40 - My Depression

My Depression

Webster’s Dictionary: Low Spirits…Gloominess…Dejection

Have I known depression? You bet I have . . . long ago during my children’s adolescent years when I found myself to be a maternal stranger in a strange land. To explain, my children grew up within the protection of a large and loving family. The family consisted of a grandmother, a great-grandmother, a grandfather, an uncle and the three of us, my daughter, my son and me. We all lived together in what I believed to be harmony. At least we all lived together in a household of high moral values, of respect for elders, policemen, teachers and their religion.

It was when both children entered Junior High School that I felt the time had arrived for me to go to work, find an apartment for us and continue our lives as a single family. Bruce was fourteen and Robin twelve when we made that move. I went to work in the Graphics Arts department of Convair and as my income increased we moved to a nicer apartment in a lovely neighborhood.

That is where I learned about depression. Bruce was seventeen and Robin fifteen and their lives were embedded in the era of that time. The introduction of drugs, the non-importance of respect and the sexual revolution were all a part of it. I was set down in
the middle of the hippy era and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I fell into a deep depression, not understanding and doing all the wrong things, saying all the wrong things, demanding all the wrong things and making all the wrong mistakes. As my children demanded their own independence, I faded into the total darkness of depression. It took many years before I lived to be free of that disease and the mistakes I made. My mistakes created havoc between me and my children, who I loved much more than I expressed.

Now I am 90 years old and have lived many years free of depression, not even when my doctors told me that I had only six months to live. That was four years ago and I have lived and loved this life I now lead. I have been blessed by one special miracle after another. There are miracles that come into my home when people I love walk through my door. There is the miracle of the San Diego Hospice that has cared for me throughout all these years. There is the miracle of family and friendships that know no bound. And I believed that I had been the luckiest woman in the world until the last few weeks when I, once again, became deeply depressed.

What happened is that I became ill with something between a cold and the flu. It has been almost epidemic here in San Diego and I became one of the victims. For a short while the illness did not eafect me emotionally. It was not until after two new medications were prescribed for me that I became depressed. Obviously I was allergic to them, but I didn’t realize that at the beginning. I didn’t even recognize the depression that became a part of my emotional reactions. And again I said the wrong things, did the wrong things and made all the wrong mistakes.

I am now in an “I should have known better” stage. I do have idiosyncratic drug reactions and have always been afflicted with them. I know I must always check my reaction to new drugs. Failing to do that caused depression and I became too sure of what I thought and of myself. My agitation and feelings were way beyond my norm. I put myself in a “have to be right” position and I haven’t been like that for many years. What I was saying was silly and somewhat child-like. I began criticizing what is important in my life . . . that which I truly love and respect.

As soon as I realized what was going on, I stopped taking the drug even though it stopped the back-pain. Stopping the drug also made me understand that many of us might take a giant step backward, forgetting how wonderful, kind and gentle living can be. I often wonder if we are placed in difficult medical positions so that we may be able to relate to the same ailment in others. We then can be truly empathetic because we’ve been there, done that and can understand those who are suffering the darkness of depression.

The problem that exists is when severe depression is not recognized. That I’m having a few bad days is not clinical depression. Medical help is desperately needed for those who suffer with constant depression, Though I realize that the depressed sufferer must be willing to improve with medical and emotional help, there can also be a pair of welcoming arms and loving hearts that will be there to hold and love them when they are ready. That is the wonder of love. That is the salvation of the needy.

39 - Expectation

Expectation

Expectation may not be the root of all evil but is frequently very much involved. Many divorces, perhaps the majority, can be based on expectation. Lost friendships might also be included. Seldom is it realized that what you expect, and don’t receive, can cause havoc in any relationship. It also is possible that you might not realize that you are operating in the expectant mode.

