What to Wear to the Funeral?
What do you wear to your son's funeral? Your son who flew out of his bedroom window because he couldn't stand the pain anymore; your son you had taken to so many doctors, therapists, emergency rooms and hospitals; your son whose birth was the happiest day of your life; Your son whose lifeless body you finally got access to by desperately ringing the neighbor's bell and going through the dark labyrinth of the basement with a flashlight, screaming his name; your dead son whose eyes you closed when you went to the hospital to see him one last time; your son who loved you but left you anyway, whose beauty had always made your heart skip a beat; your son you loved with all your heart and more...
That question played over and over in my mind. Does it matter? Does anything matter now that he is dead?
My son Evan was 15 and bipolar, diagnosed at age 11 following a suicide attempt at school and his first hospitalization. He finally decided it was time to be done with his suffering. We always kind of expected to outlive him, but didn't -- couldn't -- imagine, on that sunny October afternoon as we sat at lunch with him, laughing and joking, that it would be that very night.
Day Three: a Wednesday. Evan had jumped out of the window that Sunday night, dying instantly. Our personal 9/11. Like terrorism now, it was not a question of if, but when. How long had he been planning this? Was this suicide in his back pocket, waiting for a stressful moment, and a blip on the radar of his illness, to act?
Mom came to New York City immediately to stay with us and help with funeral arrangements. The apartment exploded with flowers, food and friends. Phones ringing, e-mails flying -- the doorbell, letters. I had been outside only once by then, to the funeral home around the corner. So I said to Mom, let's get out of here -- we'll shop. I have nothing to wear on Saturday. Maybe if I act normal, I will become closer to being so.
We set out in my neighborhood, Chelsea, first stop Barney's. One quick tour around and an immediate exit. It was all too trendy, too young, too casual. Uptown would have been better.
We worked our way down Eighth Avenue towards the meat-packing district. I'm not much of a shopper, but I remembered a proliferation of new clothing stores around there. We turned right on 14th street. Bad choice. It took us right by the funeral home where they had, just the previous day, been trying to sell us all sorts of urns and services -- all we wanted was his ashes in a box. "Just take care of the cremation," my husband and I had said. "We'll do the rest". Mom asked if I wanted to turn back or go another way. "No," I said, "I'll have to walk down this street eventually. I'll still have to see his friends. I'll still have to sort out his clothes. I'll still have to go through his backpack, clean out his locker and cancel his orthodontist appointment." Might as well get used to it.
We stopped by several stores on West 14th and it was the same -- more expensive, trendy, young, happy stuff. Still nothing for my baby's funeral.
Don't they know a child is dead by his own hand? A child who suffered so much but also brought so much joy, love, passion and humor? How can they sell over-priced low-rise jeans and belly-baring spangly tops when there are children, like mine, leaping out of windows and ending life as we knew it?
We turned up Ninth Avenue, about to give up. We suddenly came upon a beautiful store I hadn't noticed before. It was clearly out of my price range, but I thought, last chance -- let's try anyway, and entered.
There it was. A top and skirt, tasteful, seasonal -- beautiful. Deep brown flowered silk with blue accents- - cornflower blue like Evan's eyes and mine. We had immediately donated all his organs, including his corneas. Poor thing, I had thought to myself, wondering idly if the recipient would have to wear glasses or contact lenses. Would he see what Evan saw? Feel what he felt? Of course not, silly me. They were just body parts -- at least they could help someone who was alive. But I could not forget how happy Evan was when he finally got his contacts. He had seemed happier in the past year, more comfortable, pretending to be well...
I went into the changing room, a fat tear squeezing from my eye. How is it that I am here trying on something to wear to my teenage son's funeral? Why am I not shopping for a Sweet Sixteen, a graduation, a wedding? The skirt was fine but I needed a smaller top. By now the tears were streaming down my face. I worried about ruining this exquisite garment. I came out of the dressing room to ask for the six. My eyes drifted up to my face in the mirror -- now a permanent map of loss and despair. Evan's eyes looked back at me. How is it that I'm shopping for my son's funeral? Mom, meanwhile, had told the nice salesman what had happened, in order to explain my odd behavior. "I hope you don't mind," she said. I didn't.
The salesman looked at me with pity as he handed me the six. It fit perfectly. I didn't even look at the price tag. Turns out it cost more than I had ever spent on any article of clothing my whole life. It didn't matter. I had something to wear to my son's funeral.
Boy Interrupted will air on HBO on these dates through the month of August: Aug. 5 (8:45 a.m.), 9 (4:00 p.m.), 11 (7:15 p.m.), 15 (10:30 a.m.) and 21 (1:45 p.m.); on HBO2 Aug. 6 (8:00 p.m.), 10 (7:15 a.m.), 18 (2:55 a.m.), 22 (11:00 a.m.) and 27 (10:00 a.m.), as well as on HBO On Demand. The film can be purchased on DVD via www.amazon.com and www.hbo.com.
I have to admit I never gave a thought to what might have been left of the 13 9/11 terrorists; who cared about them?! But it turns out many of the victim's families cared.
