Choices – Tell Me Your Story

The Little Things, Chapter 1: Chasing Joy

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

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:

Part 1: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2022/08/26/the-beginning-an-unexpected-journey-part-2-of-the-summer-that-could-have-been-idyllic/.

Part 2: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2023/02/01/on-thin-ice/

Part 3: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2023/07/13/standing-at-the-edge-of-the-world/

Part 4: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2024/06/29/the-summer-of-the-loons-the-beginning-2/

Part 5: https://tellmeyourstory369820890.wordpress.com/2024/06/30/the-little-things-prologue-2/?preview=true

The Little Things: Prologue

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

This past November was a difficult….

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:

Part 1: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2022/08/26/the-beginning-an-unexpected-journey-part-2-of-the-summer-that-could-have-been-idyllic/.

Part 2: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2023/02/01/on-thin-ice/

Part 3: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2023/07/13/standing-at-the-edge-of-

the-world/

Part 4: https://tell-me-your-story.org/2024/06/29/the-summer-of-the-loons-the-beginning-2/

On Thin Ice

Part 2 of An Unexpected Journey

Imagine life is like a frozen lake. You decide to walk out on the ice because you think it is solid. Unfortunately, you hear a cracking sound and feel the ice breaking. The ice is not as solid as it seemed.

We felt those cracks the summer of 2018.

Bay, (our 14 year old) wrote us a five page letter entitled “I Am Still Here”, but in reading an email I wrote to a friend the actual title was “I Am Alive”. In that letter our child told us about his past year and how he was suicidal, depressed and had made plans to kill himself. We were fortunate; Bay took pen to paper, that summer night of 2018, and wrote us the letter rather than taking his life. I was at our family cottage with my husband, eldest daughter, son, and my mother. The morning we read the letter we were in a state of shock and sadness, not knowing how to proceed. A friend of my mother’s telephoned my mom while we were trying to process this. My mom was crying when she answered the call. Our neighbor took it upon herself to come right down to find out what happened. She did not come because she was a gossip and busy body; she was the opposite of that. She showed concern. When she found out what Bay told us, she said: “Take him to the emergency room”. An answer that was staring us in the face, but I never considered a mental condition would be looked at in the ER.

We went to the ER, and they were a great help, but it was determined that Bay was no longer in danger of killing himself and he could go home. We saw a social worker every week, for four weeks, while were at the cottage.

The ice held steady.

When we got home from our time in Canada, it took us a long time to actually find somebody who had any availability to see Bay. He started seeing a therapist in October. Bay seemed OK. However, he hid what he was thinking and feeling from his therapist and from us.

Bay’s friend group changed that fall. A few more cracks formed.

By December of 2018 Bay looked like he was closing in on himself. He would come home from school and go to bed. On the weekends, he barely got out of bed except to do routine things ( eat, shower, etc.). I guess the fact he still had a semblance of routine was good, right? He would eat very little and then had junk food late at night. At the dinner table Bay would make himself as small as he could. I was the only person in the house he would have a conversation with.

More cracks in the ice, with open water ahead.

One afternoon, I took him out after school and told him I could see how much he was struggling. I let him know we were trying to find a psychiatrist because therapy alone was not working. Bay agreed that he needed medicine.

I called around to find a psychiatrist that would take our insurance. In December of 2018, just before Christmas, I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist in April. There was no availability to see this psychiatrist for four months! Meanwhile, his therapist knew nothing of what was going on. WE only knew what we saw.

The ice continued to break. But I had not fallen through.

In early January we found Bay’s journal. We discovered many things that might be contributing to his extreme depression and suicidal ideation. He had been depressed for almost two years. Until then, we really didn’t understand how dark things were for him.

