Laurie — my only sister and the eldest of seven children in our family — would have turned 70 this year. If she had not died suddenly, unexpectedly, at age 27. On International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day (November 17), I recall the circumstances leading to Laurie’s disappearance from our lives.
In May of 1975, my parents sent Laurie to Vancouver to get a fresh start 720 miles away from the harmful influence of her boyfriend C. I met her at a bar one night where we talked about her future: a new city, a new job, maybe even a new romance. But the next morning she showed up at my office to say C had bought her an airline ticket back to Edmonton. Despite everyone’s advice to stay clear of him, she flew to his awaiting arms.
About a month later, when Jack and I were in remote Seymour Arm building a cabin, I received a letter from Dad saying Laurie was suffering from depression. He asked me to write consoling words to her based on my experience. Which I did, though rather naively given what followed. Another month passed until someone hailed me out of Shuswap Lake: “an RCMP officer wants you to call home.” Eventually I got through on a party line to Dad who said, “Laurie is dead.”
Laurie’s family, including her estranged husband from Moncton NB, met in Edmonton. We learned some sketchy details. Laurie had been admitted to a hospital under a psychiatrist’s treatment, but C absconded her to California. Several days later she called Dad to bring her home, so ill did she feel. For some reason she then became a day patient. On a July afternoon, one of my brothers found Laurie lying motionless on the floor of a bedroom in our family home; on a bedside bureau sat bottles of pills for her recently diagnosed illness of schizophrenia; she had suffocated in a pool of vomit. Death can leave unanswered questions. We did not know if her suicide was intentional or accidental.
A limousine transported us to a funeral parlour for a private — and impersonal — service. The funeral director spoke a few words, maybe read a few passages from the Bible, and then we departed. It was all a blur except for one abiding memory: sitting in the living room with Mom and Dad, maybe with my brothers too, as a psychiatrist told us “Laurie’s death may be viewed somewhat as a blessing. She would not have led a normal life.” A shocking observation for sure, abhorrent even, but perhaps not uncommon in 1975.
Children should never predecease their parents. As a parent myself, I cannot fathom the pain of losing a child. I don’t like to judge the ways my parents, my brothers or I responded: grief can make islands of us all. But I wish we had gathered in our home, then or even better at a later date, with Laurie’s friends as well, to share anecdotes about her, to embed her life, not just her death, in our memories. We wrapped Laurie — and our grief — in a blanket of silence, at the time and in the ensuing years.
SAYING GOODBYE: A MODEL
From my sister-in-law Nina: “I lost a sister this year. She was younger than me. One thought after the initial shock and outpouring of grief was ‘wrong order; it’s not her turn.’ I’m crying now as I write this. I don’t know if it’s more painful to lose a loved one from a long illness, a rapid decline or an immediate stroke of fate. Bernice passed away three weeks after she was diagnosed with lung cancer.
As difficult as her passing was for us, we were lucky. We had a short time to say goodbye. Bernice knew she was going and wanted to speak with each of us personally before she couldn’t anymore. She gave me a gift I will be grateful for my entire life. I can still see her face and hear her words. I always will.
A few months later, Bernice’s daughter, son, husband and close friends of Protection Island organized a celebration of her life. My sisters, our nephews and nieces, plus friends of Bernice’s childhood, travelled from Toronto, Whitehorse, Cranbrook and Vancouver to honour her life. I learned a lot about my sister that afternoon and how loved she was by her friends, not just by us, her family. I don’t think our farewell to our beloved Bernice could have been more loving.”
My Mom used to say “funerals are for the living.” And she was right. With aging comes the death of people we love. Most of us cannot bear to think, let alone talk, about it. Yet, the sad truth is that time marches on, taking us toward our inevitable end. And it matters how we say goodbye — not for the deceased but for their survivors.
