The Saddest Shade of Blue
When I think of our home growing up, the blue hue of the living room walls are burned into my mind. That color reminds me of your depression and your sadness. I'll never be able to reconcile my dislike for that particular shade of blue. No amount of begging and pleading motivated you to get help. You bounced from doctor to doctor, asking for a new medication that might help your depression, but you never got properly diagnosed. The night you died, we found the words "manic depressive" scrawled onto a napkin in your writing. You were on to something but what, we'll never know.
Your depression whittled the imprint of your bum into the living room couch and you became a permanent fixture in front of the television watching terrible made for television movies. Sometimes, you'd snap out of it long enough that you might want to have a conversation but those moments became more and more short lived. Maybe their short life was due to my inability to engage or open up to you because I was scared you would disappear on me again.
There was, what I have called, the "Year You Were Good." It was the one year in my adult life that I clearly remember feeling like I could rely on you, and I did, almost desperately. I hang onto these memories, knowing that there was a you that was like that, that had been hidden for years. I know that version of you is part of the real you, it just didn't always stay. I have so many memories from that year.
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I remember shopping at Ikea, you were convinced the black and gray towels were the ones to buy and even though I thought they were masculine, I let you buy me them. I still have the hand towel to the set.
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There was the day you went hunting for deals and showed up at my and Jessie's apartment with a grapefruit spoon.
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I hurt myself playing rugby, and you showed up while I laid on the couch, upset about my current state and gave me some version of "I told you so."
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There was the kitchen dance parties where you'd begin to tap your feet and make your jabs at our sides tickling us and making us giggle and run away from your silly moves. Maybe, that dancing is what inspires my kitchen dance moves today.
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There was the car ride in the tiny Toyota where you drove it so fast that we got air off the speed bumps and I can still see you laughing so hard. You, out of all of us, were having the most fun. Your laughs were special, you didn't give them up often or to just anyone.
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I remember you telling me that you felt really good. You weren't drinking and you weren't taking any medication for the first time in a long time - you didn't think you needed it.
.
I remember shopping at Ikea, you were convinced the black and gray towels were the ones to buy and even though I thought they were masculine, I let you buy me them. I still have the hand towel to the set.
.
There was the day you went hunting for deals and showed up at my and Jessie's apartment with a grapefruit spoon.
.
I hurt myself playing rugby, and you showed up while I laid on the couch, upset about my current state and gave me some version of "I told you so."
.
There was the kitchen dance parties where you'd begin to tap your feet and make your jabs at our sides tickling us and making us giggle and run away from your silly moves. Maybe, that dancing is what inspires my kitchen dance moves today.
.
There was the car ride in the tiny Toyota where you drove it so fast that we got air off the speed bumps and I can still see you laughing so hard. You, out of all of us, were having the most fun. Your laughs were special, you didn't give them up often or to just anyone.
.
I remember you telling me that you felt really good. You weren't drinking and you weren't taking any medication for the first time in a long time - you didn't think you needed it.
Then, one day it stopped. I called the house to talk to you. You didn't answer. I remember the dread setting in and I knew the year was over. You fell apart, and I fell with you.
What I didn't understand at the time, and maybe neither did you, was that you needed those medications. You needed them to keep your mania from swinging out of control. I didn't know at the time that the energy and the grandeur was actually a signal that you needed help. I thought it was just the version of you that wasn't sad about Jaden all the time. I thought that your grief had lifted its veil and revealed this version of you. In my mind, no time after this lasted nearly as long. Your moods began to cycle faster and faster. I knew from experience that I could never rely on your again because there might come the day when you wouldn't answer the phone. But I also learned, that those times that you were able to be with us fully, were really special.
You once told me your 30s were your favorite decade because of the time you spent with us kids. I have early memories of those days where you would take me on daddy/daughter dates to the movies. I clearly remember going to "All I Want for Christmas". You would take us on bike rides, we camped, and you even coached my soccer team. Maybe all of that was when your depression was a back seat driver. Even when it started to ride shot gun, you would still come out. We had holidays at the lake where you acted like a kid with us, riding the tube behind the boat. You would come to rugby games & film our playing. One time, you were so excited that I had made the biggest tackle of the game that you dropped the camera. When I turned 16, you bought me a car and surprised me with it. You were a good dad. You loved us.
I'm very conscious of that fact that once, you were young like me. When you were deep in your sadness, you'd make sure to remind me of that. You were once young, handsome, charming and hopeful. You knew how to have fun. You had a career that provided well for us.
I've spent a lot of time trying to understand what happened. I think your depression started as a back seat driver. Over time, it began to ride shot gun next to you until it took over the driver's seat. Your depression sometimes drove us around too and we did whatever we could to make sure the color blue didn't swallow us too. It would make you miss out on a lot of life and it would cause you to lose jobs, friends and money.
I once read that mood disorders and some mental illnesses may not appear in people until they are into their 30s. Every year that the calendar turns, I breathe a sigh of relief that depression hasn't climbed into the backseat. I'm relieved that I don't see it riding shot gun beside me. And, I hope that it doesn't become my driver. I avoid that color of blue and every time I see it, I grieve the time lost with you and tell myself, I will never have a room in the house in that particular shade.
You once told me your 30s were your favorite decade because of the time you spent with us kids. I have early memories of those days where you would take me on daddy/daughter dates to the movies. I clearly remember going to "All I Want for Christmas". You would take us on bike rides, we camped, and you even coached my soccer team. Maybe all of that was when your depression was a back seat driver. Even when it started to ride shot gun, you would still come out. We had holidays at the lake where you acted like a kid with us, riding the tube behind the boat. You would come to rugby games & film our playing. One time, you were so excited that I had made the biggest tackle of the game that you dropped the camera. When I turned 16, you bought me a car and surprised me with it. You were a good dad. You loved us.
I'm very conscious of that fact that once, you were young like me. When you were deep in your sadness, you'd make sure to remind me of that. You were once young, handsome, charming and hopeful. You knew how to have fun. You had a career that provided well for us.
I've spent a lot of time trying to understand what happened. I think your depression started as a back seat driver. Over time, it began to ride shot gun next to you until it took over the driver's seat. Your depression sometimes drove us around too and we did whatever we could to make sure the color blue didn't swallow us too. It would make you miss out on a lot of life and it would cause you to lose jobs, friends and money.
I once read that mood disorders and some mental illnesses may not appear in people until they are into their 30s. Every year that the calendar turns, I breathe a sigh of relief that depression hasn't climbed into the backseat. I'm relieved that I don't see it riding shot gun beside me. And, I hope that it doesn't become my driver. I avoid that color of blue and every time I see it, I grieve the time lost with you and tell myself, I will never have a room in the house in that particular shade.
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