Here's to New Beginnings

What does Easter mean to you? It’s always a pensive time for me. My parents took my brother and me to Easter Sunrise Services when we were little. These are much more common in Southern California but not so much in Oregon, because it’s just too fricken cold on Easter morning around here. Nobody would ever love Jesus again because all the Christians would be frozen to death.

Even in Camarillo, it is usually cold and foggy until at least 10am, so those services were C-O-L-D. My brother and I were roused at 5am to get to the ridge and sit on frigid, metal folding chairs that were set up on the dewy grass that dampened our Easter-best shoes. Seeing the sunrise was pretty cool, but church is never much fun when you’re a kid. We fidgeted and sighed until it was time to go inside for mediocre pancakes served on Styrofoam plates with tiny plastic forks and impotent knives.

We Fus usually avoid church on Easter. The last time we attended an Easter service was about fifteen years ago. We probably even arrived to church on time, which is completely abnormal behavior for our family. Were we even rewarded for our punctuality? NO! We are even late when we are on time! The Easter service was so packed that we Fus sat on the balcony stairs. It wasn’t terrible, but the message was nothing new. I just love and appreciate Jesus so much more when I’m not fighting for space in a crowd.

We Fus are notorious trendsetters, and it looks like the whole world is following our example this year and staying home for Easter worship. Except for those insane people heading to Pennsylvania because their nutcase pastor says that coronavirus prevention is the work of the devil. Weirdo.

As if frosty sunrise services or sitting through Easter worship in sukhasana is not memorable enough, I’m about to tell you about my most memorable Easter in 2015. Albert and I spent the day together at the Emergency Room the first time Alex threatened to kill himself.

It started in October 2014 when Alex was 17. As Ron Burgundy would say, it escalated quickly. He was sailing through high school as a junior, preparing to apply to colleges with ambitions of becoming a math teacher. Albert and I saw no evidence of the warnings we had heard about teenagers. We were (and are!) extremely grateful for our exceptional children, but also probably a little arrogant about our parenting, taking way too much credit.

Alex was captain of his rowing team, excelling at school, helping with chores at home, and more pleasant to be around than approximately 90% of other teenage boys. He participated in family time within reason and was an enthusiastic participant in our church’s youth group. He had just recently volunteered as a camp counselor to 5^th and 6^th graders and was entertaining the idea of pursuing this as a paid a summer job.

And then he met this girl. We were all very excited for him! Alex has never been conventionally “cool.” None of us Fus are. We’re all a little dorky and unusual, and I’m kind of proud of that. But this is hard to embrace when you’re 17. She asked him to her school’s Homecoming dance. We got him a suit and tie to match her dress. He was smitten. It wasn’t long before her true colors began to show.

Alex told us that she was smart and beautiful and perfect. A model! A straight-A student enrolled in several AP classes! An enthusiastic Christian! She described herself as “untouchable,” meaning that she was exceedingly flawless and popular at her school.

NOW. My kids are the GREATEST, and any partner would be lucky to be with them. But why would the prettiest, smartest, most wholesome girl need to look out of town for a boyfriend? My Spidey Senses were on high alert by the time we finally had a chance to meet her.

Her modeling career? Oh, she hadn’t had any jobs yet, but she showed me a very popular picture of herself in her underwear taken at the modeling agency. She was getting a lot of attention and would be very successful.

As she and Alex baked cookies, she could not figure out how to measure one cup of flour using a 1/3-cup scoop. Seriously. Our whole family collectively whipped our heads around to see if she was joking. That’s some dumb-ass AP math you must be taking, Skeezy. I was on to her and cautioned Alex to proceed slowly. But she already had her claws in him. Like Carole Baskin.

Alex started staying up late at night to chat with her online. He started missing homework assignments, causing mounting anxiety. Before long, he was skipping school and crew practice. The slide was steep from there. He became disrespectful of our rules at home, flying into fits of rage when we tried to talk to him. By May, he was in the hospital. It took just seven months for this girl to get under his skin and cause immense suffering.

