The Thing I Can't Write About, Part I: The Suffering of Daughter Jessi

I have written about all kinds of things in my blog and in my book, but there is one thing I cannot write about. One would assume that this is because it is not important. To the contrary, sometimes the thing we can’t write about (and have trouble talking about) is one of the most important things in our lives. For me, this has been my daughter Jessi’s mental and physical health.

However, she has had the unbelievable courage to write about it herself, and today I decided I have to find the courage to write about it also. I begin with the words (and picture above) from her Facebook post three days ago, on December 17, 2019: 

    --8 years old: Diagnosed with Diabetes

    --10 with Anxiety

    --15 with Depression

    --16 with Suicidal Tendencies

    --29 (Today) with Bipolar II

I’m trying to process the latest diagnosis. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still comes as a shock to the system. It's knowledge and questions answered, but I’m heartbroken. With this knowledge comes ugly statistics and painful stigma. I’ve spent so many years afraid of the dark that I didn’t speak honestly about the light; the ignition that arises and becomes the outgoing, fast-talking, overly productive mania. It was a relief most of the time swinging up. I never thought to mention the swing in the first place. So, this is bipolar, eh? I guess it’s time to become a spokesperson for it.

It all began in November 1998. Jessi was losing weight and had little energy. We went to our cabin for Thanksgiving, and Jessi had difficulty walking through the snow. At home she wanted me to carry her up the stairs to bed. We made fun of her for being lazy. I still feel guilty about that. 

On Monday of the following week we took her to her pediatrician. It did not take long for him to render a diagnosis of Type I Diabetes. He sent us immediately to an endocrinologist, who gave her an injection of insulin, and then we all returned home to begin the process of trying to come to terms with this disturbing diagnosis. 

[Picture of a very thin Jessi at Halloween before her Diabetes diagnosis]

That night we had company coming from out of town. We didn’t know what to do, but visited the best we could, not telling them what was going on for us. However, as soon as they left, and Jessi had gone to bed, I looked at my wife, Mary, and blurted out: “I hope I die before I see anything bad happen to her.”

There are those times in life when our words are not meant to be taken literally: they are just pure emotion. And yet such words often reflect the great ambiguity of life as we face the suffering of those we love most. What parent would not be willing to take on their children’s diseases and suffering if it would keep their child from that suffering? What parent would not willingly die before seeing their child die?

But once our emotions begin to subside and our minds clear, we realize our calling as parents is to live for and with our children doing everything we can possibly do to mitigate their pain and to support them as they struggle through life.

Well, I haven’t died, but I have seen so many bad things happen to Jessi. I have had trouble talking about it outside of therapy, and I haven’t been able to write about it. I’m not sure why, but I have decided that now is the time.

Six days ago Jessi, who lives in Virginia with her husband Rob, called Mary and me at our home in Phoenix and told us she was not “safe” (our code word for when she is having suicidal ideations) and asked us to call Rob at work because when she is not safe she cannot be left alone. Mary called Rob on her phone and I kept Jessi on my phone. I talked with her until Rob got home and then we put together a plan so she would not be alone, including seeing both her therapist and psychiatrist. Mary flew out immediately to Virginia to be with her this week and Rob took off work until Mary could get there. And it was through those doctor visits that Jessi was diagnosed this week with Bipolar II.

I don’t know exactly what happened to me this week. Is it being alone all week now that Mary is in Virginia? Is it the recent conversations I have had with several life-long friends who have shared their worries and fears about their children? Is it trying to get ready for Christmas? Is it the longing that  "the hopes and fears of all the years will be met” in Christ again, and with renewed power in our lives?

Two months ago Mary and I walked Jessi down the aisle at her wedding, and I officiated the service. Jessi wanted to do the “first look” for me, and then Rob. That picture is now my FB Profile picture. As powerful as a picture can be, it still can’t capture the depths of the pain, joy and hope we feel when we look into the eyes and hearts of our children. 

All of us parents carry that experience every day of our lives. It is so very difficult to speak and write about it, but there comes a time when, for our own sake and the sake of those we love, we must. We also write and speak about it as a way to help each other face our parental fears and hopes as a step in supporting each other.

