In memory of the victims of PAN AM Flight 103. This was originally written in December 2018 on the 30th anniversary of the Lockerbie Bombing. Today marks the 36th year of this terrorist attack…
I Remember
The fall of my Junior year in college, I left my college in New Jersey to study with Syracuse University in London. I had applied to the Syracuse program because I needed a change from my college, which had begun feeling small.
I wanted to spend a year in London, but was afraid I would be homesick. I fully intended to meet friends from my hometown and travel during Winter break. The Syracuse program gave me the opportunity to extend my stay to a year if I was happy. About two weeks in to my semester in London I decided to stay for the full year.
I loved my time in London. I cannot put into words what a wonderful and exciting experience it was for all of us who studied there. We were young, practically still children, full of hopes and dreams.
30 years ago today the dreams were taken from 35 of my fellow students. The tragedy of Pan Am flight 103 changed all who it touched. For those people who were connected to the disaster over Lockerbie, Scotland: I remember.
Pictures flow through my mind…
Traveling for the first few days of winter break with my roommate, Deirdre
Leaving London
Traveling to Amsterdam, Cologne, Munster, Brugge and Brussels
Arriving at the Brussels train station where Deirdre and I would part ways:
She to a family she knew in Belgium,
I back to London to meet with friends for Christmas.
Liz, at the train station saying “There has been an accident on one of the planes”
Me stupidly saying “was anyone hurt?”
Being told, “Everyone is dead.”
Darkness fell,
Walking from the Syracuse center after laying flowers on the steps…
Being approached by another student “Sarah, thank God…I did not know your last name, there was another Sarah from our program on flight 103.”
Slowly finding out who I had known:
Ken Bissett, who sat next to me on the flight to London and was supposed to return for spring semester…
Miriam Wolf with her vibrant hair and welcoming personality.
The others: Pamela, from Bowden; Turhan;the Cocker twins…
Feeling guilty that I had not been on the plane.
Lighting candles all over Europe, In remembrance for those that had died.
Moving through the dark. Finding light. Letting go of the guilt.
Follow the links at the bottom of this story to read it from the beginning.
This past September, as the summer turned to fall, my husband and I started forging a new path together. When my spouse met me, I was a divorced, single mother with a toddler and two cats. We are now “empty nesters” in the true sense of the word and for the first time in the whole of our relationship: our children have all flown the nest and we have no pets left to care for.
Looking back on the unexpected turn that took place within our family 6 years ago, I realize that this is what it means to be alive. Life in itself is a journey. Some people just have a rockier road to travel, before they find smooth ground. Often there will be great things to see along life’s path and then you hit a bump…
In the summer of 2023, I came across this poem by Becky Hemsley, which I feel describes the journey of life beautifully:
The family member who took us on our unexpected journey was our middle child. For awhile, we had three daughters. However, life is constantly changing. Now, five and a half years later, we have a son again. Bailey is detransitioning back to Bay; it is important to understand that Bay becoming Bailey wasn’t a lie. Our child didn’t become female because it was a “fad”. In 2019 Bay began to identify as female. The way I understand his transition to becoming female is this: The years of extreme depression Bay suffered, contributed to feelings of gender dysphoria; this caused a disconnection from his body. As a coping mechanism he began to identify with the female gender. As was explained in Part 4 of The Unexpected Journey (Summer of Loons), gender is a spectrum. For some months now, Bay has been feeling androgynous to male and this is part of why he is detransitioning. Feminizing hormones were taken by Bay, but he never underwent any gender affirming surgery. His physical detransition won’t be hard.
Over six years have passed since we found out our middle child was depressed with extreme suicidal ideation. Then, five and a half years ago, we were told we had a third daughter. Today, I am a stronger person than I was when Bay took us down this hard road. My life feels full. Our three children, all young adults, are healthy and happy. The “baby”of the family has surprised us by coming home more than we anticipated. However, the house is quiet most of the time. My husband and I have been through so much over our 21 years of marriage. Together, we continue to make our way along the ever-changing road.
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
This story was first published in 2022….Happy Halloween!
One morning, in late August, the lake was shrouded in mist. Looking out on the water, the low clouds reminded me of a veil between the living and the dead. I thought about the children who died off the shores of this property….
The History Of A House And The Tragedy That Happened
In 1908 James Stroud had a “cottage” built at the end of an Island, on one of Muskoka’s lakes. The house was grand: made partly of stone and steel, with gardens and paths surrounding the property. Fireplaces were in many of the rooms: four on the main floor and one in almost all 7 of the bedrooms. There was a grand staircase: a sweeping set of steps that split off into two smaller flights going in opposite directions.
At the back of the house were two more set of stairs: the first gave the servants easy access to the kitchen from their room upstairs; the second went down to a room in the basement. A dumb waiter moved things up and down from the ground level to the kitchen. The doors at the back of the house were those the domestic help used, as they gave easy access to the other side of the estate. There was an incinerator on the opposite bank of the property, down the hill, beside the lake, where trash was set afire. Things that could not burn were placed nearby.
