In between those months and years from 2007- 2015 after Garrett’s diagnosis of bipolar disorder, there were those moments when I'd feel that familiar ”check" within my mother's spirit. I'd notice small signs; he'd be speaking a tad more rapidly, appear slightly hyper or seemed just a bit "too happy". I'd ask him gently, carefully, respecting his dignity and privacy, "Honey, are you taking your medicine?" And he'd say "Mom. I'm fine. Don't you believe God can heal me? Trust me."
And then, at some future date, I'd receive a phone call.
A friend or roommate would begin, “Ms. Miller.... Garrett..." and before they'd even finish the sentence I knew.
And the cycle would begin all over again.
It puts such a strain on relationships, the constant being on alert, the anxious anticipation for the next impending crisis...
always there in the back of your mind and at the center of your heart. As in any chronic illness of a loved one.
Remember. This is an illness.
It was Garrett's 7th major breakdown and relapse that took him "Home”.
On the evening of Friday, March 6th, 2015, my life, our family, all that I’ve known, would never be the same. My heart would forever beat with a wounded beat.
A frantic phone call from his sweet wife of just 10 months, that familiar panic, an urgent call to the police, prayers upon prayers, all of us searching for him. Hoping. Believing. Trusting that he would be found, just like all the other times.
"God, please... just keep him warm." I pleaded.
On that crisp, clear, freezing cold, full moon, star-filled night, my son walked for nearly 3 hours... wearing just a thin jacket over his clothes and slippers. Wandering and disoriented.
And then, under that beautiful full moon and bright stars on that crisp, clear, cold winter night, attempting to cross, he stepped out onto the interstate....
The trauma is overwhelming.
The grief is agonizing.
The sorrow and pain so deep and profound that it pierces your very soul.
I will never, ever truly understand nor grasp the tragedy. I won't even try.
But, I do know that Garrett's life was not without purpose and his death was not in vain.
And rather than focus on how he died, I hope to focus on how he lived. Imperfect and random, yet somehow intentional.
Loving. Daring. Bold. Hopeful.
Garrett's illness did not define him. However, it plagued him.
Even so, he lived out his life with passion and purpose, despite his illness. Perhaps even "in spite" of it.
I challenge us to do the same.
Live with passion.
Love well.
Embrace the beauty of each new day, breathing in the moments that all too soon become memories.
And cling to Hope.
Until...
Always...
Forever...
