There’s something special about the new year. Like a fresh page,
the new year is ours to write on. Yet, the end of a year holds its
own special place.
There’s something special about the new year. Like a fresh page, the new year is ours to write on. Yet, the end of a year holds its own special place. It’s a time to look back, and the media helps us take a look at the past year through print and film. Our own memories, while select in their own right, take us through the last 12 months.
Some years will always have a special place in our hearts. Usually these are caused by life-changing events such as marriage or the birth of children. Maybe it’s the year we got that job we’d always dreamed of, reconnected with an old friend or bought our first car.
Then there are the years we’ll remember because of the pain they caused us. For me, 2002 was just such a year. This is the year my youngest daughter, the baby of the family, spent much of it fighting for her life. A horrible disorder known as clinical depression invaded our lives. My once-happy daughter dropped out of college, work, life. Her struggle was increased by the monster known as anorexia, in her case a possible side effect of the depression.
On the positive side, I’m glad to live in today’s world. Once the depression and anorexia were diagnosed, my daughter was hospitalized and began an intensive program of counseling and monitored medication. What I’ve learned this past year is there are some wonderful therapists and some lousy ones. There are drugs that work and drugs that make things worse. We’ve seen them all.
I also learned first-hand the helpless feeling all parents have when watching a child struggle to live. For three months of the year my daughter was at risk of a heart attack and her mind worked against her. Severe depression is a formidable foe. It saps your spirit of the will to live and often dying seems to be the only way out. Loved ones stand at the sidelines, willing to do everything they can, yet in the end powerless to help.
When one member of the family is extremely ill, regardless of the diagnosis, it changes everyone. Once-close siblings find themselves pulling away from each other. Parents retreat or verbally take out their frustrations on those closest to them.
I also learned this year there is an incredible amount of ignorance regarding depression even though 19 million Americans suffer from it. Well-meaning relatives and friends say things like “If she got out and involved in life instead of staying in all the time, she’d probably feel better.” She was involved in life when depression hit, in school, church, work and friends. None of this mattered. When people have cancer, no one suggests an attitude change will fix the problem. Depression is not a choice, but caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain.
In the middle of all this my mother needed major surgery. After spending the night on the hospital floor, I got to take her home with me. Not that she didn’t need more nursing, but her health plan didn’t encourage it. So I learned first-hand how to deal with a catheter, stitches and basic nursing.
It goes without saying that I’m a lousy nurse. Luckily, my mom had a sense of humor and knew I was trying my best. In the midst of this chaos the dog started dying on the garage floor. I sat in the garage with the dogs head in my lap, alternating between laughter and tears, feeling I couldn’t take much more. The dog lived and a week later my mom was back in her home and I was off the every-two-hour catheter-checking schedule.
The year wasn’t done with us. In September, four days before his 14th birthday, we put down our loving Dalmatian. Though devastated to lose him, I was happy to live in a day and age where our animals don’t have to suffer. It helps knowing it was the right thing to do.
The end of the year has brought some much-appreciated happiness. Our middle daughter recently got engaged to a wonderful fellow. Next year a quiet wedding is in the plans. My mother is doing much better since her surgery; she turned 80 in August. As for my youngest daughter, her illness will be a lifelong struggle, but she’s much stronger now. She talks about a future – her future – which is music to my ears.
The year 2002 brought incredible pain and wonderful lessons. Our family has been through tough times, but we’re still together. We’re appreciating each other more and anticipating better things to come.