You may come home from work and expect your children to be delighted with your arrival. They’re not. They only want your attention to tell you what happened to them
in school today. No “Hi! Glad you’re home Mom, when’s dinner?” More important where’s the hug or the kiss or maybe a great smile when they see you? That doesn’t seem too hard, does it? And you become annoyed with their lack of a warm welcome. Irritation might even set in and can be the beginning of hidden anger, but expectation is the original culprit.

After dinner they may expect you to listen to something that has been bothering them. The truth is that you have to get to your computer right away and send in your daily reports. You expect them to understand. They won’t, anymore than you will understand not getting the welcome home that you expected. That is the beginning of tension brought on by expectation. You each expect tolerance from one another and expect-
ations too often come first. Patience, understanding and concern must wait. That all sounds like exaggeration. It’s not. Similar situations occur daily in all stages of life.

There’s a great problem with expectation. It often invades the relationships that are most important to us. Your children, your spouse, your family and we could go on to friend-ships and business associates. Our opinion of how others should behave and how they should react must all be in accordance to what we expect of them. The wonder is that when expectation is removed, acceptance takes its place. Now life becomes easier with more understanding. You don’t expect your children to come running to kiss you when you arrive home. Instead when you open the door, you open your arms to hug them and joyfully accept the moment of being their Mom. They’ll soon understand that greeting Mom is wonderful.

I’ve spoken of parent and child but the same concept includes husband and wife, families and friends. When expectations are gone, understanding, accepting and caring takes its place. Life takes on a new peace and beauty.

There was an old adage that I’ve altered some. For me it says:

“The road to Hell Is Paved With Expectations.”

38 - Life With Nicky

Life with Nicky

Nicky is my Shetland Sheep dog and my constant companion, but we’ve got to get back to the beginning to really know him. Back to the time when my Alzheimer’s afflicted brother lived with us and I felt he needed a dog.

Marshall’s condition had declined to the point that he didn’t know who I was. He no longer recognized me but accepted me as That Lady. He didn’t read the morning newspaper or watch what was on television. These had occupied him during the day. Now he just sat in his recliner and waited as I watched him sink further and further into the darkness of Alzheimer’s. But he had not lost his love of dogs. So one morning I stood in front of him and with great determination said, ‘I’m going to get a dog for us.” He was startled for a moment and then said “If you get a dog I’ll have nothing to do with it. I’m not going to care about it. I won’t go through the pain of putting another dog to sleep.” Still standing in front of him, I replied “Marshall, you are 76 years old and I am 80. What makes you think we can outlive a Sheltie? I’m going to get our dog.”

We’re Sheltie lovers and I was about to find our fourth Sheltie. I called Sheltie Rescues. None had a dog that needed a home. The last one I spoke with told me about a friend who had a young Sheltie that she might sell. I phoned and discovered that she was a Sheltie breeder who would sell a 9-month-old Sheltie for $119.00. My heart skipped a beat. I could handle that. I drove out to meet her the next morning.

After explaining that she had kept him for best of show, but he failed to qualify, she introduced me to a beautiful, happy, perfect little dog. “Did you bring a kennel?” Stupid me, how could I not realize that I needed some way to take him home. “I’ll be back tomorrow with one” I said and left. Early the next morning I received a phone call. “I’m sorry” she said. “A family who saw Cody before, had first right and they bought him.” Tears came to my eyes; I really wanted that dog.

About two weeks later I received an unexpected call. “Are you still interested in Cody?” the kennel owner asked. “Oh, yes.” I replied. “Well,” she said “The people who bought him brought him back and said it was because he wasn’t housebroken. Who in the world would expect a dog from a kennel to be housebroken?” She didn’t explain that they had brought back the most frightened, traumatized dog I have ever see.

With a kennel in the back seat, my granddaughter and I drove to pick up my dog. She suddenly turned to me said “I don’t like the name they gave him.” “Neither do I” I said, “but I’ve got the right name for him. It’s Nicholas McTavish the Fourth.” I saw the amazement on her face, “Hold it!” I said “He’s from Royal Blood. Many of his ancestors have won Grand Prizes all over the world. Nicky could be listed in every dog-show. He deserves a dignified name.” She shook her head and said “Only my Granny” and so began my life with Nicky.

