I fell asleep, too exhausted to undress, and went to see Nick in the morning. He looked awful. His system had received another huge shock. His legs were worse again, and having his heart started three times once it stopped hadn’t done much for his complexion. He looked almost transparent, and was still fairly groggy.
I was upset when I went home, deeply troubled by the turn Nick’s life seemed to be taking. And as I had tried to point out to him that afternoon, to no avail, he was taking all of us with him. If he went down, like passengers on a ship, we were all going to go down with him. The bonds that we shared, the unit that we were as a family, were irrevocably tied to him and to each other. We talked about it, and I know he felt some remorse, but I’m not sure he truly understood it. I reminded him that if nothing else, he would break Samantha’s heart, not to mention mine and everyone else’s, if he succeeded. None of us would ever be the same again without him.
And when Tom came by that night, it was obvious that he had also done some serious thinking. He needed a break from the relationship he said, and time to clear his head. It was suddenly clear to him what he’d be taking on, if we stayed together. And I was devastated over his conclusion, but even in my disappointment, I couldn’t really blame him. Nick had gone down in flames twice in ten days. It had to make Tom wonder what his life would be like if we ever got married. I’m sure it was a frightening prospect. It was, even for me, knowing how fragile Nick was, and how easily tragedy could strike us. I understood it, but for the first time in his life, I was angry at Nicky. For the first time, his illness and the manifestations of it, had actually cost me someone I loved dearly. And for the next several days, I was torn between grief and resentment.
Nick sensed it when I next visited him, although I didn’t say anything, but I was sad, and we were so close that he knew it. He asked what was wrong, and I was vague, and then he asked for Tom, and met my eyes, and knew before I even told him. I didn’t have to. He understood it. He guessed Tom’s reaction to his latest drama. I tried to make light of it, and said things would be okay, but it was actually Nick who reassured me, and told me Tom was a great guy, and that he’d be back. I wasn’t as sure he would, but it gave us a chance to talk about Nick again, and what he was doing to all of us. I suppose at that point I didn’t fully understand that he had no choice. I felt as though it was a decision he was making coherently, which of course it wasn’t. We had a good talk, and a good cry, and a big hug, and I tried to explain to him again how devastated I would be without him. I wish he had understood that, and could have done something about it, but he couldn’t.
Nick was right about Tom of course. His “breather” lasted for nearly three weeks, a long three weeks to me, and he came back with apologies and greater insight, the night before Thanksgiving. We agreed to take things one day at a time, and not make plans for the future. I had a lot to be thankful for that year, not only for Tom’s return, but Nick’s survival. He came out of the hospital the day before Thanksgiving, and was back at Julie’s, under impeccably close supervision.
All of the children were with me for Thanksgiving, as was John, as we still shared the holidays with the children. And Nick and his friend “Sammy the Mick” arrived in time for dinner, all dressed up and beautiful in shirts and ties and suits. It was a Thanksgiving I will never forget, full of joy, and grace and gratitude for all the things in life that matter.
And when we sat down for turkey, I looked silently at Nick and counted my blessings, praying it would never happen again, and that he would never leave us. I wanted to believe with all my heart that he wouldn’t. It was his last Thanksgiving.
17
Third Warning
Nick had inadvertently given us an ace in the hole with his second suicide attempt. It was an experience I would have much preferred not to live through, but in endangering himself twice, he had given us the legal right to hospitalize him whenever we felt he needed to be, or if he stopped taking his medication. Because in doing so, he would jeopardize his life, as he had so amply proven. We would never have to wait again for six weeks after he stopped taking his lithium. We could put him in the hospital the first day he missed it. No arguments, no explanations.
We could “slap” him with what was called a 5150, a public health statute that would allow us to suspend his rights and keep him in the hospital for three days, and then follow it up with a 5250, which would give us up to two weeks longer, and so on. We had even discussed the possibility of a conservatorship, but there were disadvantages to that, too, and we had decided against it.
And with his lithium levels high again, Nick seemed normal. He was working hard with the band, back on his feet, and in relatively good spirits. He had no memory of the hideous experience we’d all shared at the trauma hospital. He had scared the hell out of everyone but himself. And he went back to business as usual with Link 80.
By Christmas he was leaping around again, and playing rock star. My romance was back on track. The children had settled down again, after the shock Nick had provided them, and all seemed to be going well. Although I had a constant underlying feeling of nervousness about Nicky now. He had shown us what he was capable of, without his medication. But now we had the legal right to force him to take it if we needed to. But he no longer objected to it, and he took it as he was supposed to.
In January he went on a short tour to L.A. with the band and was busy playing back-to-back concerts. I had finally begun to relax again. The last nightmare was two and a half months behind us. And then I got a phone call early one morning from Julie. He had done it again, this time at her house, right under her nose, with her children nearby. He had quietly overdosed himself during the night, but late enough, and close enough to her, right in the main house, that he had been almost certain she would find him. It was a plea for help. She revived him again, and he was awake and moving this time when the paramedics arrived. Nick went back to the same hospital again, with the psychiatric ward, but this time Julie and I agreed to tell no one but John about it. It was time to eliminate the drama, and deal with the real issues.
