Stucky Ponders The Meaning Of Life For The Millionth Time

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PART ONE – TRAVAILS
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Out of the clear blue, SJ (my schizo son) decided Michigan was no longer a good place for him to live.

He decided to go back to Bellingham, Washington. He took his back-pack, filled it with some fruit and granola bars. In terms of clothes, he had nothing except what he was wearing. A not-so-warm leather jacket, no hat, no gloves, no scarf, and no sweater to keep him warm.

He also didn’t have a dime in his pocket. And I mean that literally. He does have a credit card but it has a limit of only $200 … and it was maxed out. In terms of getting money for the bus ticket from MI to WA ($250), he used his mother’s credit card. I guess that’s called stealing.

He did take his cell phone. He is not aware that his mother is able to track his location if the phone is on. He didn’t call for a few days, so his mother called him. When she saw he was in Chicago, she panicked, and called him while being careful not to disclose that she already knew where he was. He said he was walking around Grand Rapids. I guess that’s called lying. Anyway, she was able to track his westward travels… from Grand Rapids, to Chicago, to Minneapolis.

He called me about a half hour after his mother called him. By then I already knew where he was. But I pretended I didn’t. He lied to me also. But then I heard a voice in the background …. “I’m sorry sir, but your bus leaves at 9:30PM.”. When he got back on the phone, I told him that I heard the background voice. I finally got him to admit that he was at a Greyhound terminal and that he was heading out to Bellingham, Washington. “What will you do for food??”, I asked. “Beg, or play my guitar.”, he said. I tried not to cry.

The next day we see he’s in Minneapolis. We call constantly. He doesn’t pick up. Then around 2AM we get a phone call. I see from the caller id that it’s the Minny police department. This can’t be good. It turns out the Minny Greyhound station does not stay open all night. SJ’s bus doesn’t leave until the next morning. The Greyhound station is in a very bad neighborhood. SJ was just walking aimlessly around. The police tell us he was mugged and beat up. The cop wouldn’t give me ANY more information other than the hospital they took him too … and he said he shouldn’t have even told me that. Nice. I call the hospital. The ONLY info they give me was confirmation that he was admitted. They give me absolutely nothing else, despite my pleadings as his father. Tough shit. Something about confidentiality laws. The government can spy on me with impunity but I can’t get even basic information about my son’s condition. Amazing.

I fly out to Minny within 48 hours. By the time I get to the hospital, SJ has already left. He snuck out. No one is willing to give me information. Again with the privacy laws. I told the doctor that if he didn’t tell me right then and there what SJ was treated for, that I would rip his heart out and stick it in his mouth before he could even dial 9-1-1. I’m pretty sure I meant it. Apparently so did the doctor, so he gave me some info. No major injuries. Lots of bruising, minor lacerations, swollen face and some treatment for minor frostbite. (What the fuck is “minor” frostbite?). The nurse actually asked me where she should send the bill. I told her to stick it up her ass and walk the bill to New Jersey. Then I left. Quickly.

I hung around Minny for another half a day because the phone showed he was there. I kept calling the number and finally it is answered … by a voice I don’t recognize. It was a teenager. Turns out SJ sold him his very expensive phone for $40, so he could buy food. The kid was very apologetic and worried that he did the “wrong” thing and he was scared he’d get in trouble. I assured him this was not the case. I asked him if I sent him the $40 bucks would he please send the phone back? He said “sure”, and we got the phone back.

Fast forward. Several days later we hear from SJ. He borrowed someone’s cell phone. He’s in Spokane, WA. He says he made a big mistake. Can he come home? We immediately go online and get him a ticket to Grand Rapids. Another $250. It’s 2PM. He’s supposed to leave at 5:30PM. We get a call at 7PM. He says he fell asleep and missed the bus. The next bus doesn’t leave until the following morning. Fortunately, that Greyhound bus station stays open all night.

We call the number back about an hour later. A black man answers. We ask if SJ borrowed his phone, and if so, in what kind of condition did SJ appear. The man’s name is Kevin. “Yes”, he says, SJ borrowed his phone. He looks pretty tired and “lost”. Kevin says that SJ is sleeping nearby and that he (Kevin) is “watching over him”. It turns out that Kevin is traveling to Cleveland, so he’ll be on the entire trip with SJ. He tells us “not to worry”. He says he is “a god-fearing man”, and that he’ll watch over Sam the whole trip to Chicago like “he was my own son”. I thank him profusely and offer him money for his troubles. He will hear none of it. I hang up and I cry like a baby … amazed and overwhelmed at this incredible act of kindness from a total stranger.

