When it Seems Hopeless

Hello from QSL,

It is a bit surreal to be sitting in this familiar place, and yet also strangely comforting. Wishing my former student, one who was always amazed by my desire for spice, was her to join me. However, it’s a bit from a commute from Russia back to Pennsylvania, and there might be a Visa issue now. We are creatures of habit, and we can often be trapped by those habits and our past experiences. Additionally, it can be difficult to see beyond those things which have profoundly affected both who we are as well as whom we believe we are. Much of my life, in spite of my rational understanding that what I was told was not true, I struggled to believe I was smart enough, good enough, or worthy enough to become more than the adopted child who heard too often about what he could not do. Certainly what I was told defied logic when the very people who chose to bring me into their home told me I did not deserve to be there. Yet in spite of what seemed logical, the damage of hearing this mantra again and again was long-term. And the ways it manifested itself were numerous, at times revealing themselves at unexpected or inopportune moments. I remember one morning in the kitchen with Lydia, and as I fixed breakfast, she, in a somewhat foul mood, said something in a particular tone. I do not even remember what was said, but the tone set me off. Fortunately, my only reaction was to turn and tell her I was going home. She was shocked at my response, but before she could react much more, I was out the door and back to my house (our doors were probably 35 feet apart). She honestly had no idea what she had done. Again, because I was still overall healthier at this point, later that day, I went back and I apologized to her for my earlier actions. I also explained why I had reacted, and then told her it was not her fault. I think that was one of the first times I ever connected tone and response, and I realized even though I had made significant progress, the demons still had power

Mental health and emotional stability is such a complex thing. I have neither a background academically in psychology, nor am I a trained psychologist, psychiatrist, and in spite of my pastoral care and counseling history, I am not someone with an MSW. So with that disclaimer, allow me to ruminate on some things I believe. In spite of the incredible advances in neuroscience, it seems we still understand so little about the brain, or how the brain salad of physicality, emotions, and psychology as well as experience works in a definite manner. When Lydia was in the memory unit the last 3+ year of her life, I witnessed dozens of people struggling and in the throes of Alzheimer’s Disease or some level of dementia. In spite of the similarities in their etiology, they were not the same. The one thing that did surprise me, however, was regardless their symptoms, there was a constant. They seemed to be keenly aware of someone’s attitude or demeanor towards them. If that caregiver treated them rudely or without genuine care, they would get incredibly angry, and almost instantaneously. I remember how Lydia responded, and how this stáid, proper Austrian, academic seemed to not only learn, but regularly use the words bitch and bastard with abandon.

Those who follow me know that there was a tragic loss of a brilliant, talented, and yet struggling former student in the last two weeks. As bits and pieces of her story continue to emerge, one thing seems consistent. The labor she put in, the toiling which now seems was insufficient, or the pain, which I believe ultimately caused her decision much have felt immeasurable. I know from the time I met her until I left Bloomsburg in this past fall, we had a few significant and lengthy conversations, and she desperately wanted to be happy and content. She asked repeatedly how I, in spite of all I had experienced, could be so upbeat about my life. I remember reassuring her again and again that she had many things to be thankful for, to believe she had value. As is the case whenever we are confronted with such a tragic ending, we reflect, wondering what we might have done differently. The last time I reached out to her was shortly before I retired, which I was still here in Bloomsburg. I did not hear back. And I did not follow up. It would be easy to wonder if that was a mistake.

I learned of her passing within eight hours, from another person who is dear to me, and knew her well. She was crushed, and profoundly emotional on the phone. She wondered what she could’ve done differently. I have no doubt that’s the same for many at this moment, particularly those closest to her. This gets me back to the complexity of the neuroscience that makes us uniquely human. Medication did not stop this occurrence. And that is no pejorative statement about medication. At the visitation the other evening I would estimate there were more than 400 people who came to pay their respects. That’s how much she meant to so many, but she could not see it. How is it that someone gets to a point that the pain is so profound that stopping the pain at all costs is preferable? Not a single day has gone by that I don’t find myself pondering what it is that makes us both resilient and fragile. each of us have at some point in our lives had suicidal thoughts. Is it a long ways from imagining people would miss us if we were gone to getting to the point that we have a plan, or we put some course of action into motion with an eternal consequence? I’m not sure. In my piety, perhaps one of the most basic tenets of my theology is that we have a compassionate and loving God, a God who hurts when we hurt, a God who mourns when we mourn.

The difficulty of this past week and a half is simply this: most of us will go back to our lives with some degree of sadness, wondering if we might’ve done something different would there be a different outcome? But for her family life will never be the same. The incredible amount of attention that occurred over the last week and a half is almost numbing, but it was also important. But now the attention has gone away, and those who loved her are left to pick up pieces. This is the time when a card, a phone call, a text, some specific way to reach out is most important. Again, in my piety, I hope the comfort of loving God has surrounded her and helped her to see how incredible she was. I hope the comfort of a loving God will surround those who were closest to her and give them peace in this incredibly difficult time. I hope the comfort of loving God might remind us that not all is lost. And I hope the grace of God abounds for all.

Thank you for reading. Please hug those you love.

Dr. Martin