The owner, James, had two grown children: James (Jimmy) and Martha. The son never had a family of his own. His sister, however, married and had two children: Anna and William. Three years after the cottage was built, while perhaps playing a game of hide and seek, the seven year old girl and her five year old brother ran away from their nanny: down the hill, toward the paths near the incinerator. Sadly, this playfulness ended in tragedy. Their little bodies were found in the water with their arms wrapped around one another, as if in an embrace. This is how I pictured them when I heard the story. An assumption was made that Anna who was older, went in to save her sibling and they both drowned.
How My Family Become Part Of This Story
In the late 1930’s, James died in his summer home, a place that he loved. The house was left to his son Jimmy, as Martha (although she still vacationed nearby) did not want to be reminded of the devastation from years before. 20 some years later the property was left to my grandfather because Jimmy had no heirs.My father’s family started spending summers in the Muskoka region.
In the 1960’s my grandparent’s built a small cottage on the other side of the island from the one built in the early 20th century. The two houses became known as the “big cottage” and “little cottage”. When I was young, my immediate family spent our summers in what we called the “little cottage”; it was all one level with three bedrooms. My father’s parents stayed in the “big cottage”. My uncle would come up for a while every summer. When I was 13 my grandparents decided that they would prefer to stay in the smaller house. The younger generations now had summer residence in the big cottage.
Strange Happenings
At the age of 14 some friends and I decided to play Ouija. None of us knew the rules…as I played, my fingers, and those of my friends, hovered above the planchette. Playing the game mostly “yes” and “no” question were asked. The little wooden plank flew across the board with no one touching it. We all assumed we had contacted Anna and William because one of them couldn’t spell. I don’t remember saying goodbye, we weren’t aware we should.
One night, the same summer, a good friend and I were sitting in one of the old wooden, luxurious, boats that Jimmy had owned. This was a comfortable place to sit and listen to the party on the island across from ours; an event that we were not quite old enough to attend. While we were waiting for the gathering to start, the two of us talked in the quiet night. All of the sudden, out of the dark night, we heard a young melodic voice way say “Moooooommy“.We looked at each other and realized the haunting sound was heard by us both. We were scared because there were no other children living near by. It wasn’t an echo we heard but what was it? As in a horror movie, we didn’t choose the smart thing to do by running up the lighted path to the cottage. Instead, the two of us agreed that sitting in the old boat was a bad plan…we moved to one which we could drive, waiting to hear the words again.
At the big cottage there were unexplained things that happened: screen doors that slammed, when I was at the house alone; the feeling that someone had walked into the room, but no one was there… At the age of 20, the cottage felt quiet. I said to my sister, “I don’t feel a presence here anymore.” That night, while lying in bed, my lamp fell over by itself: an entity telling us of its presence. Was it old Mr. Stroud who had died there or was it one of the children?
As the years went by, my uncle married and started to bring his wife and three step children up to the little cottage. Eventually they had two girls of their own. In my early adult life, I wasn’t able to spend much time in Muskoka. Something odd happened to my uncle’s family This is what I was told: One night, as everyone slept, the babysitter who was up for the summer (to help with the 5 children) awoke. She saw two little “girls” in white dresses, roaming the house. Assuming they were my Aunt and Uncle’s youngest children, she followed them. Down the stairs they went, then out into the night and disappeared. These were not my cousins, but the children from so long ago. Apparently, the baby sitter was pale and shaking when she recounted what had happened.
By the mid-1990’s my grandparents stopped going up to Muskoka; it was decided to sever the property and sell the side that the big cottage was on. The upkeep was too much money and we hadn’t kept the house in the splendor it deserved. My uncle and his family bought another summer residence on the same lake. We continue to go up to the little cottage, which is now bigger because my sister, brother and I all have our own families. On our property strange events have still occurred. One night, several summers ago, my husband awoke to a light brushing across his cheek and a soft voice calling his name.
In May of 2020, my youngest daughter and I went to stay at my mother’s home. We hadn’t seen her and Paul (her significant other) since the world locked down. That evening, we had dinner with them, on their back deck. As the sun was setting we told stories about things that go bump in the night. I started to tell my Ouija story. As these words were spoken by me: “…we all assumed that the two children who had died along the shore, years before, had been contacted” Paul looked over in shock. He said, “Two children drowned just off your property? I’ve seen them, on the road, wearing white dresses.”
The paranormal activities at our cottage continue to take place. When the border into Canada reopened in the summer of 2021, we went to our beloved cottage. My eldest daughter drove up with two friends. Around 3 or 4 in the morning, one of the young ladies woke up screaming. At the same time in a bedroom over the boathouse, my youngest daughter was awakened by the clock radio turning on; there was no music, only the sound of gurgling.
Today we met my mother and Paul for lunch. They had arrived back from Canada two weeks ago. We were talking about this story. My mother said, “maybe you could say: perhaps they are happy here and don’t want to leave the property? ” Under his breath, Paul said “I saw them again.” Mom responded, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He answered, “I didn’t want to scare you. I saw them twice, they looked lost.”
Somewhere in Muskoka, two souls have wandered the land for over a century trying to figure out where they belong….