Very fast forward. SJ is back in Grand Rapids. About 6 days ago SJ calls me to tell him he is “disappearing”. He sounds very sad. As always the phone “conversations” — if you can call them that — are very short before he hangs up. I take his statement about “disappearing” metaphorically .. as in, the real me is no longer here, I don’t really know who I am anymore — that kind of thing. Nevertheless, I call his mother. His mother calls SJ and get’s him to agree to meet her in a coffee shop. His mom gets there. They talk for a while. Then she asks what’s in the brown paper bag (like a brown grocery bag with handles) he’s carrying with him. He doesn’t answer. She says, “let me look”. He just shrugs his shoulders. She looks. In the bag is a bunch of fruit and granola bars. Goddammit!!! He meant “disappearing” literally!! This time he is going to San Francisco.

His mom calls me immediately. She’s freaking out. Understandable. Hell, I’m freaking out. What can we do??? He’s 6’2 and muscular. His mom sure as hell can’t hold him there. And we sure as hell can’t let him leave … again … with no money or clothes or anything. One of these days the call from the police will be, “Stucky, your son is dead.” Soooo … loathe as I am to do so …. we decided to have him committed. I stalled him as long as I could, then his brother showed up and stalled him. They were able to convince SJ to stay for the evening at his mom’s house for “just one more day”. Meanwhile, his mom was making phone calls to the judge (she knows the judge personally), social agencies, hospital, etc. In short, she was able to get a court-order to have SJ committed in less than 24 hours.

They picked him up at the house in the morning. SJ went peacefully …. in handcuffs. But he looked at his mother and said, “Thanks mom. I can’t believe you did this to me again.”. His mom said she cried as she watched the police take him away. But the facility is nearby and top notch. I told her at least we can get a decent night sleep for the first time in a month knowing where our son is and that he’s in the best possible care. Oh, if only that were true.

He broke out of the facility that evening. Threw a chair through the 2nd floor window and jumped. The police came … with dogs. SJ even got his 15 minutes of fame. He made the TV News!! Woohoo, my son made the big time! Well, about 12 hours later they caught him. So, this time they put him in a room with bars. When did their 1AM bed-check they found SJ trying to escape again …. He already had two of the metal bars removed. He’s very persistent. Maybe they’ll make a movie about him some day.

Anyway, he’s now safely tucked away in a room with no windows. I keep having this fear that I’ll be getting a phone call; “Mr. Stucky, you son escaped by eating through the concrete ceiling.”. He’s very resourceful when he needs to be.

He calls me several times a day. Sometimes the phone calls are kind of funny. Yesterday he tried to talk me into helping him escape. He wants me to help him escape to Austria to live with my relatives there. I told him he can’t even speak German and his Tante Linde doesn’t speak English. “No problem”, he says. He feels he can learn German in the next couple weeks before I help him break out. That’s some funny shit there.

I live in terror of the telephone. I now consider it a terrorist device, like an Iraqi IED. What horrible new revelations await when I pick up? I didn’t have to wait long for the latest bad news. Just this morning I was informed they’ll be releasing SJ. They can only hold if they feel he’s a danger to himself or others. And since he hasn’t threatened to kill himself or others they have to let him go. I’m tempted to call and let them know this kid is ripping my heart out and doesn’t that count for something?

I’ll probably go out to Michigan soon. I’m guess I’m going to wow everyone with my personality, cross my arms and blink like I-Dream-Of-Jeannie and make everything better. Ms. Freud suggested I just stay out there. I think she was only half-kidding. This has been quite a strain on our relationship.

But mostly, the phone calls are sad. He blames me for turning him in. Says I’m a traitor. Says he would have never taken drugs in the first place if I were a better father in the first place. Says he hates me and never wants to talk to me again. Says who the hell am I to give him advice considering how I messed up my own life and the family. Says I’m a huge failure, and a hypocrite. Then he hung up.

Well, I know that this isn’t the real SJ talking. It’s the drugs. It’s his own anger and issues. But, it still stings. And I do believe – as I suppose any parent does — that I could have done a better job, and that maybe, indeed, I have failed him to some degree. It wouldn’t be fair for me to tell HIM to accept responsibility for his life while at the same time denying that MY parenting skills had nothing to do with his life today.

I wish I could do things over again. I have all these regrets. I would be a better dad the 2nd time around.

But we don’t get 2nd chances, do we? So I’ve been thinking …. what can I do so that whatever remaining years I have left aren’t filled with even more regrets?