Glen and I agree we don’t want church services. However, I realize now the value in orchestrating an informal memorial of family and friends — if need be it can take the form of group calls on FaceTime, Skype or the app of the day — to cry, to laugh, to remember. ♥
P.S. Note to Glen: you’ve got time to master the technology necessary for a group call, but don’t wait too long.
Judith A Frank says
Pam, this posting is right on target. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this topic.
Judy
Pam McPhail says
You’re welcome, Judy. And thanks for your favourable observation.
Marie S-McLean says
Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this difficult subject Pam.
Pam McPhail says
You’re welcome, Marie.
Grant McPhail says
Not long after Laurie’s death I had a long talk with your father. He described her therapists analysis of schizophrenia and alternative logic systems. This got me on to a lifelong interest in belief systems. So her death had a big impact on the direction of my life.
Pam McPhail says
I didn’t know about this repercussion. Thanks for telling me, Grant.
Tim McPhail says
As Nina’s husband and Pam and Laurie’s brother, I can definitely affirm that Bernice’s passing was handled with the utmost class,love, and tenderness.
I will also say that Laurie’s funeral was very subdued and was arranged by parents who perhaps felt overwhelmed and partially ashamed of their daughter’s schizophrenia. They did not want to admit a child of theirs could have a mental health problem. One that has some hereditary aspects.
On a positive note, the next generations have been exposed to breakthroughs in the mental health sciences, and are thankful that the medications and treatments have advanced exponentially since 1975.
The Center for Addiction and Mental Health has been a big part of my family’s life. Both as an employer and as a caregiver. I wish we knew then (1975) what we know today.
Pam McPhail says
Well said, Tim, about the advances in mental health care.
Glen Wickens says
Mastering the technology to orchestrate a group call will be the least of my problems. Figuring out out how to manage our finances will probably keep me occupied for at least a year. Instead of greeting Pam with the Pleasantville question, “Where’s my dinner?”, I will wonder, “Where’s my banker?” So much for division of labour in the sunset years! Slightly more seriously, I would just add that the brevity of life already haunts me and makes every opportunity to see Brandon, Marina, Henry, Charlie, and Elizabeth important to me. And what is the hardest part of getting together? Saying goodbye. The whole of life, not just the end, is one long farewell.
Pam McPhail says
I appreciate you adding both gentle humour and deep insight to my post.
Linda Richardson says
Losing a sibling at any age, whether by disease, accident or suicide, is tragic but especially so when they are young. Thanks Pam for your frank and unflinching approach to this very personal topic and for showing how such a loss can reverberate throughout the lives of those left behind. We all need to talk more realistically and openly about mental illness rather than hiding it because we are afraid of the stigma that can result. I remember how initially shocked and disapproving my parents were when I sought help from a Psychiatrist for depression. My mother in particular was concerned about “what the neighbors would think” and how she and my father might be portrayed in therapy sessions. With all of the advances in therapies and medications available to treat mental illness today, I hope that any Psychiatrist or Therapist would not make the statement that Laurie’s did about her life prospects. It is never a “blessing” to lose a sibling or a child under any circumstances.
And thanks also to Nina for showing us a more compassionate model for honoring a lost sibling and one that may perhaps help to heal and fortify family members and friends.
Pam McPhail says
Thanks for enriching my post, Linda, by discussing your experience and sharing your insights.
Nancy Tronsgard (nee Sorensen) says
Hello Pam and Tim,
You may be the only siblings of Laurie and Bruce that have any memory of my connection to your family.
I am Nancy Sorensen, an old neighbour of yours from your years in Calgary. Your sister Laurie was my best friend until your family moved to Edmonton when we were both 10. I missed her very acutely when you left. We wrote many letters to each other over the years, and visited sometimes when one or the other of us would take the bus between our cities, and our parents allowed it. Those were very confusing teenage years for both of us, and we shared as much as we could make sense of then.