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links to the official site of boy interuppted: http://www
similar behaviors included..
>destroying his room in time out
>talking about suicide in kindergarten
>didnt care for sports
>odd social behavior
>a specific look on the face, eyes shutting half way
>refusing to take responsibility for his actions
>threatening some violent things towards others
>banged his head against walls, cut himself, punch himself, threw violent fits
>went to a mental hospital
>diagnosed borderline bipolar/sc
>tried a private school
>therapy since he was around 5-15
>kicked out of every institution
>creative, sensitive
>emotional detachment frm death, mostly his own
>stayed at in strict christian home for 3 months
>same medication, depicote
>played guitar beautifully and wrote disturbing lyrics
>threatened suicide. made sure i saw the rope hanging in his room
i wish i had a way to thank these parents for making this movie. also i would like to thank evan for allowing your parents to film your behavior. for whatever reason you did this, i want to thank you for using your very life to help us understand our son a little more.
Dear Dana,
i know i dont know you at all or your son Evan but ive watched his story twice and he is just such an amazing kid in 2005 i was fifteen also and i remember feeling and going through those same emotions. i remember watching the movie and wondering just what it would be like to be his friend =) and regardless of us being total strangers it left me feeling blessed to know that i wasnt alone after watching Evans stroy i dreamed about him we sat down by the beach and talked for hours i dont remember much but it was so realistic he was so reasurring and comforting to talk to he spoke about you and how much you meant to him. ive been feeling pretty bummed lately cuz being a single mom is tough and not having anyone to talk to is even tougher its like he was just there to give me a hug and make me laugh i dont know it was a just such beautiful dream i felt it was important to really share this with you i had no clue how to write to you and its been on my mind since i had this dream to write u so hopefully i have a chance here
Its 2:22 A.M. and the credits of your documentary are currently rolling across the television. Im 18 and to the world i wish i was unbreakable. I dont know if im bipolar or depressed, my moods depend on the day. I think things hit when i was 12. I remember shaking and turning on the shower in the bathroom so my parents didnt hear me crying... and thinking alot. I didnt write a suicide note but i have lists and poems about funerals leading up to serenity , but never a note. Feelings arent something ive shared. Ive seen councilors and lost faith. Ive even been pulled from school and driven to a psychiatric facility but i refused to get out of the car. I think.... i dont want to be different or judged, maybe thats my problem. Throughout highschool i flooded myself with extra curriculars like studentcouncil. in my mind i was scared to be left alone to myself, hell maybe thats my fear. im positive about determinat
Sincerely
Leya
p.s. Important things are never past tense
:Leya: I wish I could tell where you are posting from; your comments are making me very worried for you. Please, don't give up on trying to find help. I am well aware of the misery of depression that seems unrelenting. You 'sound' like a terrific and caring person. A person worthy of receiving help. I will be thinking of you and sending my wishes for you.
An emotionally troubling exposition a boy's struggle with suicidality and bipolar disorder. With the current preference of pharmacological over other kinds of treatment, it's not surprising that we got the message that treatment of mood disorders is identical to medication. No clinician should hesitate to initiate treatment with a mood stabilizer like Lithium, but a more balanced treatment might have included the integration of insight-oriented or supportive "talk therapy" (this appeared not to have been considered in Evan's case). Medications and brief cognitive therapies get their appeal because they promise more rapid therapeutic response, but that loses its relevance when one sees, through this film, that this illness must be managed over long periods of time. As the film ended, I was curious whether any disclosure by Evan's parents about their own "wounds" (from suicide and refractive anxiety) was conveyed directly or indirectly (e.g., unconsciously) to Evan, particularly when he was old enough (>12 years) to perhaps benefit from some candid discussions . These are not trivial issues from a dynamic psychological orientation. I worry that this sensitive child "internalized" messages suggesting that he was "damaged goods." What goes unsaid in teen' social networks can be more demoralizing than what is actually said. Finally, was the "miraculous" turnaround described when Evan spent 3 months at Wellspring more the result of sometime away a larger network of family, school, and peers that may have contained elements of (unspecified) dysfunction, precisely because they were "unanalyze
Hey Miss Dana,
I don't know hoe to ask you that but....Let me ask you if you can read this can you please send me a copy of the documentary if you can do that I will be so happy
Ms. Perry,
I watched your documentary about your son. The future is impossible to see. I do not have a bipolar disorder but I was diagnosed with this disorder among many others over the course of my life. Trying to explain severe depression is like explaining the color blue to a blind man. My depression, regretably, was not brought on by disease but by fear, insanity, death, and pain. I did not have the support of family or friends I could turn to. My reality can not even fathom a loving family like yours, my every thought says it's a lie. Every one has a story and many people have a rough life. I am no better or worse than any one else. I just wanted to tell you something. I can not count how many doctors, psychologists etc.. have asked me if I want to kill myself, do I want to hurt some one , do I have a plan? I kept thinking about the letter your son wrote about reasons to live. Not one of my doctors ever asked my why I didn't kill my self? it's so simple. Have you ever seen the sun filter through the leaves of a tree? I have always loved seeing that sight. if I died I would miss it very much. Wishes and dreams are a drug, you can escape to them when ever you want and for awhile things work out. I wish Evan could have seen the sun.
