Mental Health – Page 2 – Rights and Whiskers

A Conversation with Grief Part 4

Me: I’ve been thinking about something lately regarding the way I process my grief. The initial stab, besides the obvious, seems to come from the change in routine. Here is what I mean. My mom texted and/or called me every single day and often multiple times. Now my phone barely goes off from personal messages outside of my husband. I spent my 40^th birthday mostly alone and wishing my mom could call me or text me. I never knew just how big of a hole her death would leave in my heart. I mean, I did, but holy shit. I always said that when she died, I would lose it completely. I, in fact, did lose it completely for about a year or so. I am finally just starting to feel like myself again and like I can breathe again. They say the harder you love, the harder you grieve.

I spent the first several months confused. I am still confused about what happened exactly. Was my mom trying to get up and she fell; the lack of oxygen led to a heart attack? Did her oxygen come off while sleeping? Did they find her dead or were they trying to get help and she died? I have no answers to these questions. I have been grappling with asking for records from the facility and case management entity. Is it worth it? It won’t bring her back. However, I can’t handle injustice, and I can’t seem to move on from this thought. My Mom was screwed over and mistreated so many times by so many people. I want revenge. I want them to have consequences. Mostly, I want them to understand and change their thinking and catch up with the rest of us “woke” people. When I think about my mom this is what comes to my mind, and it won’t stop. That could be a sign, or it could just be the way my brain works.

I’m tired of being angry on behalf of my mom and the burden that has been part of my existence. I think I need some answers to move on, and I want to remember happy times and not just the trauma. Even with death, I need to know why.

Grief was busy for this one.

June 13, 2025

Mom, You Raise Me Up

One of the songs that I played at my mom’s funeral was “You Raise Me Up”. The song really tells all about how much my mom meant to me and how she treated everyone around her. It’s not fair that she had to go through so much shit in life. Despite her mental health struggles, disability, and developing dementia – she was an amazing human being. I could write an entire book just about my mom. I hope to do so, her story needs to be heard. The picture above is the last photo we took together before she passed away on 04/02/2024. I tried to be a voice for my Mom, but it was a constant fight. Our system has to do better in Oregon.

Lyrics “You Raise Me Up”

When I am down and, oh, my soul, so weary
When troubles come and my heart burdened be
Then I am still and wait here in the silence
Until You come and sit awhile with me

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas
I am strong when I am on Your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be

You raise me up so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas
I am strong when I am on Your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be

You raise me up (up) so I can stand on mountains (stand on mountains)
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas (stormy seas)
I am strong (I am strong) when I am on Your shoulders (ooh)
You raise me up to more than I can be

You raise me up (up) so I can stand on mountains (stand on mountains)
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas (stormy seas)
I am strong when I am on Your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be

You raise me up to more than I can be

Mom, I am doing everything I can to advocate for those that need help now and in the future.

The stigma must end, and we must talk about mental health with openness and courage. Right now, it’s scary, but it’s more important than ever.

June 11, 2025

Pills…

A picture of a tree with the letters LD — A beautiful tree with red, orange, and black with a tree border. The logo has the initials LD

I wrote this many years ago for a creative writing class in college. Almost 20 years ago, in fact. Now I feel old. Anyway, this is about a time my Mom had a severe manic episode with psychosis. She was hospitalized for 14 days and she was never the same. She ended up getting a rare, but potentially fatal reaction to an anti-psychotic, called neuroleptic malignant syndrome. I often wonder if that contributed to early onset dementia in her 50’s. That’s pretty young. Between often being over medicated, or incorrectly? she had to sleep a lot when I was a kid. She also dealt with mania and depression even thought she was consistent about taking medication.

When I was really young, maybe 3 or 4, my Mom had a severe manic episode and she took me in her bathrobe and walked down the street trying to get to my Grammy’s house. I am not sure if I remember or have formulated a memory from hearing about it.

I do remember visiting my mom in a half-way house. This was a transition home before retuning to your own home, after being hospitalized.

Here is the poem or short story…

Pills to help her sleep. That’s all she needed. That’s what they told us. Pills to make her drowsy so she will sleep through the night.

“Once she gets a good night sleep, she will be fine,” the doctor said.

He didn’t know anything. He didn’t have to watch her shake herself into a seizure. He didn’t have to tell her everything was going to be okay when it clearly wasn’t. Just a good night sleep. How does one sleep when they shake like 37 shivers running through their bones all at once? He doesn’t have to look into the face covered with anxiety. Covered with fear. I am the one who has to see that face. And I can barely stand to look. I want to hold her arms and keep them from shaking. I want to make it stop. Do everything to be back to normal. A concept I don’t quite understand anymore. I sat there and watched. Completely helpless. It doesn’t seem real but exaggerated.

I look at the papers. The ones that come in the bag for each pill bottle. There are so many. In 5-minutes, I know more than the doctor.

It is very serious.

Not something chased away by a nights rest. These side effects are rare. But they are serious. And she has them.

There’s a spot for every day of the week. Sunday through Saturday. Four different times each day of the week. So many pills to keep track of. I was no pharmacist. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I focused my energy on it. Day after day. Four different times. Overnight I became a full-time nurse.

It was one of these pills that caused it all. The uncontrollable shaking. The pills made her so drowsy I had to stop her from falling asleep in her dinner. She lived like a zombie. I woke her up to take more pills. Ironic. To be woken up to take sleeping pills.

This was the alternative. The other end of the ultimate high. Mania, they call it. This was the other end of the spectrum. There was no middle ground. I lived with the high and I lived with the low. I have been there and back. Been the hero and the enemy.