My last memory of Laurie was when we were both in high school, perhaps Grade 11 when we were 16 or 17. I think we both stopped writing at some point, I remember my letters not being answered or returned, I have always wondered what happened to her. I know she was looking for someone to love her. Now I know about her death. I lived in Edmonton then. I think I know the room she died in.
I turned 70 this year, as Laurie would have done, if she had lived. I have found myself reviewing and thinking about what our lives mean, as you seem to be doing with this blog Pam. I am devastated to find out that Laurie died when she was only 27?
A further internet search took me to your mother’s obituary, and the mention of Bruce’s death in 2008. I worked in Red Deer for a summer on the unit where your parents placed Bruce when he was just a little guy. I remember how maternal Laurie felt about him, and hoped that she would come when your parents came to visit. I used to sit him on my lap and sing the songs that I remembered Laurie singing to him as she cuddled him.. That was the only contact I was able to make with him, and he accepted it. I looked forward to seeing your parents when I heard they did visit, but missed them during the 3 months during the summer when I worked there.
Our lives are complicated in too many ways now, but not all of those are important. Perhaps the best thing we can do for our children and grandchildren is to teach them kindness and tolerance. That was missing when we were children.There was very little tolerance for deviation then. You saw it in your family and society with Laurie and Bruce. I had a brother who died a few years ago who had Down Syndrome. That was not accepted very well in the community of the day either.
Best wishes Pam and Tim, and to all your remaining siblings, I just remember them as the ‘little kids’ who got under the feet of Laurie and I as we swung from trees and ran through the fields near where we lived. We had a great time.
Pam McPhail says
What a wonderful surprise to hear from you, Nancy. I look forward to getting together for a coffee and a chat next May in Vancouver.
Roderick MacArthur says
Hello Pam,
I have so many things to say… I truly do not know where to begin. Although I have spent a lifetime working with my hands…it has largely been without pen and paper. In this regard I will remain within my comfort zone and express my thoughts in point form (no particular order):
1) Thank you Pam… for taking the time, initiative and effort to remember Laurie. From my perspective… this adds an element of permanency to her memory that I trust will be of value some day to Laurie’s grandchildren (Emma Laurie MacArthur & Jack Elliot MacArthur). This is a topic as a family we have never realty discussed. I take responsibility for this and hope to have opportunity in the future to do better. My addition to your blog is in a sense a baby step in the right direction. I believe that in order to truly understand ourselves… we need to understand where we come from.
2) Thank you Pam…. for being the closest influence in my life to a mother. Yes, I did lose a parent at 5 years of age…but many have stepped forward to take on responsibility for Laurie in her absence. Whether you recognize this or not…you are at the top of this list. Although the quantity of time we have spent together is low…the quality is incredibly strong and forms the substance of many of my fondest memories of the past 30 years. I have ALWAYS felt closest to Laurie when I am in your presence.
3) Laurie’s estranged husband and my father is Willard MacArthur. A good man from a hard working blue collar family. If Willard lacked anything in education… he more than made up for this in hard work, dedication and loyalty.
I love my Father.
We never talked about Laurie. I do not think that he understood the value of this discussion for either of us. I can completely encapsulate our lifetime discussion of Laurie in one sentence actually …. ” Rod, I want you to know that your Mother was a beautiful human being, I miss her dearly and wish for you to have the ring she gave me on our wedding day.” That’s it… the entirety of a lifetime discussion (father to son) on this topic. Once again, I take responsibility as I was not ready to push the issue. We had this very brief interaction a few years before my father’s unexpected death… at least I have something to hold onto…however brief.
I do not blame my father in any way shape or form for Laurie’s death. The ability to support someone during these times often requires an incredible skillset which frankly Willard did not have. Willard struggled desperately with depression at various times throughout his life as well… which compounded his inability to help a struggling partner through extremely challenging times. If nothing else… my father was loyal…if he could have figured out a path to support and help Laurie through her illness… I know he would have been there for her as he was there for me throughout his entire life.
