Author: Adele Ryan McDowell

I can still see you

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

ATT00034If I were to have a gravestone, preferably under a beautiful tree that flowers or, at least near a Chinese restaurant, I would want the gravestone to be etched with these words: I CAN STILL SEE YOU.

Of course, this makes me laugh. It has for days as I have been entertaining myself with this very thought. My overactive imagination conjures up this scene where you visit me at my gravesite and I see you and envision that we converse energetically. At first, you are surprised and somewhat dumbfounded, but I know so much about our history that ultimately you are convinced that a) this is real or b) you are having a lucid dream or c) you are playing make-believe and it’s kind of fun.

You see, I believe that our souls are eternal and our bodies are a bit like complicated robes that we shed upon death. The brain goes dark, but the consciousness lives.

For the past few weeks I have being seeing faces again. Yes, again. When I started writing Making Peace with Suicide, I would see faces in the leaves of a tree outside my window, on the tiles of my shower, and framed in groups on my carpet. Most recently, I have had visitors around my bed in the middle of the night. My feeling is that they are looking for relief by way of connection or, possibly, understanding.

When I ask what they want, I hear, “We want to be heard.” Ok, let’s proceed. This is the gist and sense of what I have heard:

• Some loved ones who have died by suicide have expressed regret that they left such heartache and turmoil. They did not want to cause you pain; they simply wanted to end their pain.

• For some of the younger ones who have left by suicide, there is surprise and, even, regret that they are no longer here on earth. Their choice was impulsive and, often, influenced by drugs and alcohol.

• There are some who are wildly relieved to be off this mortal coil. They were ready to go. They feel complete and satisfied with nary a doubt or regret.

• And there are some who orchestrated (on a soul level) their passing and they are doing huge works of service on our behalf from the Other Side.

Our souls have unique contracts and trajectories of growth and development. Life – and death – are not always what they seem at first glance.

So, imagine, if you will, that your deceased loved one can still see you and be there with you. And imagine that your loved one is holding you close as you take your next steps on your healing path.

It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it? And, some of us, believe that it is true.

Opening our awareness to suicide

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

bluepurpledandelionHeretofore, suicide has been a taboo topic. Now, it is so headline-making and societally embarrassing that clinicians and researchers are madly looking for answers and trying to quantify criteria. Why has suicide become so rampant?

There are those that end their life by suicide from hearing voices. Or they become imprisoned by despair, shame, and worthlessness. They are feeling depressed and hopeless; and their actions can be reckless, impulsive, and, frequently, under the influence of a mind-altering substance. They feel disenfranchised and disconnected from others.

Suicide is complex and complicated. There is not one etiology. It is not simply a matter of mental health.

It is a matter of violence; be it the trauma of war, domestic violence, childhood sexual abuse, political torture, bullying at school, cultural shame, personal loathing, and unrelenting self-hate.

It is also a matter of personal choice and debate. Think of peer pressure and identification with your social group. There is also devastating illness; acute, chronic pain; existential fatigue, karmic rut, points of honor, release from paralyzing fear; end of emotional pain; as well as end of life issues. Suicide is never one thing, but the result of an accumulation of stressors and circumstances.

Suicide is also a matter of economics. Just ask Italy, Greece, Ireland, and India. Countries are establishing suicide hot-lines in response to growing numbers of economically comprised citizens. If you cannot feed your family; if you cannot find a roof for your family, if there is no work; if you are consistently cold, hungry, and dressed in rags; if you are exhausted from trying, trying, trying to keep it all together and you cannot, suicide has become a response. In Spain, if you cannot pay the mortgage on your home; the bank brings a locksmith to open your door and claim your house. Far too many have taken their lives as a result of losing the safety, comfort, and refuge of their home.

Loved ones who are survivors of those who died by suicide are often shunned and, equally, as result of their loss, now at a higher incidence of suicide themselves. Trauma begets trauma.

We live in a competitive world where competition, bullying, shaming, and judging are prevalent in corporations and office; schools and universities; capitol hills and houses of worship. There is individual and societal violence and abuse.

Societally, there is a prevalent inability to walk in another’s shoes, to witness the pain or injustice. We turn a blind eye because it is uncomfortable. He’s crazy or she did it to herself.

If we are to end these vicious and pernicious cycles, there is a call for compassion and meeting the other. Suicide is a profound lesson in compassion. Are we ready to learn? Are we willing to demand that we treat each other with peaceful understanding and open hearts?