You might ask why we didn’t take Bay to the hospital. I wish I could put myself back in that time to answer this question. Why didn’t we? All I can remember is that we were in crises and “walking on eggshells”. Bay wasn’t truthful about how he was feeling and we didn’t want him to know we had been looking in his room for answers. I do know we wouldn’t have been able to get Bay in the car, unless he agreed. To be admitted to a hospital for mental health reasons the person has to be able to say they are in danger of hurting themself; at least that is what we understood at the time.

I ran, I swam, I practiced yoga….This allowed me to sleep at night. Every morning I held my breath not knowing if my child had made it through the night; when I heard him move in his bed I would let out a sigh of relief.

At this point, I felt like I was on a thick piece of ice floating in the middle of an open lake.

I found a little support group of sorts with some women I met in yoga, along with someone I had known for 19 years. One of these women was going through something similar, one was a psychiatric nurse, and the others had been touched by severe depression in one way or another. I also had made another friend, a single mom and pastor, who was easy to talk to.

By late February/early March, my husband found Bay’s journal again and told him so. Everything was out in the open…

With the way our son was treating us, our home had become increasingly unhappy. He would yell at his father, tell us he hated us and to “fuck off”. I knew Bay said these things because he was hurting; no matter what was said, we loved him unconditionally.

My youngest daughter, who has the biggest heart, was beginning to suffer. I was sad all the time and my husband was hurting too. Luckily my eldest child was in her second semester of college and away from home.

In early February we went to our lawyer to change our will and prepare for what the future might hold. Tears came to my eyes and I started crying because I didn’t know if my middle child had a life ahead of him. Our lawyer gave us the name of a fantastic psychologist who had saved her daughter. I called the psychologist and left a message using our lawyer’s name. I discovered, at the time, it is all about who you know to get anywhere. A week later I had heard nothing back. Then a friend, who was (and still is) a school counselor gave me the name of the same psychologist. I called, using the names of both the women who recommended us to this psychologist and was called back right away. Unfortunately, we had to wait at least a month for an appointment.

I continued to float on my piece of ice.

In February and March we told Bay’s therapist (the one he started with in October) all the things we had found out, they finally started to make some headway. Really, it was too little too late. The last time they met, she finally suggested medication.

The first day we saw the new psychologist, she suggested we take Bay to an inpatient clinic right away. She didn’t know how he was still alive. Bay would have been admitted to the clinic, however there were no beds. We went to the ER. In an emergency room, if it’s determined a person is a danger to themself, they have an obligation to find that person a bed. After 9 hours between the inpatient clinic and then the ER, Bay came home with us.

My heart was heavy, I was constantly afraid of what I might wake to. I was still floating, but my piece of ice was shrinking.

The following week (mid April), we saw the psychiatrist that we had been waiting months to see, only to be told: “Did you know March, April and May are the highest months for suicide? I fully believe that Bay will need medication, but it may take several appointments to reach that point”. We were looking at the end of May before our son MIGHT be given medication. When Bay told his new psychologist this (on his third visit) she was appalled and suggested we pay out of pocket for a private psychiatrist. She gave us two names. I called both of them. Simultaneously, she gave them the heads up that I would be calling. We were seen within a week.

We saw the psychiatrist and Bay was put on Zoloft; a medication that starts on a low dose and takes some time to take effect.

Not quite a week later, My eldest called us in the middle of the night and said she was really worried about Bay. She had been sent pictures of her brother’s side of a Snapchat conversation. What Bay had said was extremely ominous. My eldest thought her brother might take his life that night. After I hung up the phone, I went into see my son. He said the crisis had passed for the night. My eldest sent the pictures to me. I, in turn, sent them to both of his doctors.

In real life, the area of Muskoka, where our cottage is, was flooding and destroying property at this time. I was worrying about that along with what was happening here. My little piece of ice felt like it was being tossed in the flood.

We had an emergency visit with Bay’s psychiatrist the afternoon following the phone call from my eldest and an emergency visit with the psychologist the day after. When I say an “emergency visit”, it’s because there are certain times that are saved for a patient in crisis; he was in crisis. The psychiatrist put him on lithium, a medication that helps reduce the risk of suicide.

