Finding Her Way Back

The crying of her terrified cat and the incessant ringing of the cell phone brought her thoughts to the present. Where had her thoughts been?

She pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and tried to rearrange her thought processes, to make some sense of a life gone mad. What was she doing here? Where was she going? Where had she been? And the bigger question – did she really care? It would be so easy and peaceful to go to sleep, never to wake again.

She knew she did not need to be here. All the rewards of a long, successful career were hers for the taking. She had worked hard for them. And she had a good husband, two healthy, young, well-educated adult offspring. One of these, her daughter, was married and expecting a baby soon, making this woman of 52 years a grandmother for the first time. But this event, that she had looked forward to with such enthusiasm, was all meaningless now.

What had happened to her? Why was she sitting in a car, in the middle of nowhere, with a desire to die? What had made her flee her husband? What had made her heart pound and her hands sweat as she packed her things with him watching helplessly? She was alone. Nobody understood, nobody asked what was wrong, nobody cared. The sense of uselessness, hopelessness and profound sadness was deep, more painful than any physical ailment she had ever experienced.

Finally, assessing the situation, and acutely aware that she needed help and needed it quickly, she forced herself to brace for the drive. "Stay in the right lane," repeated itself to her with the rhythm of the windshield wipers. She eased the car onto the highway with great care. Her fear of losing control and gliding into the left lane was almost paralyzing. The little cat was now asleep on the floor of the car, on the passenger side, and she drove toward the little town where she would find the long lane that would take her to where she would find help.

An hour later she pulled into the familiar driveway leading to the old house, where she hoped her husband would be. He just had to be there, the last grasp at the straw for her now.

*   *   *   *   *

In the next few weeks he sought medical help for her, cooked her meals, helped her shop for belongings she had lost, made certain she took her medications, and generally enveloped her in a cocoon of tender care, putting aside his hurt feelings in an effort to help her mend. Gradually, with his help, the fog started to lift, the panic began to subside.

But there were still bad, awful, terrible days: the times when she lashed out in irrational anger, cursing the fate that made her feel this way. He tolerated the anger, talked and listened, cajoled and kept forging ahead.

And gradually she found her way back.

*   *   *   *   *

Finally the long winter was over. The regime of medications she would need forever would continue. It would not be an easy road, but it would be a far cry from the day she sat, completely broken, on the side of the highway.

She was an experienced nurse, how did she ignore the symptoms? The fatigue, insomnia, loss of interest in everything dear to her, the withdrawal from human contact, the inability to concentrate, the inappropriate anger, the recurring thoughts of illness and death, the constant feelings of hopelessness? How did she ignore it?

She had experienced her first bout of depression, which was untreated, at age 13. As an adult, she had learned what the problem had been as a child. She knew that the change of seasons is difficult for this condition, and when fall came she fell. Even though fall was her favorite time of year, depression, the insidious eating away of the soul, did not stop. But from this day forward her guard would be up. For the rest of her life she was determined to be well.

*   *   *   *   *

Spring moved into summer, and the boats took to the water. I bring the camera to my eye and focus on the man at the helm of the boat. The camera focuses on him, and I see him and the wake of the boat, which looks like a trail of fine lace against the blue Newfoundland sky. He looks content. We have been together for thirty-two years and he probably knows my flaws and my strengths and loves me better than any other living being.

We are grandparents now, another wonderful stage of life to share, a dear little girl to adore. I make a mental note to never take health for granted, to never get sick again. I will be aware of the signs should they appear again. But will I notice? I can only try. Depression is sneaky, pervasive and requires a constant vigilance. Am I sure I am up to the challenge? I promise myself to really try. I can only try, and hope and pray that I can handle the dreaded depression with the grace of a woman and not the grief of a child.

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