Now, finally, it is time for me to write about the one thing I haven’t been able to write about, as I share in the next three posts what I have learned about being a parent when it comes to the suffering of our children.

Facing Grief: My Journal Entries in My Book on Dying and Grieving

When I was middle aged, there was nothing that scared me more than death. Now that I am (fairly) old, there is nothing that I fear more than grief. It is not that I am not afraid of dying, but I have experienced profound grief, and my preference is to have no part in it again. And yet I know all too well that I do not have the power to keep those I love from dying.

In my last blog post—"Facing Death”--- I described my first reason for writing my book on Dying, Loss and Grief: to share my wife, Pauline’s journal entries as she was dying as a mirror that can help each of us reflect on the psychological and spiritual aspects of our own dying.

In this post I explain my second and third reasons for writing this book, which are tied together. 

Reason two is to try to give a feel for just how difficult and challenging grief can be. I do this by sharing my journal entries the year after Pauline died. As I write in the last chapter:

          

          No matter how you cut it, death is not a problem to 

          be solved.  It stares you in the face and refuses to move. 

          It separates you from those you love and need and never 

          gives them back. (253)

There are many experiences in life that you cannot really understand unless you have been through them yourself. One of those is severe grief. I found it to be so much more difficult than I could ever have imagined. In my book I share my raw and unvarnished journal entries in the attempt to help others to better understand the pain of grief, and so that others who are going through severe grief realize that their struggle is not unique. In a culture that expects us to move beyond our deepest losses in just a few weeks, or even days, we desperately need that word of grace and unconditional love.

And we need to know that some of our obsessions are normal. For months I could not go to sleep until I walked around my house and kissed each of Pauline’s pictures. I slept on her side of the bed so I would not wake up and look over and see her gone. I kept going to her grave long after many people thought I should “get on with my life.” I experienced depression, not being able to eat, having difficulty concentrating, lacking the desire to get out of bed and take on the day. In social situations I never knew what might lead me to tears.

As a result of these experiences, in two of the parishes I served--with the support of local funeral homes--I helped establish a Widow/Widowers Program so that those who had lost life partners could come together, share “their obsessions,” and realize that such actions are a normal part of the grieving process. Widows and widowers who had been bereaved for some time led small groups of those newly bereaved where they could share their deepest thoughts, feelings and experiences. The love, support, and solidarity that came through those programs, and the eventual healing, amazed and moved me week after week.

This brings me to the third reason for writing this book: to help those who have not experienced severe grief, but are trying to support someone who is, by giving a glimpse into just how difficult grief can be and by providing insights and suggestions for how best to support those who are grieving.

As just one example, I describe what I call violation, which is so common in grieving, which I explain as:

        Exposing something so precious and personal to you 

        and having it rejected by others. Long after others have 

        heard enough, you still need to talk and share. When that 

        sharing is rejected—through words or even just a look—

        the pain is excruciating. That is why so many who grieve 

        go behind closed doors with their pain long before the 

        necessary healing has taken place. (216)

As family, friends, teachers, clergy, we do not have to have “answers” for those who grieve. What is needed is the commitment simply to be present with those in grief, and a willingness to sit and “really” listen. Such a loving and caring presence is the greatest gift we can give those who grieve.

My book is available at Amazon.com in Paperback or Kindle editions (including Kindle Unlimited.

Facing Death: My Wife Pauline's Journal Entries in My Book on Dying and Grieving

In April I published a book on Dying, Loss and Grieving, a project that had been in the works for some 35 years. There are three reasons why I wrote this book (the other two will be shared in my next  blog post). The first is that I possessed first-hand journal entries written by my wife, Pauline, as she was dying.

Journal writing is quite different from keeping a diary. A diary tends to be written fairly objectively, detailing what you did on a given day. A journal is much more subjective and emotional, openly confronting one’s fears, struggles and questioning. A journal therefore gives a kind of “inside look and feel” that by definition is contemporaneous with the experience being written about. You really can’t “go back” and recover those feelings in exactly the same way.