Does the soul remember?

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

 green-swirls1-150x150There is much research being done around past-life memories and experiences. People undergo past life regressions with trained regression therapists or they have spontaneous memories. Perhaps, they have knowledge or a skill set for which they were not trained or a huge fear without any rational basis. Or they meet someone with whom they have a meaningful connection that feels timeless and familiar. There are those moments of déjà vu when you are certain you have previously experienced what is seemingly new to you now. It can be disconcerting because it is all-too familiar. You never done this; you have never been here; and you have never seen this before. How did you know that the bakery in Prague was on that little street? How did you know how to repair an antique lock?

In my own life, I remember as a girl of about 11 years of age traveling with my grandmother, mother, sister, and aunt. We were having lunch at a restaurant that was outside, on a tiled patio, atop a mountain. I was quietly freaking out as I had a distinct memory of being there before. My sister, then a brother, had fallen off the mountain and I, also a male, was desperately trying to hold onto his hand and pull him up to safety. I vividly remembered how he had slipped out of my hand and fell, presumably to his death. I had never been to this part of the world before and what I felt was exceedingly real and visceral.

I have a godchild who has never lived near the ocean in her life. However, since she was quite small – and up to the present day — she has had a huge terror of being eaten by a shark. Where do these fears come from? I think the soul remembers.

The Leiningers’ son, James began having nightmares and past-life memories at the very early age of two years old. His experiences forced the family on an unexpected odyssey of healing. Years ago, I was given a copy of the book, Soul Survivor: The Reincarnation of a World War II Fighter Pilot to review and I found their story worth sharing. Here is a bit of what I wrote:

Do you believe in reincarnation? Past lives? A regular, hard-working, church-going couple, Andrea and Bruce Leininger were faced with these very questions when their two-year-old son, James, began have unremitting nightmares and shouting the words, “Plane on fire! Little man can’t get out!”

Soul Survivor: The Reincarnation of a World War II Fighter Pilot is the chronicle of their odyssey as this everyday family struggled to make sense of their son’s constant, shrieking nightmares, out-of-context words and obsession with planes. The book details their persistent and tenacious exploration which leads to far-reaching, soul-satisfying results.

The Leininger family relocates to Louisiana for Bruce’s new job, another move in a string of job-related hops. Andrea determinedly works on their house to make it a home for their happy threesome. She is more than ready to put down permanent roots. Their only child, and their pride and joy, begins having nightmares.

Initially, the nightmares are attributed to the move and, then considered to be a stage, not so uncommon with small children. But the nightmares are loud, disruptive and disturbing. Andrea shares her concern with “the panel,” her mother and sisters who offer advice and solace. Her mother refers Andrea to the book, Children’s Past Lives by researcher, Carol Bowman, who confirms that James’ nightmares are, in fact, James reliving a past life experience.

With suggestions from Bowman, the frequency of the nightmares decreases. Conversely, James begins talking more about his past life. He mentions an individual’s name, a specific aircraft, and the name of his ship, the Natoma Bay. At three years of age, James begins to draw, in accurate detail, sea and air battles with aircraft details matching those used during WWII.

By four years old, James constructs his own cockpit and regularly enacts going through the pre-flight check-list. During a visit to a local air show, one of the Blue Angels asks James what he wants to be when he grows up, James responds, “I want to be an F-18 Super Hornet Pilot and then a Blue Angel pilot – the slot pilot.”

With every clue that young James offers, both parents look at one another wide-eyed wondering how their little boy could know what he knows. James’ father scours the Internet and finds, time after time, that his son’s WWII aviation knowledge is accurate.

All of this came to be when a two-year old boy began having unrelenting nightmares. The family’s first thought was certainly not past-lives, but their dedication in relieving their son’s pain led them to that conclusion.

Recently, a mom shared with me that her two-year old son announced at dinner that his grandfather had been his father. The family paid little attention and kept enjoying their meal. However, the mom had been told previously of the past-life relationship between her son and his grandfather and she felt her son confirmed the connection.

It is said that the veil is thinner with children. They still have one foot, so to speak, in the other realms and have had less time, comparatively speaking, on the physical plane. As a result, they remember more easily.

 

In defense of hope

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

I love research professor and scholar Brené Brown, Ph.D., LMSW, for all of her important and excellent work around vulnerability, shame, and perfectionism. She is smart, funny, a great presenter (check out her TED talks) and a fellow Texan, but this small quote, attributed to Brown, bugs me:

“Hope is a function of struggle.”
~Brené Brown

That sounds so negative. Maybe there is more to this, but these words seem like they are saying if we are hopeful, then we are engaged in struggling. Really?