Respectfully
Dear Dana,
Thank you so much for sharing your family's story. I was amazed at what wonderful parents you and Hart seemed to be. Evan was truly blessed to have you. As I watched "Boy Interrupted" I thought about how pro-active you were with his psychological state at such a young age. I believe he had the best parents to care for and love him.
When I was young I watched my parents lose two of their children in death. My mother's heart was forever broken. Most people would not have such a beautiful and expressive way to pay tribute to their child. I love what you did with the barn. Cry your tears, for as you said, there is no choice....
Dear Dana,
My heart goes out to you and your entire family. Please accept my deepest sympathies. No parent should have to bury their own child, it is a sadness that I cannot even imagine. I recently saw your documentary and it brought me to tears. As I was watching the film, I felt a connection with Evan, as I went through a similar depression as I was growing up. Currently, I am a psychology graduate student at Teachers College, Columbia University, and childhood depression is one of the many illnesses I hope that I can treat when I leave this school. I just wanted to thank you for allowing us to enter your world and experience this heart wrenching loss of your son. Again, I am so sorry for all your pain and suffering, if I can help one family like yours when I leave this institution, then all my years of hard work and education would have paid off.
Sincerely
Gautam Bhasin
Dana,
I cannot begin to tell you how much the documentary on your son's life touched me. Your son reminded me so much of my own son, Collin, who is almost 14 years old. No longer a child, but not yet a man. He too has been diagnosed, as early as age 5 with bipolar disorder; level 2. He is currently on medication and things are going well; but as the doctor said in your documentary and it scares me greatly " they always come off these meds by choice". I cried through-out most of your story, as I too love my son as much as I know you loved and still love Evan. My son came into the room and I got up, pointed to the tv and hugged him and said "Please promise me that you will never, ever kill yourself". He promised me and I hope and pray that this is a promise that he not only WILL keep, but that he CAN keep. As painful as it sounds; possibly Evan's story will save some lives, so he did not die in vain... I will pray for you, your family and Evan. Find comfort that he is still with you every day and that now that pain and anguish that he felt is gone. God Bless You!
I may face such a choice if my bi-polar son dies before me. It could also happen with my 3 other sons too. Men who use wheel chairs can make do with a somber suit, white shirt, sincere tie, black shoes & black socks but it's still painful.
Dear Dana,
I lost my son when he was fifteen years old. I remember the days before the funeral, the days afterward, like it was yesterday. I finally decided to wear everyday clothes--jeans and a t-shirt, like my son always wore. And I put on his running shoes from his huge fifteen year old lovely feet, which fit me just fine (he was a big boy). Some relatives were scandalized at my dress, but other relatives took care of telling them it didn't matter. All I cared about was that my beautiful boy was gone.
Your sharing like this makes it better for everyone who has experienced this, makes it easier to talk about. I wish you well and hope you find some peace.
One more thought, Dana. I think the reason your movie touched us so much beyond the shared experience of losing a child--was that this movie really was a celebration of his life. I completely got that Evan was filled with light and love--that he was an integral part of your family and that despite his struggles with bipolar illness he had a good life. More important than how he died (he died from his illness) was how he lived and he lived beautifully, creatively, noblely, and with love. I know people in thier 80's who have no idea how to live in any one of those ways. This is the mystery of life--why a life that shines so brightly is turned off so quickly. I think of Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey," in which the main character examines the lives of those who meet their death when a bridge collapses--some were "good" folk and some were not. The conclusion is that there is no rhyme and reason and what joins the living and the dead is the bridge of our love.
Dana,
My husband and I lost our 21-year-old son in April to an accidental death. We watched your documentary the other night and at the end when you spoke about your grief, I was calling out to the TV in support. What a beautiful tribute to your dear son. Very little that other people say to me in the newness of my own grief is of comfort but your movie was and also the words of a dear woman who said to me: Some people are brought into the world for the sheer purpose of providing joy and then they have to leave. My son, like yours, was full of love and life. Their passing on before their parents makes no earthly sense. Perhaps one day when we leave this earth we will know why. From one grieving mother to another: our hearts are broken but they are still beating. Thank you for sharing your son's brief but important life with us.
My heart goes out to you and your family. I know there are no words to express your loss but you offered your very best courageously. Thank you.
I am so sorry for your loss, Dana. We too have a son who is now 18, and although he never received an official diagnosis, I am fairly sure he is bipolar. He's been going to doctors since age 4 - by 9 he was being given psychotrophic drugs. He had a very bad reaction to one, which made him anti-medication. Although we had some success with topomax, he decided, with his doctors support, to come off of it. I still see him struggling, very depressed at times, and my deepest fear is that one day he too will take the step your son did. The pain must be unimaginable. My thoughts and prayers are with you, and all other parents with a child with this disease.
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