* Author’s note: All names have been changed. Permission to take and use the pictures of the 1908 cottage and property was granted from the present owner.. Last week I did a little research (which turned in to several hours) on the 1st owner of the cottage. I learned a a lot of history and interesting facts, however, the most relevant are these: 1) I did not know that anyone had died in the cottage. 2) I always presumed the children that died were both girls.
For the past few years, I have published the following story about the day my dad died. I continue to share this account because September is suicide awareness month. Today marks the 14th anniversary of his death, I am reposting this story as it was written in 2022.
My Dad
I find irony in the fact that September is National Suicide Prevention Month. This is the month the unimaginable happened to our family. The date will be forever embedded in my memory: Thursday, September 16, 2010.
Twelve Years…. It is hard to believe that so many years have passed since that night. The year that followed is what I call a lost year. What is a lost year? To me, it is a period of time where I am pushed out of my comfortable, benign life to face a hostile, unknowing reality.
I remember that night like it was yesterday. We had sent our youngest child to bed early because she refused to eat her dinner. I felt awful because she cried herself to sleep. As my husband (Greg) and I read a bedtime story to our middle child, the phone rang. We ignored it. The phone stopped ringing and then immediately started to ring again. I said this call must be important, so Greg answered the phone.
The next thing I knew, the phone was being handed to me: “It is your mom”, Greg said, “you need to talk to her”. My mother was on the other end of the line crying, someone from 911 told me that my mother needed to talk to me. Then I heard “Sarah, your father has killed himself”. I told her I would be there as soon as possible.
I threw some clothes into a bag. Greg gave me some cash and asked if I was sure I could make the 1.5 hour drive, to my parents house, by myself. My eldest child asked me what had happened. I said “something is wrong with BopBop, I need to go see Nana.”; it was hard to believe what my mother told me was true. We had just seen my parents the previous Sunday. My father seemed off the day we saw him, but he had a lot weighing on his mind. I just thought my dad was concerned with a heart issue that might impede the upcoming surgery that he had scheduled.
With my bag packed, me partly in shock and denial, I got into the mini van. Driving into the night, a light rain started. On auto pilot the minivan drove, with me behind the wheel. How could my mother be helped before I got to her? Friends, I needed to contact someone who would go to mom. She couldn’t be alone.
Luckily, the hands free cell phone law hadn’t gone into effect. Dialing a number I knew by heart, into my little Nokia push button phone, I called the mother of a good friend of mine and at the same time a good friend of my mother’s. She would know what to do to support my mom. The phone rang for a long while. Finally the answering machine picked up, but this wasn’t the sort of thing to leave on an answering machine. Hanging up, I thought of someone else to call; this time the operator was dialed, because I didn’t know the number. Again, no answer. Old family friends…who could I call? I finally settled on somebody. “Just a friend”, I thought, “that is what she needs”. I called the operator again and another number was dialed for me. Finally, there was a voice on the other end of the line: Bob. I told him what had happened and he said that he and his wife would go right over.
On that long drive in the dark rain, the phone calls went on. There was a call to my sister, who was unreachable at the time. Eventually we spoke. She said she would make the calls to the rest of our extended family: our brother, aunts and uncles. The last call I made was to a close friend who talked to me through part of my drive, but then she had to go. Before she hung up she checked to make sure I was ok. “Yes” was the word that left my mouth, but really was I all right?
When I reached my parents house, there was a police car in the driveway. The lights were flashing in the drizzle like you might see in a movie. Bob was out there waiting for me with an umbrella. He said we needed to go through the front door. For some reason I couldn’t go in the door that I always went in. The door that lead to home: through the hall to the kitchen and then to the family room. I so rarely went through the front door. I didn’t really understand what was happening. Then it occurred to me that not only was Bob a family friend, but he was my parents lawyer. An investigation was underway.
As I was led into the living room, I saw all the friends that I had tried to contact, but had failed to reach. My mother sat on the couch, looking frail. I think she was all cried out at the time. There was a little spray of blood on her sweater and a small spot on her face. These are the things I remember.
The rest of the night is a blur. Anne, the first woman I tried to contact, asked us to come home with her. My mom’s friend and assistant, Sandy, offered to take my dad’s beloved dog to her house, just until my mom got back on her feet. Bob said he would go to my grandmother’s house in the morning to tell her what happened to her eldest child. I told him, “I need to be the one to tell her”. In the end, we agreed that he would pick me up at Anne’s house in the morning and we would go together.
I don’t know how I slept that night. The next morning I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life: I sat with my almost 95 year old grandmother and told her that my dad, her son, had taken his life. She put her hand on her heart and started to cry. Then she straightened and said “I need to be strong for all of you”. My grandmother, who had lost her middle child to death by suicide 40 some Septembers before this, wanted to be strong for us. She knew how to survive the unbearable.
Anyone who has experienced a tragedy, knows that life can change in the blink of an eye. Our lives were forever changed the night my father ended his. We will never know why my dad chose to do what he did. His death was instantaneous.