It turned out that his lithium levels had been down, as had been his spirits, but only slightly. But still enough to make him try to kill himself. But despite our vow of silence this time, we knew how serious this was. I spoke to the doctors about not only a conservatorship, but institutionalizing him. It broke my heart to do it, but he clearly needed more supervision than we could give him. I spoke to several attorneys, and a judge friend about the conservatorship. Unfortunately, the court would appoint a conservator, other than myself, or the court itself could perform that function. And my greatest fear was that if they decided Nick was dangerous, to himself and no one else, or just too much trouble, or even insane, then I would no longer be able to decide what to do to help him. I would lose complete autonomy if I got a conservatorship on Nick, and he could even wind up in a state institution, and I would be unable to release him. It was something to think about, and I kept my own counsel. I needed to make the decision myself, and discussed it only with John and Julie.
Nick bounced back all too quickly, meanwhile, and appeared deceptively normal.
We discussed long-term hospitalization with his doctors at length, and we pointed out to them that Nick didn’t look like the other people in institutions. He was functional, he had a successful career with his band. It seemed criminal to lock him up, but the hospital psychiatrist said that he was less functional than he looked. It was hard to believe that. After discussing it at length with both psychiatrists and legal counsel, we decided against the conservatorship, and two weeks later released him to Julie’s.
The hospital psychiatrist said that if we could keep him alive until he was thirty, we’d have a good chance of keeping him alive for his normal life span. Suicides, “accidental” or otherwise, were more common in people in their late teens or early twenties. That was “only” twelve years away for Nick, and seemed like several lifetimes. But Nick appeared to “get it” this time. We
all had a long talk with him, and tried to appeal to everything from his reason to his conscience. And he looked sad when he asked the doctor how long he would have to be on medication. I think he knew the answer to the question before he asked it.
“Forever,” he said simply, and Nick nodded. He was finally facing the fact that he would be manic-depressive forever. It was a bitter pill for him to swallow. And we compared it to diabetes. We also told him that if he missed a single pill, or refused to take one, this time we would put him in the hospital and keep him there for a very long time. Three attempts in three months were terrifying. And I was terrified.
Before he left the hospital, I wrote Nick this letter. He had written me a letter apologizing and objecting to being in the hospital at all, and as always, I tried to appeal to his heart and his reason, with mine.
Thursday night
30 January 1997
My Darling Nick,
Your letter today touched me so very, very much, and I love you so much more than I can even tell you. It is wonderful of you to reach out to me, to share your feelings with me, and to apologize to me for the worry I have on your behalf. But I want you to know, now and always, bow incredibly proud of you I am, just of you, as you are, as a human being. I will be very, very, very proud of you if you are successful with your music and I think you are hugely talented—but that’s just kind of an “add-on,” an extra—I am proud of you right this minute, without your accomplishing anything spectacular in the world, because I think you are a wonderful, very special person, you always have been, and always will be, and are right now, at this very minute.
The sadness and worry you see in my eyes sometimes, as you said, is that I do indeed worry about you, and I am sad when you are sad, and I know that this is very hard for you right now. I am sad when I think you have almost slipped through our fingers. I am sad when you aren’t happy with the way your life is, as you are sad for me when I am less than happy with mine. But the “disappointment” you see is not disappointment over you, it never has been, and isn’t now. You don’t disappoint me. You reach out and touch my very soul, and into me. You have a wonderful knack for that, you always see me as I am. Of everyone around me, through the hard times I’ve had in the past year or two, you are the one who has most touched me and comforted me, and soothed my heart. I want you to know that!!!
The disappointment you see at times, is not over you, and never has been (I brag about you constantly!!!), but more over the state of my life at the moment. I spent a lot of years building something, many things, our family, my career, my life with Dad. And at the moment, I seem to have slid downhill and am ass over teakettle somewhere at the bottom (like Chutes and Ladders, I thought I’d made it all the way to 99, hit a chute, and wound up again at 2—just the way you feel at times). But I hope to learn from it, and hit the ladders again and make it back up. The disappointment you see is at what has happened in my life, vis-á-vis my marriage, and over the hurt I feel when the press beats me up, and over the sense of helplessness I feel to help you more than I can and have. But I am not disappointed over you.
But this is the way life is at times, we all fall on our asses, we all slide down the hill in one way or another, and we all climb back up. I’m actually feeling better about life than I have in a while. I see some sunshine out there on the mountaintops again, not just for me, but for you. And hand in hand, with the people we love, and who love us, and our friends, and just a teeny bit of luck, we make it back up, when life knocks us down. You have given me a hand more often than you know. And my hand is always right here for you. I will always be there for you, sweetheart, and when life is sad for you, no matter how big or old or grumpy or pissed off or disappointed you are, you can always crawl into my lap and sit for a while.
