In spite of growing concerns and attempts to make sense of what was happening with Mike, there remained a semblance of normality in our daily lives. We were both thrilled with the election of Barack Obama, feeling for the first time since our country’s invasion of Iraq that there was a possibility we might have the patient leadership necessary to work more through diplomacy than through war. We were together in our hope that our new president would be someone who could deal with complexity rather than offering simple answers.
Mike continued to be the jovial grandpa, taking the kids to our community pool and swimming with them, then providing sugary snacks of the sort they didn’t often get at home.
Dinners and movies with friends, overnight visits from SoCal pals, a few days with family at Stinson Beach, breakfasts at the Gold Miner, the trappings of our lives were in place.
In early July, Mike flew to Denver where he met Matt, who was on his way from Pittsburg to Washington state, driving a U-Haul full of his, Leesa’s and Mika’s accumulated possessions. After having completed his Ph.D. three years earlier, Matt had been employed from year to year in positions that were prestigious, but not ongoing. Now he was starting a tenure-track position at Whitman College, a small liberal arts college in Walla Walla, Washington. It was exciting and a relief for him to be launched on a career path in a position that would be steady, challenging and meaningful. But the cross-country move was a task of mammoth proportions, and Mike was eager to help.
The two of them, Mike and Matt, shared the driving from Denver on. Leesa and 2-year-old Mika met them in Walla Walla the day after they’d arrived. Mike stayed on a few more days to help them get settled. He came home happy about his time with Matt, enthused about the town of Walla Walla, the beauty of the Whitman College campus, the house “the kids” had moved into, and, above all, the brilliance and beauty of little Mika.
Although Matt was appreciative of Mike’s help, his take on their time together was not quite so glowing. One morning shortly after Mike returned home, Matt sent a gentle, loving email, outlining some of his observations and concerns:
July 11, 2008
Dear Dad,
Now that we’ve arrived and settled down a bit, I wanted to thank you so much for joining me on the final leg of a tough trip…. I was anticipating a relaxing time in Denver and a nice, easy drive the rest of the way to Sacramento. As it panned out, I felt too stressed and distracted to enjoy much of the trip, and I’m sorry if I wasn’t very good company. I was hoping for something more along the lines of our time in LA six years ago (six!!) when you helped me find an apartment. It has meant so much to have your help and encouragement, to feel your excitement and enthusiasm during these major life-changing markers. Your love, friendship and unconditional support are precious to me, and I am continually grateful for who you are and the father you have been to me.
We talked last week and during the trip about how you’re feeling these days. You said to me in the car that you were willing to look at anything about yourself—another trait that I know to be true. Your capacity for self-reflection is something else that is very important to me, something that I’ve learned from and tried to emulate in my own life. Well … now the tough part. As I mentioned, I was concerned because you seem to be repeating yourself and losing your train of thought more frequently. You said that Mom had raised the same issue with you. There were a few things I noticed in particular that may be minor but are also uncharacteristic of how I’ve known you to act. You seemed to get disoriented in the hotel lobby whenever we stepped out of the elevator. In general, you seem more easily distracted. And, not to harp on this, but it was difficult to follow your speech at Sharon’s party—a kind of tic or slip I’ve noticed on other occasions as well. To describe the phenomenon more specifically, it’s almost as if you’re inserting non-sequiturs into a conversation. For those who know you it’s fairly simple to follow, but there have been times I’ve noticed slightly confused looks on the faces of those less familiar with your history.
I’ve since talked to Mom a bit more about this, and, as you know, she’s very concerned. It’s clear she feels a sense of urgency, and she’s indicated that you seem hesitant to look closely at this issue—at times, even a bit defensive about it. She and I discussed some possible factors, including the general dynamics of your relationship with each other, depression, your medications and the issue of “living in your head” (something I can completely identify with). And, of course, we wondered if there might be something physiological going on. This last possibility is scary to us, as I know it would be and is to you. Because these kinds of issues are both terrifying and a fact of life for anyone who lives long enough, I wanted to encourage you to get some kind of professional evaluation. I have a strong feeling that these tics or mental hiccups or distracted interactions (whatever they should be called) have multiple causes, one of which MAY be physical. But a doctor’s assessment would help put to rest many of Mom’s (and my) concerns.
