Out of My Mind to Mindful Observation
Mad Random: Claiming Life Out of Chaos was not the book I started to write.
Although friends and professionals that came in and out of our lives prodded me toward making a memoir about life with Christopher. I was never sure if this interest in my book was faith in my storytelling or a strategy to distract me from my eternal quest to fix my son.
My first idea was to over-share my family’s dysfunction. Ramblings that should have gone into a journal, and then into a trashcan, spewed out in woeful descriptions of a disturbed family journey. This wasn’t a vomit draft. It was a projectile of personal misery with no hook for clarity or purpose. I soon discovered that I didn’t have a fresh story about navigating life with a difficult child. I knew that writing what you know doesn’t mean clubbing words to manipulate and sanction a story
Then I bought a purple toothbrush. My change-resistant son used only purple handled brushes. Catching my reflection in the store’s anti-theft mirror, I didn’t recognize myself until the cashier’s impatient, “Next” coincided with a gentle push propelling me forward to pay.
Once inside the car I ran a quick personal identification check. I was Jack’s mom and Sam’s wife, but I must have done something else beside buy purple toothbrushes. Wait a minute. Political speechwriter, children’s advocate, personal advisor to elected officials, all-time top scorer on my high school varsity field hockey team. Yes, that’s better. Well, maybe the last triumph didn’t count, but you never know when your skill set will be tested.
That day I drove home with the toothbrush and threw out the sappy story of hard time parenting. Remembering my grandfather’s laughter at Yogi Berra’s remark, “You can observe a lot by watching,” I gave myself a new writing assignment: Observe without the cloud of fatigue or despair. Just watch. And don’t forget to write down everything you see.
Watching creates space for movies of the mind. Flickering across an internal screen, these moments of light and sound helped me sort events, to edit for content or to run an upbeat musical score. When I finally sat down to write Mad Random, I mined for a place filled with certainty about what I’d seen. Readers trust a narrator who speaks with the clarity of spot on observation.
My front row seat provided perspective on the uncertainty of mental illness, the quiet terror of contemplated suicide and the grace of forgiveness. Renewing my love affair with observation and reporting gave me courage to dig through the chaos on behalf of other parents who needed to find real possibilities for hope.
I told my story without a grain of sentimentality or apology. In the end I didn’t want the indulgence I was seeking in those early days of tortured writing. I wanted to write the truth about children who are hard to love. The radar that guided my observations brought me to a place unknown to all of the experts who tried to heal my child. Love is a miracle and I can observe a lot by watching.
