How Mentally Illness Can Affect Us All -- Even the Strongest Among Us

Jess asked me to write a little about Grandma's struggle with mental illness.  What is so important for us all to understand is that Grandma was one of the strongest women I have ever met.  You can read about her strengths and courage here.  She had an admiration for Jackie Kennedy and patterned how strengths after Jackie's.  She admired the strength of Jackie Kennedy, so I wrote a little comparison of her own life and Jackie's life. 

I started to see a decline in Grandma's mental health early in 2004.  She was very anxious and upset at Jessy's graduation party.  She didn't want to go to the annual Galasso family reunion in Silver Lake.  At Christmas time she stayed in her bedroom when cousins came to visit.  None of these behaviors were at all normal for her.  She was having trouble with tenants and with Skipper and she worried constantly about her finances.


It was a Friday, summer of 2004, when Grandma's visiting teacher, Betsy Ricks, called to say she was at Columbia-Presbyterian psychiatric hospital in White Plains.  She said Grandma called her to say she needed help and wanted to check herself into the hospital.  For the sake of timing, it was also the same weekend that Jess and her friends had a car crash in Myrtle Beach. 

Dad and I drove to Columbia-Presbyterian and Grandma was admitted.  She said she could no longer walk.  It wasn't that she physically couldn't; it was that she was afraid to walk.  Columbia-Presbyterian is a beautiful hospital on a a well landscaped property right near all the fancy stores in White Plains.  It looks like a mansion as you drive through the gates.  But inside was a different story.  The building was old with old furnishings and high ceilings.  Grandma was in a locked wing.  The sound of the big door locking was frightful.  Small rooms circled a large common area where most patients slumped in their wheelchairs and seemed incoherent.   It was absolutely dreadful to leave Grandma there.  She sat in her wheelchair bravely waving to me as the large door locked behind us.


Grandma was being treated for  severe depression at Columbia-Presbyterian.  I found her patriarchal blessing which I thought would bring her some hope and brought it to her in the hospital.  I also brought her the recent Ensign magazine.  I have learned that God truly watches over us.  We are His children.  In Grandma's beautiful patriarchal blessing, there was counsel.  It was specific enough to warn her of a severe depression in her life.  It told her that God would care for her and protect her.  She found hope in the Ensign magazine.  In the month's issue, there was an article on depression.  After reading it, Grandma said to me, "That's what happened to me; my rubber band snapped."

Indeed it did. 

After much prayer, inspiration came to me.  It seemed Grandma wasn't getting any better at Columbia-Presbyterian.  The setting and surroundings were much too gloomy and dreadful.  I need a solution to get her out.  Driving to work one day I wished that Grandma was closer to me.  Perhaps at the Lutheran Care Center across the road from my office.  When I got to my desk, I made a few phone calls.  I found out that admittance into the Lutheran Care Center required a patience to be unable to walk.  I called Columbia-Presbyterian and asked them to make the necessary phones to transfer Grandma to Poughkeepsie.  It all happened in the blink of an eye.  God was watching.

Once at Lutheran Care, Grandma had physical therapists who helped her learn to walk again.  She also had social activities that she loved.  Slowly, the woman we knew was coming back.

In Grandma's life, she lived with cancer.  Those were her words.  "I'm not dying of cancer, I'm living with it."  She was diagnosed in 1976.  I was graduating high school that year.  She told no one of the cancer except for Poppy.  Not her mother or sister.  No one.  She didn't want to worry anyone and she didn't want to hear "cancer stories."  Grandma had lymphoma.  Not acute lymphoma that is aggressive and can be cured.  She had slow-growing chronic lymphoma.  No cure but she wouldn't die from it either.  That struggle lasted for 30 years.

Imagine how lost Grandma felt when her loyal and trusted husband, died suddenly in his sleep lying next to her in bed in 1989.  She was just 60 years old.  I don't remember her crying then.  She was strong.  She said she wanted me to know how happy she would be to be with him again.

In 1954 she lost her brother in a tragic house fire.  He was a fireman in the City of White Plains and the stairs collapsed as he was going upstairs to check if anyone was there.  She often told me, "Don't think things won't happen to you."  She learned the hard way.

Skipper had disabilities in a world that was not as sensitive to disabilities as it is now.  He didn't have an IEP; there was no diagnosis for autism.  She raised a square peg to fit into a round hole.  But the time he was in his late 40's, she was realizing it wasn't working.

What I remember most about Grandma was her love for her family.  She taught me traditions and a love for God.  She taught me the meaning of marriage.  She loved fashion and was always dressed up.  She loved to entertain and she loved to create.  She loved dress shopping.  She thought up an idea of bridal dress rentals long before her time.  She even invented a little pencil that you can strap to your knuckle.  She was the best cook in town.  Holidays were magical.

It's not surprising that in the summer of 2004 her rubber band snapped.  Mental illness can happen to anyone.  Even the strong at heart.  The brave and courageous.