This is a hard email to write, Dad, and I’m sorry to collapse these two issues into each other in this message—the one so positive and the other so difficult. But they are not unrelated, and if something physical is going on with you, it’s really important to address it as soon as possible. As I said the other day, I love you so much, and now that Mika, this amazing new person, has been added to our lives, I want to make sure you’re present on this earth for as long as possible. (Not that I didn’t want that before, too.) I guess in that way I’m hoping you will consider getting an evaluation not just for Mom but for me and for Mika and for the considerably large group of people who love you and selfishly want the same things.
Please let me know what you think.—Matt
Mike responded:
Dear Matt,
Thank you for the honesty of this email. I know it was not easy to write.
I continue to believe that there is nothing physically going on in my head or body, but have not ruled out that possibility. I have a physical coming up soon, and will discuss this with my doctor.
I continue to think that I’ve put myself in the wrong place when deciding to leave LA. Sacramento just doesn’t offer enough to satisfy me emotionally or musically. I wish that this were not the case, primarily because Mom is quite happy here. I tend to live a great deal in my head, and that gets me in trouble with myself and with other family members. I often have a strong need to distance myself from the “noise” and the chaos of the house. I really meant to share with you the book about the Highly Sensitive Person. I think sometimes that I’ve put myself between a rock and a hard place. I care deeply for this family and for what we stand for, but find too often that I have a strong need to keep some distance for my own sake/safety/sanity. I have all too often found this a great burden, and wish that it were otherwise.
I often hunger for Intellegicual [sic] involvement, and know that I’ve put myself, knowingly in a church that is not going to offer that. Once again I’ve perhaps sabotaged myself unwittingly. I only know how to put one foot in front of the other. I think I learned that at a very early age from a most unknowing, uninvolved mother.
I know that you know how very proud I am of you and Leesa and Mika. I continue to believe that it is not possible to love you more deeply. I look forward to the trip to Walla Walla and the visit with all three of you.
Thank you again for taking the time and energy to write these thoughts. I have printed them out and will re-read them again as I continue to “digest” them over the next few days.
Give Mika a big kiss from Grampa.
I love you all.
Dad
As with his perception of the pianist’s detailed explanation of why she could no longer work on the Yip Harburg program, Mike seemed not to take in many of the details of Matt’s message. He was touched by Matt’s tributes to him in the first paragraph but rather than addressing Matt’s specific concerns, he went to his now fallback position that there was nothing wrong with his head, and to an accounting of dissatisfactions with his half-empty life. Though his complaints about Sacramento and the church had become like a broken record to me, parts of his response were more puzzling. I didn’t understand what he meant by “the ‘noise’ and the chaos of the house.” I didn’t understand how living in his head got him in trouble with family members. And what did he mean by “this family” as if he were not a part of it? But Mike and I had become so distanced and defensive with one another that I didn’t even try to talk with him about any of that.
In September, we enjoyed an overnight in San Francisco. We walked from the Inn at the Opera to Davies Symphony Hall, where we both thoroughly enjoyed selections from Mozart and Tchaikovsky conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas. The evening was brisk but pleasant, and after the performance we walked to Jardinière, where we sipped Kahlua and cream and relived moments from the concert, including the overly friendly woman who sat on Mike’s other side and at one point rested her head on his shoulder.
“I should have kicked her butt!” I told him.
“She outweighed you,” he said, which is, of course, the perfect thing for any man to say to his unsuccessfully dieting wife.
The next morning we wandered through Golden Gate Park, then went to the de Young where we browsed through the textile collection, looked at the American Sculpture and Decorative Art galleries and then ate soup and salad in the cafe before heading back home.
Mike loved the San Francisco Symphony, the de Young, our little hotel, breakfast at Sears, ambling through Macy’s, the city of San Francisco. All of it. He was at his best in this setting. For that very brief period it seemed that all was well. Maybe it was. Maybe it could be.
In the fall the Northminster choir work resumed, as did rehearsals for Chanteuses and Camerata. I began asking Mike for the Christmas choir schedule so we could figure out how to work around that for our Laguna Beach Christmas getaway, but Mike continued to say we were having Christmas at home, and no schedule was forthcoming.
When Mike still had not provided a choir schedule by early November, I emailed the choir president, telling her I was juggling dates for family gatherings, and asking that she send me a copy of their December schedule. She quickly complied. The only conflict in the Laguna Beach/choir dates was for the Christmas Eve concert. I made a reservation on Southwest for Mike to fly back to Sacramento on the afternoon of Christmas Eve day, and to return to Orange County airport on Christmas morning. I went over all of the plans with Mike. He reiterated that he was staying home for Christmas.
“Okay,” I said, and put the flight reservation information and receipt in the Laguna/Christmas folder.