Elephant in the Sky

by Heather A. Clark

  “Pretty soon the booze wasn’t enough. I have no idea when I got into the drugs … I actually don’t even remember my first time … but I somehow got mixed up in cocaine. I was spiralling more and more out of control. I knew where I was headed, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  “Why didn’t you call someone? Didn’t you want help?” I asked gently, trying to shake the guilt that suddenly overwhelmed me. If I had been a better daughter, and not kicked him out the way I had, he might have found the strength to call me.

  “I don’t know. I knew I should have wanted to get help, but for some reason I didn’t. Or I couldn’t. I’m not really sure which one it was.” My father sighed, pain from long-ago days clouding his sober eyes. “It’s tough to explain. You know that scene in Titanic … the one where they know the iceberg is right in front of them … and they know that they need to steer the ship. They even know exactly what they have to do to avoid smashing into that iceberg, yet …”

  “Yet they just can’t seem to get the ship to turn?” I finished. “No matter what they try.”

  “Exactly.” My father looked down at his hands, which he was wringing together tightly. I could see how hard this conversation was for him. “I knew I was going to smash into the iceberg. And I knew what I needed to do in order to avoid it. But for some reason, I just couldn’t manage to do it.”

  I nodded. After seeing what Nate went through — how he had so little control over what he did — I could understand what my father was saying.

  “And then that fateful night came. Too much blow. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the drugs. I don’t know for sure, although my doctor is convinced the drugs were a trigger. The hypomania I’d been experiencing for years intensified, leading to extreme mania with psychosis. I turned into a full loony that night, thinking Russian spies were out to get me and a whole bunch of other crazy stuff.”

  “Yeah,” I said gently. “Pete filled me in on what happened that night. I’m so sorry that you went through it.” Especially with me not being there for you, I thought to myself.

  “I was admitted into the psych ward. Stayed in the hospital for three months before they let me out. Can you believe that? I was locked up in a psych ward for three months.”

  “Why so long?”

  “It took a while to diagnose. At first, they thought I might be schizophrenic. And then I had a hell of a time with meds. It seemed every side effect known to man had a thing for me. Nausea, rashes, hand tremors … you name it, I had it. So then they had to give me more drugs to help with the side effects. I wasn’t suffering from psychosis any longer, but I was a walking zombie. It was awful.” My father shuddered in his chair, remembering his hell on earth.

  “I know how hard it can be. Nate … he, uh, he had trouble with his medication as well. He experienced wicked side effects. Thankfully, his psychiatrist quickly switched him to Aripiprazole and, well, so far it seems to be working well for him.”

  “That’s good. I’ve heard good things about Aripiprazole. I tried it, but it didn’t work so well for me, I’m afraid. I’m on Quetiapine. Seems to be working so far.”

  “Have you … have you had an episode since your first?”

  My father shook his head. “No, after I got clean and finally found the right meds for me, I’ve been okay. And I count each day that I’m episode-free right along with my sobriety. My psychiatrist assures me that for every day I go without an episode, the less chance there is for a second or a third.”

  “That’s great. I’m glad you’re better.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a long road, but I finally feel like I can at least see down the one I’m walking on now.” My father smiled deeply, and I was immediately taken back to a time when I was a child. It was the last time I remembered seeing him genuinely laugh, and I forgot how good it made me feel to be with him when he was happy.

  “Can you tell me what happened to Nate?” My father gently invited me to bring Nate into the conversation. And I knew what he was asking. Every bipolar person has a story.

  So I started at the beginning, just as I had done with Nate himself, telling my father everything that had happened over the past year. Other than Tay, it was the first time I’d told someone absolutely everything, and it felt as though a pound of weight was being lifted from my shoulders with every word I said. My father did not take his eyes off me as I explained everything, and I watched them repeatedly fill with tears as I recounted the ride Nate had been on.

  “Ashley … I’m so very, very sorry. About everything.” The tears that had dampened his eyes while I was telling him Nate’s story finally fell, coursing down his cheeks. “I was an awful father to you. I know that now. And I should have been there for you while you were dealing with all of this.”

  “But you didn’t know! You didn’t know what was causing you to act the way you were.”

  “The disease is not a complete excuse. After your mom died, you needed me. You were seven years old, for goodness’ sake. I can’t imagine dealing with losing a mother at that age. And you should have had me there to help you through it. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t there for you. And you will never know how sorry I am about it, or how much I regret it.”

  “This disease … it makes you do funny things,” I said. “It takes over rational thinking. And judgement. You couldn’t have known that at the time. You didn’t know.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t. But the six-week bout of depression I went through after your mother died wasn’t normal. Even for a man who had just lost the love of his life. Deep down inside, I knew it. Even then. And if I had just listened to what my gut was telling me, maybe I could have gotten help sooner. So that you wouldn’t have had to spend your childhood parentless.”

  “What was it like to go through? When you were so depressed, I mean.” I’d wondered about it for years, and felt the closeness of our current conversation had opened the door to ask. As a child, I’d caught glimpses of my father in his darkened room. Never sleeping or talking or eating. Always staring, never seeing. A breathing corpse.