My desire to publish these journal writings of Pauline had been confirmed for me in May of 1983, less than a year after Pauline died. The Lutheran Standard (at that time the official magazine of the American Lutheran Church) had published an article I had written, titled “With All My Heart,” which was built around Pauline’s journal entries as she faced death. Upon publication, I began to receive letters from people across the country who had been moved by what Pauline had written (some of the letters are quoted in my book on pp. 248-249.) One example is this note from a Lutheran pastor in Wisconsin: “It is possible that I have read words as powerful as those in your article ‘With All My Heart’ before, but I don’t remember where they could have come from. It seems impossible that so few words could affect me so deeply. I am not sure what the effect of those words will be on my life, but I know I have glimpsed something special.”

Then my article received a “1983 Award of Merit” from The Associated Church Press, in which the reviewer wrote:

This diary of a dying wife could have been shameless and soggy treacle. But it wasn’t.  Instead, it was a loving memorial from a young Lutheran    pastor to his late wife, and a gift of her courageous faith to the readers of the magazine. The use of moving and inspiring excerpts from the woman’s diary takes the reader into the distraught and hope-filled life of Pauline Erickson. The tears that came to me were the result of awe and joy as much as sorrow. . . . “With All My Heart” is a legacy that will endure and a message from the grave for those of us who struggle with life.

Since the article contained only a small portion of Pauline’s journal entries, I wrote the book to give a much more extensive insight into the journey toward death. However, the numerous publishing houses I contacted told me that they had filled their quota of books on dying and grieving.

However, the advent of self-publishing gave me a way to finally share Pauline’s faith and honest struggle with the world. For that I am deeply grateful, including to the many readers who have already shared with me how meaningful her words have been to them.

Even after all these years, Pauline’s words still speak to me as I try to stand by those who are dying, and as my own life continues that inevitable journey to the final passage that awaits each of us.

Pauline Marie Peterson Erickson 1950-1982

May 22, 1982

I’m alive now. Please help me make the most of it. I do not want to spend what might be my last days bitter, depressed, or sullen. I want to leave Bear with good remembrances of me.

I do not seem to laugh anymore. Is it because I get out of wind, or is the great expert on death and dying having trouble coping? Whatever the reason, I want to leave with a smile on my face.

My theology, please don’t desert me now. It would be much easier to be a radical right-winger—to say this is all God’s will. But I believe that God doesn’t cause suffering and that many times s/he does not interfere. Thus, if I am dying, let God’s tears be enough. It is enough.

God, please make my heart less heavy. Is the burden death, or is it lethargy from illness?

God, I want to be like Eckhart and say, “Your will be done.” But I don’t want to die. I just want to talk to you about my tears.

  

Available at Amazon.com in Paperback or Kindle editions (including Kindle Unlimited.)

Sacred Place and Space (Our Cabin)

Belden Lane in his book, The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, quotes Lawrence Kushner (p. 37):

"The memories of a place become a part of it. Places and things never forget what they have been witnesses to and vehicles of and entrances for. What has happened there happened nowhere else. Like ghosts who can neither forget what they have seen nor leave where they saw it, such are the memories tied to places of ascent."

When Mary and I were first married--35 years ago this Sunday—I read an article by a pastor that fascinated me. He and his family had bought a cabin in Minnesota, and that became their focal point, their holy ground and sacred space, as they moved many places over the years, living mostly in parsonages.

That made sense to Mary and me. Unlike most cabin people, we were not interested in living on a lake. We wanted a cabin in the country, on a fair amount of land that would give us privacy, places to hike, and a place that could serve as a refuge for all kinds of wildlife.

The first day of searching we found the place of our dreams, a once Finnish farmstead, built in 1905, on forty acres near Menahga, Minnesota, complete with a separate sauna. On October 2, 1986, as Mary was about to give birth to our first child, we received a call notifying us that our offer had been accepted. We named our place Blueberry River Farm, because “a river runs through it.”

Like that other pastor family, this cabin truly has become a holy place for us, our sacred place and space. It has been the place to which we have always returned, whether living in Mexico, Dunseith, N.D., Grand Forks, Fargo, Phoenix, or Virginia. It has been the place where our children have grown up, loving and growing to know nature. They have had about every kind of pet imaginable: turtles, frogs, toads, birds, wild cats, rabbits, even geese.

