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B R I A N By Anonymous Parents of children who died by suicide belong to a special club that not one member ever wanted to join.
My son’s name was Brian. In the first years after Brian’s death, my biggest fear was that Brian would be erased. After his death, virtually none of my close friends and family ever mentioned Brian. Perhaps they never knew what to say. Or they thought they were protecting me from the pain. Although there were times when I desperately wanted to talk about Brian, I rarely brought up his name. I felt it made others uncomfortable. If I was ever asked about my children, to avoid disturbing whoever was asking, I always replied that I had two children, but one had died. When pressed for a cause of death, I would answer he was sick. For the few people who could not read social cues and asked what Brian’s illness was, I would tell them he had a brain disease. CONTROL On January 17th, 1975, my life changed forever when shortly before noon my second child, Brian, was born. Brian was a very outgoing child who was gifted in mathematics. He did extremely well in school academically, socially, and athletically. Although he appeared to be happy-go-lucky, he could be deeply intense. When he became angry, Brian lost control. When Brian was five, I filed for divorce from his father. Brian’s father was enraged about the divorce and, on multiple occasions, acted out violently in front of our children. Brian began to mimic his father's violent behavior. It was clear to me that Brian and his older brother could benefit from professional help. Both boys needed to learn how to cope with their feelings about their father moving out of the family home. After several months of weekly therapy, Brian and his brother seemed to be handling things better, but I continued to have them see the psychologist for a few years. I had physical custody of Brian and his brother and we gradually fell into a routine. Life became more or less ‘normal.’ The boys saw their father for dinner on Wednesday nights and stayed with him every other weekend. Although I knew the boys’ father and his family made disparaging remarks about me to the boys and their father would try to hurt me in front of the boys (like slamming my hand in a door, stealing my jewelry, keying my car...), I didn’t yet grasp how the cruelty the boys witnessed so deeply cut to their core. Brian’s brother learned how to handle it and how to compartmentalize. Brian, however, was extremely literal. To him, there was no ‘gray’ – just black and white. “NOTHING WRONG” By the time Brian entered 7th grade, he started to withdraw socially. And he exhibited an inflexibility of thought that I found troubling. Again, against his father’s wishes, I took Brian to what turned out to be a lifetime of sessions with psychologists and psychiatrists. It did not help Brian that he received mixed messages from his parents. I believed it was critical that Brian receive mental health therapy. His father was very vocal that there was “nothing wrong” with Brian. For Brian, this conflict was very difficult. At the time, Brian blamed me for his unhappiness. Before he started high school, he decided Brian decided he wanted to live with his father who had remarried. But Brian did not like his step-siblings and he despised his stepmother. To me, this was a recipe for disaster. I swallowed my pride and went over to Brian’s father’s house. I talked to Brian’s father and his wife about Brian’s problems and how difficult it was to live with him. Brian’s father and his wife didn’t believe me. They allowed Brian to move in with them. As I knew change was so difficult for Brian, I told Brian that if he moved in with his father, he had to stay there for all four years of high school. HOSPITAL As expected, the grass was not greener at his father’s house. Brian soon began to exhibit signs of paranoia and depression. I still took Brian to see a therapist every week, but when he was fourteen, Brian attempted suicide for the first time. Brian’s father called me shortly before midnight on a Sunday to inform me what Brian had tried to do. I told Brian’s father to hang up the phone and take Brian to the hospital immediately and that I’d meet them there. Brian was admitted to the psychiatric ward of the hospital. The intake psychiatrist diagnosed Brian as possibly being psychotic. Brian’s father and his wife did not believe this. I immediately consulted with a psychiatrist, a friend of mine, who was a world-renowned expert in depression and psychopharmacology. The psychiatrist arranged for Brian to be transferred to the hospital where the psychiatrist was on staff. But Brian’s father refused to let Brian be transferred. Brian's father continued to be in denial about how sick Brian was and wanted Brian to be treated at the suburban hospital, a few miles from his home, rather than an hour’s drive away. Brian stayed at the suburban hospital until he was released a few weeks after his suicide attempt when his insurance for in-patient psychiatric care ran out. He continued to see a psychiatrist once a week and joined the outreach program at his high school. Brian seemed to be doing better and when, in his senior year, he was accepted