The lithium seemed to be working. However, there was still a long road ahead of us.

The ice started to freeze over again; I felt safer.

A few cracks were heard along the way:

I was called about a finding on my mammogram; I went in for further testing and was fine. Then my mother fell and broke three ribs. She probably would have died if her significant other hadn’t been with her.

During this emotional turmoil I ran so I could breathe; went to yoga so I could focus; swam to allow the water to hold me up; and went to therapy so I didn’t drown if I fell through frozen water. Sometimes you don’t realize the how fragile life can be. Four years ago we were a family standing on thin ice, every day thinking it might break. Even now that life is fairly solid, I hear distant echoes of the ice cracking.

Author’s notes:

In May of 2019 I wrote an email to a friend to explain what I had been going through since the summer of 2018. This story is taken from the “letter” I wrote, hoping to paint a picture of why my year had been so incredibly hard. For those of you who have not read The Beginning- An Unexpected Journey, this story summarized some of it. The name of my child has been changed.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health related crises, please call 988 or chat with somebody at https://988lifeline.org/ . Suicide is a leading cause of death in the United States; if you are reading this story from another country and have a help line to add, please share it in the comment section.

The Little Things, Chapter 1: Chasing Joy

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

12 Years

Last year I published the following story about the day my dad died. Today is the 13th anniversary of his death, I am reposting this story as it was written last year.

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.

On Thin Ice

Part 2 of An Unexpected Journey

We felt those cracks the summer of 2018.

The ice held steady.

Bay’s friend group changed that fall. A few more cracks formed.

More cracks in the ice, with open water ahead.

The ice continued to break. But I had not fallen through.

At this point, I felt like I was on a thick piece of ice floating in the middle of an open lake.

By late February/early March, my husband found Bay’s journal again and told him so. Everything was out in the open…

I continued to float on my piece of ice.

My heart was heavy, I was constantly afraid of what I might wake to. I was still floating, but my piece of ice was shrinking.

We saw the psychiatrist and Bay was put on Zoloft; a medication that starts on a low dose and takes some time to take effect.

The lithium seemed to be working. However, there was still a long road ahead of us.

The ice started to freeze over again; I felt safer.

A few cracks were heard along the way:

Author’s notes:

Beyond The Darkest Day:

How I survived the grief after Pan Am Flight 103

Recently, a New York Times headline read: Libyan Operative Charged In 1988 Bombing is in F.B.I. Custody. A friend messaged me the article, saying “this must stir some emotions”. My response was, “…This time of year, every year since 1988, I feel it.” There is something in the cold, damp air, that comes in December that makes my body remember that time 34 years ago. You know the saying: I feel it in my bones….that is what it is like for me, but instead of a premonition, it is a remembrance of the past.

A day later, another friend sent me a text: “Thinking of you today as Pam Am bomber is in the news.” I am grateful that I have people who understand how that terrible incident still lingers somewhere inside me. Thinking back from the time that I first heard the news and the days following, the question comes to me: Did I share my pain and sorrow with the good friends who I spent the holidays with, or during the time we traveled together? The answer is most likely no, I tried to keep my emotions hidden back then. Some people called me stoic.

Shortly after I was told of the explosion of Pan Am Flight 103, I left my friend Deirdre (who I had been traveling with) and went to the airport in Brussels to fly back to London for the holidays. It was December 22, 1988, less than 24 hours after the fire in the sky. Getting close to my boarding gate, I went to a pay phone and called home; it was important to let my family know I was alive and well….both my mother and I were in tears as we spoke.