What is it that is sacred about certain places, certain spaces? Kushner says it is the memories of events that occurred in those places, and the sense in which we know that those places have witnessed and remember those events. 

I have nearly countless memories of our children growing up here, of long discussions Mary and I have had in front of the fireplace as we contemplated decisions about the future, of the many friends and family who have visited and stayed with us.

I feel different here. I am so much more aware of the past, of the unbelievable grace and love that have been a part of my life. I am more sensitive to the present, realizing intensely what a blessing it to be here together with family and friends, or with only Mary as she paints and I write.  I feel more existentially aware of the uncertainly of life, knowing that when I leave here and return in a year many things could be much different in my life or for my family. Yet I also feel a sense of peace and submission to the future, trusting that as God has always been with us in the past, God will continue to be present with us in the future, whatever it holds.

I hope to return to this holy and sacred place many times in the future, and yet I know, someday, it will be somebody else who comes here to remember, and to give thanks. That will include our two children, who have made it clear that if we decide to sell one of our homes, it had better be our place in Phoenix, not Blueberry River Farm.

Last summer, for two weeks, Brian and Sara, grandson Dylan (only two months old), and daughter, Jessi, stayed with us at this cabin. After leaving to return home, Brian wrote the following:

"For 32 years my family has called this cabin home. Through life changes and moves across country, we always come home to its sacred grounds. The trees I once climbed remind me life is a constant process of growth. The deer walking to the river through our yard remind me we can live peacefully with nature. The wild turkeys remind me how abundant this earth and our lives can be when we nurture them.

"This place has always been about family and the joy felt when the car turns the corner in the driveway to discover this place is just how we left it.

"This year is special though because my son and @meltsy10 remind me this place not only holds our family history but our future.

"To teach our child about the value of family, sustainability, of slowing down to think and feel, and of exploring. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for teaching your children well."

Tribute to Pastor Elmo W. Anderson

I believe the most significant people in our lives demonstrate two crucial gifts. The first is a willingness to be there for us in both joyful and sorrowful times, demonstrating by their presence and actions that we are loved by and important to them. The second is an ability to listen openly, remain non-judgmental, and guide us as we seek truth, insight and revelation.

Pastor Elmo and Norma Anderson have been both of those things for me for 55 years. Little did I know when they moved to Maddock, ND in 1963 that they would make such a radical difference in my life.

I started confirmation classes at North Viking Lutheran Church in Maddock in 7^thgrade, and found class to be rather boring, being taught by a retired pastor, as we were between called pastors. Pastor Elmo arrived just in time for my 8th grade year of class. When I last saw Pastor Elmo this past summer in Fargo, he was still talking about how much he enjoyed having three boys in confirmation—I was one of them-- who loved to ask questions. And the reason we asked questions is because Pastor Elmo always listened carefully and didn’t just give us canned answers.

The next significant thing he did was to take me to Red Willow Bible Camp, which would lead to a clear turning point in my faith journey. Through his confirmation classes and camp my faith was greatly deepened, and for the first time I experienced faith as not just giving intellectual assent to certain doctrines, but as a way of life built on a relationship with God and being a part of a loving, forgiving, caring community of Jesus’ followers. All of this was key to helping me deal with what would come next in my life.

In 1964 my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Pastor Elmo walked with him and our family through the next year of treatments, and when Dad died in August of 1965, Pastor Elmo officiated at his funeral.

Less than two years later my mother was diagnosed with cancer, and again Pastor Elmo, and Norma, walked with our family through that painful time, and, when she died in May of 1967, Pastor Elmo officiated at her funeral. 

Now that my younger brother and I were orphaned, Elmo and Norma offered to take us into their family. Having four children of their own, we decided to move in with a family whose four kids had all left home. However, I was at  the Anderson house so often it probably seemed as if I was a part of their family as well.

The death of both of my parents in high school evolved into a real crisis of faith for me. Starting in high school, and continuing while I was a student at Concordia College in Moorhead, Mn. (where both Elmo and Norma went to college) I struggled with my relationship to both God and the church. During that time Pastor Elmo often gave me books to read from his library, and then he and I would spend long hours discussing those books and others I was reading in school. 

