Change

He who binds himself to a joy,

does the winged life destroy;

he who kisses the joy as it flies,

lives in eternity's sunrise.

I found this poem by William Blake in a book I’m reading called “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying”. It’s a really good book about teachings of Buddhism, the impermanence of everything in life, how we are all connected and how we must show love and compassion to everyone and in everything we do. This poem really stuck out to me because I’ve been binding myself to things that bring me joy for as long as I can remember. I’ve always been so scared of change when things were good because I didn’t want the good to go away. But I’ve learned that things always change. You can’t stop it, the good will come and go just as the bad will come and go. All we can do is enjoy the good while we have it and be thankful we had it at all once it’s gone. 

This has been really helpful in my dealing with Isabel’s death. I was so stuck on the fact that she was gone that I couldn’t even think about all the awesome times I had with her and all the things she taught me. I was binding myself to the thought of Isabel being here with me as a person, and it was only making things worse because I knew she wasn’t coming back. But I’ve realized that just because she’s gone from this world, doesn’t mean she’s gone forever. I will always have the memories of my time with her and I know she’s still with me. All I can do is appreciate the moments we shared and continue with my life, living with compassion, care and love just like Isabel did. 

Guilt, by Annie Whitcomb

Isabel started her blog because she wanted to bring awareness to mental health and let others know that they aren’t alone. She was open and honest and I always found her bravery so inspiring. She wasn’t scared to talk about her worst thoughts and now, I want to carry on that tradition. My last blog post from July 2017 was more positive, talking about how things do get better. While I tell this to other people all the time, my mind often stops me from believing it for myself.

Depression can make you believe things that aren’t actually true. I decided to write a poem about my feelings right now. I know it’s dark but writing these thoughts out and then looking at them, imagining that someone else wrote them, makes the line between what my mind tells me is true and what is really not true, a little clearer. These words are my depression speaking, but that’s not me and hopefully as I continue to work on things, I’ll be able to see this a lot more clearly. Everyone stay strong.

I’m sorry

I should’ve done more, it eats me up at night

staying up so late, in my mind there’s a fight

This guilt is telling me I don’t deserve to see the light

Why should I ever when I treated you so wrong,

not showing enough love, making you feel like you didn’t belong

didn’t do my part to help you stay strong

I’m sorry

Everyone’s telling me you wouldn’t want me to think this way

I want to believe it but these thoughts won’t go away

I know you were hurting so bad but I wish you could’ve stayed

I’m sorry

There’s nothing I can do to change the past now

people saying just focus on the future but I don’t know how

I’m so stuck in my head thinking about what I could’ve done

Mom starting to worry about who I’ve become

self love, motivation, I have none

I’m sorry

Moving and a Frozen Orange

Since late October, I have spent most of my free time cleaning out my house. I had always said that I would move to a smaller house once all my children finished high school. When Isabel died, that plan was delayed. Cleaning out a house full of memories as well as a lot of “stuff” requires emotional energy that I just didn’t have.

Several months ago I decided to take it slowly, realizing that I would sell the house when it was ready, as long as that may take. And it was finally ready in late February and has already been sold to a new family who will create their own memories here.

Cleaning out was hard and progress was often slow because I would become absorbed with memories. Philip’s letter of apology when he was sent to the principal’s office in first grade. Genevieve’s hilarious little notes - to me, the tooth fairy, Santa, etc. Awesome photos of Annie with the first fish she ever caught. We found a sketch pad full of Isabel’s cartoon drawings. Little pieces of paper with Stay Strong written on them. Isabel’s pledge to never ever ask for another pet if I would just let her get a beta fish (after that fish came two hamsters and a rabbit). Close friends, family and neighbors came over and helped me get through everything. I couldn’t have done it without them.

You know what is especially hard? Moving to a new house feels like moving on. And I’m not sure I want to move on since it feels like leaving Isabel behind. We will be leaving the house where she grew up, where we have our most vivid memories of her. I am still grappling with these thoughts so will have to let you know later how I come to terms with this dialectic – I am excited about what comes next AND reluctant to let go of a physical space where I have memories of my beautiful daughter.

Last weekend, Genevieve and Annie were home and I asked them to help me clean out a couple of things. One of the chores was to empty out the kitchen freezer. Later, after they had already left to drive back to school, I opened the freezer and saw a lone orange sitting on a shelf. That orange was put in the freezer a few years ago by Isabel, and seeing it there made me smile.