Still weeping, I bought a newspaper to try and understand everything that I had learned just a few hours before; that is when my uncontrollable crying started. A young woman came to me and asked me in heavily accented English what was wrong. I pointed to the paper, unable to talk. She said “Don’t worry, that won’t happen to us.” There was no way for me to explain, nor did I have the energy to try…

When I arrived in London, I must have gone to the house where my friends, Mike and John, and I were staying for Christmas. My memory fails me. We were staying in a house that my cousin, who was studying at the London School of Economics, and some others were renting for the year. Had everyone who lived there left the house for the holidays, or was my cousin still in town? I can’t imagine that I went to an empty house, in a strange part of London, and stayed all alone….

What I do recall about the days and weeks following are fragments of memory:

Mike and I planning Christmas dinner:
Going into the shops asking strangers how to cook a turkey Neither of us, at age 20, had cooked a holiday feast before. That was a good day

Spending Christmas Eve at my local pub: The Ashes. Talking all night to Kevin, the Scottish man I had a crush on, about Lockerbie. He understood the heaviness I felt. His family home was near the town where the plane came down

Leaving London and traveling with the Christmas group: Mike, John, Meredith (John’s girlfriend), and Amy (Meredith’s) friend.

Arriving in the wee hours of the morning to Strasbourg, most of us falling asleep on our backpacks, while we waited for dawn in the train station.
Mike staying up while we slept to make sure the stranger near us didn’t steal anything .

New Year’s Eve near Munich: firecrackers going off in the crowd. Me feeling scared and upset…. all I could see was what the plane might have looked like in that darkest night in the sky

Saying goodbye to Meredith and Amy.

Venice in the winter with Mike and John
The three of us off to Padua to see Grazia, a friend from high school. My Italian friend telling me not to go to Milan- it was dangerous for a young woman traveling alone.

Leaving Mike and John as they headed south and I west

Arriving in Milan to find the youth hostel closed. Getting back on the train, arriving in Zurich after dark, not knowing where to go. Thankful for once for “Loud Americans” as I tried to figure out what to do. A group of young women, all students abroad, took me to the private hostel where they were staying

Checking into the International Youth Hostel the following day bumping into Deirdre while she was brushing her teeth. Catching up on the last few weeks

Heading different directions over the next few days.

Solace in Interlaken, as I hiked by myself on the land between two lakes

A train to Innsbruck, Walking down the corridor, passing compartments to find a seat.
I heard someone behind me: Sarah?!”, a voice called Looking over my shoulder, there was my friend, and roommate, once again

We traveled together the last days of our semester break. Munich: our last night on the European Continent. Running into a friend of Deirdre’s, The three of us spending the evening in the Hofbrau House. Late at night we boarded a train to take us to the ferry to England…. A 5:30 stop at a station, just long enough to purchase the best bratwurst ever!

Arriving back in London, without a place to live we headed to a hostel we knew A block away from the hostel, I stepped off the curb, twisted my ankle, and the full weight of my backpack came tumbling down…. My friend, laughing hard, asked if I was okay. No, not okay, I could barely walk Stumbling along beside Deirdre, as she carried both our packs to the hostel…

Had I gone home for Christmas 34 years ago, one of the students on Pan Am flight 103 might have been me. The young men and women on that plane, from Syracuse program in London, were the students on my flight to England earlier that year. Perhaps I would have been on the other plane that transported my fellow classmates home. I will never know; a different choice was made.

All these years later, the realization hits me with two scenarios of what could have happened if I went home for the holidays in 1988: I might no longer walk this earth or I would have sunk into a deep depression that would have been hard to climb out of. By deciding to stay in Europe, I lived. Traveling with old and new friends, helped me to focus most of my energy on something else. The trauma of that event lingers within me, however every Christmas Season I think of my friends and how they helped me make it through those awful days after Lockerbie.

A Storm Is Coming

After reading this story, many people may decide to no longer follow Tell Me Your Story. That is your prerogative and I understand. However, please give me the courtesy of reading my story.

A storm is coming, across our land. Perhaps it is only the black clouds of anger that are encircling me. I am mad, frustrated and scared for what is happening within our country.