When I graduated from Concordia College in 1972, both Elmo and Norma attended, and the next week traveled to Bismarck for my wedding to Pauline Peterson.

On November 11, 1977, at North Viking, Pastor Elmo ordained me. He also had a part in my first call, as he is the one who suggested to Pastor Thor Rykken at Faith Lutheran in West Fargo that I might be a good candidate for their Youth Pastor position, which is exactly what came to pass.

While I was at Faith and Pastor Elmo was at Peace in Fargo, we kept in close touch and even worked together on putting together a resolution that passed our synod assembly calling for greater church action to combat world hunger.  

Pastor Elmo was both a fine theologian and a wonderful preacher. He is the one who introduced me to Sojourners Magazine, a progressive, evangelical monthly giving perspective on the burning issues of the day, and throughout high school and college he nourished me through his intellectually challenging sermons.

When Pauline died in 1982, I asked Pastor Elmo to preach at her memorial service. I don’t know if it is fair to ask one pastor to preach at three of your family member funerals, but Pastor Elmo did, and he did so in a powerful and healing manner.

In 2001 I took a call to Shepherd of the Valley Lutheran in Phoenix, where Anderson’s son, Rob, and his family are members. During my years there I confirmed both of Rob’s and Bruna’s sons, Nathan and Ben. Pastor Elmo found that to be extremely meaningful, commenting that our relationship had now come full circle, with the boy he confirmed now confirming two of his grandsons. The frosting on the cake was that, for Ben’s confirmation, I asked Pastor Elmo to speak at the Confirmation Banquet in Phoenix.

Martin Luther encouraged us to live as “little christs,” bringing Jesus’ compassion, forgiveness and love into the world. Pastor Elmo and Norma have been the incarnation of that love for me all these years.

When I am asked by whom I have been blessed, and who has been my most profound mentor, Pastor Elmo has always been at the top of the list.  As we say thanks for and goodbye to him at his memorial service this coming Monday, I will be carrying on my heart the words of Jesus in Matthew 25:23:  “Well done, good and faithful servant!”

When Spirituality Lands You in Jail

I have never wanted to go to jail. So far I haven’t. And I feel somewhat ashamed of that fact.

Last week four women were found guilty of dropping off water for migrants in a remote area of the Arizona desert. Each of these women now faces a sentence of up to 6 months in federal prison. One of these women could have been my daughter, who carried out similar actions a few years ago.

My daughter and these women were volunteers with No More Deaths, a humanitarian organization founded in 2004 by Christian and Jewish leaders as a way to combat the growing number of migrants dying from dehydration in the Sonoran desert of Arizona.

Starting around 2000 the US began increasing the miles of walls along the US/Mexico border in urban areas, at points of entry, and in other places where it is easiest to cross. As those walls went up, migrants started going out further and further into remote areas of the Sonoran desert to try to make it into the US.  Crossing in this area is extremely dangerous, especially in the summer. The walk can be up to 85 miles and the August heat (the volunteers were arrested in August 2017) averages 105 degrees. No one can possibly carry enough water to make that trek. 

In the 1990’s about 14 bodies were found in that area of the desert, but since 2001, as more and more walls have been erected, the bodies found has averaged 167 per year. No More Deaths began to map the desert, noting where the most bodies were found, and then began to leave jugs of water and cans of beans in those places. They also established a medical tent for those found alive, but near death. This is all well known by Border Patrol, who often watch the tent to pick up migrants as soon as they leave. All that the volunteers are allowed to do is leave food and water and staff the medical tent. They are not allowed to share any other information, such as how far the migrants have left to travel to the nearest town, or even in what direction they should head.

One of the women convicted described her work as “sacred.” Another longtime volunteer stated: “This verdict challenges . . . people of conscience throughout the country. If giving water to someone dying of thirst is illegal, what humanity is left in the law of this country?”

It is both spiritual and good citizenship to obey the law, but what does one do when one is convinced, by conscience, that the law is immoral? Jesus constantly broke the law when he saw it hurting people. Luther uplifted the power of spiritual conscience in standing against rules and regulations he felt went against the will of God. 

