Be a Blueberry
Today marks the fifth anniversary since my father-in-law,
Lester Traff, stunned us all by committing suicide. I have written many blogs
about this topic. As I reviewed previous
blogs from this date, I found that last year’s blog covered so much of what I
wanted to say today. Here is the link to it. Today, I am going a little
different route.
I have a gluten free blueberry muffin recipe that I just
love. The recipe is not mine (my version is slightly different, calling for 1/2 cup milk and 1-1/2 cups blueberries),
but it is one of my favorites. They are just muffins, but they are yummy and
they actually rise, unlike some GF baked goods. I don’t make muffins very
often, but I was excited to make these muffins the day after Independence Day,
using up some leftover blueberries.
I ended up making them on July 6, as I totally forgot on
the fifth. Then we went grocery shopping before I made the muffins, so it was
later in the morning than I intended. Still, I got to work and mixed my GF
flours, added ingredients most standard bakers wouldn’t have ever heard of
(xanthan gum, for example), and even zested a lemon. That’s gourmet cooking for
me! It had been at least a year since I made these muffins. The recipe said, “The
batter will be thick,” and it most certainly was THICK. It didn’t flow into the muffin cups at all; I
kind of shoved it in. I licked my fingers afterward and the taste was bitter. I
just told myself, “They’re not chocolate chip cookies, you know!” but I should
have told myself more. Warning lights should have gone off. Something was most
definitely wrong with these muffins.
I turned the pan after ten minutes as directed by the
recipe. The little blobs I had shoved in the muffin cups were still little
blobs. They hadn’t filled in the cups. I knew for sure something was wrong at
that point, but of course there was nothing to do but finish baking them. I was
not happy. I was baking them as a treat for Emily and Eric, and I knew for a
fact that these muffins would not be a treat. As soon as they cooled a little
bit, I tasted one. Ugh. It was immediately evident that I had forgotten to add
the sugar. My recipe didn’t fail me, I failed it. R.J. took a bite and told me
they tasted like scones and that the blueberries added some sweetness. He
claimed that were not as inedible as I had declared them to be. Emily and Eric
wanted them anyway, and Eric said he actually liked them. They seemed to agree that the
blueberries probably saved the day. Sigh. The muffins were not a total failure,
but they certainly were not the perfect muffins I had intended to make.
It seems to me that my father-in-law Les had a strong
desire to be perfect. He was the trivia champion of the local news radio
call-in show. He held strong opinions on most topics and knew how to argue his
points. He loved deeply and did what he could for others. However, Les’s mental
illness (depression) caused his “recipe” to be a little off. He could give and
give and give, but he simply could not accept help for himself. He found it difficult/impossible to embrace the idea of possible positive outcomes occurring from the
spot he was in life. I think his self-talk probably sounded a lot like my
descriptions of the failed muffins: something was wrong, but he didn’t know
exactly what and there was no way to fix it. Ugh.
It has taken me a long time to accept that the man I knew
and loved, the man I saw as the ultimate caretaker could knowingly devastate so
many people he loved so deeply. It has taken me even longer to come to a place
of forgiveness for the pain he caused his wife and my children, especially. I
feel like I have spent so much time learning about mental illness over the past
five years, and I still have only scratched the surface; however, one thing I
have learned that it is exceptionally difficult for a person suffering from
depression to take captive their thoughts that do not represent reality. They
cannot just “think positive” or “pray harder” and it inflicts pain when you use
that kind of language with a clinically depressed person. Without the help of
counseling and/or medications, their depression-driven thoughts can spiral out
of control. Just hanging on, just moving, just eating, or just talking can be
torture for the individual struggling with depression, even with the help of
counseling and/or medication. The recipe is not right, and it is our job as
friends and family to see the warning lights going off.
I remade those muffins this morning, just to prove that I
could do it right. They are perfect. I could easily eat all twelve, which is
why I don’t make muffins very often. This is still one of my favorite recipes. Sadly,
believers struggling with depression may not find that perfect recipe until
heaven. Their daily pain can become unbearable. There may be nothing you as a
friend or family member can do for them, but don’t stop asking, offering, and
believing. Don’t stop telling them they are beautiful and treasured, just as
they are, even if they never find the perfection they are seeking this side of
heaven. If they have the courage to reach out, please reach back. Have that cup
of coffee or smoothie with them, and don’t be afraid to just sit and listen or
sit in silence if it means letting that person know that you care. Even if you can't fix the recipe, you can at least be a
blueberry.
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| These are the good ones. |
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