchase an editorial book review, and register my book with the US Copyright Office. 

Then there's marketing. Posting my book on Amazon doesn't cut it. People have to know it's there. They have to be directed to it.

So I'm asking myself, what do I want to accomplish? I know I want my diary in finished book format per my original intent which was to leave a book for my descendants. Should I defy all odds and look for an agent/publisher? Should I publish my book myself? If you've read A Mother's Diary on my blog and you have any thoughts on this, please let me know. Your feedback will help me sort out what I should do going forward. dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

If you haven't read A Mother's Diary, it's still available on Blog 2. To read My Diary from the beginning, read the Introduction in the navigation bar above, then go to "Scenes from the Trenches" June 14, 2017, in the Archives on the right hand side of the blog page. To continue reading, scroll up in the archives from June 14, 2017. 

I didn't know, as I was writing, that I was capturing the last year of my son's life. In A Mother's Diary, his voice comes through loud and clear. However this goes, I'm grateful. In these pages, Pat will always be alive.

All my best, Dede

P.S. If you aren't subscribed to Blog 1, it's continuing. Hope you'll sign on. If for nothing else, for Happy Pics :-)

TAKING A MENTAL HEALTH BREAK by Dede Ranahan

Hi Everyone!

I'm taking a short break from my blogs. About a month. Have to catch up on things like computer maintenance, organizing files, researching publishing options for my book, Sooner Than Tomorrow - A Mother's Diary, personal correspondence, spending time with family and friends, and generally giving myself a mental health break. Your stories are intense and weigh heavily. I take long drives in the countryside several times a week to decompress. I'm always thinking of you.

The "Your Stories" blog is officially two years old. Starting from scratch, the blog is expanding at a respectable 150% growth rate on my website. In 2018, it's on track to reach over 20,000 readers in 75 countries including the US, Canada, UK, and Australia.  We even have a couple readers in Bangladesh and the Republic of Moldova. And then there's the added exposure on Facebook. Stories on my author page, where I initiate blog posts, are now reaching 5,000-7000 viewers per week. 

Sooner Than Tomorrow is still a baby blog, but it's a place to get our stories about serious mental illness out there to people who have no experience or comprehension of what our families live through. It's a public platform to call out the criminal state of our mental illness system.

As I pause, I want to acknowledge the individuals who've shared their stories on Sooner Than Tomorrow in the first two years, some more than once. In order of appearance: Teresa Pasquini, GG Burns, Heidi Franke, Janet Hays, Mike Gaeta, Kendra Burgo, Sherry Hunter, Joann Strunk, Mary Barksdale, Gloria Hill, Craig Willers, Deborah Fabos, Lynn Warberg, Linda Olivia, Mary Enos, Karen Riches, Val Greenoak, Christi Weeks, Gilbert Anderson, Jr., Sylvia Charters, Robin Burton, Donna Que, Maggie McGurck, Debra DeLash, Tama Bell, Maggie Willis, Kimberlee West, David L. Bain, Patricia Gager, Marie Abbott, Sonia Fletcher Dinger, Crystal Burkes, Jeanne Gore, James Callner, Anne Schmidt Francisco, Laurie Lethbridge Christmas, Mindy Willers, Amy Kerr, Kate Schultz, Ray Maternick, Laural Fawcett, Nikki Landis, Laurie Lasmus Vogel, Margie Altman, William Vogel, Laura Pogliano, Janet Wood Asbridge, Diane Rainbowitz, Sandy Turner, Joe IV, Elizabeth Courtois, Deborah Geesling, Kevin, Frank Robbins, Joyce Berryman, Sheila Ganz, Cheri Van Sant, Andrea Turner, Donna Hairston, Judy Waldo Bracken, Ryan Reyes, Lynn Nanos, Ray Weaver, Ron Powers, Harriet B., Kecia Bolken Speck, Kathy Baker, Travis Christian, Mary Sheldon, Emma's Mom, Melinda Nichols Balliett, Rhonda Hart, Laurie Mendoza, Mary Irwin Butler, Alison Letterman, Jorge Fajardo, Nicole Finn, Donna Erickson, Tania Irie, and Gwendolyn Bartley. Thank you for being brave and speaking out.

I'd also like to acknowledge Facebook groups whose members have contributed stories to the blog: CCAC (Circle of Comfort and Assistance Community), Advocates for People with Mental illness, Parents and Advocates for Families Seriously Mentally Ill,  Parents Blogging About Addiction and Dual Diagnosis, OCD and Anxiety Awareness and Resources Around the World, and National Shattering Silence Coalition. NSSC is a new organization that speaks out about federal, state and local policies that impact adults living with SMI (serious mental illness) and children and youth living with SED (serious emotional disturbance). I'm proud to be a member of the Steering Committee. 

I'm hoping I'll find a few of your stories in my inbox (on this website on the Submit Stories page, or sent to dede@soonerthantomorrow.com) when I return from my break. Your writing can be as informal as a post on Facebook, as intimate as a letter to a friend, or as angry as a rant to a newspaper editor. Your voices, real and raw, are what give your stories so much power. I'll work with you and help you edit your stories, if necessary.

As we head full-tilt into summer, I wish you relaxing days, mental illness successes, and comfort in knowing you're part of a caring community. Thank you for all you do.

Dede