A Different Kind of Veteran

Today is Veterans Day, a day that celebrates the service of all U.S. military veterans. Certainly, all those who have served our country should be celebrated and honored. My dad, grandpa, Don’s dad, grandfather, and uncle Don to name a few. We have the life and freedoms that we do because of their sacrifice. They are all heroes.

But to be totally honest, I don’t feel much like celebrating anything today. You see, six months ago today, our son lost his battle with mental illness. In a strange way, I feel like my family and I are war veterans, too, but we didn’t go into the military. Instead, we fought a very private war. It was scary and frustrating and complicated and exhausting. Some days, it looked like our kind and smart boy – a son/nephew/cousin/grandson/sibling/friend - was going about his life fine. Working as a computer programmer, enjoying his love of gaming or hiking, just doing his own thing. Other days, we had a sneaking suspicion that things weren’t what they appeared.

Maybe it was a social media post or a text. Something just felt off. The most difficult part was that he lived an hour and a half away, and when he wasn’t “fine,” he usually didn’t respond to anyone’s calls or messages. I lost count of the number of times I texted, “You alive?” Then I’d get a “ya” two or three days later.

Oh, the angst!

When things started to really deteriorate, every one of us did what we could to buoy him. We helped, we listened, we encouraged, we prayed. But mental illness is so very draining. Just ask anyone who struggles. It’s a day-by-day battle. Even with medication and support, it takes a great deal of strength and bravery to keep going. To get out of bed, to face the world, to face the fears, to push through the discouragement and depression, to overcome insecurities, loneliness, and obsessions.

Adam certainly knew that he was loved. But he simply got tired; he wanted the pain to stop. Those of us he left behind still carry some guilt and regrets. How can we not? Thank God for our therapist who reminds us that we did all we could.

Still, my heart is heavy. So, I want to say this to anyone who is struggling with a mental illness today: Even though things may seem hopeless, they aren’t. Please don’t give up. Please keep going. Ask for help. You are loved, you matter, and you can make it.

This Saturday, our family will be making a road trip to Weaverville, CA to bury Adam's cremains in a rustic, small town cemetery with several of Don's other Gilzean relatives. It's taken us a while to figure out what he would have wanted, and to make the arrangements. But we feel certain that it's the right decision. He will be with Don's dad, grandfather, great-grandfather, and uncle Don, along with their wives. Someday, Don and I will be there, too. There is a bit of family history in Weaverville; there is even a Gilzean road. Many years ago, there was a working Gilzean mine. 

This is a trip that none of us really wants to make, but we are forging ahead because at this point, that's all we can do. We will draw strength from each other, and from God. We will say goodbye to a young man who left us too soon. Yes, mental illness is a battle. It's real, and it's devastating to all those who are touched by it.