4) “Death can leave unanswered questions. We did not know if her suicide was intentional or accidental.”
This was an accidental death Pam. I agree that death can leave many unanswered questions…for me this is simply not one of them. I know how much Laurie was cherished and loved by everyone around her. Mental illness can be as devastatingly fatal as heart disease and cancer. It simply involves the failure of a different organ… perhaps the organ that Science still has the most to figure out. The specific circumstances that lead to Laurie’s sudden death that day matter very little. Her illness impaired her ability to make safe decisions in her life. She had many loving and caring people around her with best intentions. People who would do anything to cure or stabilize her illness. In my professional life… I have become an expert in the understanding of limits to modern healthcare. At a certain point…biology (and yes Pam.. higher powers) determines outcome. Outcomes (death) that are beyond the ability of family, science and health care teams to circumvent. In this way the brain is no different than the heart. Please accept this as my humble opinion and personal answer to your unanswered question.
5) “a psychiatrist told us “Laurie’s death may be viewed somewhat as a blessing. She would not have led a normal life.” A shocking observation for sure, abhorrent even, but perhaps not uncommon in 1975.”
Well… I have to respond to this.
To be clear… I do not blame psychiatry 1975 for Laurie’s death. I do believe that the people important to Laurie made the very best of an extreme life challenge. The way we address, understand and treat mental illness has come a long way in 40 years. Once again… I will revert to my own area of expertise…In 1975 there were many areas of heart disease that were considered insurmountable and a “death sentence”. Fast forward 40 years… many of these same challenges are akin to going to the dentist and getting a tooth pulled. Laurie got the best care available at the time … enough said.
6) ” I don’t like to judge the ways my parents, my brothers or I responded: grief can make islands of us all. But I wish we had gathered in our home, then or even better at a later date, with Laurie’s friends as well, to share anecdotes about her, to embed her life, not just her death, in our memories. We wrapped Laurie — and our grief — in a blanket of silence, at the time and in the ensuing years.”
For me… the celebration of Laurie’s life happened over a week in the summer of 1988. It was my opportunity to finally meet many of the people who were so important to Laurie during her brief life. The emotional effort required to make such a gathering happen did not go unnoticed to me. For this opportunity… Laurie and I will be forever grateful to Tim & Nina. This gathering challenged/changed the course of many of our lives whether we recognize it or not. How many families truly get this opportunity? Yes a blessing indeed. Personally, I was at a classic tipping point in my life… I left this gathering with a renewed sense of confidence that I had an “army” of McPhails behind me … ready to gather me up after every failure…patch me up and send me on my way once again. There are so many examples I could provide… so I will inject a little humor… Yes Glen, I know how painful those essays were to read from English 100.
Don’t worry Pam… this essay is about to reach its conclusion. Ironic… that in my professional life I face life and death straight on… in a fashion that is healthy and incredibly supportive of strangers in my life (patients and families). In my personal life….quite the opposite. At almost every personal opportunity to face death and dying…I turn away… store my thoughts, anxieties and prayers in some deep dark unknown space. Perhaps this blog will help me to uncover and explore this space with the time and effort it deserves.
If not for me…for Jack and Emma
Thank you Pam.
With greatest love and respect
Rod
Pam McPhail says
You brought tears to this ole gal’s eyes, Rod. Good thing we’d restocked our Kleenex supply! Thank you for adding your thoughtful, sincere, heartfelt comments. You definitely took more than a baby step in a good direction.
Your re-entry into the lives of the McPhails brought us all joy. I know Mom died a more contented woman for having the privilege to spend 20 years with her first grandchild. I too feel very fortunate to love you as my nephew, almost a surrogate son, since 1988. Now, when I beat you at tennis — or perhaps pickleball — all will be well. I throw down the gauntlet for March 15, 2019 in Las Vegas.