This was not all her fault. She was a 16-year-old girl at the time. I give her the benefit of the doubt that she knew not what she was doing. But she was definitely the trigger that set off years of pain for our family. A friend of mine likened her to a drunk driver careening down the freeway, unaware of the death and destruction she leaves in her wake.

That Easter Eve in 2015, Alex was holed up in his room and wouldn’t talk to us. Any attempt was met with screaming and pushing and spitting and escalation. On social media, he told friends of his plans to stab himself. His friends called the police, who knocked on our door at 3am. All the shit always goes down at 3am. The police came in and talked to him through the door while we waited downstairs in our pajamas. Albert and I were questioned, trying to remain calm. Yes, we know he’s been struggling. Yes, he’s seeing a therapist. No, we don’t have guns in the house. No, we aren’t having other family problems.

What they really wanted to know? What kind of shitty parents are you?

The officers decided that Alex needed to go to the hospital because he had a suicidal plan. It sounds absurd now but it was super scary at the time. His plan? Stab himself in the chest with his Swiss Army knife. The one that his grandpa gave him with the one-inch blade. And then he was planning to wait and bleed to death. This was a typical Alex Fu Plan back then: not exactly thoroughly thought through.

When the ambulance arrived, the EMT snapped on his latex gloves as he warned us that this could get pretty distressing for us parents. “Don’t be alarmed if there is shouting. Sometimes things get violent.” He assured us that he would do his best not to hurt our son while trying to keep him safe. It was awful.

After the ambulance left, we were advised to get some sleep since Alex would not be seen by the psychiatrist and social worker until the morning. So Albert and I found ourselves at the hospital on Easter morning 2015, waiting for our son to be evaluated. Staring at two boxes of toys. One box of Clean Toys. And one box of Dirty Toys. I wondered what kind of terrible mother would think it funny that a family waiting room would house a box of Dirty Toys.

I was hopeful that this Easter was a day of new beginnings. And it was. The Beginning of a Five-Year Ordeal that was deeply distressing and completely disorienting. A slow, painful slide like a slow-motion train wreck. I consider our family to be well-educated, resourceful, involved, and informed. We were completely lost and alone. We didn’t know what to do, where to turn, or whom to trust.

There were miracles and angels along the way. We learned so much as a family. How strong we are! How to communicate authentically and intentionally. How to be present.

I can confidently tell you that nothing frightens me anymore. I was so scared to lose Alex. We tried everything in our power until we were stripped bare of options. I spent a lot of time praying, and there was a moment when an inexplicable peace came over me. It felt like a momentary loosening of my chest, allowing me to take just one breath and not feel like I was going to die from fear.

It was jarring at the time. I know for sure that this is the peace that passes understanding. Thy will be done. You are going to be OK. I am with you. Trust Me. 

Over time, one breath of peace became two breaths, then three. Once I finally stopped struggling, the learning and progress got faster. And even when it wasn’t as fast as I would prefer, it didn’t hurt me or exhaust me. Everything became an opportunity to get stronger or smarter or more connected to my family or my friends or to God. And when you look at things that way, everything is worthwhile. Nothing is wasted.

Alex is doing great these days. He's been working and living on his own for over a year. He tells me that he feels confident that he has the skills to prevent himself from falling into such deep despair again. Here's a picture I took with him after Easter breakfast 2019. His beautiful smile is back. His eyes sparkle once again. 

I’m happy to tell you more if you want to hear about it. Hit me up for coffee or a glass of wine if you want to hear about the other times we were in the hospital or the police came to our house. I’ll tell you about getting fired by one of our therapists and the residential treatment program that helped our family so much. I’ll tell you about the people who don’t talk to me anymore and the people who have surprised me with their wisdom and compassion. We need to embrace and encourage open conversation about mental health.

These days, we’re discovering more and more that we’re all in this together. Thank you for reading and for accompanying me and enriching me on this journey of life.