I find irony in the fact that September is National Suicide Prevention Month only because of my experience twelve Septembers ago. At the same time I am extremely hopeful that, because of this month, more people are aware of how to help prevent suicide. Remember to support those around you. Be aware that different events may cause someone to consider suicide. Know the the risk factors and warning signs of suicide (https://afsp.org/risk-factors-and-warning-signs). There is also a National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, the number is 9-8-8
I hope that sharing my words this September will help you or someone you know realize that it is OK to ask for help or at least help recognize the warning sign that might lead to suicide. Unfortunately, my father didn’t ask for help and we hadn’t recognized the signs that told us he was in distress.
The global pandemic took the earth off its axis. People were dying from COVID, others were mourning those who they had lost. I was fortunate, nobody close to me suffered from the illness. Along with this crises many people became anxious and depressed. According to the Mayo Clinic “Worldwide surveys done in 2020 and 2021 found higher than typical levels of stress, insomnia, anxiety and depression (https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/in-depth/mental-health-covid-19/art-20482731). In many ways, I felt the rest of the world had caught up to my mental state from the previous year and a half. Having moved through mental distress for a long while, when my state and the rest of the country locked down, I just felt the quiet around me.
Our middle daughter stayed in extended care in Los Angeles, while the remainder of my immediate family was home. My husband and two other daughters dealt with with the stress of the pandemic in their own way. The neighborhood where we live, in the suburbs, borders on farm land; some people might say we live in the country. This location afforded the space to go on long walks almost every day. When COVID hit, we did not see Bailey (in person) for 4 months. That time was very much a respite for me. We talked with our child, on the west coast, every day and zoomed with her once a week. I was able to do things around the house that I had been putting off for years, but still stay connected to my child who was so far away. When we were finally given permission to go to California and see Bailey again, I was rested and ready to spend time with her….
Between the July 4th weekend and the end of August, in the summer of 2020, I made four trips to LA. I have many memories of that summer, but because we couldn’t spend a lot of time with Bailey (due to the treatment center’s COVID protocols) there was much time spent on my own. I walked countless miles by the water with my summer playlist strumming through my AirPods. On my walks, whether the ground was pavement or sand, the seed for this blog was planted. I would watch people. Each time I walked to Venice beach there would be a wizened woman, darkly tanned, most likely homeless, and I would wonder: ” What has led you here?”. One day, on my way to the beach beach, I was stopped by a man at the bus stop near my hotel. He was wondering why the bus hadn’t come and asked me the time. After telling him the time, he reached out and tried to give me a hug. I shrank back: did he not know there was a global pandemic? Again I thought, “What is your story?”.
The first summer trip to La La Land, was by myself. There was fear I would catch COVID on my flight, but flying during the pandemic was awesome: the planes were empty! I arrived in LA on July 3, 2020 I had a whole day ahead of me. Most of my trips between November and March had always been included a stop at The Native Spirit Lodge in Woodland Hills; my husband had discovered it on one of his trips by himself. This unique metaphysical shop became a favorite shop of mine. An old hobby, from my teenage years and early 20’s, of making beaded jewelry had been renewed. Fortunately, the lodge, which sold beads and all sorts of other items, had reopened for walk-in shopping. The traffic was light for the LA area, as many restrictions were still in place. I headed to my favorite store, had some lunch and then checked in to the hotel. During my March visit, I had decided that a place to reside in Marina del Rey would bring me joy: the location was a few blocks from the marina and a mile from the ocean.
The travel industry had changed in the months since I had been stationary: hotel rooms were cleaned and sanitized before arrival and then again after checking out. Many restaurants were closed or only open for takeout. Having traveled for so many months before the pandemic, I always stopped at a supermarket and bought food to help save money. If a bathroom was needed on a roadtrip, most likely there was one open in a grocery store or gas station (but not always).
Time with Bailey was limited. As she lived with several other girls, the fear of catching COVID, while away from the residence. was real. I know was able to spend both weekend days with Bailey, but the days that I write about are the most memorable…
The only things we could really do together were to an outdoor activity (that was not my middle child’s idea of fun) or car trips. A day on the road was the only option, but my question was: where should we drive? I was craving cooler air and a view of a lake; we spent Independence Day driving to and from the San Bernardino Mountains. The day moved pleasantly, Bailey was in a great mood and easy to talk to. Names of places, as we drove toward the mountains, were familiar. Most likely we stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box for lunch; that became a favorite take away spot, for us, that summer.
We arrived at our destination, a lakeside town, and didn’t leave the car. The amount of people was astounding! Traveling away from the lake, and up the hill, we looked down at the water. The view showed us wall to wall pontoon boats. During this day of celebration it appeared the pandemic was forgotten! Then, as we drove farther up, through the mountain neighborhoods, past beautiful houses and luxury cars, I got lost. We spotted a gaggle of teenagers, or early 20 somethings, roaming the narrow roads. Stopping the car, I asked for directions. Once we were given the new route, the young adult (at close proximity to the open window) said, “that’s a nice car”. As Bailey and I drove away, we laughed, not knowing if the compliment (on the basic rental car) was real or not, but the friendly helper seemed sincere. It was a good day!