A few days later I phoned the kennel owner. “This is the most frightened dog I have ever seen. He stays hidden behind the recliner. If I can’t get him to come out within two months, I’ll have to return him.” In one month I fell in love. But a question arose in my mind. What was I to do to help this poor little dog? Then a great opportunity opened. I was able to place Nicky for dog training of assistant dogs. Those two years of training changed my once shy dog to the one that now thinks he rules this house. All is well. He’s my constant companion and my source of comfort. He’s also the smartest dog I’ve ever known. I qualified that the evening I opened the Internet and saw “The Ten Smartest Dogs in the World.” My Sheltie was number 6.

Marshall loved him as much as I did and Nicky was a great companion for him, but Nicky decided himself that he was my dog. At night Marshall would want to sleep with him in his room. Nicky stayed with him for a short time and then began scratching on the door. He would not be satisfied until I opened the door, let him out and watched him be contented as he jumped up on my bed. We still sleep that way every night.

Nicky often makes his own rules. I didn’t teach him not to wake me in the morning. He just waits until I open my eyes. When he’s on medication, I don’t have to call him. Much as he hates it, I have only to shake the pill bottle and wait. He will appear before me, place himself in a sit position, lift his head and silently say “I’m ready” He will always be on the bathmat waiting in front of the shower until I get out and I’m safe. There's more, but I didn’t teach him these things. They are his rules. The things I did teach Nicky only needed to be taught once. The puppy that entered our house started to wet on the floor. I picked him up, took him outside and said a very positive “No.” Just one No for Nicky has never had to be repeated.

He is a joy to take shopping, whether to the grocery or Nordstrom’s. Equally wonderful to take into a restaurant or a movie. How do I accomplish that? After his assist training he wears a coat much like the Seeing Eye companions wear, so he can go wherever I go and he has.

Before my illness Nicky accompanied me everywhere. Now, when the days may be difficult, he will always appear and lay by my side. He is aware when his Mom is not well and is ready to protect her. He also understands everything I say to him and that is truly amazing. It’s not only what I tell him to do but usually tell him what we will do like “let’s go to bed now” and he’s ahead of me waiting in the bedroom. Mom’s got to take a nap means he will spread out on the floor in front of the couch to remain until I get up. These are all his ideas. I know that dogs can understand about 300 words, but Nicky goes far beyond that. I’m pretty certain that Nicky is 70% dog and 30% human (with a slight possibility on the reverse),

Nicky has one problem, he barks too much. We’ve overcome that some, but he can be an annoyance to those who visit. They don’t quite understand, but it’s still a trade-off. This love-expressive, understanding companion has replaced the life I lived before my illness. I live alone but in my aloneness I am not alone. In my times of severe illness I have my protector close to my side waiting until I tell him, “It’s O.K. Nicky, Mom's better now.” Then he will leave to look out of the window. Nicky brings into my existence a completion that I would never have had without him. I guess it’s alright if he barks.

37 - The Priest and Bruce

The Priest and Bruce

This story goes back many years but it is worth repeating. It started when we lived in a small house only two doors from a Catholic church. In between was another very small home where many children lived. The eldest child was Virginia. She became the baby sitter for Robin and Bruce
and I was really concerned when I moved to live with my mother and father.

My family had rented a large home in Mission Hills (an elegant section of San Diego) and insisted that the children and I come and live with them. It proved to be a wonderful arrangement except for my loss of Virginia who was the only baby sitter I could trust. The family usually left on Saturday evening to drive to Tia Juana for the Jai Alai games. That was a fun night out but, until I was comfortable about leaving them, I needed to be home with the children. Then Virginia’s family finally approved of her staying overnight Saturday and I could drive her home on Sunday. I was free to go with the family. Robin and Bruce would be safe.