to his first choice of schools, Miami University in Ohio, he appeared to be excited. He had taken summer classes at the university and was familiar with the campus. THE BEDROOM WALL I had remarried while Brian was in high school and Brian and my new husband got along very well. The day Brian graduated high school, he moved in with my husband and me, my older son, and my husband’s daughter, who had a great relationship with Brian. After a wonderful summer, my husband and I had high hopes for Brian when we drove him to Ohio that fall. Within a very short time, Brian began calling me several times a day. He said he wanted to come home. Brian blamed his unhappiness on his pants being too tight. Fully understanding that tight pants were not the issue, after consulting with mental health professionals, we decided to let Brian come home. He enrolled at a nearby community college, where, as always, he got straight As. However, Brian could not understand why he should accept any responsibility at home. My husband and I had to insist that Brian help with the grocery shopping, set the table, do the dishes, anything. Contributing to the family was not a new expectation in our home, but suddenly Brian did not seem to understand why it applied to him. One day, my husband and I came home from work and found a huge hole in the bedroom wall. Brian told us he had been practicing martial arts and accidentally kicked in the wall. We later found out that Brian had kicked the wall in anger. The following Friday, my husband and I went out to dinner with friends. When we came home, Brian was gone. ESCAPE We could not find Brian for several days. We were at our wits’ end when we finally received a call from a constable in Saskatchewan, Canada, that Brian was there and was acting peculiarly. Brian’s father flew to Saskatchewan to bring Brian home (Brian had thrown away all his identification at the airport, so it was no easy feat for us to make arrangements to bring him back to the United States), while my husband and I met with mental health professionals to decide on the next steps. Brian was evaluated by the psychologist he had seen as a young boy, and who was one of the few professionals Brian trusted, Brian was then admitted to the psychiatric unit of the hospital where I’d tried to have him treated years before. Brian had the best of care, but he was furious at being hospitalized. One evening, he managed to escape from the hospital. After days of not knowing where Brian was, we received a call that Brian had been hospitalized in New York. Brian’s father, my husband, and I flew to New York to see Brian and consult with his doctors. Brian refused to speak to any of us. The doctors did not know what to do with Brian. He had managed to steal his chart and make notations all over it, asserting that the facts in the chart were incorrect. The doctors were having a difficult time diagnosing Brian and, thus, developing an effective treatment plan for him. As became his pattern, Brian escaped the hospital in New York. When we next heard from Brian, he had been confined to a state psychiatric hospital in rural New York. Although I spoke with his doctor on a regular basis, Brian still refused to speak to his father, my husband, or me. Brian was missing for a great many months before I received a call that a young man matching Brian’s description had been admitted to a hospital in New Hampshire. Brian had again attempted suicide and was on the brink of death. The doctors did not know if he would make it. HOTEL My husband and I took the first plane available to get to the hospital. Brian’s father refused to come. When we arrived at the hospital, Brian was still in a coma, tubes coming out of every possible orifice. When Brian finally came out of the coma, not only did he not have brain damage, but he started talking to me again. He told me he loved me. Brian never talked to his father again. For the next few years, my husband and I, and sometimes Brian’s brother, would fly up to New Hampshire at least once a quarter to spend a long weekend with Brian. When it finally looked like Brian had turned the corner, his doctor made arrangements for Brian to move to a halfway house. Initially, Brian seemed to like living in the halfway house, but after a couple of weeks, he ran away. Four days later, a hotel maid found him dead. For years, I had talked to Brian every day. When he went missing that last time, it was a Friday. I cancelled our weekend plans in case Brian would call or show up on our doorstep. Not having heard from Brian, I went to work that Monday with a heavy heart. At around 6:15pm, I looked up to see my husband standing in my office doorway. I immediately knew that Brian had taken his own life and I started to scream. RESPONSIBLE My heart was broken. Although I exhibited symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, I was not really surprised that Brian had killed himself. Since Brian’s first suicide attempt, I had lived my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. For several years before his death, I had recurring visions of being at my office, sitting at my desk, and finding out that Brian had died, just as reality eventually played out. It took a great many years and a