BRENDAN AND MY BOOK
A little over a year ago, after the first draft of my book was finished (
Swimming Lessons: a mothers tale of navigating the mental illness tide), ending on a note forward-looking and full of hope, a terrible phone call arrived from Rome. My 30 year old son, who had climbed out of the abyss of addiction to become an outstanding, extraordinary person and student both of life and academia, had died in a freak accident, falling from a building while sleepwalking.
After I screamed, time stopped. Shock straight-jacketed me for hours, then days. I kept sitting, wringing my hands, repeating the useless phrase, and hearing that song lyric in my head: "I just don't know what to do with myself!"
A month later, after the funeral and hugs, the tears and more tears, it came time to think about what to do with my book. Could I possibly go forward trying to share hope with other parents of children with these challenges, when fate had upended my entire premise? Had all my work been for nothing? I pondered for a few weeks more, then stood up and said, NO, I won't let this stop me. Brendan has encouraged me to write this book. To write about him and his sister honestly and help dissipate the stigma. So I left the book as it was, and added the following:
AFTERWORD
When I
started writing this book in 2013, it was intended to be a memoir that would
offer some coping strategies and a message of hope. I wanted to share my experience and convey to
other parents my firm belief that it is possible to survive, even thrive, while
raising a child with learning disabilities, mental or emotional illness, or
addictions.
Two of
my four children hit the DNA jackpot and endured combinations of all of these
challenges. For my husband and me, it
has been a long and difficult journey to nurture, educate and protect two
adored children who for years were following increasingly dangerous collision
courses with catastrophe. I was ready
to write this book because my son had overcome serious problems to become successful
in an amazing way, and my daughter, though still many steps behind, was making
slow but steady progress. The first
draft of my book was almost ready for prime time.
Then, on
September 8, 2014, a terrible phone call came.
Our son, Brendan, who had just celebrated his 30th birthday,
who had rebuilt his life and accomplished soaring academic success, who was in
a serious relationship with a young woman who might have become his wife, had
died in a tragic freak accident while studying overseas in Rome. The young man who had conquered paralyzing
anxiety, self-medication that turned to dangerous addiction, whose adventurous
exploits had already cheated death many times, was gone.
The
shock paralyzed me for days, and the sorrow and horror have occupied my mind
for many weeks. It has helped a little
to receive many heartwarming messages from his friends all around the United
States and abroad. They have blessed us
with stories of how he touched their lives; how much he was admired and loved
for his brilliance, his courage, kindness, humility and humor. As part of his own recovery, he counseled
others; there were people who came to his funeral who told us that he literally
saved their lives. We have learned that
we were not the only people who understood what an extraordinary individual he
was.
Daily
living is slowly and gradually returning to a new kind of normal. There is no path forward other than
acceptance, and to go on living.
When
this first happened, my thought was that I could never complete my book. The
random unfairness of my son’s death seemed to undermine my purpose. However, after much thought on this, I have
come to the conclusion that I cannot allow this terrible event to eclipse my
message of hope to other parents. I
remember that more than a year ago, when I told him I was writing this book
about his sister, he said, “Write about me too.” And so I included him in my
story.
Like all
parents who have lost a child, there is no getting over this. There will be no cure for the grieving, but a
scar will make it less of an open wound.
There will be an empty chair in our family forever, but the joy of our
pride in his almost miraculous accomplishments despite his personal issues can
never be diminished.
His
legacy will go on into the future. In
connection with his love of travel and appreciation for all that the world has
to offer, we established a scholarship in his name at the Claiborne Pell Center
for International Studies at Salve Regina University in Newport, Rhode Island. My message remains: If our son could survive to accomplish his
personal goals of getting physically and emotionally healthy, reconnecting with
family, finding a good woman to love, achieving academic honors, seeing the
world, and bringing back honor to his name, then all things are possible.
Mary
McKay
November
2014
