“The Worst Time of Our (My) Life”

I met Peter Zimmerman in high school.  It feels like we took most of the same classes our junior and senior years.  My memories of Peter are of bright, witty banter, engaging class discussions, and a similar moral compass. He had a gift of helping everyone to not only feel included but to belong. I feel fortunate to have reconnected with this friend on social media and see how those impactful talents are still in use today!

Peter has worked in mental health, churches, and as a chaplain. He got his masters in divinity from Wake Forest in 2012 and is moving to Phoenix, Arizona, to build as many microhouses as he can find people to put in them.

He wrote the following when I asked him for some thoughts to share.  I know you’ll be able to feel the strength of his personality and character in this real, raw, and personal post.

From Peter Zimmerman

So I have to bum you out to get this blog post rolling, but everything is going to be fine so don’t be too sad.

The bum out part– My dad died in February. He was one of those extraordinary people who touched people’s lives. This guy makes Charles Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie look like a slouch. He had a deep faith and his keynotes were kindness, silliness, and intelligence. He fell in love once, married once, and got hired once working for the same company for 33 years. His whole life he went to church every Sunday. But more importantly, his life was one that truly showed the fruits of the spirit.

Have I set the scene? We were all fans of dad.

The Worst Year

So my mom, my sister and I all agree that this is a freaking terrible year. But what surprised me is how differently we all frame this year. And what gives me joy is that we have let each other grieve our own way.

My sister told me, “This is the worst year of our lives.”

That did not surprise me. In fact, I assumed it was true for her and mom.

But not for me. You see, in 1994, I had severe clinical anxiety and depression. And that was back when the stigma was triple what it is now. I did not know a single soul who had depression and anxiety other than me. I was only 24. I was terrified that this was what life was going to be—painful, hard, and basically not worth living. It was the worst year. For me.

I told my sister as much. “I get that this is the worst year of your life.  But I spent years not wanting to be alive, not knowing what I believed or cared about. So this is terrible.  But I have been through worse.”

The Loneliest, Hardest Year

I told my mom that story. She said, “This is not the worst year of my life either.” That was a surprise!

She explained, “This is the loneliest. It is the hardest. But the worst was 2000.” I knew what she meant.

In 2000, her former youth minister and choir boy son who graduated with a 3.98 GPA (me) was arrested related to drinking. My parents are teetotalers.

She already knew I suffered depression. And now she was picking me up on bond. She said, “we had no idea what was going to happen to you. We cried every night.”

She went on, “This is hard. But we were lost back then.”

I assumed that his death would be the worst thing ever for her. It seems I was wrong. I was very impressed with her ability to reflect. That what she felt was the hardest thing, and the loneliest thing. But not the worst thing.

I can’t parse out exactly why she feels how she feels.  People in their 70s come to expect at some level that death is coming. And given that we knew dad had ALS for over a year, there was a lot of time to prepare. I think it comes down to the word narrative. As in, “this story is awful but it makes narrative sense.”  We expect people to die.

And my mom has faith she will see dad again. Death, life, sickness are things mature people know are in the mix.

What is not always in the mix is being a highly devout, nerdy family whose golden boy child has his life implode, first through depression and then through the very bad decision to start drinking regularly and losing anyway to stop.

It was the worst because when dad died, no one was at fault. No one had broken a promise or a dream. It felt like fate/providence had been unkind. But none of us had failed.

When I got arrested, I failed my family. And I am sure they worried they had failed me. And we didn’t know what to do. I was dedicated to getting sober (and stayed sober 14 years after that), but it was early days.

And apparently, it was the worst time of my mother’s life. It was uncertain, it was full of guilt and shame, and it was unexpected. All adding up to make it the worst. Or the hardest. Or just terrible.

Grieving in Our Own Way

So what is the point of this tale?  The leadoff for me is that I am thankful we are all allowing each other to grieve our own way.

Second, my mom reminds me of the importance of reflection. She is coping like a champ and one reason why is that she is able to reflect on her feelings and also share them. Reflection helps us process what we feel and it helps us frame our story in a hopeful manner. Mom knows she has been through worse.

So. Reflection. Sorry to say, if you are not good at it, when stuff like the worst year rolls around, you will wish you had worked on it.

Finally, I am struck by how not living in judgment makes all this easier. My sister was surprised that I did not feel the same but she did not judge or demand that I feel like she felt.

With a different person, I could have gotten the response, “You are so selfish. Your depression was just about you. This is about all of us.” That reaction makes sense. When people assume you feel/think like them, they don’t always react well when you do not.

But luckily my sister is awesome. And she let me be me. In all these interactions, we let each other share and didn’t try to offer advice, or fix, or make judgments.

It is a freaking awful year for me. And the worst for my sister. And the hardest for my mother. But I am thankful I have family to walk through it with. And thankful I got to write this post…it helped me reflect.