Everyday, during the school year, kids recite the Pledge of Allegiance; it goes like this:

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

For a while now, I believe that the United States has been becoming divided and the “liberty and justice for all” is being extinguished.

Overturning a 50 year old ruling

The storm grows closer upon finding out Roe V Wade was overturned, although not surprised, I was filled with a gray sadness. I am pro-choice. For years, not engaging in conversation about this, was best for me; it’s such a divisive subject.

In college, I had (and still have) a dear friend who was (and perhaps still is) pro- life. Our differing beliefs have no influence on our friendship. Differences are what make us human. One day, years ago, this young woman came to me and said “ My mom thinks she might be pregnant. She can’t have a baby, she’s too old.” I looked at her and said: “what do you think she should do?”. The response was: “She should have an abortion.” “That’s what it means to be pro-choice”, I said with surprise. “You have the right to choose what is the best thing for you.” Granted, this was her mother she was talking about and in the end her mom wasn’t pregnant.

In my early twenties I was moving into an apartment with someone I barely knew. Before we moved in together, she wanted me to know that she was pregnant and was going to have an abortion. Not long after she told me this news, I took her to the clinic. I held the hand of my new housemate, as she lay on the table, while her pregnancy was terminated. Although I haven’t seen this friend in 21 years, that day is something we were both thinking about as Roe V Wade was overturned: she on one side of the country and me on the other. She had many good reasons to choose this course of action, but she had a CHOICE.

Ten years later, I mourned with my neighbor, another friend. She continued with a pregnancy that she knew would ultimately end with the death of her child. My heart broke as I watched this woman go from the joy of finding out she was pregnant, to the grief of knowing her baby would die. She was so strong, enduring months of sadness. Although the termination of the pregnancy was a possibility, this wasn’t something she would do. Her baby had a chromosomal disorder, Trisomy 18. My friend’s life wasn’t in danger, so she continued through with the pregnancy.

The overturning of Roe V Wade: could it lead to more human rights being overturned?

The thunder begins to rumble, as I hear the words from Justice Clarence Thomas:

“landmark high court rulings that established gay rights and contraception rights should be reconsidered now that the federal right to abortion has been revoked.” https://www.cnbc.com/2022/06/24/roe-v-wade-supreme-court-justice-thomas-says-gay-rights-rulings-open-to-be-tossed.html

Several months ago, after telling someone close to me that Roe V Wade might be overturned, I was told “Roe V Wade can’t be overturned, there are too many checks and balances”. A few weeks ago that same person apologized to me saying, “you might be right about Roe V Wade being overturned”. Today, when I mentioned that I was extremely worried about Justice Thomas’ words, this man told me the same thing about checks and balances. I reminded him he was wrong before.

Why does this upset me so much, as a cisgender, heterosexual, white woman, who is almost out of her child bearing years? I have three daughters, one of them is transgender. If these rights are taken away, what is the recourse for contraception, and for anyone to live their life in the LGBTQ community? Is a whole segment of society going to be outlawed?

If I could speak to Justice Clarence Thomas

Roe v Wade was over turned by a majority rule, this is true. However, it’s the words from Justice Thomas, that make the storms clouds swirl rapidly around me, and the earth quake under my feet. If I could speak to Justice Clarence Thomas, this is what I would say:

On the matter of abortion and contraception: Do you really think taking contraceptive rights away from a generation of women is a good idea? Let’s take a few examples….

1) rape and incest: if a woman becomes pregnant because of these atrocities she would have one of two choices: carry the baby to term or get a back alley abortion. Not everyone can afford to travel to a state where abortion is still legal.

