A cross worth bearing

Twenty-five years ago, on Christmas day 1995, my husband, Steve, gave me a tree ornament fashioned from two popsicle sticks. He joined them with a tiny nut and bolt to form a cross, on which he wrote, “Keep me as your cross a little longer.”

Hanging the ornament when decorating the tree this year I thought, “I’m glad I did.”

Some reading this know our family’s story, which I shared in the book “Rambler: A Family Pushes Through the Fog of Mental Illness.” But 1995 was a pivotal year for us, one that could have sent our family down a different path.

For those unfamiliar with what happened, the year began with caring for our 11-year-old son, who’d lost sight in an eye following a BB gun accident. Several weeks after his last surgery, Steve and I separated, as Steve was in the throes of obsessively pursing a vendetta against an organization he once worked for. Six weeks later, following a psychotic break while attending an engineering convention in Detroit, he was hospitalized at a psychiatric ward 300 miles from our home. A month after he returned to live with us—newly diagnosed with bipolar disorder—I began a new job at our local newspaper. It was quite a year.

I was less aware of what it meant to have a mental illness then, so part of my struggle—in addition to a new job and caring for our three children—was accepting Steve’s erratic thinking and changing behaviors as an illness; I thought of it as a midlife crisis, and he wanted out of our marriage.

I didn’t share details of Steve’s diagnosis with many; the stigma against mental illness then was even greater than it is today. Fortunately, though, a nurse at the psychiatric hospital told me about the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), an organization that supported people affected by mental illness. NAMI offers an educational program called Family to Family that helps people deal with the many challenges of living with a loved one’s illness. I attended the classes, which set me on a path to understanding Steve’s illness. 

By year’s end, though, Steve must have sensed through the fog of his beleaguered mind how worn down I was, thus his plea for a little more time. He also had his own struggles; yet with therapy, numerous medication changes, and the support of family and a few friends, eventually we were able to regain a semblance of the life we once had. 

This year has been pivotal for many, as we all struggle with fallout from the pandemic. Not surprisingly, there’s been a significant rise in mental health conditions around the world. I share this story as a way of showing that mental health problems are treatable, that through hard work, perseverance, and the resources with which to treat these disorders, remission and recovery are possible.

Two days after Christmas, on Dec. 27, Steve and I will celebrate our 45^th wedding anniversary. It will be a quiet celebration, of course, but also joyful. For I know without a doubt that Steve’s illness was a cross worth bearing.