The second trip to Los Angeles, in mid-summer of 2020, was with my husband and youngest daughter. On Saturday, with Bailey, we drove to Solvang; this was a suggestion of mine and not a great destination. When researching road-trips, it was on my list of places to visit: a “Danish village” in California. I should have known this place screamed “tourist trap”. As has been mentioned before, we only had limited time with Bailey….our drive to the not so sleepy little town took at least three hours. By the time we arrived, Solvang was not just our destination, but also that hundreds of other travelers! We had about an hour to walk around town. The day was hot, the streets were crowded, and always looming around us the thought “is anyone sick?”. My youngest daughter and I walked around more than Bailey and my husband, then it was time to head back to LA. On our long drive south, my husband said “we went all the way to a Danish town and I didn’t even get a Danish pastry!”
What I remember most about that weekend: were long walks on the beach with my 14 year old, looking for sand dollars and sea shells; a walk through the Venice canals; and vegetable Ramen. The soup needs an explanation…
…. My husband, youngest daughter and I were somewhat hungry our first night in LA, after a long day traveling. We didn’t want to walk far, as we had been up for hours, and our bodies were on east coast time. There was a strip mall, about a block from our hotel, with eateries. Not wanting something heavy, my daughter and I decided to try Venice Ramen. My significant other was not in the mood for soup, so he picked up dinner elsewhere. A table, in front of the restaurant, opened up for my daughter and me. The two of us sat, ordered our vegetable ramen, and waited for what we thought was going to be a quick meal from a ramen chain-restaurant; this was a wrong assumption. The sun was getting low in the sky, but still we sat. Our soup finally arrived and…. WOW! The “from scratch” Japanese broth, with vegetables and noodles, was worth the time we stayed watching the world go by! We still talk about this meal…
My final trip, by myself, to the City of Angeles was in mid-August. The time I spent on my own, was the same way as on past trips…a visit to The Native Spirit lodge and walking: either on the beach or around and through the marina. As I walked, happiness sprouted in me by the simplest of things: viewing the mighty Pacific when the waves rolled in, wild flowers that grew along the path, the way the sun looked as it rose in the morning…
Knowing Bailey would be coming home soon, I wanted to take a special road trip and visit something unique to the two of us. The event (per the summer of 2020 rules) had to be outside and socially distanced, yet would appeal to Bailey. In searching for places, online, I came upon the Mission San Juan Capistrano; this was about an hour drive south from the residence where my daughter lived. The mission looked like it might be a fun place visit: a story of the past, very pretty and was mostly outdoors. As promised, this lovely destination was full of history; it didn’t disappoint!
All of of the days Bailey and I had spent together during her time out west, in the year 2020, were noteworthy: we talked about many different things and and were able to be open with each other. So much had changed in the last 2 years!
The final trip to LA, in the pandemic summer, was to bring Bailey home. My husband and I flew to California on Tuesday, August 25 and returned (with our daughter) on Thursday, August 27.
I think of that summer as the “season of the sand dollars”. In the many visits to beaches, over my lifetime, I had never before found remains of these beautiful sea creatures; in the summer of 2020 there were more sand dollars than I could have imagined! Knowing there is often a symbolism behind certain phenomena, I looked up the significance of a sand dollar. The meanings surrounding this marine animals are diverse, but the one I connected with most was “a symbol of personal growth and transformation”. Although, I have always had self awareness, the time spent in therapy and on inward reflection changed me in ways I can’t describe. Despite life’s uncertainty, the ground finally felt solid beneath my feet.
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
2020 started out on a positive note when Bailey decided to embrace “new year, new you”. We were told she was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself. Although I didn’t go to Los Angeles for a month following this news, the improvement in Bailey’s mood and spirit was evident through our phone calls and therapy sessions. When I reached the residence on Saturday, February 1st, one of the parents (who I had become friendly with) said: “You will be amazed by how much Bailey has changed!”. I was stunned! Before the new year, during Saturday morning family sessions, Bailey sat with her hoodie pulled up and barely spoke a word. That morning, in the parent/child group, Bailey was engaged and talkative, offering constructive comments and insights on herself and others; things had definitely improved! About a week after my visit, she moved from the residential treatment center back to the extended care house.
In mid-February, my husband youngest daughter and I went to visit Bailey. On the flight out to California, there was a medical emergency on the plane. We didn’t make an extra stop, nor did we find out what was wrong with the woman. In hindsight, I feel maybe it was the beginning of what was to come….
The first morning in LA, while Bailey was in school, we spent some time on Venice Beach. I don’t recall what we did with Bailey that weekend, most likely a road trip and a movie; the fact that I don’t remember means that it felt natural and good.
My next trip to LA was by myself, at the beginning of March. There were rumors that things were going to shut down because of something called the Coronavirus. I was worried that the planes in California were going to be grounded. Arrangements were made with my sister, that if my flight was canceled, I would drive my rental car to San Francisco to stay with her family; this was something small I could do to give me peace of mind. With the assurance that I had somewhere to go in case the inevitable happened, my weekend out west was thoroughly enjoyable.
A little thing I always did on my trips to LA was add some extra time just for me; this trip was no exception. After a morning swim on Friday, I spent time exploring a new area to me: Marina del Rey.
That evening, after family therapy, Bailey snd I went to dinner at a sushi restaurant where we tried sea urchin. Later, after a trip to Target, she showed me an area she liked to view at night.
On Saturday, we drove up the PCH to Santa Barbara to see the old mission. The two of us spent a really great weekend together!