There are some things we have to do alone, that first leap of faith over the abyss that looks like it’s going to swallow us up— we have to do that on our own, we have to believe enough to try—just as you have to believe in yourself, and a (positive) power stronger than you are, even now. But beyond that eeny teeny tiny (and often seemingly huge) first crawl out of the pit— there are people to catch you and to love you and to be there for you, just as I am, and Julie is, and your friends are, and your family is. We’re all here rooting for you, sweetheart … and me, most of all.
Thank you for caring about how I feel, and for all the wonderful things you are, and do. You may not feel too wonderful right now, but you are.
I wish all sorts of terrific things for you. I hope your music brings you all the joy and excitement and satisfaction you deserve, but whether or not you become a “star” publicly, you will always be a star to me, and already are. You are a star as a human being, sweet Nick. And you shine more brightly than you know.
So dust yourself off, smile, and know that you are the joy of my life—not a disappointment. I just want you to be safe and well and happy—and if we stick you in a “closet” from time to time to keep you safe, it’s a bit like locking a jewel up in a safe to keep it from harm. It may not “help” the jewel, or improve its quality, but it keeps it from disappearing, and keeps it safe. It’s kind of a dumb thing to do with a person, I guess, but you are a jewel to me. I could not bear losing you—and if you think I look sad sometimes now, you can’t even imagine how sad I’d look if something terrible happened to you. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So keep safe, try to be brave, crawl out of the pit, even in tiny baby steps, take whatever leap of faith you can, and here I am, with my arms out to you, my heart always yours … and more love for you than I can tell you.
Even in the worst circumstances, there’s a little shred of something to be happy about. Grab it, hold it, keep it. You have often been that shred of happiness for me … maybe my love for you can light a dark corner for you too now and then. We have each other, and much, much more than that as well.
Smile, my love … and be as proud of who you are, as I am of you!!! (Star Wars is coming out again tomorrow … maybe we can go see it together for old-time’s sake. “May the Force be with you,” cute one, it always is, you know!!)
Take care, my darling—very, very good care! I love you with all my heart,
Mom
From then on, after he left the hospital, my heart stopped each time the phone rang. I think I knew what was coming.
But after this last attempt, Nick seemed better than he ever had been. Ever. For the first time in his life, he appeared to accept both the fact and responsibilities of his illness. We tested his lithium levels weekly to make sure he was okay after that. The band was doing splendidly, he was making CD’s and videos, and going on short tours. He came to the house whenever he had time, and was in great spirits. And he looked fantastic. And he even came on vacation with the family to Hawaii for the first time in years. And it warmed my heart to see him playing with the children. Sammy the Mick and Julie came with him to keep an eye on him.
We all had a great time with Nick as he cavorted on the beach, swam with his friend “Sammy the Mick,” and took videos of all of us. He was terrific company, and the kids and I loved having him around. It was our favorite vacation with him, and meant more to us because he hadn’t come in so long. Until that year, he had really been unable to travel.
We were also safeguarding his lithium and Prozac levels as well. Whereas most people have their levels checked every three to four months at most, we were checking Nick’s weekly, because the medications didn’t always absorb evenly, and we could detect the slightest dip, and correct it, by checking his levels more often. It was something I had insisted on in January, for my own peace of mind. And Nick readily agreed to it. He was also seeing two psychiatrists, the same one he had seen for several years, Dr. Seifried, whom we all liked so much, and one from the hospital as a backup. He had also gone to an outpatient psychiatric program for two months, but no longer had time between tours, concerts, and rehearsals. Link 80 was really getting off the ground, and Nick loved it. The sweet smell of success was in his nostrils.
It was definitely coming.
(photo credit 1.27, 1.28)
They had been booked into a ten-week tour around the country that summer, and there was talk of a tour in Europe in the fall, and possibly one in Japan after Christmas. It was taxing for him, but he seemed up to it, and he loved it so much that, as long as he was well, it made no sense to interfere with it. And Julie and I were keeping close tabs on him, as were his attendants. He even went to twelve-step meetings at times, to try and bolster his resolve never to use drugs, if for some reason his lithium levels went down and he got uncomfortable, and wanted the added comfort they gave him. We were doing our part, but he was doing his as well, and it paid off. He looked and sounded terrific.
And we were all looking forward to Beatie’s wedding. It was a month away, and all of her siblings were in it. The girls were going to be junior bridesmaids, Maxx the ring bearer, Zara the flower girl, and Nick, Trevor, and Todd were going to be ushers. There had been some debate as to whether Nick was up to it, but in light of how well he seemed, and how in command of himself and his career he was, it seemed foolish to worry. The only thing we’d talked about, only half jokingly, was what would happen if he’d get bored standing at the altar with the other ushers, and let his lack of impulse control get the best of him. But given the way he was behaving these days, that seemed unlikely.
He seemed to have finally grown up into a loving, caring, responsible young man and he even accepted willingly the responsibilities of his illness. He was good about keeping track of it, taking his medicine, and for the first time ever, when he didn’t feel right, he told Julie, and she and Nick’s psychiatrist adjusted his medications. It had been three months since his last attempt to obliterate himself, and it seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind now. He was handsome, suddenly more mature, successful, and very happy. And we had never been closer.
His Bright Light Page 23