2) medical reasons: I consulted with a doctor and found out that there are so many medical reasons to terminate (to see the full list see the note at the bottom of the story*): The top two are ectopic pregnancy and critical maternal illness. Ectopic pregnancy is seen in 1% or more of all pregnancies; it is the “Leading cause of death in the first trimester. Ectopic fetuses can have cardiac activity at time of diagnosis. Pregnancy termination to avoid death by tubal rupture and massive bleeding is an obvious, lifesaving surgery, because treatment can be severely toxic to fetus or cause miscarriage.” Critical Maternal illness the “Treatment can be severely toxic to fetus or cause miscarriage”. The over turning of Roe V Wade does not allow for so many women to have the ability to make a Choice that’s best for her family. Are you telling me a life that has not been fully formed is MORE important than the life that already is?

3) Contraception (otherwise known as birth control): if a woman’s right to contraception is taken away, how is she supposed to prevent pregnancy? Perhaps “Justice” Thomas, you mean the morning after pill, but I have a feeling you truly mean all contraceptives. Let’s go back to the morning after pill…I don’t know much about it, but it is obviously less invasive than an abortion and safer than other means a woman will go to.

When it comes to revisiting gay rights, I hear that you would like to take these liberties away. In The Declaration of Independence we are taught, as children, that “every human being has unalienable rights” among which are ” life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. If you take away these absolute rights, you will be criminalizing a population of people: men, women, children and those who don’t conform to any of those labels.

You say “gay rights”, however it unequivocally means the whole of the LGBTQ community. My child has finally, after a long struggle, come to accept and have pride in who she is. Mr. Thomas, you are not a “just” man. Haven’t you had bias against you? I don’t care what your race is, but the fact of the matter is you’re a black man. Also, I just found out that your wife is white. I don’t care about the color of your wife’s skin either, but if you decide to revisit contraception and gay rights aren’t you opening the door for the Supreme Court to “revisit” Loving vs. Virginia? It could happen, after all the ruling is 55 years old; 5 years older than Roe vs. Wade.

Words have power

The words to this poem came to me, as I swam through my sadness and feelings of being powerless, last Sunday.

To me the word CHOICE means so many things, but above all it’s this: people should be able to live life the way they want without the anger and hatred of others. It doesn’t matter to me what color or ethnicity you are. Color and ethnicity cannot be changed, neither can gender identity or sexual orientation. I believe in the freedom of religion and how one chooses to pray. What I don’t respect is when people can’t listen and hear the reasons WHY a person lives their life in the style they do.

I can’t talk with Justice Clarence Thomas, but perhaps people in this country can start by have a conversation with each other. For those of you who are still reading this story, I challenge you to take time to listen to the opinion of others. Respect and embrace the differences within our country. Our country was founded so that people could have freedom. If contraceptive and gay rights are taken away, it won’t just be a storm; it will be a hurricane, leaving devastation in its wake.

*According to the doctor I consulted there are so many medical reasons to terminate a pregnancy; these include:

“Fetal anomaly/lethal defect If the fetus has no chance of surviving must this pregnancy continue and place mother at risk?

Selective reduction Used to reduce #fetuses being carried to decrease health risk to mother and increase likelihood survival for remaining fetus

Selective termination Used to terminate one abnormal fetus while allowing the in uterine siblings to continue. Technically the woman remains pregnant

Premature Rupture of Membranes If this occurs in second trimester a live birth is highly unlikely but this carries increased risk serious infection (not necessarily imminent but eventually)

Cancer Both chemo and radiation harmful to fetus, especially/predominantly in first 3 months. Causes birth defects, fetal loss and neonates with compromised blood counts.’

MARCH 2021 /March2022

Deanne Burch Alaska February 27, 2022 8 Minutes

When I started writing this story, I could not have envisioned the tragedy that is happening in the Ukraine right now. I was feeling bright with hope. The world was beginning to open up after almost two years of people being isolated from each other. Have we learned nothing as humans, after two years of semi-isolation, about how to treat our neighbors with dignity and respect? I think not and this is very sad! As I go to publish my blog and muse on what last March brought for me, I wonder what this March has to bring for the world…..