By the time I visited in early March, our middle child had made such progress that we would be able to have an overnight with her on our next visit. If the overnight was successful, a weekend together was the next step. I started planning to venture farther than LA. The prospect of taking Bailey out of the city was exciting! At the end of our time together, when my goodbyes were said to my middle child, I didn’t realize it would be several months until we saw her (in person) again. Three days after I arrived home, it was evident that the world was going to close down: the stores were packed and an announcement was made that public schools were going to close. Then, for me, the quiet came and the world stopped….
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
In December of 2019, as the days grew shorter, we realized Bailey wasn’t getting better; in fact, she was worse than we thought. Our middle child was put on new medicines, but these would take some time to start working. If it was within my means, I would do anything to help my middle child. Besides going to LA and spending time with our daughter, there wasn’t much more that I could do. Speaking with my therapist, she suggested I talk with someone she knew who might be able to help: a holistic healer. My thoughts were skeptical, but needing to do something, I reached out to this woman who said she could help heal my child from a distance. Perhaps this was an aspiration. However, if a little thing would help Bailey, maybe this was it. I still had hope. The holistic healer was hired, and the first appointment was held on December 12. When the session ended, I asked how long it would take to see a change in Bailey. The answer “about 3 weeks”.
As we moved toward winter solstice, darkness slammed into us. My husband and I were told we would need to look for a long-term residential treatment center for our child. Again, this was taking us down a path unimagined.
What would a long-term treatment program look like? This was something I needed to know, but didn’t want to find out what it entailed. We received this information mid-December. I was trying my hardest to plan a nice a trip out west for Christmas. A hotel had been booked: a room for my oldest and youngest daughters and a room for my husband and me; it was in a good location near stores and restaurants and within walking distance of the residence where Bailey was living. I had made reservations for a late lunch on Christmas Day, at a Jewish deli, as it was the one restaurant in the area that was open. My sister and her family were hoping to drive down from San Francisco to LA the day after Christmas to be with us for part of our time out west……would Bailey still be in California?
We kept our reservations and had our fingers crossed that everything would come together as planned. Gifts had been bought, but our most important tradition of making Christmas cookie hadn’t been completed. When my first born arrived home from college she took the reins and made sure we had Christmas cookies for us to decorate.
Our search for a long term treatment center had barely begun when the Christmas holiday was upon us. Bailey stayed in California. We arrived the day before day Christmas. The week we spent in the San Fernando Valley was excruciating at times. Bailey was very unstable; all she wanted to do was to go home and kill herself. Luckily my sister, her husband, and their two teenage boys came down the evening of December 26 and added the distraction my oldest and youngest daughters needed. Although I enjoyed our times as a nuclear family, before and after the arrival of my extended family, Bailey’s sisters needed more than just my husband and me. I found solace during my early morning swims (in the 40° darkness under the stars, with only the pool lights to see onto the deck). However, the arrival of my sister’s family also added the extra layer of levity I needed…
Christmas week in pictures
On New Year’s Eve we came home from California. Either that night, or New Years’s day, we received a call from Bailey’s therapist: she had turned a corner. She had decided to embrace “new year, new you” and was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself. Whether it was the new medicines taking effect, the support she received from her extended family or something else, we will never know. Perhaps the strength that had allowed Bailey to stay alive all of this time, through the years of depression, had finally come through in full force. Whatever it was, the stars aligned and we were so thankful!
In early August, many of our conversations focused around Bailey going to an extended care program before coming home; this would be with the same treatment center. At one point, Bailey said, “the only reason you think I should go is because it is better for you”. I tried to explain how it would be a good segue from residential care into normal life: we wanted her to have a healthy transition so that she would be in the best place possible when she came home. Frankly, I wasn’t sure Bailey was ready to come home. She had a way of misleading people into believing all was well when it wasn’t….in the end Bailey moved to extended care.
I missed Bailey, but maybe her words “it would be better for you” rang true. Perhaps knowing she was somewhere safe was what I needed to focus on my own healing; it hadn’t occurred to me how the “trauma” from my past had taken a toll on me. Actually, I hadn’t thought of all the hard things I went through as trauma. Late in the summer, as schools were already in session, I realized that running, swimming, yoga and talk therapy were only helping me feel a little better. Were the tears that were always ready to flow partly due to my changing hormones? Mid September was the time when I had my women’s wellness check. Sobbing when I saw my gynecologist of 21 years, my story was told. She put me put me on Zoloft. I also started energy healing along with traditional therapy. The Zoloft calmed the anxiety I felt for my middle child. Energy healing helped me let go of things I was holding deep inside myself.
October began with my mother, husband, youngest daughter and me flying to LA to celebrate Bailey’s 16th birthday. The weather was beautiful! We were staying in a new area of LA. Our first full day was without our middle child. We spent a good part of that day at the Getty Museum.
We picked up Bailey on Saturday morning and she appeared to be doing well. There seemed to be enthusiasm about spending her down time with us: driving around the city; taking in a museum; hanging out and playing cards.
The Museum of Death was the place of interest that we decided to visit with Bailey. Permission was given from the treatment center. In hindsight, this might not have been the best choice.
