Scene 9: The Blame Game

Now more than ever, I needed to know who was responsible for this.

It doesn't make any sense. Think about it! Why was she in there in the first place? It was because she’d become a danger to herself, and she needed help so bad, she couldn't do it by herself. She couldn't be trusted by herself. So, as logic would have it, she shouldn't have ever been alone.

It shouldn't have been possible.

So where was the staff? Huh? I’d like to know that. I mean, they have to have 24 hour staff, watching the patients at all times, right? So what was going on? At the very least, there’s security, right? They would have seen her get up, leave her room, and go into the staircase.

She shouldn't have been able to hurt herself.

She took her own life on their watch. They need to be exposed. They need to be shown for how incredibly incompetent they are. I’ll make a film. I’ll make a documentary.

I’ll put them on the spot. I’ll pretend it’s just a project I’m doing for a class or something and it’ll be just informational, and I’ll get one of them on camera.

What was Sheila Pallier specifically diagnosed with? Did you have more than one diagnosis? Where is her file? What does it say? What medications was she on when she was here? Which, if any, were working at all? Didn't you notice any behaviours of hers that could have prevented this? How many times has she been in here? How many times has she been in places like this?

Did the shock treatment work?

What medications had she tried to overdose on before this? What kind of ways did she try to take her life before? Have you ever even tried anything besides medications and shock treatment? Do you even know what her triggers were?

And then I stood before them. They invited us to the hospital. All the staff that worked with her, and we sat around a big table. And what did I say to them?

Nothing.

I could see it on their faces, and I truly decided, even if I didn't understand, that they weren't to blame.

So who was?

She removed herself from us a lot. I would go up to her when she was in bed, and I’d try and talk to her. She would just be laying there sometimes, maybe asleep, but other times, she’d get upset and defensive, essentially telling me to go away.

It must be nice. I really mean that, it must be nice sometimes to be able to withdraw, and be responsible for absolutely nothing. I mean, she wouldn't even get up sometimes to take a bath, or get ready, or anything really. And then, if she did, we all had to walk around on eggshells, waiting for the next outburst or accusation.

I guess this would be the best way to remove herself from us completely.

I’ll never get the chance, but what would I say to her if I did?

Nothing.

I know the truth. I know who’s really to blame. It’s me.

What did I do when she needed me the most? Nothing. I’d see her laying there, and I’d just get frustrated, and I rarely offered any words of encouragement, or any help at all. If she’d yell, I just wanted her to stop, and I felt like we were all victims of this lady who wouldn't give us a minute of peace. That’s how I felt about my mom.

How would have that made her feel? I didn't need to say it. She'd know.

And then, I abandoned her. I abandoned her so many times. The minute I was out of High School, it was off to some different city, far away. As soon as she was in hospital, it was maybe a couple of visits, and then never again. With a “see you real soon” no less.

There was so much I could have said to her, and I didn't. Now, there was only one way to let anyone know how I truly felt.

Scene 8: Downstairs

I went downstairs in what was now just my Dad's house a few days later. Nobody was home that day.

Not that long ago, it was all of our house. My Dad, my Mom, my sister, but now, just Dad... I used to spend a lot of time in the basement, it was kind of a place that only I went to most of the time.

There was still nothing so far. The only reaction I really had was right when I found out. I had let my close friends know what had happened, but there wasn't a lot of emotion... I just told them about it, and said if they wanted to come to the funeral when it was, but no pressure, I didn't want them to go out of their way or anything.

But I didn't really feel anything, and  I hated myself for that.

So, I forced myself.

I pushed myself to be normal, to be human and respond.

I went into the bathroom, and into the shower. All alone downstairs. I didn't take my clothes off or anything, but I did turn off the lights. Downstairs, I could make it completely dark if I wanted to. I didn't have to have anything distract me or make me think of something else.

I could just lay down inside the shower and try to be normal, and try to be human.

And I called to her.

"Mom?... Mom?"

And I got louder and louder. I got so loud I thought she would respond for sure. When I'm in the dark, I sometimes try to time travel, like it's possible this is all a dream, and I'm just waking up, and she'll be not in the hospital, not being taken away in an ambulance, not sad, not anything, just there.