A year ago, my birthday coincided with the publication of my memoir: Journey Through Fire and Ice*. Covid gave me the opportunity to launch my book. However, the virus extinguished the celebration of my significant birthday. Starting last March, many of us were slowly able to be vaccinated against Covid, hoping to regain some normalcy to our lives; to some of us it meant being able to travel again. For me, the vaccine, simply meant I could see some family. My older daughter and grandson flew in from California in July. During her visit, Trudeau announced that on August 9, all vaccinated people could cross the Canadian border. My younger daughter, youngest granddaughter and I went to Canada in mid-August for three glorious weeks. It was a joy to be up there! I was overwhelmed when my two brothers and their wives graciously hosted a delayed “Big Birthday” and happy to celebrate with family and old friends.

March of 2022 marks the one year anniversary of my book. For me, writing this memoir, was a journey that was several years in the making. I started writing it after my husband died, not sure if I would ever publish it or even if I wanted to. When the book was finished, I knew I wanted to publish it. I felt women should learn they could deal with a life that was very different than the life they were brought up in. My life in Alaska would show others an example of how to adapt to the triumphs and tragedies that happen along the journey called life.

Publishing was more difficult than I expected. I had sent the memoir out to a few agents with little response. About two years ago, my brother called and said “Deanne, life is short, you really need to get this published”. In the end, I took the self-publishing route, hiring Authority Publishing, a non-fiction company to publish the book for me. They helped me all the way through the publishing process. On March 1, 2021, I had a copy of my book in my hands. It was an exhilarating moment! Of course marketing a book is never easy…I had a social media expert, Cheryl Callaghan, help me as well as a PR agency. This has led to radio interviews and podcasts which were interesting for me, and I hope for others as well.

*Woman on right is one I correspond with*.
*She is now in her seventies*

*parka made for me by one of Facebook Friends:Sonja Barger*

Since writing the book, many of the Inupiaqs who live in Kivalina have been in touch with me and are friends of mine on Facebook. This has been the greatest benefit of all. I often wondered what happened to the people I knew and loved when I lived there. Most of them are deceased but their children and grandchildren are still living in Kivalina. I live their life through their posts and photos on Facebook. When we lived there the population was 150 people and it has exploded now to 450. However climate change is forcing this village to move upriver. By 2025, the island of Kivalina will be underwater.

For those of you who have not read Journey Through Fire and Ice, it takes place in 1964-1965 and is a short period in my life. Kivalina is a place where I learned that life is not a fairy tale. At the time, I had to live with a different culture, in a village with no plumbing, electricity or running water. My life, on a small island 83 miles above the Arctic Circle, was different than anything I could have ever dreamt of: a white city girl cutting up seals, living under the midnight sun and suffering through the minus 30 below weather when darkness set in. I became the woman I am today because of the triumphs and tragedies during my life there. If you haven’t read my memoir, come and take the journey with me and you will understand why Kivalina will live in my heart forever. This memoir is only part of my story.

Writing this blog, I never intended to end this as wish for peace. Today all eyes are on Russia and Putin’s takeover of the Ukraine. I wonder how our country can just stand by and do little to help this proud country. The sunflower, a flower full of happiness is the national flower of the

Ukraine. For those of us who are on Facebook, please post photos of sunflowers in support of and prayers for this country. They never asked for this war and don’t deserve the horrible act of aggression that is taking place now.

* Authors Note: This coming month, to celebrate the one year anniversary of publication, the kindle version of the memoir will be selling on Amazon for $4.99 instead of the regular $9.99 so if you have friends who haven’t read it or if you haven’t read it, I hope you will consider buying it. I have been happy with the reviews and have been surprised to find that although I thought my market was primarily women, men enjoyed it as well. Reviews are very important and I appreciate all of you who have taken the time to write a review for me.