One Sunday I was climbing upstairs to see if the children were dressed. As I neared the bedroom I heard Bruce say, in a very loud voice, “Ginny, you’re wrong and I’m right. Only the Jews are right.” It was shortly after that my son got his first really hard swat on the bottom and stood teary-eyed before me as I explained, “Don’t you ever say anything like that again. You may not understand now but Virginia is right for her and you are right for you. And that is the way it is in this world.”

It was about two weeks later that Virginia wanted to go to the Vincent Saint Paul church just a few blocks from my home. She also asked if Bruce could go with her. “What a wonderful idea” I thought, “Bruce can now begin to experience other religions”. I dressed him in a little navy-blue suit, a bright white shirt and white shoes with navy-blue socks. He was such a beautiful child and looked so handsome that a very proud mother stood on the porch to watch them as they walked away. The rest is as told to me by Virginia.

They entered the church and walked down to the seating closest to the podium. Services began and a young priest approached the podium and was about to speak when Bruce suddenly stood up. He looked around and said in a very loud little-boy voice “Ginny, what kind of a place is this anyhow. There ain’t any Jews in here.” Virginia said that she pulled him down to his seat and swore if purgatory had opened she would have gladly fallen in.

Services resumed and after they ended the priest walked to the entrance to say farewell to the leaving parishioners. Virginia entered into the crowd and holding tight to Bruce’s hand bent down very low. That way she thought she might be hidden enough to leave without being seen. It worked for a short time until she heard the priest call “Virginia”. She said she was terrified as she approached him with Bruce in tow. As she neared she was trembling but he paid no attention to her. He simply reached down and pulled Bruce up in his arms. He held Bruce close and said, “Don’t you worry, young man, there’s a Jew here all the time.” It still clutches at my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t remember the name of that wonderful priest nor can I remember his family. I called them about two years later, after he had been killed in an automobile accident. I had to let them know the wonder of their son. I will continue to try to find his name but we’re talking about something that happened sixty-years ago. Something I will never forget.

(I’ve often wondered how Bruce knew that there weren’t any Jews there. It seems that kneeling on the floor, which is not done in the synagogue, may have caused the remark or perhaps making the sign of the cross. But he had no answers when asked…and neither do I. By-the-way our dear Virginia became a Nun.)

36 - The Boy in the Attic

The Boy in the Attic

This story takes us very far back in time. So far back that very few of us can remember, but it’s been a part of our family since the early nineteen hundreds. That was during the period when my grandfather Hyman fled from Russia, came to the United States, settled in Canton, Ohio, opened a saloon and married my grandmother, Anna. It was also the time that he bought a home next to the saloon. It housed his wife and budding family that eventually housed two girls and four boys and an occasional man who was too drunk, when the saloon closed, to be left out on the street.

Hyman had it all figured our. He made the attic stairs sturdy enough to climb. Placed
a mattress with blankets on the floor and supplied everything that could be needed for an overnight stay. The drunken visitors did not please Anna and there were many times that Hyman tried to console her with “It’s just for one night, Anna. Just for one night.” That might have calmed her until he brought a visitor home who would spend three nights.

The visitor was a young man who was obviously addicted to alcohol. He also was soft, caring and very lost. He touched Hyman’s heart so much that when closing time arrived he just couldn’t let the boy wander the streets. He had to take him home knowing that Anna might be angry. How angry? He wasn’t certain until he found out early the third morning.

“You’ve got to stop bringing these people home” she said very loudly that morning “I don’t want anymore of this. The girls are growing up, we don’t need strangers around them and not bad boys like the boy you’ve brought home. I don’t want anymore bad boys in my house.”

Hyman understood her anger but not her remarks. He took her by the shoulders and said firmly, “Anna, that is not a bad boy. There’s no such thing as a bad boy.”