Ok, I get a smidgeon of what Brown might be saying, such as, when we are in the midst of struggle we hope for something better, different, new. We pin our hopes on something else; we pine for relief or a solution. And the hope itself, perhaps, becomes entwined and a part of the struggle.

Yet, Brown’s six words are snatching away a runway that gives people possibility. Hope, to me, is beyond struggle. Hope is an anchor that keeps our feet on the ground so we can take the next step. Hope allows us to feel possible and open to something new. Hope is the flame of a candle in a dark room.

Hope is the antithesis of struggle. Hope keeps our spirits up and our heart open. Hope can be comfort on a dark, scary night. Hope can be a higher-altitude way of dealing with difficulty and disaster. Hope offers potential and promise. When we are beyond tired, feeling beaten down, and the next step seems unfathomable, hope is the juice in our engine that keeps us chugging forward.

In my work with my psychotherapy clients and most especially, suicidal clients, hope is my healing ally. Hope opens a door to a bigger perspective. Hope reminds us that nothing is constant and change is possible.

The mere idea of hope, gives me hope. Hope releases the bindings of struggle. Hope says, “Heads up. Stay awake. There’s something around the corner.” Hope reminds us to trust and have faith and that Mystery is part and parcel of our human lives.

In contrast to Brené Brown, my words are, “Hope leads the way out of struggle.”

The heart of a home: tales of suicide and compassion

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

heart and homeThe foreclosure agents repeatedly rang her doorbell; there was no response. They pounded on the door; there was no response. The locksmith, who accompanied the team, unlocked the door; whereupon, they saw 53 year-old Amaya Egaña standing on a chair on the sixth-floor balcony of her apartment in the Basque city of Barakaldo, Spain. Upon seeing the agents enter her now-foreclosed home, Amaya jumped off her balcony and died a short time later from the injuries she sustained.

Egaña’s death was not in vain. Her suicide became the tipping point in a series of suicides and ongoing street protests that have now prompted the banks in Spain to stop foreclosure proceedings for two years for those who cannot pay their mortgages (under certain provisos regarding income and young children at home). The news reports say there will be financial repercussions for the creditors.

In Spain, Italy, Greece, Ireland, India, the US, and other countries, “suicide by economic crisis” is a very real event. Far too often, hard -working family members are faced with the shame, despair, hopelessness, and powerlessness of being unable to keep a roof over the heads of their loved ones. These repercussions are bloody and tear-stained.

On a bitterly cold night in an upmarket enclave of London, there is a knock on the door, a homeless man asks, “May I sleep on your porch tonight?” The homeowners are taken aback, but they quickly invite their unexpected guest to spend the night in their home. They offer food, a hot drink, a blanket – all of which their visitor refuses. He simply wants a sheltered place near their front door to sleep for the night. They agree.

Now, three years have passed and the homeowners and their visitor are on a first-name basis. Every cold night, their visitor is fast asleep on their porch. They acknowledge one another when their paths cross in town. The homeowners have put a chest in a corner of their porch for their visitor to stow his night gear. Every once in a while, they will leave a warm sweater; on particularly cold nights, there is a thermos of something warm to drink. Their visitor always leaves them a note that says thank you.

In a world rife with fear and apprehension and all-about-me-ness, these London homeowners take my breath away. Would I have been able to be so boldly compassionate? Could I have responded with an immediate open heart, especially when it comes to the idea of my home?

Be it a house, an apartment, a lean-to, a car, a tent, a mountain top or cave, our home is our sense of personal space. Indeed, our home — in whatever form or fashion– is our personal castle and sanctuary.

Just the sound of the word “home” can connote deep feelings of safety and a place where we let it all hang out. Home is our shelter from the elements – as well as a world gone mad. We can close the door and block it all for the moment. Home serves not only as our physical base; it is also our psychological touchstone — all will be well when I get home, when I am surrounded by the familiar, the comforting and the comfortable. At home, I can slip into my fuzzy slippers, tattered sweatpants, and take a breath.

Home is a heavily weighted four-letter word.  It is a psychological anchor, physical tether, and for many, a once-considered secure financial investment to keep body and soul together.