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PART TWO – PESPECTIVE
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Have you ever had one of those life-altering events that make you suddenly realize what’s really important in life vs. the triviality we THOUGHT was important? Quite often those type of moments are the result of a near-death experience. Perhaps you narrowly averted a head-on collision by mere inches. Or, perhaps someone you love is suddenly diagnosed with a horrible disease.

It seems people grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality, or the mortality of a loved one. There was a study done of 50 people over the age of 95 who were asked what they would do differently if they had life to live over again. I think we can learn much from older folks. Here are the common themes.

1. “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

This was the most common regret. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honored even half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made. It is very important to try and honor at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until they no longer have it.

2. “I wish I didn’t work so hard.”

Not one person in a billion on their deathbed regrets that that didn’t work a few more hours of overtime or take a 2nd job. Quite the opposite is the case. Most people deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence. That is not to say working or making money is unimportant. Clearly, that’s an idiotic statement. But these people realize the even more idiotic thing was working to acquire so many “things” … the very things they would soon leave behind. It just wasn’t worth it, they say.

3.”I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.”

There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying. They regretted becoming so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. A common theme starts to emerge here ….. that is, it is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks — love and relationships.

4. “I wish that I had let myself be happier.”

Many did not realize until the end – until it was too late — that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. But deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

5. “I wish I looked for more opportunities to truly live more.”

How long have you lived?

In Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town”, Emily, the main character dies given birth to a child. In the afterlife the Spirits allow her to return to earth to relive one day of her life. She chooses her 12th birthday. She goes back and watches herself and her family live out that day. They warned her not to do it but she does it anyway. She soon finds out why they told her not to do it because as she watches herself and her family live out that day she is shocked by the fact that they do not enter into the day’s experiences with sufficient appreciation and awareness of how precious this moment is. They just basically go through the motions. She yells at her family (of course they can’t hear her) and she yells at herself and asks … “Don’t you understand?? Don’t you understand you won’t have this moment forever? Don’t you understand that?!” And then she yells at the audience; “Do any of you … do any of you ever really live life when you’re alive?!”

So, “How long have you lived?” is not a question of how many days have gone by since you entered this world. These older folks are talking about those precious times – we’ve all had at least a few – where they felt really … REALLY alive!! All your senses were extra sharp. Reds were redder and blues were bluer. You were totally aware of .. and IN, your environment. You feared nothing. You could conquer anything. In other words, those moments that literally take your breath away. Of course, no one can live every single day like that. But then again, how long did you have to think about your own take-your-breath-away moment? How many do you have? One? Two? A handful? And that’s a shame. These folks realized they could have had many many more such moments, and also let the good feelings last longer, if only they looked for them and let them happen.

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PART THREE – THERE IS NO SHORTAGE OF FREE ADVICE
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So, I’m mulling over all these things in my tiny brain trying to figure out how I should live my life moving forward. And while there are only five measly little concepts listed above, and none of them all that earth shaking, I still find myself a bit overwhelmed. What I need to do is to simply it even further. I want to discover a single Unifying Theme. A simple sentence to live by. Maybe even just a word, or two. I need a Stephen Hawking-like Theory Of Everything that packages all of life’s complexities in a nice little box. This is what tiny brains need and want.

Faith.

I need to let Jesus in my heart. That’s what SJ’s mom, the ex-Mrs. Stucky, says I need. Every single phone call ends the same way. A little mini sermon. “We serve an awesome and mighty God.” “SJ is in God’s care.” “God knows even the number of hairs on SJ’s head and He surely knows where SJ is and how to take care of him.”. I just listen politely. That is, until I hear this one, “This is all in God’s plan.”. Oh, really? Sooo, billions of years ago when God formed the earth – or was it just 6,000 years ago — God had this plan to allow my son to have the gift of schizophrenia, and then in his 27th year of life he would get the shit kicked out of him by some thugs in Minneapolis? Is that the plan, Stan? If so, count me out. I am not anti-Jesus – if she wants to believe that I don’t care – but, it’s not for me. I’ve been there and done that. You can’t put toothpaste back in the tube. There’s no going back.

DN – SJ’s brother – suggests a different kind of faith. While still having religious overtones, it’s more a “spiritual” type of faith without a personal deity. Destiny. A Higher Power. It’s kind of like The Force in Star Wars. There’s Good. There’s Evil. We just need to believe that Good will prevail. The only problem with that is …. Darth Vader is my favorite character. I can’t be relying on some nebulous esoteric “force” to give me answers. Not unless Obi Wan Kenobe comes walking through the door.