Her grandmother treated us all to a wonderful dinner to celebrate Bailey’s birthday. One afternoon we brought cake to the hotel. Then our time with Bailey was over for awhile…my next trip was not for a month.
When the leaves on the trees started their transformation from greens to the bright autumn hues, my mindset also began to change. The weekend before Halloween I took a solo trip to visit my eldest daughter, who was a Sophomore in college; this was I knew something had altered for me. I had planned my weekend around long walks with and without my daughter. For a few weeks I hadn’t been running because my knee had been bothering me, so a hotel with a pool had been booked. I arrived on a Thursday night. Friday morning I met my daughter for breakfast. My plans were set for the day: first breakfast, then a long walk to make returns that I hadn’t had time to do at the stores near home. The walk was at least five miles round trip. After breakfast I said goodbye to my adult child until that evening. The day was beautiful and very warm for a fall day in Massachusetts. Enjoying my walk, I was about a mile from the stores when my knee buckled and took me down to the ground. With the pain surging through my knee I sat on someone’s stairs in the middle of Somerville, MA. Eventually the pain lessened. I got up and decided to hobble the rest of the way to Assembly Row. Once I reached the the Mystic River, near the shops, I calmly installed the Lyft App, then went into the stores to return my things. The 2.5 mile walk back to the parking garage where my car was parked wouldn’t be happening.
Although, I was in pain and spent a good part of the afternoon icing my knee and resting, a satisfaction of sorts settled over me: with the exception of not having a great walk, everything I set out to do had been accomplished. An appointment with the orthopedic surgeon was made. Also, I learned how to use a Lyft. The last thing may seem extremely small, but every time I learn something new I hear my dad’s voice in my head: “It’s good to learn something new every day”.
That evening, I met my daughter and her boyfriend, at the university, and walked into town for dinner. Sadly, the dinner was interrupted; it was necessary to talk with someone at Bailey’s treatment facility. Once again, my thoughts were divided between the conversation at the dinner table and my concern for my middle child out west. For the second time, I felt sad that the small amount of time I had to get to know my daughter’s significant other was interrupted. Although I knew my child in LA was going back to in treatment care, my college age daughter and I enjoyed the rest of our weekend together. We took a road trip on Saturday to Marblehead. Sunday we met for brunch, then I made the long drive home in the pouring rain.
Between my weekend drive to Massachusetts and my flight at the end of the week to LA, I was able to see the orthopedic surgeon about my knee. On my visit I was informed that there was “severe arthritis behind each knee cap”. My main question of the doctor was “Will I be able to run anymore?” He gave me a look and said, “What do you think?”. Obviously the answer was “no”. “Just another ending, another thing to mourn”, was my thought that fall day. I had been running for 33 years. I was not old, just 51, but I had known for a long time my knees would give up on me. For so many years I ran through worst things to happen in life. I could’ve railed against the unfairness of this news, along with everything else that was happening/ had happened in my life. Walking through the hard things and stopping to face them was something I knew could be done. As much as it hurt to stop running, I didn’t break. There was pleasure taken in my growth to be able to stand up to the bad; this is how recognizing joy the little things began for me: to take something negative and find the positive…..
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
In the summer of 2018, our middle child (Bay) told us he was severely depressed with extreme suicidal ideation. For almost a year, I woke up every morning dreading that Bay had taken his life while we slept. I was anxious and sad for my child. Time was spent seeking joy: I ran, swam, and did yoga. Friends would walk and talk with me. My husband, youngest daughter and I laughed for many months with the show Schitt’s Creek. As a family we took road trips. Although I didn’t see it at the time, all these things, small as they were, helped me wade through that dark time: I was chasing Joy, but it remained elusive.
A year later, in the summer of 2019, Bay was in a treatment center in Los Angeles, California for his mental health. July began with my husband and I traveling to California together from our summer residence in Muskoka, Ontario. Our eldest daughter was living at home for the summer. Our youngest was at camp a few hours away from our cottage.
We arrived in the City of Angels on July 5; that afternoon we met with our son and his therapist. In that session, our middle childth old us that he was transgender and would now be using the pronouns “she” and “her”. Bay wanted to “come out” to her sisters and grandparents herself. For the time being, my husband and I kept it a secret from most of our family members. When we talked about Bay with our family and friends, she was our son and the male pronouns still applied. My husband and I were trying hard to use the correct pronouns when we talked with each other, Bay, and anyone associated with the treatment center. We also learned that our child was trying to decide on a new name, eventually Bay became Bailey.
Almost every other weekend either my husband or I flew from Toronto to Los Angeles; these trips were solo. However, on August 1, 2019, my husband, youngest daughter and I flew to Los Angeles where we met our eldest daughter who had arrived several hours earlier. This was the weekend Bailey was going would reveal herself to her siblings.
I would have liked this trip to be purely for pleasure; it was the first time our two other children had been to California. We tried to add some fun experiences during our trek out west. The first morning we were in LA, was Friday. Family therapy was scheduled for that afternoon, so we took our oldest and youngest daughters to El Matador State Beach, in Malibu and then to lunch at the Santa Monica Boardwalk.