My Daughter’s Choices: A Mother’s Perspective

By Deanne Burch

It is the beginning of August, 1983 and I am sitting on the dock watching my fifteen year old daughter swimming. Sarah has always been my water baby, learning to swim at the age of two, and starting to compete at the age of six. She was always last off the block but seemed to catch up and win each race that she went in. Today, as I watch her, I realize that her days of competition have come to an end and tears come to my eyes as I know what lies ahead of her.

Earlier this year she was diagnosed with a severe curvature of the spine. She had the choice of wearing a brace for four years and at the end of this time she may or may not need an operation. In addition to this, the doctors told us that she would probably need counseling because she would probably hate her body during this time. The brace would be uncomfortable and she would be limited in her activities. The other alternative was to have an operation to straighten the curve. It would involve putting a rod in her spine to straighten it.

She was only fourteen and yet my husband and I let her decide what she wanted to do. She chose the operation knowing the side effects that could possibly happen.

As I watch Sarah, she is doing duck dives and ballet legs and I wonder “will she ever be able to do these things again.” I know there is a possibility that she might die during surgery. I nearly lost her once. I know I could not bear to lose her because of the choice she made. Will she end up as a paraplegic? That might happen as well. Now the tears are running down my cheeks and I wonder if this decision is right for her.

August 17^th, she is taken into surgery; it is the longest day that Tiger and I have ever spent, waiting to find out if she will be okay and if the operation has been a success. Neither of us has talked at all to each other, too afraid of what might lie ahead. We sit silently until the doctor comes . Seeing him smiling, we know the operation was a success. Sarah will have many days of pain ahead of her and she will have to be in a brace for several months; all that seems insignificant now, because her future looks brighter than before.

****

It is now late August, 1988. I am sitting at the Harrisburg airport with Sarah and my mother- in- law. Sarah is going to London to spend a semester with the Syracuse University program abroad. I am excited for her. Tiger and I are planning on going to see her sometime this fall and she promises that she’ll be home after Christmas, before the start of second semester. She’ll have so many stories to tell us then and I can’t imagine Christmas without her. Going home, I feel the silence in the house. David is God knows where and Karen is in Boston. Tiger is traveling. All I have are the dogs. Christmas is only three months away and the house will be filled with laughter and joy. Three months is not a long time to wait to have most of the family together again.

Sarah has been gone now for a month and I get a letter saying how much she loves it there. With our permission, she has decided to stay for another semester. I am not happy with this turn of events but we gave her roots to grow and wings to fly. She is surely going to fly when she is in London.

Now it is December 21, the longest night of the year. Karen will be home tonight and Tiger and I are sipping a glass of wine when the phone rings. It’s my friend, Anne telling me there has been a plane crash over Lockerbie Scotland and there are no survivors. I wonder for a minute why she is telling me this when she suddenly says “Many of the passengers on board were from the Syracuse program abroad.”

Sarah is safe. I know she is….or is she? I start to worry. What if she decided not to travel and to come home to surprise us? I can’t get this thought out of my mind. By the time we pick up Karen from the airport, I am consumed with fear. The first words out of my mouth are “Was Sarah on that plane.?“ I knew Sarah would tell Karen if she was going to surprise us.

Karen didn’t know the answer. Suddenly I can’t believe that I didn’t greet her with a hug and kiss. After all she is my daughter too and I am overjoyed to see her.

We spend the night hoping, praying that Sarah is safe and not knowing. I toss and turn all night. It is the morning of December 22. The phone rings and I’m afraid to pick it up. Sarah is on the phone, calling from a distant phone booth someplace in Europe. We both start to cry knowing that had she not decided to travel over the holidays, she would have been on the plane that exploded. That was the flight that carried the students she had traveled with on her way to London. I thanked God that she was safe because of the choice she had made.

Sometimes I wonder if Sarah had a guardian angel watching over her. The choices she made changed her life forever and I am so grateful that the decisions she made were the right ones for her.