WHY DID I CRY THROUGHOUT THE MOVIE “BROOKLYN”?

            At least five minutes into this beautiful film about a young Irish woman moving to America in the 1950s, the tears started.  “Brooklyn” taps into something profound and universal that should make all of us take notice, Irish or not. 

One can’t help but be moved watching the faces of Irish mothers waving sadly to their children departing on a ship for America.   A scene in New York of old Irish men getting their Christmas dinner at church tugs the heart as one of them sings alone, a  sorrowful lament in Gaelic.  In that moment it is not necessary to speak that language; the sense of loss and yearning is palpable.

            I didn’t grow up hearing stories of my immigrant past.  There was something about being Irish, but it was always followed by a joke.  There was no yearning for the old country, because it was a given that the reason for leaving was desperation, poverty, oppression.  “Brooklyn” captures the wave of immigrants who came out of the need to begin a new life with unlimited possibilities.  We don’t often see or ponder the difficulty of leaving behind the only life one has known to start over again in an alien place where one has no friends or family.  In “Brooklyn” we feel the unbearable loneliness and the questioning of the decision to emigrate.   Homesickness is described by a kindly Irish immigrant priest as an illness one suffers terribly for awhile, then it moves on to someone else.  Our nation’s immigrant past and present is far more complex than the narrative of a joyful arrival at the great “city on the hill.” “Brooklyn” reminds us to understand and appreciate the courage it took for our predecessors to come here.

            As “Brooklyn” comes to an end, the tears leave slowly.  In the sold-out theater where I saw it, this affecting movie kept much of the audience remaining for many minutes, Kleenex at hand.

PEOPLE STRUGGLING WITH EMOTIONAL ISSUES NEED A PLACE TO BE:   SOMETHING TO CONSIDER

One of the obstacles facing families who have a member suffering from mental illness or addiction is finding a place for them to live where they can be "looked after" to the extent their illness necessitates.  Many of those who live with mental illness can manage on their own as adults; take their medications, eat healthily, keep a house, and keep a job, but too many need others in their life to monitor their self-care.   When that person cannot live alone, and aging parents who have previously taken care of their adult child need to find a home for him, where can they turn?  Group homes are sometimes the answer, but there aren't enough of them and they are difficult to find.  They often have long waiting lists.

I just learned of an interesting approach that dates back centuries; and it gives me another proud Irish moment.  It was an Irish Saint -- Dymphna -- whose experience long ago became the basis for a spiritual evolution that led to humane and family centered care for those whose daily lives are affected by issues of the mind.  A small town in Belgium has been opening its doors to these people for centuries.  Yes, centuries.  Mental illness isn't a new phenomenon.  In the village of Geel, people with mental illness live as "boarders" in the homes of other villagers in Geel.  It is a town full of people living out their lives in health and peace.

See the details in the following internet posting.

http://www.upworthy.com/the-families-in-this-town-have-welcomed-the-mentally-ill-into-their-homes-for-the-last-700-years?c=reccon1

THEATER RECOMMENDATION
(I don't always write about mental illness or my pet peeves and snarky opinions!)

Get tickets NOW and go see the Shakespeare Theater's production of "Kiss Me, Kate." Amazing sets, lots of laughs, breathtaking music and choreography. The full house LOVED it. A standing ovation for the "Lois Lane" actress Robyn Hurder, who got extended applause for every scene she stole as she channeled the old days of Marilyn Monroe and Gwen Verdon. Go see it. Then see it again.

Truth for today:  What would we do without whimsy?

Nothing is Lost

A sock. A glove.  A puzzle piece. A key.

All are somewhere we can’t see.

Where have they been tossed?

Everything is somewhere.

Nothing is lost.

Everything is somewhere.

We look and look some more.

A sock should have a partner, a key should fit a door

A puzzle can’t be left undone.

We need to know that these aren’t gone.

Everyone is somewhere.

No one is lost.

When the puzzle piece we cannot find

Is someone that we love

The empty space fills with memory

That fits like a phantom glove.

We see them in our heart and mind

We meet them in our dreams.

Dreams and memory must suffice

Though a completed puzzle would be nice.

Somewhere in the universe

Are socks and gloves and keys.

We cannot know where they exist

It’s one of those mysteries.