With greatest love and respect,
Pam
Mike says
From what I have seen and heard over the years from McPhails, McGeers, etc., I can psychiatrize C. as a Narcissistic personality. One of the classic symptoms of Narcissists is subjecting intimate partners to gaslighting. I have experienced relationships like these, and I can describe the immense fear and excitement of being under the spell of Narcissist/gaslighters. My advice to those who experience this kind of abuse is very simple, “Get out of the relationship now!”
Near the end, I speculate that C. used his knowledge of psychiatry (e.g. symptoms of schizophrenia) to bend Laurie to his plans. The Medical treatment model of schizophrenia works for some, but it can be a ghastly beast to tame when it contributes to discrimination.
Pam McPhail says
Your analysis of C. is likely dead on, Mike. In your field the word “gaslighting” resonates, and you know it refers to someone manipulating another into believing he or she is going insane. I must re-watch the powerful movie “Gaslight” (1944) featuring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer, but it’s difficult to locate. Do you own it on DVD?
Tanya Maev Loretto says
Thank you Pam for sharing such a deeply painful life experience. It speaks to so many truths about our limited understanding of mental illness and our need to honour our loved ones that have gone before us. Be blessed,
Tanya
Pam McPhail says
I always like when you add your compassionate comments, Tanya.
Nancy says
Thank you Pam and Tim for the emails you have sent me over the last couple of days in response to my comment on this blog. I am grateful for the information and your memories about Laurie and Bruce, your parents, and yourselves that you have shared with me.
I will remember Laurie, with her dark hair, her boundless energy, and her wonderful imagination as the best friend and constant playmate that I had in middle childhood. We spent what, in memory, seems like endless summer days roaming the fields and bushes that surrounded our homes. It seems in retrospect that we had a great deal of freedom. We were both horse-mad and played all sorts of games based on our reading of The Black Stallion and My Friend Flicka books and the few movies we went to that featured horses, dogs and kids.
We built ‘forts’ out of branches and grass in the bushes south of your house, we walked for miles to go the the library on Kensington Ave and 10th Street. We walked more miles to the large slough where the Foothills Hospital sits now. The attraction was the horses that were in a fenced field nearby. We saved our pennies and bought a box of sugar cubes at Jimmie’s Store that was on 12th Avenue on the way to school, to try to entice them to come near us. I don’t remember if we were successful, but I do remember us eating some of those sugar cubes ourselves.
We made up all sorts of role playing games that usually involved one or both of us being a wonderful horse or dog having a great adventure.
When we got thirsty we drank from neighbour’s hoses, I think we never wanted to go back home for supper although I don’t remember that we ever brought any food with us. We climbed and swung from the tops of the willow trees and looked for tadpoles and other creatures in the natural spring at the bottom of the hill. I think we drank from that too. We agreed that the meadowlarks in the field across from your house had the best song, and we picked shooting stars in that boggy field in the spring to take home to our mothers.
That is how I remember my friend Laurie, and I am happy to have had the opportunity to think about her and our life together when we were those two intrepid little girls once more.
Pam McPhail says
Oh, Nancy, in your engaging stories you’ve reshaped Laurie’s past, planting images of joy and adventure in place of confusion and illness. (I sent your comments to my brothers and Rod.) I deeply appreciate you sharing your happy recollections. Thank you!
Linda McAmmond says
I was Laurie’s friend and she was mine. I have so many feelings about this. I moved from Edmonton to California and then Arizona in 1970 having married an American who I met in Edmonton. Laurie and I had many friends in common. When I heard of her passing I was taken by surprise because I thought that someone who had so much to offer, like Laurie, would, naturally go on. I earlier had heard of the bad man in her life. However when I phoned her parent’s number on my return to Edmonton for a vacation, her father handed the phone to her mother saying maybe she could sympathize. I talked to a clearly traumatized woman and do not remember well the words we said. The father, the doctor, sounded ruthless, to be honest, as he handed the phone to Laurie’s mother. I phoned again at some point and the number had been disconnected.