Why a frozen orange? This was a distress tolerance skill that Isabel had learned while in one of her treatment programs, sort of an extreme version of splashing cold water on your face. Learning distress tolerance skills is part of DBT therapy, which Isabel wrote about frequently in her blog and which I continue to think about all the time in my everyday life.

Genevieve had been unable to throw away the orange because it felt like an important part of her sister that we needed to hold onto. I don’t know how long an orange can stay in a freezer but I am certain that we will find out. That orange is going to move with us to our next home as Isabel’s continued reminder to us to Stay Strong. 

Grieving 2.0

We have survived one year without Isabel, a sad, traumatic, bittersweet yet uplifting year. I want to try and focus on the uplifting.

It feels like mental health issues - the seriousness of untreated depression and overcoming stigma, in particular - are moving towards the forefront of public conversation.

The Isabel Whitcomb Stay Strong Fund was established at UNC Hospital, thanks to the generosity of so many people.

Our beautiful cousin, Annie Phillips, honored Isabel by running a marathon and raising a lot of money for the Fund.

I recently gave my first public talk on the role of the Fund in emphasizing family-based therapy to treat eating disorders in the state of North Carolina. While I was somewhat terrified, I found it incredibly energizing, and look forward to doing it again.

Family, friends and strangers have reached out to us, offering support, shoulders to cry on and much appreciated kindness, as well as asking for advice and sharing personal experiences with mental illness.

I got my first (and only) tattoo that reminds me everyday to Stay Strong.

On October 2nd, the anniversary of Isabel’s death, people sent us photos of her that I’d never seen before. Of course I cried but I also smiled a lot. Genevieve found two short video clips of Isabel laughing her trademark laugh.

I’ve read through several books about suicide and how those of us left behind -the survivors - struggle to learn how to cope. One of them suggested that the second year was actually worse than the first. When I read that, it felt like a kick in the stomach. There is absolutely no way I want to feel worse.

I refuse to feel that way. While Isabel couldn’t see a way forward for herself, I can continue to carry on her mission of addressing the shortcomings in the treatment of anorexia and overcoming the stigma of mental illness. Her goal in life was to become a motivational speaker. I am not even going to try to achieve that but I can at least continue to be her voice and speak out.

On the first anniversary of Isabel’s death, a friend asked if Isabel had sent me a meaningful song. A lot of songs held meaning for her but I didn’t feel one that day. A song did show up though, not long after.

I was at a conference in Washington DC last week which was dedicated to the memory of a special woman. The person speaking about her mentioned a line from a song by Peter Yarrow called Sweet Survivor. I didn’t know this song before but I do now.

Carry on my sweet survivor, carry on my lonely friend
Don't give up on the dream, and don't you let it end.
Carry on my sweet survivor,
Though you know that something's gone
For everything that matters carry on.

That last line - for everything that matters, carry on - is going to be how I move into year two of the grieving process.

Memories, by Genevieve Whitcomb

Last night I had a dream about Isabel. It was one of those dreams you don't even remember when you first wake up but then a few hours later, someone says something and suddenly the whole dream comes back to you. I was sitting in my music class this morning and our class was playing djembes (picture what you think a classic bongo drum looks like and you're probably actually picturing a djembe…I was only just educated about this on Tuesday). My professor usually says a set of words and we play the beat back to her. The phrase she said was “So much to remember.” As soon as she said those words something clicked in my head and the dream I had last night came flooding back into my mind. In my dream, Isabel never actually died. She recovered and we were just living our lives as though nothing had happened. I woke up from this dream heartbroken after realizing that that’s all it was, a dream. Dreaming about Isabel is hard. Dreams give me an opportunity to see her and I cherish that always. I often finding myself wanting to be asleep just to have the chance to see her for a little while. But waking from these dreams rips me from those moments and like I did today, I often wake up from a dream with Isabel in it and am in a daze for the rest of the day, longing for a life that Isabel is actually a part of.

