Although my father died in 1979, he still lives on in my memory. Our relationship has survived across the years. Often a stormy, resistant interplay between us when he was alive, has given way to an understanding I could only have gained over time. My strongest regret is that he never saw me recover from a florid manic depression. He never saw me recover my sanity, go to graduate school, get married, or start a successful private practice as a psychotherapist. I have much to mourn.
Though I have much to mourn, I also have much to celebrate. One of my memories of my father is that of a father proud of a son seeking to find his place in the world. A stern man at times, he dealt with my mental illness with persistence in seeing me get into treatment. We both, at times, grew impatient with my inability to return to a traditional, middle-class way of life.
It is a fitting tribute to him that he was a frequent character in my psychotic delusions when I was still in the grip of manic episodes. My wish to control his obstinate urge to get me into treatment had me cast him in my delusion as the leader of a group of seniors I had put him in charge of. He was to organize the use of their soul energy for telepathic, peaceful use.
How do you deal with the loss of a loved one who was unable to experience your wellness when alive, and is now unable to join with you when you are better? There are no easy answers. For me, I imagine his joy at my attainment of the lifestyle he wanted for me, even when in the past, I didn’t always share his dream.
When recovery meant returning to the middle-class values I had rejected earlier in my life, I grew to appreciate the life he had created for himself in his own struggles. We then had a common bond, normalcy. When treatment dictated the need for structure and stability, it was to the model he had raised me with that I returned. It has been a bountiful fulfillment I later arrived at.
My father’s death before my recovery has now come to mean the continuation of that relationship through insight and aging. I don’t try to bring him back. I just recognize the universal truths of living in the modern era. I have finally let go of the judgments I made of him; the attitude that I would somehow surpass him in understanding my life. Instead, I have learned how much he had to teach me. We have much in common. So it is, he continues to inspire.
Five Ways to Deal with Bipolar Bereavement
- Embrace a loving attitude.
- Recognize your differences have ended with the passing of a loved one.
- Remain open to understanding their hope for your recovery.
- Maintain a spiritual frame of mind.
- Allow your loved one to live on in your memory.
3 comments:
My husband died of suicide six months ago. He was only 36 years old.
The irony of it all is that I fought so hard to not be the one doing what he did.
He had no recognizable mental illness, but he had been very stressed out. But he was making proactive efforts to address things, and he was succeeding.
The night he died, he was buying books for the next semester, bidding on ski clothes for an upcoming ski trip with his father, roasting and carving a turkey needed for a Xmas party that Saturday, and planning a New Year's Eve party for our friends...
...but then he had a conversation with a relative, and few minutes after telling me about that conversation, he was dead.
Now I feel so much guilt, guilt that perhaps by focusing on keeping myself well so neither of us would suffer because of my bipolar moods, I got distracted somehow and I missed something.
I know in my heart and mind that I didn't miss anything at all. The guilt is still there, though. I feel guilty for being the one who is still here.
Suicide has many victims, sometimes including those that are left behind. It sounds like you are left with a trauma, trying to rationalize how it is your loved one decided to take hislife. You cannot know every thought that goes through a loved one's mind. Their decisions are their own. While I recognize the agony of being the one who brings the brunt of their behavior into the relationship, deciding to end one's life is a situation where you are denied the possibility of making that decision with your loved one or providing some support that could have made a difference. It sounds like you need to seek some professional help in coping with this tragedy. You shouldn't be alone trying to cope with it. Suicide survivor guilt is not uncommon, but that doesn't make it go away. Give yourself time to heal. You needn't be alone in your grief. Get some help if you haven't already.
Thanks for your kind reply.
I've surrounded myself only with those friends who'd listen without passing judgment on either him or me. And I see a therapist twice a week. I'm having a hard time with flashbacks; I found him as he was dying.
What keeps me going is the love he gave me. I'm absolutely sure that he loved me, and that he never meant to hurt me so badly.
Surprisingly, I'm not very angry with him. It doesn't matter that much to me how he died; what tortures me is the simple fact that he died, and that he died with such turmoil in his soul.
People insist on telling me how sinful and cowardly it was what he did. Yes, it was a thoughtless act. But they just cannot fathom what extreme mental pain feels like, although I tell them that I'm very familiar with it because of being bipolar. I'm of the opinion that I would be an unkind hypocrite if I were to judge my husband.
I take my meds and go to therapy religiously; I need them now more than ever.
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