In today’s world where a precarious economic climate has been sent teetering by bloated banks, profit-margin-crazed corporations, redundancies, shifts in the work force, and CEO payments and perks akin to the national budgets of a small country, the individual has been summarily overlooked in favor of the greater bottom line. From my perspective, many companies have lost their heart. Hey, no problem in making a profit….but does it have to cost so much that mothers jump off their balconies. Was there no thought to the ramifications? Does global leadership preclude the consideration of consequences?

The banks and creditors can be like the Big Bad Wolf; they huff and puff and can blow your sense of home to smithereens. In the Old West, these banks would have been met with the business end of a rifle because losing one’s home is a place of enormous desperation.

Where to go? What to do? Without your home, you are adrift, homeless, and helpless. It’s hard to get a step up when you have no home base — no restful place to sleep, bathe, dress, cook a meal, or do your homework.

And, then, there are those like our polite gentleman on the porch who has, like many others, his own story about how he ended up without a place to call home and living off the streets. Be it mental illness, physical disabilities, unemployment, substance abuse, lost family, or no traction and going under, he represents one of many. And the numbers of the homeless are increasing exponentially.

Mother Teresa said, “If you can’t feed 100 people, then feed just one.” And, that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is where it all starts. It starts with one person making an act of compassion.

Be it a check for the shelter, a bag of groceries for the food bank, support of the veterans (current stats place them at 40% of the homeless population and inordinately high risk of suicide), children’s advocacy (1.5 million children, that’s 1 in 50 go homeless every year in the US), job training, ethical business practices, and the myriad of creative things we can dream and do to help one another, each of us needs to be mindful of our ability to make a difference. Drop by drop, compassionate act by compassionate act, we change the statistics and help our neighbors find a place to call home.

As the saying goes, “Home is where the heart is.”

The uncomfortability of grief

Posted on by Adele Ryan McDowell

image002A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit sunny, palm-treed southern California, where it kisses the blue, blue of the Pacific Ocean. It is a beautiful part of the world. The purpose of my visit was to present my new work Making Peace with Suicide at The 2012 Compassionate Friends (TCF) annual national and international conference.

The Compassionate Friends is a self-help group for parents who have lost a child at any age; they, also, offer support to grieving grandparents and siblings. Illness, murder, addiction, suicide, manslaughter, drunk drivers, freak accidents, still-born deaths — you name it — these folks have walked through that fire. It is unimaginably heartbreaking. And, yet, they gather and laugh and cry and help one another breathe again.

The hotel was entirely filled with conference attendees and the hotel next door held all of the over flow. I heard there were anywhere from 1300-1800 attendees. They came as families, individuals, couples, and friends.

Even though I have experienced grief first-hand, I have not lost a child, and, so, I felt a bit like a stranger in a strange land. This was new terrain.

While in the elevator, a lovely woman named Kathy made eye contact and we began a conversation as we exited the elevator and headed to one of the sessions. Kathy told me that since the death of her son, she has lost all of her friends and that is why she came to TCF conference.

Initially, I was shocked and horrified, but as I talked to other parents they told me similar stories. It’s not that people are bad, they would all say. They just don’t know how to handle the weight of the grief. They don’t know what to say, how to say it, or they nervously make inappropriate or inane comments.

For example, one father told me that as he walked out of his son’s memorial service and settled into his car, his brother-in-law talked non-stop about his own son and his current career concerns. The bereft dad looked at his unaware brother-in-law and responded, “At least, you have a son.”

The parents acknowledged that many of their friends and loved ones were uncomfortable talking about death. Some told me that they felt it was too much of a burden for many of their friends. And, still, many of these parents want to talk about their sons and daughters; they never tire of the subject and the conversation keeps them alive in their hearts. These parents have come to recognize the squirm in others who do not know how to respond.

The Compassionate Friends has local chapters world-wide. Parents find other parents who know first-hand the sucker punch to the gut of losing a child and the crazy-making grief that ensues.

One week, at Kathy’s local group in her hometown, five new people attended their first Compassionate Friends’ meeting. That week, each person had lost a child to suicide. It was an emotionally intense meeting. Kathy said that she and another mom connected. In the weeks that followed, the new mom reached out to Kathy for support and guidance. Kathy said that was a turning point for her – in saying yes to the other mom-in-need, Kathy decided to live. In that helping, Kathy found a reason to keep going.

We, human beings, are so much more than we realize. We are resilient and tender. Our feelings can run deep and wide. We can be vulnerable, strong, understanding and, above all, compassionate. There are times when we all need a little help from our friends.