I shouted louder and louder. "MOM?... MOM??" but she didn't answer. And that made me angry.

You ever heard about John Lennon, talking about Primal Therapy? Primal scream? All I could remember about it was that it might be a way, maybe a way to get whatever I was repressing out, get me out of my head and maybe find it in my body somewhere. I felt fucking ridiculous, but I gave it a try.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT? CAN'T YOU SEE? I WAS JUST ABOUT TO MAKE IT! YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN HERE AND YOU WOULD HAVE SEEN IT. SO WHY?... WHY?... NOW YOU'LL NEVER SEE WHAT I'M GOING TO DO, AND WHAT I'M GOING TO BE! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW AND BE PROUD! WHY DIDN'T YOU WANT TO SEE THAT? WHY??"

And I felt a little better.

And it might have been the shouting, and it might have been the rage, but it was almost like I was feeling something. Maybe I'm human after all.

Scene 7: Laughing at Death

I don't know what to do with death.

Back when I was a kid, I can only actually recall couple of funerals - Grandma Liddle and Grandma Pallier. I can't remember anything specific... Except for one thing.

Just before I went up to see my Grandma Liddle's body for the first time, I was observing the ritual that others were involved in - Basically, it was this: See the body, look solemn, tear up, cry into the shoulder or chest or whatever of the person beside you, move on.

I felt fairly certain I could swing that.

So, I went up to the body, looked solemn, tried to tear up, and then I laughed.

I thought I did cover it up pretty good. I made sure to bury my face in the arm of my Dad, hoping the suit would muffle any audible laughter and maybe it would look like sobbing if I jerked my shoulders just right.

Nailed it. I was pretty sure nobody noticed.

Then came the conversation.

My sister said something like this to me, "So, was it hard for you to see Grandma? Did you cry?"

I tried not to hesitate.

"Uh huh. I cried pretty hard."

"No you didn't. I was right there. You were laughing."

There I was, laughing. With Mom and Dad and Michelle and God and Baby Jesus and Grandma's ghost all staring at me, appalled. But that's what happened. And I can't change it.

In fact, I can't say with any degree of confidence that I've ever cried when I'm supposed to. It's always something stupid, like during "Homeward Bound" when Shadow comes limping from the horizon even though you were sure he was dead, or when during some rock documentary when the underdog finally gets a moment to shine. That's when I cry.

But I don't know what to do with death.

We were standing in the back doorway at the house, myself and Dad. There was a police officer in the house. My Dad had picked me up to take me over to the house when they had my sister try and call me over so that they could tell me, but I was not going to come at first, saying something like, "Come on, what could be so serious that I have to go over there? Did somebody die?"

So Dad picked me up, and there we were. I don't think the officer even finished telling me that she was gone, when suddenly my improv skills kicked in. I thought to myself, "I don't know if I'll cry, I don't know what I'll do, I don't even know how I'm supposed to react... Well don't just stand there man, go limp!"

And I did, and slowly hit the floor.

I was lucky, and I had been given permission to let my emotion come out any old way when I was joined on the floor by Dad and Michelle, the three of us embracing in a sort of huddle, looking at each other, realizing it had finally happened.

I think my tears came more from relief, and I was disgusted by myself for that.

I lived for a long time not knowing what was going to happen with Mom. I knew I wanted her happy, so I tried everything I could. Sometimes I could bring a smile to her face, but sometimes I couldn't, and I knew if she wasn't showing a sort of ferocity or emotion that those were the times I should worry the most... Sometimes, I wish she'd just die so at least there'd be and end to all this, is what I'd probably thought more than once.

Now I wanted that thought back. I wanted it back so bad... because, I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I sometimes think of my life as some sort of Truman Show, where everybody's watching me - kind of like this - and can hear my thoughts and maybe, just maybe, I caused this. If I hadn't of thought that, maybe the producers wouldn't have written it into the script.

But there we were, in our huddle, and I was crying just like I was supposed to. Maybe the reason I was crying was deplorable, but it's hard to say for sure. They could have been tears of happiness because she was finally free, and that would certainly be acceptable, but I can't really say that for sure.

April 6, 2000, she took her own life in the Alberta Hospital, and I was going to have to learn what to do with death.