Sometimes I feel myself conflicted in wanting to talk about Isabel. I get really stuck on the fact that I have to talk about who she was, not who she is now. But there is also something really special about talking about my sister to people who didn't know her. There are several people in my life now that I really wish Isabel could have gotten to know. And at the same time, I truly believe all of those people would be so positively affected by having her in their lives. I remember talking to someone a couple of days after Isabel passed and she asked me to tell her a good memory I had of her. In that moment I did what most people do when someone asks you what your favorite movie is and you suddenly forget every movie ever made. I couldn't think of a single memory of her. Maybe it was because I was sad and couldn't think straight or it could have just been my terrible memory failing me once again, but I’d like to think it was because I have so many amazing memories of Isabel and wanted to choose the best one to accurately depict her and who she was. As time has passed I have been reminded by many people of memories of Isabel and of qualities about her that truly made her who she was. All of those things that I have always loved about her are still here with me - I wish she was still here, with all of her quirky traits. But I am here and although Isabel is not, I feel honored to be able to keep the memories of my beautiful sister alive.

My family and I are starting to compile our favorite memories or favorite things about Isabel. We are all so grateful to have been such a big part of her short life and as I said before, I love being able to share memories of Isabel with others. I know there are tons of memories and stories of her from times that my family or I wasn't with her, so we ask that if anyone has any good memories of Isabel to please email them to me at whitcombga@appstate.edu or post them on my Facebook. We welcome all memories and are excited to learn more about Isabel through the experiences of others that were lucky enough to know her.

Here are some of my favorite Isabel memories.

Isabel loved having photo shoots for profile pictures on Facebook. Annie would take the best ones by having her smile. If the photos looked too forced, Annie would make her laugh which would cause the pics to come out genuine and the way we got to see them on Facebook.

She thought most foods were spicy even though they weren’t. She didn’t use the word correctly – ever.

She loved Christmas and would watch all the Christmas movies on Netflix no matter how cheesy. We had to listen to Christmas music in the car starting in early October.

She always claimed she didn't like kids and wasn't going to have any herself, but she could make any kid laugh and they always loved her the most.

She came up with the wildest names for her “future sons”, Dax and Jax

She was a terrible dancer and we would always tell her to stop when she would start dancing,  although I would pay to see her dance again.

She would never eat her cereal with milk, literally ever since she was in the 1st grade. She thought it was gross and soggy.

One time she was eating toast with nutella in France outside in the garden and she was being chased by bees and still wouldnt put the toast down

She made my mom the best cards for Mother’s Day, birthday and Valentine’s Day.

She drew the best cartoons and had the funniest characters.

She got the giggles so hard especially when we went to get our eyebrows waxed.

She loved to get her ears pierced but they would always take her earrings away from her when she was admitted to the hospital. After this happened a few times, she started returning home with an ear full of new piercings, along with the stories of who/how they were able to pierce their own ears without any nurses finding out.

As the marking of a year since Isabel’s death begins to creep up, I find myself often overwhelmed with how much it still feels like she only left us yesterday. I find myself discouraged, feeling like I'm drowning in this pain that often seems to be growing stronger. But as these days pass and I've had to make new memories without Isabel, I find comfort in thinking about the moments that did include her. I’d like to think that the phrase from my music class “so much to remember” made me think of my dream last night to remind me there’s so much good to remember about Isabel.

1-800-273-8255

One of the hardest things that I have had to deal with since Isabel died is the feeling of “I wish you were here so we could experience this together”. These moments happen every single day, when I’m sitting on the couch watching The Office, when I’m riding my bike on the Tobacco Trail, when I’m walking down the hallway and just want to peep my head into Isabel’s room and see her chilling on her bed. When something good happens, when something bad happens, when something funny happens. No matter what, it’s always “I wish Isabel were here too.” 
One thing that reminds me a lot of her are songs with messages. Isabel really loved music. She loved songs that had meaning, ones that she could connect with, that spoke to her. In some of her past blogposts, she referred to songs that were important to her because she found comfort and strength in the words. So when I heard this song, 1-800-273-8255 by Logic, I immediately thought of Isabel. I’m not a great summarizer so I encourage you to just listen to the song but I will try to give a little explanation if you really don’t plan on listening. The song title is the phone number of the suicide hotline and the song starts out with Logic singing to the suicide hotline about how he wants to die, how he can’t keep going, that his life doesn’t even matter. The song then transitions into the “operator" telling him that he doesn’t have to die. That these feelings will pass and things will get better. Then by the end Logic realizes this is true and he sings that he doesn’t want to die, he finally wants to be alive (again just listen to the song it’s better than this explanation). When I heard this song I wanted Isabel to be here so badly. The thing I regret most is not telling Isabel more. I should’ve told her all the time that I loved her, that things would get better, that I really knew how hard things can be but that she was strong and that I truly believed she could make it, but I didn’t say it enough. And when I heard this song, it was hard because it is a song of what I should’ve said. One of my favorite parts of the song is Alessia Cara’s verse.