  “It’s tough to describe. To be honest, I don’t know that anyone can fully understand it unless they’ve been through it. To call it depression is an understatement because, on the surface, it simply implies sadness. And that part is there, for sure. But it barely scratches the surface of what it’s truly like. It’s very different from sadness. Bipolar depression is much, much more than that. I mean, if you even step outside, the sun physically hurts your entire body. Which is why I kept the room so dark. You can’t even see the sun or a light. The pain hurts too much. You just want to be dead. Because, in that moment, there is no reason to live.”

  I took my father’s hand in my own. It felt like ice, and I realized as soon as I touched him that he was shaking like a leaf. “Are you cold?” I asked him. “I could get you a sweater. Or we could go by the fire?”

  “No, no … I’m alright. It’s the tremors. From the meds. It’s the one side effect I haven’t been able to shake. It gets worse when I’m nervous or upset.” My father shrugged apologetically.

  I squeezed my father’s hand. The tremors seemed to lighten up a tiny bit, although I couldn’t be sure if it was just my imagination.

  “Can I ask you something? Do you … do you think Nate’s going to be okay? I’m so afraid of the future. Every day when I wake up, I’m scared that Nate will slip back into an episode and I’ll lose my son all over again. Do you think it will happen?” I’d wanted to ask someone since Nate had come home, but I’d been too frightened.

  “I don’t know,” my father responded honestly. “But I do know that you are doing all of the right things for your son. He’s very lucky to have you.”

  “But what if he has another episode? What if he goes crazy again?”

  “Ashley, listen to me. This is an awful disease when it’s at its worst. There’s no doubt about that. But when it�
��s properly treated, a person can be a fully functioning member of society. And Nate will continue to get stronger with each day that passes. The longer he goes without an episode, the less likely he is to have another. And there’s no reason why Nate can’t live a normal life. There are so many people walking around with bipolar disorder. Probably more than anyone knows.”

  “There are?” I asked, sniffling into the sleeve of my dress. I wanted to hear more about the success stories. About the people who had figured out a way to properly treat bipolar disorder and were living normal lives as a result. I was deathly afraid that Nate wouldn’t be healthy. I was scared my whole family was going to spend a lifetime in fear of another horrific episode.

  “Yes. I’m very sure about that. There are a ton of people out there who are leading healthy, happy lives. They’re not scared of it … they’ve embraced it. They’ve accepted everything about it, and have created thriving lives for themselves. For example, one person in my support group is an absolutely amazing teacher. He teaches the fourth grade. And he’s going to get married this summer to a fantastic woman who loves him wholeheartedly and unconditionally. And another person in my support group is a judge. He’s been on the bench for twenty-five years.”

  “A judge? Really?”

  “Yes.” My father patted the top of my hand as if to comfort me. A sprinkle of warmth shot straight to my heart. It was the first time in over thirty years that I felt I had a parent guiding me.

  “These people that I’m telling you about … they aren’t afraid. And they aren’t ashamed. Because it is who they are and, in many cases, it has shaped who they’ve become. My very own ER doctor who admitted me when I first went into the hospital? She is also bipolar … and she’s a wonderful doctor because of it. When I talked to her again about a year after I’d been diagnosed, she told me that it’s the reason she went into medicine. That having the disease has made her more empathetic to her patients.”

  “So you really think Nate could be okay?”

  “I believe bipolar disorder can be properly treated. If Nate stays on his meds, and continues any form of therapy that proves helpful for him, then he’s got more than a fighting chance. Add in his tenacity and courage, and I have no doubt. My grandson has a long life ahead of him. One he should be looking forward to.”

  I nodded, thinking about the irony all around me. Bipolar disorder was a complicated disease that had taken my father away from me for too many years, and yet it was also what had brought him back to me.

  “Ashley, listen to your father,” he said, taking both of my hands in his. He was still trembling. “This tragedy that you’ve been through in the past few months? I know it’s felt like hell … but, if you look harder, I think you’ll see that it’s actually been a blessing. It’s really what gave Nate his life back.”

  “How so?”

  “The greatest power we have in this world is knowledge. And we have that now. We know what we’re dealing with. Which means a treatment plan with the ultimate goal of a healthy life. Without that, Nate would have been stuck in a dark box, struggling to come to terms with why he couldn’t cope with life the way he was supposed to.” My father sighed, looking straight into my eyes. “I know how this sounds, but unless you’ve been there, you can’t fully understand how difficult that is. But I assure you, now that Nate is on the road to recovery, he’s been given his life back. And that’s a gift. If Nate hadn’t gone through his first episode, he wouldn’t have been diagnosed. And he would have been trapped in what feels like never-ending purgatory.”

  I took in all that he was telling me, believing for the first time that things would be all right. No matter what.

  Having the father that I’d missed for a lifetime comfort me in the way that all parents should made me weep. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I fell into his arms, crying openly, and let my dad wipe away my tears as if I were seven years old again.

