Not a typical obituary.

On Monday evening November 8, 2021 at around 9:15 my Mother passed away.

She was true to herself right to the end. Her final wishes were NO prayers, NOTHING religious. Laugh, don’t cry. Remember me.

She would be impossible not to remember.

The term rest in peace was never more appropriate. Whether there is an afterlife or just oblivion, she can finally rest. Life was not easy for her.

Marilyn Callaghan, nee Walmsley was born on February 4, 1934 into a family that was not filled with love. It was a combative household, dysfunctional would be an understatement. She dropped into a family with countless cycles of generational abuse. A cycle she would not have the ability to halt with her own family. By 16 she had experienced every type of abuse a child can know. She had another 71 years to go, but at 16, life had pretty much defeated her.

She never received the care, help, and support she needed. For the entirety of her life, she would cycle through series of depression, anxiety, heights of mania with a hair trigger temper.

There were some cries for help. Four consecutive summers starting in 1971 she would down a bottle of pills, go to bed, then cry out what she had done. My Dad would get her into the car and rush her to the emergency of York-Finch Hospital. After a stomach pumping, she would be transferred to the 4th floor psychiatric ward for a mandatory 30 day stay. I was 12, Patti was 10, Dianne was 2 when she made her first attempt.

Following her 30 day stay at York-Finch in 1974, she was sent to the Queen Street Mental Health Institute, now known as CAMH for an additional 60 days. At that time, they assessed her to be Manic Depressive, today called Bi-Polar. Outside of any treatments and therapy’s she would have received during that stay, there would be no follow ups. She would remain untreated for her Illnesses.

After her diagnosis in 1974, my Dad had a conversation with Uncle Ronnie, Mom’s brother, Her best friend at the time, Joan. I was told to sit in and not speak, just listen. I was 15. The outcome of this conversation was, “don’t tell anyone, EVER!” The Stigma of Mental Illness today is challenging. The Stigma in 1974 was Universal. When she was released from Queen Street, the advice was to be cautious in letting anyone know. That was the best science of the day. We have come a long way; we still have so far to go.

I do not recall my childhood fondly. There were some good times. Being raised by “crazy” is challenging at best, much of the time, it is terrifying. When I reached my late teens and could break free from my Mom, I did so.

Marilyn was hard to love. I did love her; She was loved. My Sisters loved her, My Dad loved her. I was never able to like her. Over the years, I spent as little time with her as I could get away with. Christmas, Thanksgiving visits, phone calls on her birthday, Mother’s Day, that was it. I could have done much more; I choose not to.

Her level of pain, suffering and torment can only be imagined. She endured this her whole life. We know she had PTSD. We know she was Bi-Polar, although never treated. Her depression was debilitating, there were times when she went to bed for a month. Drapes pulled shut, lights off, there was a small lamp at her bed side, if it was on, she was reading. She could read three books a day. Without warning, or understanding why, she would get out of bed, open all the drapes, turn on all the lights and go on a cleaning rampage. Those times, her episodes of Mania were the worst, the scariest. She could be very violent; it was during these Manic periods when she would be most unpredictable. She would obsess at times, and her anxiety would be contagious. We didn’t know what to call these cycles back then. Knowing today what they are called and being able to pinpoint different events with these names does not provide solace.

Today we know she was wired differently than most people. That there were chemical imbalances within her. How she processed things were different because of these imbalances. We could never know how she felt or thought. Not then, not today. She never had a chance. Today she could have had medications, treatments, therapies, coping strategies…………. Today she might have had a loving family member who would advocated for her on the days she could not do for herself. Today we could have talked openly without stigmas and judgements about her illnesses.

Marilyn never knew how to express her love. But love us she did. Her way was with money and gifts. Covering an unexpected expense. Insisting a picking up the tab at dinner. Spoiling us all at Christmas. She would fight with you if you repaid her. She spent her last dollar on family a thousand times, went into debt to give to her family another thousand times. That was her showing you, I love you. She would give you everything she had. Not many people I know are that giving.

I would pay her back any time she helped me out. I never wanted to be in her debt. I have received some counselling on a couple of occasions for periods of time over the last 7 or 8 years. It helped. I was asked in one of those sessions if I forgave my Mom. I said there was noting to forgive. How can you forgive someone for an illness? There is nothing to forgive. With years, life experience and becoming an advocate for a time for some dear friends and loved ones I have come to understand. Forgive my Mom, I understand her.

I do wish somewhere along the way; I could have found it in myself to give her everything I had just once. I wish she passed with me owing her a debt.

Please no prayers. Mental Illness effects 20 % of all people. There is no one, who does not know someone struggling at this moment.

Advocate for them, donate to Mental Health causes if you can.

DO NOT JUDGE. STOP THE STIGMA.