few different therapists for me to accept that I could not have prevented Brian’s death, nor was I responsible for his illness. Yet, as a parent, not being able to make something better for my child, I felt I had failed him. I had done all the ‘right’ things, but it hadn’t been enough to keep my child alive. I don’t know what it must have been like for Brian to live in such pain. At times, his internal suffering had seemed so profound, it felt tangible. All the therapists I saw after Brian died counseled me to feel relief that Brian was out of his agony. I understood where they were coming from and that their intentions were kind, but every time I heard those words, I felt like a selfish monster. Given the choice, I would still rather have Brian alive and in pain than dead. At least if Brian were alive, there would be hope. HOLDING MY BREATH After his death, I feared that Brian would be erased. My friends and family never mentioned Brian and I struggled to talk about him. After 19½ years, I can now answer inquiries about Brian’s death by stating that he died by suicide. Yet, every time I say those words, my heart quickens and I feel like I’m holding my breath. I still worry that I will make people asking about Brian feel uncomfortable. I wonder if they will judge me as a bad parent for not being able to keep Brian alive. I don’t know if I will ever be able to explain about Brian’s death as I would have had he died in a car accident or from cancer. What keeps my family from talking about Brian’s death? I believe it is a fear of losing control, of not being able to handle the overwhelming pain. The pain is suffocating. To this day, my older son will not discuss his brother. When my oldest granddaughter begged me to tell her about Brian, saying that since her father wouldn’t talk about it, the only way she could learn about her uncle was through me, I was thrilled to be able to talk about Brian. But I never told my granddaughter how Brian died. When my granddaughter was 13, she told me that she figured out how Brian had died. She asked me if it had been suicide. I affirmed her suspicion and then answered her questions honestly. Several months later, my son and his wife were told by their family therapist that confirming my granddaughter’s suspicion that Brian had died by suicide was abusive. I was so unnerved, I spoke with friends who are psychologists and psychiatrists for their opinions. I received unanimous corroboration that I’d handled the situation correctly. What is damaging is not answering a teenager's questions about suicide truthfully. STIGMA Today, I see how the stigma of mental illness is alive and well in the United States. There are still many people, including some therapists, who believe that the subject of suicide is taboo for children, even teenagers. The stigma, of course, stems from our society often treating suicide as if it's something that should be hidden. But we need to talk about it. Situational feelings of hopelessness are universal. Most people discover that the feelings eventually pass and learn how to address their feelings of hopelessness. However, for some people those feelings can become overwhelming and can spread to every area of their lives. These are the people who most need help. Brian was fortunate in that he had access to some excellent, very caring doctors. Yet across the country, the number and quality of mental health facilities available to those without the ability to pay is grossly inadequate. To exacerbate a bad situation, insurance coverage for mental illness can be very limiting. Although Brian’s doctors were top-notch, they had such high patient loads and limited resources that they couldn't spend the time that was needed to help Brian successfully. That was, and for so many people it still is, unacceptable. We have to do better. EDUCATION Together, we can lower the rates of suicide among children and young adults. The place to start is to unsilence the mental suffering that so many of our young people experience. Talking about mental illness and suicide still makes many people, including many people I know, extremely uncomfortable. I believe we have to broaden our healthcare conversations to include mental illness as a major disease in this country, rather than a shameful secret to be kept hidden. I wish we had more ‘safe’ venues, both physical spaces and spaces online, where individuals who feel intense despair can talk, guided by experienced professionals, with others who feel the same way. My hope is that we find a way to bring comprehensive suicide prevention education to every high school and, eventually, every grade school. And we need to educate parents, as well. If our society had broken the stigma of mental health long ago, perhaps Brian would be alive today to celebrate his 44th birthday, which would have been next week, rather than forever remaining 24. With sincere gratitude to Brian's mother for sharing her story. BRIAN, published here by Unsilence with full permission, accompanies our interactive feature TOMORROW. Copyright 2018. All Rights Reserved. |
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Until 2022, Unsilence was a 501(c)(3) charitable organization. Tax ID: 47-3960765
Privacy Policy Terms of Use