  61

  Nate

  “Grace? Grace! Wait for me, would you? Stop!” My heart is racing, and I struggle to keep up with my sister. She is practically running across the swinging planks that are hanging so high up in the air they are part of the tops of the palm trees that surround us.

  I feel like we are towering above the whole world. Because we actually are. We are so high up in the air that we are actually in the fronds. That is a very big word for palm tree leaves. I know that because learned it in my science class at my new school.

  “Please, Grace! Wait up!” I’m breathing hard. I’m very scared. But I know I need to keep going. I have to finish walking over the swinging planks so that I can get to what’s next: the big long rope that I have to walk across. All by myself. Way up in the air. But I will. Because I know I have to do it. I know I have to just keep going.

  Grace laughs as I call after her again. She shrugs her shoulders, like she is trying to tell me that she doesn’t care. She won’t wait for me. She starts skipping across the wobbly planks that are so high up in the air.

  I stop for a minute. I try to wipe my hands on my shirt. It is really hard for me to do. I can’t do it very well because the plank I am standing on is so wobbly that it is knocking me off balance when I let go with two hands. So I try and only let go with one hand at a time. I wipe my right hand first. Then my left.

  In front of me, Grace throws her head back, still laughing, and lets her hair float all around her. The sky that surrounds her is bright blue. She is getting farther and farther ahead of me.

  I am too scared to run after her. Too scared to catch up.

  We are at Treetop Trek in Melbourne Beach, and my grandpa has brought my whole family here for the day so we can try out the obstacle course challenge. Behind me, I can hear my mother’s calm voice, encouraging me to move forward.

  “Go on, Nate. You can do it … I’m right behind you. You won’t fall.” Something in my mom’s voice reminds me of when I was little. It is quiet, only a bit louder than a whisper, and makes me feel instantly better.

  It is the second day of our March Break vacation. When we woke up that morning, Grandpa said he wanted to kick it off with a special surprise for our whole family. So we piled into his car, and he drove us to what he said was the best thing in Melbourne Beach.

  “Grandpa!? Are you serious?” Grace yelled when Grandpa pulled up to the front of the park. “Julian, a boy in my class who I absolutely adore, was just telling me about zip lining. I’ve been absolutely dying to try it! How did you know?”

  Grandpa laughed quietly from the front seat. “I didn’t actually.”

  “Uh, Dad?” my mom said to Grandpa. “Have you forgotten that both Nate and I don’t like heights?”

  Grandpa turned his head around to look at my mom. He smiled and winked. “No, Ash, I haven’t forgotten that part at all. In fact, it’s exactly why I brought you here.”

  Sitting in the car, the whole thing seemed a bit mean to me. And I felt bad for my mom when we were all on the ground, looking up at the longest zip line. She was breathing quickly, and kept squeezing her lips together. I could tell she was very, very scared.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I whispered to her. My heart was pounding — big time — just thinking about going up in the air. But I didn’t want to hurt my grandpa’s feelings. He seemed so excited to bring us there. “I’m scared, too, Mom. Maybe we should do it together. I think it would make Grandpa happy.”

  “I don’t know, Bean. I’m not sure I can go that high up …” my mom said. I watched her take a big breath of air as she put up her hand to block the sun from her eyes and looked up to the obstacle course that was so far up in the sky.

  “I think you can do it. We both can.” I was surprised to hear myself trying to convince her to do something that I didn’t want to do myself.

  Mom shook her head. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath through her nose. “Honestly, Dad? This wasn’t really what I had in mind when w
e brought the family to Florida. Couldn’t we have just gone to the beach or something?”

  “Tomorrow, Ash. And the day after that. Today it’s all about overcoming fear.” I watched Grandpa and Mom exchange a look. I could tell they were both thinking of something that they weren’t going to share with the rest of us.

  “Okay … I guess I’ll do it. If Nate will too. What do you say, Bean? Are you still ready to go up there with your mom?”

  I nodded. I was suddenly not as brave as I was when I was trying to convince her to go. But I didn’t want to disappoint my grandpa.

  “You coming too, Dad?” my mom asked, laughing. I could tell she didn’t think he would.

  “In fact, I am. It will be my fourth time. The strength trainer I’ve been working with is the one who recommended it. Said I’ve become strong enough to do the whole thing. And, what d’you know? He was right.” Grandpa grinned. He looked very proud of himself.

  Once we all agreed to start, the people who worked there helped us into our harnesses. Then we started the climb up the ladder to the beginning of the course. My dad and Grace went first, followed by my grandpa. Then me. Then Mom.

  Now I am walking across the bridge, which only has hanging planks. It is kind of like a ladder but it is a bridge. A very wobbly bridge.

  “You can do it, Nate. Keep going. I’m right behind you.” There it is again. Mom’s soft voice that is gentle but also strong. It makes me feel better. So I keep going.

  My legs are shaking underneath me, making the planks shake from side to side. I take a big breath. Try to make myself balanced. Then I start walking again.