After our morning and early afternoon out, it was time for family therapy. I don’t remember much of that hour when Bailey came out to her sisters. Also, there is no memory of how she presented her news. What I do remember is my eldest, who was and is very enlightened, was not able to wrap her mind around the announcement that her middle sibling made. My youngest just seemed to absorb the information. I’m sure there were tears and questions, but the memory escapes me.
Although we talked with Bailey every day while she was in treatment, we could only see her Saturdays or for family therapy. On Saturdays, after a morning group therapy sessions at the residence, there was lunch (if we chose to stay). Bailey was allowed to spend time away from the house with us; the break from the center could be a few to several hours.
The Saturday Bailey’s sisters were in Los Angeles was rough. While my husband and I were in our parent group, Bailey’s sisters arrived early, hoping to spend a little time with her. Apparently, she engaged very little with them. After lunch Bailey didn’t have any solid thoughts on what we should do during her time with us. She had suggested “window” shopping to my husband the previous weekend. I proposed we drive through Beverly Hills and walk down Rodeo Drive, as it is unique to LA. We didn’t plan to buy anything, but I thought it might be fun; this wasn’t the best idea. We spent maybe an hour on Rodeo drive. Bailey went into the stores that we went into. In the last store, however, I pointed to an outfit and said “Bailey, this outfit would look good on you, because you are tall and thin”. Within a minute she left the store and joined my husband outside. My 13-year-old later said, she thought Bailey would have preferred to stay at the house.
We drove around LA and had a good sushi dinner not far from the house where Bailey was living. We thought she appreciated it. After dinner, as we headed to have ice cream, we passed a few teenage couples. Bailey said, “I really don’t like teenagers”. My eldest responded, “I hate to point out that you are a teenager”. My middle child responded with “Yes, and I don’t like myself”; it felt as though Bailey had relapsed.
Our last day in LA we didn’t see Bailey. Our time to visit with her was over. The rest of us tried to enjoy more of what LA had to offer. We attempted to hike to the Hollywood sign. About an hour and a half into the hike we were extremely hot and didn’t seem to be close to where the hike was going to take us, so we turned back. Besides, there was a three-hour limit on our parking space.
Finishing our hike we decided to try In-N-Out Burger, as none of us had ever been to one: it was very crowded and nothing special…after lunch we went to Venice Beach. The sand was burning hot; because of this, my daughters and I had a clear path to run to the ocean, while my husband waited for us on the opposite side of the beach. We didn’t spend much time on the beach but strolled through the Hare Krishna Festival, walked along the board walk and saw some interesting buildings on our way to the car.
We arrived back at the hotel knowing this was our last night in sunny California. Our moods were anything but sunny, I think we all felt deflated. The next morning, at the airport, my husband, youngest child and I said goodbye to our eldest. The anticipated “family trip” had come to an end with each of us carrying our own burden. Even though we tried to engage in enjoyable activities, the purpose of our trip wasn’t for joy. We were there for love: to support and see Bailey.
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
On the 10th of the month, we received word that a good family friend from Toronto had passed away. She had been in my life since I was very young and was one of my mother’s closest friends. Our families were (and still are) somewhat intertwined in the history we have with one another. I always considered this wonderful woman and her extended clan a part of my family.
A little more than three weeks after our friend died, it became apparent that we needed to help our beloved dog, Murphy, go over the Rainbow Bridge. He was just a puppy when he became a member of our family in August of 2009. Murphy had a good life and at 14 1/2, our dog was in extreme pain. Everyone knew it was time to let him go, but I wanted just a little more time with him; this wasn’t meant to be. The day before Thanksgiving, with his family by his side, he took his last breath.
I wasn’t ready for either of these losses. The deaths, on top of other things that were happening, made it difficult for me to find joy. I had momentarily forgotten how to rejoice in the simple moments or find the tranquility in something that might seem insignificant.
The Sunday after Thanksgiving, my youngest daughter and I drove north with my mother. We were headed to Toronto to attend our friend’s funeral. My sister, who arrived the day before, was waiting for us at the hotel when we reached the city. In addition to being sad, I was stressed. The traffic was awful (due to road work as well as a Christmas parade). I was afraid we might not make it to the visitation that afternoon. Luckily, all went according to plan, but I didn’t feel any better.
The next morning, being an early riser, I planned to walk to the nearest Starbucks and arrive when it opened at 6 AM. Around 5:30, I went down to the lobby with my coat and mittens (my hat having been forgotten at home). Coffee was just being set up. I decided not to go to the coffee house but went for a walk anyway. The fresh air would be good for me. The morning was brisk, about 16°F and a light snow was falling. The city was quiet, the roadwork on Bloor Street had not started up for the day. Despite the torn-up streets, there was something magical that morning. With the shops lit for Christmas and the snow lightly falling in the crisp morning air, I felt a calmness wash over me. I walked about two miles that morning, until my ears were unable to stand the freezing weather. That time outside was more than just a good stretch for my legs: with that walk, I was reminded how I learned to find joy in the little things….
Authors Note: Stay tuned for the next segment of this story: it will be released somewhat like an old-fashioned serial.
To see Part 1, 2, 3 and 4 of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
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