On this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day we are reminded that the essence of the Civil Rights Movement was to challenge laws viewed as immoral, often at the cost of going to jail. That was not Dr. King’s plan when he began his ministry in Montgomery, Alabama. He just wanted to build a highly successful, growing church. But God called him to something different, as I have written about extensively. [See posts to right: “MLK’s Call to be a Civil Rights Leader” and “MLK Faces Death Threats”] His civil disobedience actions would take him to jail 29 different times, and one of his most famous writings is entitled “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”

One of our leaders I greatly admire is Rep. John Lewis. I have met him twice and heard him speak twice. [Post: “Meeting John Lewis”] He has been arrested 45 times, and at least 5 times since he has been a member of the US House of Representatives. He was also beaten badly in both Montgomery (Freedom Rides) and Selma (March to Montgomery.)

The spiritual journey includes a willingness to not only look at what we believe, but also what policies we support. And when we come to believe that a policy or law conflicts with our spiritual convictions, we are called to join a long line of spiritual leaders who have been willing to lay their own freedom (and sometimes their lives) on the line in order to lead us deeper into a life and world of justice and love.

A New Kind of (Spiritual?) Class Reunion

Class Reunion: those two words conjure up a great variety of feelings, running the gamut from the painful to the glorious. My bet is that when a person hears those two words they are more likely to say “Oh, no, do I have to go?” rather than “That’s great, I can’t wait!”

I just celebrated my 50th Class Reunion from high school this past summer and it was a deeply meaningful experience for all of us, I dare venture to say. But that is mainly because we did it a different kind of way.

It started out innocently enough, a year ahead of time, when classmate Judy and I were having coffee in St. Paul, Minnesota. Our high school class of 1968 consisted of 37 students in a town of 700 in the middle of North Dakota, Maddock. Our school has an All School Reunion every 5 years, so our class tries to have some kind gathering at that time. I had not been involved in planning previous reunions, and, having lived so many different places around the country, had attended very few of them. Judy, on the other hand, had been involved before, and she commented that she had worked at getting folks to attend, and some classmates never would. I asked her to name some of those classmates, and my first response was:  “We treated them badly in high school. Why would they want to come back for a reunion?” 

A goal of spirituality is to grow in wisdom, insight, understanding, love and compassion. As we do that we become increasingly aware of our failures in those areas in the past. That is a painful experience and thus, looking back, I felt ashamed of the way I had treated many classmates, mainly by ignoring them as I got caught up in my own activities and circle of friends.

Judy and I decided to volunteer to head up our reunion, which was gladly accepted by the local classmates who usually did most of the work. Enlisting two other classmates, we decided to try to personally contact each classmate by Christmas and tell them how much we wanted, and needed them, to participate. This was preceded by a letter under the theme: “More than a Class: A Community”:

     You were a part of that community. A very important part. And, like any community, something is missing if any one person is missing. We do not want to miss you.

     Like all communities, sometimes we treated each other terribly, and at other times we provided the love and support we each needed. We all carry pain from the past and hopes for the future.

      We want to create a new kind of Reunion, one that looks forward more than backwards. Yes, there will be a dinner and a celebration of still being here after all these years. But we also want to provide a Time of Sharing through which we can really get to know one another again and provide the love and support a healthy community always does.    

     In a quiet setting we will each have the chance to share the most meaningful thing that has happened in our lives the last 50 years, and the greatest challenge we have faced/are facing. Then we will each be able to share one or two hopes for the future so that we can commit ourselves to praying for each other and finding other ways to be supportive. We also want to remember classmates who have died.

Twenty-two classmates signed up to attend the Friday night class banquet, and we set the Time of Sharing for 2 ½ hours before the banquet. To our amazement, 18 classmates, and several partners, gathered ahead of time. As we went in a circle around the room, giving each person a chance to share, there were lots of laughs and plenty of tears. And also many things for which prayers and support were requested.

As one person said afterwards, if we had done this at the beginning of high school, the whole experience would have been different. But at least it was different now, and the tenor of the whole weekend was filled with warmth and care. Old friendships were rekindled and new friendships made. We now have an email group through which we can update each other and put forth prayer requests. We also decided to gather each year from now on back in Maddock for a similar kind of sharing.

"Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." [Colossians 3:12b-14]