Even though they may be missed

Nothing is lost.

OPENING OF MY BOOK ON MENTAL ILLNESS:

SWIMMING LESSONS:  A mother’s tale of navigating the mental illness tide.

First, a few words:

You gotta swim
Swim in the dark
There's no shame in drifting
Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark
Yeah you've gotta swim
Don't let yourself sink
Just find the horizon
I promise you it's not as far as you think
(“Swim” by Jack Mannequin)

As a kid I took swimming lessons and passed, but then in my mid-teens there was this near-drowning incident at a beach with unexpected surf and undertow.  I panicked, began to go under.  A stranger dragged me out, then disappeared.

When I decided to write this book, the image of fighting a tide came to my mind and thus the title.  To navigate the world when your child is mentally ill is to swim for your life. 

It also helps to be positive.     

            Before you read my story, know that I tell it not to get sympathy.   I want parents, family members, friends, teachers, neighbors, politicians, and treating professionals to know what it has been like “in the trenches” over the last two decades dealing with mental illness, so that we can all make demands for specific changes, while acknowledging improvements that are happening but that are too slow in coming.  More importantly, I want parents to hold onto hope.  There are good reasons for hope in 2015.  The changes that are happening in the developments in technology in medicine and behavioral health bode well for the future, but there is no fast fix coming.   Parents of mentally ill children need to know that no matter what sorrows and pain are coming your way in life, you can stay afloat and keep swimming even in the deepest water if you never let go of hope.  I’m a bit like Nellie in South Pacific:  a cockeyed optimist, “stuck like a dope with this thing called hope.” 

Hope is good medicine.  And it’s free. 

I’m not sure what exists beyond this life, but I do know that heaven and hell both exist on earth.  I have learned that hell is not the opposite of heaven; the great thing about hell is that it allows you to recognize heaven when you see it.  I know because I have been to both places in my life, and know I will return to each as my journey continues. Life goes forward and joy and pain are the tidal pools in which we, suddenly, may find ourselves.  

            Cockeyed or not, I’m not delusional.  I’ve had my abyss moments. The short version of my story is that I am the mother of four grown children. Two of them developed mental illness at an early age, and that meant over twenty years of doctors, counselors, frustrated teachers, psych and educational testing, expert consultations with  specialists far and near, and trips to the county courthouse. There were shocks, screams, tears, and more tears. Money flushed.  Nights without sleep. Headlong crashes into stone walls of inescapable, deadly reality.

Still, my children are beautiful; my love for them without limit.  While this is my story, it is their story too, and they have encouraged me to tell it.  Their desire to share about themselves in order to encourage understanding is amazing to me. My hope for their future remains strong.

I keep swimming.  

THE COMMERCIAL I HATE

Maybe my television watching isn’t pedestrian enough.  I tend to have MSNBC on too much as a background noise and that is why I have encountered too often what I see as the most annoying, nauseating advertisement on the tube. 

I’m talking about the General Electric “Ideas are ugly and scary” ad.  This mini-movie narrative is the story of a huge, monstrous, hairy, alien creature with oversized eyes and a long hairy tail.  While sorrowful music plays, this being is born, seen in a delivery room bassinet with nurses looking on, frowning.  Then we see this creature shuffling around the street, repeatedly rejected, looking like a beaten puppy.  It ends up on the street sleeping in a cardboard box.  At last it is discovered and accepted.  In the end this creature has had a makeover, and is seen cleaned-up and colorful, standing in the bright lights of a stage in front of an enthusiastic audience.

Why do I hate it so?  Three reasons:  First:  this narrative is manipulative beyond belief.  All ads set out to do this, but this one yanks you by the throat and chokes you.  It is an outrage to use bullying and homelessness to sell GE products, comparing the human tragedy of society’s rejection as a selling point.  Secondly:  I love puppies, kittens and babies, but this creature is so scary looking I have to look away; there is no redeeming moment when I can fall in love with it.  Ideas can be rejected and later reconsidered, but not ideas as bad as this one.  Third:  it is brilliant, and whatever wunderkind thought it up took creativity in marketing to a level beyond Steve Jobs all the way to Dr. Frankenstein.

It is presumably is a winner for GE, but I for one will continue looking away or changing the channel.