It’s the very first breath

When your head’s been drowning underwater

And the lightness in the air

When you’re there

Chest to chest with a lover

It’s holding on, though the road’s long

And seeing light in the darkest things

And when you stare at your reflection

Finally knowing who it is 

I know you’ll thank God you did

This is the part I would’ve played on repeat for Isabel. It's saying that yes things are so hard now but it won’t be like this forever. Things will get better and it will be worth it. Since Isabel isn’t here anymore and I can not dwell on the things I should’ve said to her, I am sharing this song first of all because I believe Isabel would’ve enjoyed it and maybe even posted it in one of her own blog posts, but also in hopes that maybe someone else will find some peace in the lyrics. Remember that you do not have to die, and most importantly that you need to Stay Strong. 

Radical Acceptance

Today, it has been 38 weeks since Isabel’s death. I honestly can’t believe it. I don’t want it to be so long since I last got to spend time with her. I can still picture her sitting in her favorite place in our family room. I can still imagine that she is lying in her bed down the hall. Unless we have guests over for dinner, our family hasn’t sat down for dinner at our kitchen table since she has been gone. It is too painful to see her empty place.

From my own experience when I lost my husband, Giles, I know that the first year is the hardest. Each day is the anniversary of something. For Isabel, the year leading up to her death was actually pretty great. So the anniversaries of these days and weeks are incredibly bittersweet.

This week ahead, for example. One year ago, Isabel was getting ready to spend the month of July in France and Italy with her aunt. This was a magical time for her and filled with stories that I hold on to.

A couple of weeks ago was the anniversary of her graduation from high school, a feat that had seemed unimaginable the year before when she was in and out of the hospital. It is impossible to overstate how hard Isabel worked to be able to graduate from high school. She crammed her whole senior year into one semester, and finished and published her book during this time. We still laugh when we remember the online guitar class she took – a course that had really crazy assignments. Her thoughts on those assignments were priceless. Such great memories.

Realizing how quickly we are speeding towards the one-year anniversary of Isabel’s death is frightening. On the one hand, I just want to get it over with. On the other hand, I don’t want the vivid memories we have of her to diminish in any way. I know that time can dim those memories and that scares me.

When I think these confused thoughts, I realize they represent a profound dialectic. Of course that makes me think of DBT – dialectical behavior therapy, something that is a big part of current treatment programs for depression and eating disorder recovery.

Anyone familiar with Isabel’s blog posts or her book knows that she learned and used DBT skills extensively. At one point during her illness, she and I attended a six-month DBT class for parents and teens. While six months is a long time commitment, my only wish is that I had done this before I became a parent. Or at least before I had teenagers! When you look up DBT, you will get the mistaken idea that it is only for people suffering from severe mental illness. This is far from reality and totally misses the point. DBT provides critical life skills that are useful for everyone – how to live more meaningful lives, how to regulate our emotions better, how to listen to others more carefully, how not to judge ourselves or others. In the DBT class, I learned to say “but” less often, focusing instead on “and”.

The dialectic is what is critical here and it’s honestly not very easy to understand. This is the best explanation I could find:  

The word “dialectical” describes the notion that two opposing ideas can be true at the same time.     In DBT, there is always more than one way to think about a situation, and all people have something unique and different to offer. A life worth living has both positive and negative aspects (happiness, sadness, anger) and all of these aspects are necessary and valuable. It is sometimes hard to accept ourselves and our actions while simultaneously recognizing the need for change. Dialectics allows for a balance between acceptance and change, both of which are necessary for establishing a fulfilling life .

Source:  Peachtree DBT

I realize that my desire to get this first year over with AND my fear of losing sight of my beautiful daughter is part of acceptance. It doesn’t make it any easier though. One of the DBT skills that Isabel found most helpful was radical acceptance. It means just what it sounds like – accepting reality. She named her blog Grant Me the Serenity, because the Serenity Prayer was so meaningful for her. It is all about acceptance.

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

 Isabel learned to accept many difficult realities through her months of treatment and I know I have to follow her example. Our family has lost a lot and we are still trying to come to terms with this. I don’t have any profound thoughts or magic to share. Life can suck. AND we are going to get through this.