Ms. Freud – my psychologist significant other – has even more ideas regarding the faith I need. Faith in myself. The Power of Positive Thinking. Building up my self-esteem. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. And all other kinds of psycho-babble crapola. But doesn’t faith require at least a little bit of “mystery”? The Bible tells us faith is hoping for things unseen. The problem with the “believing in myself” line of thinking is that I have seen both the light AND the blackness of my soul. There is no mystery there. It ain’t a pretty sight. In fact, believing in myself is the very thing that got me to the point where I am now! I’m stuck in an endless loop. No! I need a better god than myself. Trust me.

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PART FOUR – EUREKA!!
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The ex-Mrs. Stucky was giving me one of her mini-sermons, one I heard a thousand times before …. how SJ won’t find any peace in his heart until he stops running from God. Much to my chagrin I actually thought about that for quite a while after we hung up. A million seemingly random thoughts were swirling around in my head until they gradually coalesced into one single word.

Surrender.

I am not talking about surrender in terms of “giving up”. It doesn’t mean lying around in bed all day or moping around the house.

I am not talking about surrender in terms of its religious connotations, even though the general concept is somewhat similar to that old-time religious hymn, “I surrender all”. (That hymn talks about surrendering all to Jesus.)

So, what is surrender? It’s a prayer and a state of mind.

The prayer goes something like this; “I surrender. But, I’m going to do everything that I can do. And when I’m done doing all I can do, I will leave the result in your hands. It’s OK!”

So I will continue to talk to SJ a thousand times a day, about the same topics, and with the same advice until I turn blue in the face. That’s OK. I will continue to talk to his doctors, and nurses, and his mother, his brother, Ms Freud, his grandparents, and all the people in the state bureaucracy doing all I can to encourage and motivate until I’m blue in the face. That’s OK. I’m going to continue to support SJ financially whenever I can even though I’m pretty sure the money is often pissed away. That’s OK. And, if, ten years from now he is still in the same state of mind that he’s in today, well … that’s OK too. I did all I could. I surrendered.

It doesn’t matter who the “you” is in the prayer above. The ‘you” isn’t key. Surrendering is. Is there a Higher Power, a personal one (like Jesus) or impersonal one (like The Force)? Who really knows? I’m not really concerned with what “name” is given to this “you”. All I know is I can’t control everything. My “prayer” is simply my reminder to me to do all I can … and then let it go.
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The other liberating aspect of surrendering is that it totally frees me from the prison-chains of expectation.

Looking back on my life it seems a huge portion of it was driven by expectations. I was expected to get good grades in school and go to college. There was the expectation to get a good paying job. Get married. Have kids. Get a house. Acquire stuff. Pay the bills. Save for retirement. Be fulfilled with all of this. Live a “normal” life. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of that.

But I wonder how much did I limit myself by having these expectations … these mental constructs of how life “should” turn out? I wonder who imposed these expectations on me? Myself? My parents? My teachers? Society? I actually achieved most of my expectations, but at what cost? Did I chain myself to a way of living that didn’t necessarily suit me? Am I more unhappy with expectations not met … or those that I did meet? Don’t expectations inevitably lead to disappointment?

And now I suppose I have expectations that SJ will get better because, dadgummit, we’re doing all the right things to make sure he gets better!! But what if SJ himself doesn’t want to get better?? Doesn’t a mentally ill person have the right to stay mentally ill, or must they conform to society’s expectation to conform and “get better”? It seems SJ is hellbent on living the life he CHOOSES. I can’t force him to meet my expectations. He has a right to his own life choices. I just need to find the grace, and power, to accept his choices. I’m tired of fighting the heartache.

You know what? I am friggin sick and tired of all these expectations imposed on me and that I impose on others. So, I am going to liberate myself from them by throwing them ALL out. I’m not going to live up to SJ’s expectations, Ms. Freud’s expectations, the world’s expectations, or even my own expectations. Screw that. I’m going to do all that I can and then simply allow each day to unfold however it may. One day at a time, Stucky. One day at a time. For the first time in my life I’m going to live the life I want, without expectations. It’s all I can do. I surrender.
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In closing, I hope it’s obvious that I’m not trying to convince anyone that I have “arrived” or that I have the answers … or, that I’m even correct in my thinking. I’m probably full of shit and mentally ill myself. I mostly wrote this for myself. It’s cathartic. Writing helps me slow down my mind. It helps me “see” my brain. I probably would have written this to myself if I didn’t have my TBP friends to share with. Many of you have been wonderfully supportive. I can’t thank you enough.

Author: Stucky

I'm right, you're wrong. Deal with it. View all posts by Stucky