The young man had come down the stairs and was able to hear the last statements. He walked over to Hyman and explained that he would leave and he wanted Hyman to know that he was going home. Back to Omaha. Back to the Priesthood. Back to get help with his addiction so he would be able to live a productive life.

“Thank you, my friend” he said “for all you have done for me” and quietly left the house.

For a long time my grandfather didn’t hear from the young man. Several years passed before the sunny day when he was sitting on the porch and heard the phone ring. Anna called out saying he was wanted on the phone and it was long distance. He hurried inside and picked up the phone. “Hello” he said and the voice on the other line replied “Hello Mr. Bobrof, this is the boy you helped a very long time ago.” “I did?” Hyman questioned and the conversation began. Hyman was reminded about the bed in the attic and the hot cup of coffee in the morning and the things he had done to help the young man.

They spoke for a while with Hyman doing most of the listening. The voice on the line explained that he had returned to the city he had come from. That he spent most of the time helping young, often homeless, boys on the street. He found a house he could use and was able to keep some of the boys there. As time went on there were people who helped and encouraged him to find bigger quarters and more homeless boys. Many offered to help financially.

In time he was able to build large quarters for many boys who would learn by example that life has purpose. That what they learned living with him would serve others as well as themselves. “I must tell you,” he explained to Hyman, “that you were an inspiration for me. Your kindness and concern turned me right around from leaving the priesthood to living the priesthood. It benefited every boy. We now have a big sign as you enter our grounds. Our area is called “Boy’s Town” and our slogan is…

”THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A BAD BOY.’

Father Flannigan did not call again. He didn’t need to. Those last few words contained all the emotions both men felt.

35 - Friendships

Friendships

Where did I find this? (I don’t know.) How long have I had it? (A very long time.) Why have I kept it? (It’s one of my dear treasures.) Perhaps it is time to share it. (I think so.)

So here I sit, in front of my computer, and wonder how to begin. I think it’s fair to say that I found it at least thirty years ago, but how I found it is totally vague.

I can only be certain of one thing and that is that I love the words and completely agree with the concepts. I have used it once as a Christmas greeting and that, perhaps, is when I put it into a large manila envelope and filed it away. It is recently that I found it again, said “Oh My. It’s a long time since I’ve read you, my friend.” And I began reading it.

GREETING

I salute you. I am your friend and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got; but there is very much that, while I cannot give it, you can take…. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant. Take Peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see we have only to look. I beseech you to look.

Life is so generous a giver, but we judging its gifts by their covering, cast them away as ugly or heavy or hard. Remove the covering and you will find beneath it a living splendour, woven of love, by wisdom with power. Welcome it, grasp it, and you will touch the angels hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me, that angels hand is there; the gift is there, and the wonders of an over-shadowing Presence.

Our joys too: be not content with them as joys. They too, conceal diviner gifts. Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty, beneath its covering, that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then to claim it: that is all! But courage you have, and the knowledge that we are pilgrims together, wending through an unknown country, home. And so, at this time I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greeting, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away.

From a letter written by Fra Giovanni 1513 A.D.

34 - Eleanor, Honoring a Great Lady

Eleanor, Honoring a Great Lady

This story goes back a long way and worth repeating. It begins with World War II when all who were unable to be in the military to serve their country, did serve by working for aircraft companies. There were many such companies here in San Diego and most of my family worked at either Consolidated or Rohr Aircraft.

My uncle Leo worked at Rohr Aircraft on airplane engines. There he spent many hours and frequent overtime to provide faster and newer planes for our overseas pilots. He was the oldest of my four uncles and, in my mind, the sweetest. He was handsome, kind, a great father of a two-½ year old boy and new baby girl, and a loving husband. The kind I could only dream of having when I married.

One day, while Leo was working on an engine, a crank turned too quickly and with great force hit Leo in the groin. At first the injury did not appear to be too serious, however his pain continued to grow more severe. As time went on he became weaker and quieter and we, as a family, became more and more concerned.

