No Way to Behave at a Funeral. Noel Braun
at the ceiling, mustering the courage to start the day. I was doing my utmost to accompany her, to support her on her terrible journey.
Maris visited her GP regularly. She was also seeing a psychiatrist and a psychologist, although she was dissatisfied with her psychiatrist and wanted to change. He had increased her medication drastically, but she was getting worse. We talked. She seemed to need me around. We discussed her options.
‘A new psychiatrist might change your treatment,’ I said.
‘He might put me in hospital while I’m being weaned off my old medication and waiting for the new to take effect.’
In mid-October after some careful research and discussion, she chose the names of two psychiatrists. Her first choice was not available until the following year, and the other could not see her until mid November. She was bitterly disappointed.
‘I might be dead by then.’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I’ve never been suicidal before, but I am now.’
I’ll never forget the knot in my stomach. It would be fair to say I didn’t have a clue what to do. ‘Think about your appointment with the new psychiatrist. He might put you in hospital.’
She seemed to relax, but I knew that she would require continuing care.
‘I’ll stay with you all the time,’ I offered.
‘No, you’ve got to continue with your normal interests and not feel restricted. What sort of life is that?’
I had enrolled for a training course for the weekend, a Gestalt therapy course with Lifeline.
‘I’ll cancel the course on the weekend and stay with you instead.’
‘No, I want you to go, Noel.’
We tried to lead a normal life. On Tuesday she dined with friends from our church. Maris let on to very few the extent of her suffering, but one of her close friends asked Maris how she was. Maris replied with typical understatement. ‘I’m not travelling well.’
Wednesday night we went to the Opera House to see The Mikado. She did not want to go but I encouraged her, thinking the outing might make her feel better. She dressed carefully as always. I used to joke that she ‘scrubbed up well’.
The weather was perfect, a fine balmy night. We arrived early and admired the view of the harbour and the bridge. We walked arm in arm along the concourse and stopped to listen to the spruikers. We sat in the foyer with a cup of coffee and watched the comings and goings, something Maris always enjoyed. Maris laughed at the antics of the performers and the pretty how-di-do Poo Bah, Nanki Poo and the rest managed to get into. I glanced across at her frequently. She seemed content as we walked back to Circular Quay, admiring the fairy land created by the lighted bridge, surrounding buildings and boats. I was feeling hopeful as we travelled home.
Thursday morning she had a 9 am appointment with her GP. I expected her home early. As the morning advanced towards afternoon, I became agitated and restless. I wandered about the house, frustrated I could not contact her. She had no mobile. Imagine my relief when she appeared out of nowhere in our backyard.
‘You had me scared stiff, Maris. Where’ve you been?’
‘I’ve been looking for a place to jump.’
I can’t begin to describe my alarm. It was not a particularly warm day, but I felt the sweat in my arm pits and the smell of fear.
‘I checked out the cliffs at Dee Why but I’ve found the perfect place — the Westfield Car Park at Chatswood.’
I was speechless.
‘I’m glad I didn’t jump,’ she continued in her matter-offact tone. ‘Besides, I would want to write a note to everyone in the family and by the time I’d done that, I’d have lost the urge.’ Then she laughed.
This relieved me immensely. I felt the stomach knots unravelling. I wanted to believe we were over the worst. I slipped into denial, I guess. I wanted to share my concerns with someone. My daughter Jacinta was living with us with her husband Rick but she was preoccupied with her baby, Brody, sick at the time. Maris insisted I do my Lifeline Telephone Counselling shift arranged for the afternoon.
While I was away, she decided to clear out Stephen’s room in preparation for my sister Maria and husband Joe who would be arriving the following week for the wedding. Stephen was away with Anthea on pre-wedding visits to country relatives. When I returned home Maris, our daughter Jacinta and I carried his goods to a place upstairs we call the gallery which is used for storage. I checked out Maris. She seemed in good spirits, happy that she had tackled a messy job, the morning thoughts forgotten. She reminisced about the many times she had cleaned up after Stephen, the untidiest by far of our children. I felt optimistic but I was still on edge.
* * *
On Friday morning I woke to find Maris staring at the ceiling.
‘Noel, I’m wretched,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can handle today.’ Our grandson Hugh’s preschool had organised a Grandparents’ Day.
‘Hugh would be disappointed if we didn’t go.’
‘Okay, let’s go.’ She rolled out of bed and got herself ready with a grim determination.
When we got to the preschool Hugh was delighted to see us. We sauntered around and talked to other grandparents about the great times children have these days. Maris sat with Hugh while he drew and played with blocks, and watched him in the playground digging vigorously in the sand.
‘The sandpit is his favourite,’ the teacher said to Maris.
Maris always had her camera, a small Olympus. The battery was held in by tape because the battery compartment cover was lost, but it took good photos. She took several snaps of Hugh in action and asked the teacher to take a photo of the three of us.
On the way home we called on our daughter Angela. Maris did not want to go inside and we spoke to Angela on the kerb, but were persuaded because Angela’s two year old Eliza was dashing out of the house and threatening to cross the road. Eliza cuddled Maris the whole time in unspoken communication. Maris sat with eyes closed while Eliza rested her head on her lap.
We stopped at the Warringah Council Nursery to look at some native grasses and trees for our garden. Maris enjoyed our garden and whenever I saw her weeding or watering, I knew she was feeling better. When she wasn’t, the plants had to fend for themselves. I was no gardener although Maris called on me when there was heavy work to be done. We didn’t buy any plants but decided that wallaby grass and a few more eucalyptus would suit our garden.
As we drove home, I sensed from her silence that black clouds were gathering. I glanced across at her. She was staring straight ahead, fatigue was in her eyes.
I chatted about the coming wedding, of all the kids being in Sydney. ‘We all love you, Maris.’ I reached over to pat her thigh and steered with one hand.
‘I know. I’m lucky to have such a loving family and caring husband.’ She took my hand.
‘I’ve got a counselling appointment at Lifeline this afternoon. I should cancel it and stay with you.’
‘No, Noel, keep your appointment. I’ll take things quietly and have a rest.’
* * *
Friday night was a big night. The family assembled at Angela’s for a pre-wedding party. Everyone was there except for Stephen and Anthea who guaranteed they would arrive from their country visiting later. Jacinta, Rick and Brody left early in their car as Jacinta was keen to settle young Brody.
Maris and I drove later. Just as we arrived in Angela’s street, Maris became very agitated and confused. She seemed terrified, wringing her hands.
‘Noel, we have to go back home. Stephen will come home and find all his belongings moved.’
‘That’s