I've been putting off writing about my oldest son.
He's leaving Tuesday for a semester in South Africa, and the longer I wait to write this, the longer I can put off missing him.
Stephen is my first born; the baby who introduced me to the most all-encompassing love I've ever experienced. I'll never forget the serious expression on his face after he was born - no crying, just a thoughtful consideration of the change in his surroundings.
It's hard to believe that was almost 21 years ago.
It's been quite a ride.
I hesitate to write about Stephen's lifetime struggle with mental illness, because he is so much more than a collection of his diagnoses. He is compassionate, moral, intelligent... just an incredible person.
But not talking about what he's gone through would do him just as much a disservice. Without the struggles he's faced, he wouldn't be who he is today.
And I wouldn't change him for the world.
Looking back, it's easy to see that Stephen's world was shaped by OCD almost from the beginning. He was highly sensitive to tastes and textures, making it exceedingly difficult to feed him as an infant. By 6 months the pediatrician switched him from formula to whole milk plus vitamins in an effort to encourage his appetite. It worked, but we still went into panic mode if there wasn't a perfectly ripe banana in the house!
At age 2, he was stuck on three colors - red, green and yellow. Fascinated by stoplights, he wanted all his toys to be those colors and drew all his pictures in only those colors.
Most of his play was repetitive, with scripts that had to be followed or he became extremely upset. Any change in his routine was met by a frantic and fearful reaction. He wouldn't go outside in bare feet, play in the kiddie pool (instead he dipped his watering can in and sprinkled the flowers), or even touch his feet to the sand at the beach.
At the time, I attributed his "difficultness" to his high intelligence. Later, I would realize it was the beginning of OCD.
Stephen's childhood was something of a dichotomy; the warm, loving home life vs. the harsh, isolating world of school, where anyone who is different is ostracized by the kids, criticized by the teachers, and made to feel even more "different" than they already know they are.
Elementary school was a struggle for Stephen, never fitting in, fighting constant boredom and honestly, dealing with many teachers who just didn't seem to care.
He told me once that he remembers little of his childhood, which makes me extremely sad. There were a lot of good times, especially at home, where he was not only loved, but admired and adored by his siblings, and of course, his dad and me.
In second grade he remembers a discussion in music class about heritage. He was the only one in the class with a German background. He thought, ah hah, now I know why I'm so different from everyone else.
Much of Stephen's life was governed by the anxieties and rules that go along with obsessive compulsive disorder. A hallmark of this illness is its secrecy. Only in hindsight do I recognize what at the time seemed only to be the quirky behaviors of a really smart kid.
When he was five, he had to draw the same picture each day at 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. He had to have the right shades of orange, blue and purple. If he missed this timing or the colors were not quite right, he became nearly frantic, which manifested itself as anger. I truly thought he just needed to learn to manage his frustration and anger. I didn't realize that, to him, these rituals could mean the difference between his family being safe or not.
Finally, when he was 10, his world came crashing down in a curtain of deepest, darkest despair. The first hint was during the summer, when he talked to me about feeling sad and not being interested in anything. A veteran of depression myself, I told him my techniques (at the time I hadn't had any therapy myself) to keep the melancholy at bay. I didn't really think he was depressed, though I was concerned enough to take him to the pediatrician, who recommended exercise but nothing else.
Fifth grade was a nightmare for Stephen, with a harsh teacher with no understanding of the highly intelligent, heightened ostracism from his peers and deepening depression. It all came to a head Thanksgiving weekend when my parents had to leave after a holiday visit. Stephen started crying and wasn't able to stop. He just fell apart. I became concerned enough - wow, that sounds so blase. I was frantic with worry about him and made an appointment with a therapist (a woman who taught a class in parenting the gifted child recommended him to me).
Nothing could ever prepare you for the complete and total horror of listening to your 10-year-old son tell the therapist that while he's never made plans to kill himself, he has thought about it. I'll never forget sitting on that couch with Stephen snuggled up close to me, holding his hand in mine, and realizing that my little boy felt hopeless and helpless about his life.
Another visit and Stephen was diagnosed with OCD and major depression, just two of the "tag lines" he would acquire over the years.
I've never felt so scared, so lost, so utterly alone and afraid for my child.
Thus we embarked on a journey through severe mental illness, using a combination of therapy and medication. It was years before Stephen was able to open up about his rituals and obsessions, even with the therapist, and he didn't truly start to gain control of his illness until he was about 15 or 16.
All through this time, Stephen was a shining light for us. His humor, ingenuity and loving nurturance of his siblings was magic to behold. He would tell them stories for hours on end, weaving in characters and plot lines full of morality and fun. Several long-time antique merchants in our town still remember when he would sit down with Sarah and Zachary and tell them stories while Michael and I browsed through the stores.
Despite his own struggles, he helped when first his brother and then his sister were diagnosed with anxiety disorders. He never became bitter over what he had to go through, his own travails only seeming to strengthen his desire to help others.Through all these years, he maintained the highest grades, at times juggling OCD rituals in his mind, listening to the teacher and creating and trying to solve complicated problems in his mind to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay. In his early teens he told me he didn't remember entertaining just one thought at a time in his mind - ever.
Gradually, he overcame the worst of his illness, learning how to conquer the OCD and fight off the ever-present depression.
In high school, he volunteered at a local Hispanic charity, earned his Eagle award, received a full academic scholarship to Drake University, and won a summer internship with the
World Food Prize, spending 6 weeks in Egypt researching tilapia. (View his
award-winning paper)
In college, he has been an adult literacy tutor, volunteered at Head Start, volunteered at his church and in environmental organizations at school, worked full-time in the summers and part-time during the school year, been an alternate delegate to the county democratic convention, and more. His greatest commitment has been with Oxfam American, working as a field organizer for their various campaigns. This volunteer work has taken him to Washington, D.C., for training, to the offices of senators and representatives lobbying for Oxfam on last year's farm bill, and now to prompt action on global warming.
There was a time when I didn't know if Stephen would ever be able to leave home. Now he is embarking on perhaps his biggest adventure yet, studying sustainable agriculture in South Africa.
I honestly have never met a more compassionate, caring individual than my son. His intelligence still stuns me, his willingness to practice his beliefs amazes me. I am astounded at his perseverance in the face of adversity and his ability to translate his compassion into action.
He is a remarkable person and I am so proud of who he is.
I am so grateful to have him as my son.
And boy, am I going to miss him.
If ever I needed some chocolate therapy, believe me, it's been this week.
The perfect accompaniment to the soup was corn meal and currant scones topped with homemade apple butter. The cornmeal and flour were local and I used currants my girls and I dried last summer from our fruit CSA.
Finally, for dessert, my daughter made this yellow cake using the first two eggs our chickens ever laid. Quite exciting!
My mom usually cuts it back each fall, but wasn't able to do so this year. Note the new growth in the photo above.