I was there, with the rest of the family, the day he was taken to the hospital. All sitting in a waiting room and frightened with hands wringing and tears flowing. Not really knowing what was wrong until we were informed that Leo had tubercular meningitis, a deadly disease with little or no hope. How did he get it, where did it come from, did the crank accident have anything to do with it? Many questions and no answers. We didn’t know all of the medical details. We only knew that nothing and no one at this hospital was able to help him.

We were literally told that he was dying. That there was no hope. It was then that my mother said, “The only hope we have is getting the penicillin for him. The doctors say that it’s impossible to get it. But there must be a way.” That was when penicillin had just entered the medical world. It was only available to the military. No effort on the part of the family brought to us this last chance for Leo’s life. This new miracle drug might be the only way to save him. Why were we being denied it?

The stress and the pain and the despair became more than I could handle. I wanted to help my grandmother, but she was beyond help. So too was my mother. She had tried to find a solution. We knew that she had contacted the military but to no avail. “If only we knew someone in authority like the Governor or maybe even the Mayor. Maybe they would help us.” She had tried and they could not. I needed to leave the waiting room and be quietly by myself. Slowly I walked away and down the hall. I stopped at the door of Leo’s room and offered a silent prayer to God. “Please, Dear God, don’t take Leo from us. He’s so young and his family needs him. Please take me instead.”

My prayers seemed futile. All I could hope for was help getting the penicillin. I stood there praying as my eyes wandered to the other side of the sick rooms. There, nestled between two rooms, was a phone booth. Not a pay phone. Just a phone to be used to make a call. Why not? I thought to myself. Why not? I entered the booth and picked up the phone to inform the operator that I wanted to reach the offices of Eleanor Roosevelt in Washington, D.C.

Eventually a phone rang and in time was picked up. A voice answered, “Eleanor Roosevelt’s Office, may I help you.”

“May I speak with Eleanor Roosevelt please,” I asked.

The reply was, “She is not available right now. Perhaps I can help you.”

I told her the story of Leo. I told her about the babies who needed him. I told her that there was a whole family crying and suffering at the thought of losing him. I told her that he worked at building airplanes to help support his country. Now I was asking for his country to support him and to find release of the penicillin so that we may have a chance of saving his life. I finished by saying, “I know that Eleanor Roosevelt would help me. Is there no way I can reach her?”

“Please hold for a few minutes,” came the reply and I waited. It seemed that I waited a very long time before another voice came on the line.

“Is this Vailia?” the voice asked and there was no mistaking. It was the voice of Eleanor Roosevelt. The unmistakable sound of her very different voice.

“Well” she said, after I replied “you will have your penicillin in San Diego tomorrow morning. We must send it from here and a member of the Naval Hospital will pick it up. You should receive it about 10:00 in the morning. I’m so sorry about your uncle. I hope this helps him and your family.” I had only a moment to thank her and bless her and let her know that I would never forget her kindness. Then we said goodbye.

Mother was waiting outside the phone booth door. She had worried about me being gone for so long. Then I told her about Eleanor and our miracle and together we went back to the waiting room to tell the others. She spoke and I watched in wonder as hope began to cover their faces. We were going to get the miracle drug that could save our Leo’s life.

The penicillin did arrive on time. The doctors at Leo’s hospital refused to use it. They tried to explain that he was too far-gone. That he was brain dead. That it was too late
for any effort to save him. That the penicillin could best be used by others who needed it. I was frightened and angry. Why couldn’t they at least try? It took years before I forgave them and realized that they were right. Our precious Leo died a very short time later. It has also taken years for me to try to let others know about Eleanor Roosevelt.

She was more than our First Lady. She belonged to the world as a leader, as a strong but gentle woman, as a woman of kindness and compassion. She came closer to being a saint than anyone I knew before our conversation or have known since. She is, and will remain, my example of a truly wonderful and amazing woman…She spoke to me.