A cousin whom I love dearly has mental illness. I do not remember when I received this
information, but I do not think that it came as much of a surprise at the
time. Sadly I had come to the realization
that there was something,…not quite right,… about her during one of our
infrequent meetings over the years. I
did know that she had suffered a tragedy: the death of a beloved person. But, first, I am writing this to share the memories
of times that made me love her, memories of a rebel, who refused to fit in. I
shall keep this as anonymous as possible.
For the purpose of this writing I will call my dearly loved cousin
Phoebe.
Phoebe is 4 or 5 years older than I, and our closeness did
come quickly, as she had a younger sister who was closer to my age, with whom I
spent more time. I spent several
weekends with their family when in my early adolescence. These were wonderful visits for me, as there
were several sisters and, at times they took me in as if I were one of
them. Their generosity of acceptance was
only displayed when other cousins were not present; nonetheless, (being an only
child) I appreciate those brief tastes of the loving side of sisterhood.
It was near to my 13th birthday the time I was
dropped off at my cousin’s home only to learn that it would be just Phoebe and
I that particular weekend. I have no
recollection of the reason for this. When
I arrived Phoebe was babysitting a family friend’s infant and 2 year old. The 2 year old was unhappy and Phoebe was
talking like a cartoon character and trying to get the little one to
laugh. I found this hilarious, and soon
the child as well as Phoebe and I were laughing and having a good time. I quickly forgot that I did not, at that
point, know Phoebe well, and we fell into an easy companionship.
Left with much of a winter Saturday to entertain ourselves,
Phoebe and I decided to bring the dog with us and carry ice skates down to the
creek, which was frozen over. The dog, a
breed from the land of ice and snow, loved it, towing us along the creek as we
jumped or skated around obstructions in the shallow creek bed. With
little warning the ice gave way! (this
creek is very shallow, we were in no real danger) The two of us girls shrieked and each jumped
to a different bank of the creek. We
were laughing, and realizing that we were now separated by the creek, we
started to laugh more. And we could not
stop laughing! The ice broken, neither
of us was in any hurry to attempt a crossing at that point. Somehow this became funnier and funnier, and
we just continued to break into gales of laughter as we made our way back
toward the house. Honestly we laughed so
much that it became a race to get to the bathroom. Looking back, I wish that we humans never
lost that ability to laugh freely and continue laughing for such a length of
time.
Another encounter with Phoebe occurred a couple of years
later… one of my nieces was staying with us during a summer. We went to a family party at one cousin’s rural
farm property. There were many family
members attending,..so many that the teenagers decided to play a game of
softball. My niece was a pitcher on a softball
team where she lived, so she volunteered to pitch the game. That was fine and well, she was not shy about
getting out there and playing with a group she barely knew. But there was some kind of dispute about the
rules of the game, and she wound up going head to head with one of the more
abrasive girl cousins. It was at this
point that Phoebe rose to the defense of my niece, revealing not only a rebel
spirit, but her own disdain for the conceited behavior of some of the clannish cousins. This only served to endear Phoebe to me, as I
was never truly included in the clannish family, and had little desire to be
one of them.
The next time I saw Phoebe she was married and had a baby of
her own. It was at the wedding of Phoebe’s
younger sister. Phoebe and I chatted and
teased each other, and I did not see her again for many years, but she was
cemented as a favorite person in my life.
A few years later I held a picnic for the family at which
appeared Phoebe’s mother, with Phoebe’s then 4 or 5 five year old child in
tow. Phoebe’s mother came over to me and
whispered that Phoebe and her husband had had another child, but there had been
a tragic event a couple of days previous, and that baby had died. That was why Phoebe’s young child was with
grandma for the weekend. How terrible to
lose a child so young, and how that can alter the rest of a person’s life
tragically.
I do not have the details of Phoebe’s mental illness, people
still tend to whisper about such things, as if speaking in hushed tones takes
away the awfulness of mental illness.
I
did not see Phoebe again for several years.
I now know that there were several visits to psychiatric institutions,
none voluntary, in the intervening years.
I did overhear snippets of stories about conflicts with neighbors and
family, so I knew that there were problems.
It was, in fact, quite some time before I learned of her “visits” to
psychiatric institutions, and I know about those because Phoebe herself told me
her stories. The stories are not fleshed
out with details, because Phoebe herself believes that there is nothing wrong
with her, and believes that all of us share equally in that paranoia.
I saw more clearly the example of her problems during a period of
time when we were joined by social media.
I tried to be loving and understanding during the social media
friendship, but people with mental illness sometimes push the boundaries that the
rest of us live by. At times they push the boundaries just too far, and, after
asking Phoebe several times to stop, I had to block her entirely from that
social media. To be honest, I do not
think that Phoebe knows that I blocked her.
I do still love Phoebe, and I think of her often, with fondness and with
sadness. It is hard to be a helpless
bystander, and I am glad that we live far apart, but I remain aware of her
illness, and am greatly saddened by it.
I see Phoebe every couple of years, and it never changes,…
she starts by telling me what I need in my life, and occasionally mentions some
paranoid thing –which I ignore by asking her a question as a means of changing
the subject. Thereby we are able to
converse for as long as half an hour, if she is trying hard to remain in the
present and hold on to some form of reality.
I remain in contact with one of
Phoebe’s children, and I offer moral support, because that is all I can do. I will inform this child of Phoebe’s that
this was written, so that child will know that I love Phoebe, and I do wish
that there was something I could do, but,… mental illness….
Myself, I have what I call “issues”,
but I thank God every day that I am able to fight within myself to remain in
reality –however bizarre the realities of this day and age become.
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Your words are beautiful as you put them to your wonderful growing up experiences!
ReplyDeleteThis is a talent that few have.
I would enjoy much so, if you could email me all your moments of written life true stories.
see also: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delusion
ReplyDelete