Nothing But Reading Challenges discussion

A story not easily forgotten, author Rachelle Hasnas, LCSW, has written a stirring memoir recounting the tragic life and subsequent death of her son Joshua precipitated by his mental illness. To Fly Again- Portrait of a BIPOLAR Life is a gripping narrative that courageously dives into the abyss of bipolar disorder. The inclusion of Joshua’s poetry provides deeper insight for the reader into the profound anguish he experienced with this oftentimes crippling disease. This book shares the author’s tumultuous journey with her son through many years of pain and struggle for both, and finally, her process of dealing with his death. Both her voice of a mother and her voice of a therapist are interwoven in the telling of her son’s story. Moreover, To Fly Again goes beyond the Life story of Joshua to provide educational material on bipolar disorder by featuring the addition of a final section presenting vital information on this mental illness—to offer hope, help, and healing for others diagnosed with bipolar disorder. An invaluable resource for understanding bipolar disorder for patients and their loved ones, for therapists, and for persons coping with grief and loss.

First chapter teaser:

The Mother Was Standing

I read the following poem, “Stabat Mater” (English translation: The Mother Was Standing), several months prior to my son’s transition. As I began to write the story of his life I recalled this poem. It touched me to the core when I first read it. Now it also expresses the deep grief I hold due to the loss of my son. I am certain that anyone who has also experienced the loss of a child now reading Joshua’s story can relate to the feelings conveyed within this poem.

STABAT MATER
The Gifts of God, Poems by the Scribe of A Course in Miracles

Who stands beside a cross is all alone, For sorrow such as this cannot be shared. A pit is cut into the solid rock
Between the world and her. No bridge, no hand Can reach across to comfort. Silently
She stands, without the bitter help of tears, For tears were made for ordinary grief
Which long ago had come and been surpassed.
Here time is reckoned differently. A month Is held in every instant, and the years Pass by in grim procession in the space That others call an hour. Yet for her
They reach into eternity. She stands Upon the edge of eons without hope. Here is forever.
Here is timelessness.
Who could believe the time of dying ends?
—Helen Schucman

My beloved son Joshua passed away on October 18, 2008, at the age of 38. It was several weeks later when an inner prompting compelled me to sit down at my computer and write his story. This story—with the inclusion of his poetry that depicts the life of anguish he experienced in his struggle with bipolar disorder—was to be written as a memoir for those of us who knew and loved him. It would give us something tangible by which to remember him. Yet soon after I began to write, I sensed that Joshua’s story was also meant to reach others dealing with the emotional devastation this mental illness brings—that reading my son’s experience could somehow make a difference in their lives, and in the lives of those they loved.
Thus it became my intent, after completing the initial writing of my son’s story, to expand the original version for publication. With my background in the field of mental health as a licensed clinical social worker, it was extremely important for me to incorporate the addition of educational material on bipolar disorder as part of this revision. Providing this essential information may assist the reader to better understand, and to better manage this serious mental disorder. With the publishing of this expanded edition it was my hope that out of the tragedy that was Joshua’s life some good would come. It appears that too many people today do not as yet understand the ramifications of this devastating disease.
But despite my good intentions, upon completing the expanded edition of To Fly Again, I found myself with serious reservations regarding publication. This story is very personal. I asked myself if I wanted strangers to read it. Part of me felt very protective of my son. He was judged too often in life. Did I want him now judged in death? Yet after wrestling with my inner conflict—the social worker in me wanting to help others, versus the mother in me wanting to protect my son—I ultimately made the decision to publish Joshua’s story. Regardless of the challenge of moving above a grief so intense as I wrote, enough time had passed for me to stand back, and with a new sense of clarity describe my story as it related to Josh’s life. Making a difference— even for just one person—took precedence for me.
What I have now written demonstrates serious repercussions of the bipolar disorder my son experienced, and it also offers hope this disease can be treated with success. Bipolar disorder does not have to destroy one’s life.
To this end, I share with you, dear reader, the heartrending road that Joshua and I were given to walk. It is my wish that what you read will inspire change in your life for the better.

Rachelle Hasnas

P A R T O N E

Life has somehow eluded me. I just don’t “get it.” I can’t go with the flow as I escape into my dreams. Dreams that carry me away to a better place, one without a face.
—Joshua David Hasnas

Winged Messenger

A NEW BEGINNING?
The end of lonely isolation Of quiet desperation
Of deafening silence Of being caged Freedom
Freedom Freedom
It is time for change For courage For patience
For a new beginning Fight
Fight Fight
But I am anxious Am tired Am alone
Am struggling to survive
Just believe Just believe Just believe
…And listen

—Joshua David Hasnas, September 2008

A few days after Joshua died I was blessed to have a very close friend fly in to stay with me. I shared with her my intent of honoring my son with a special ceremony on the beach in the next day or two, coinciding with the time he was to be cremated. I hoped she would join me. Without hesitation she agreed. And, a mutual, long-time friend was in town that same week. She felt that it was no accident she was here and now with me during this time of such personal devastation. I invited her to also participate in my ceremony. Many years before, the three of us became close friends while living near one another on Long Island. Having them here with me now, their physical presence and emotional support was a balm to my soul. Both knew Joshua well and grieved his loss with me.
* * *
On the day of Joshua’s cremation (set for 1 o’clock that afternoon) the three of us drove to the beachfront where we would pay tribute to my son. Before arriving at our destination I needed to first stop along the way to find a special object for use in my ceremony. It would represent the symbolic releasing of Joshua’s spirit at the time of his cremation. I knew just the store, and found what I was seeking—a palm-sized, rounded clay figurine of a Native American mother cradling an infant to her bosom. I saw this figurine as a symbol depicting what was in my heart and would be forever more—holding my Joshua to my bosom, together as One for all eternity. Without pausing, and filled with deep gratitude for what spirit provided, I scooped up my purchase. It was almost 1 p.m. and time to head over to the oceanfront.
I do not believe in death. Death of the body is merely a transition from form to the formless, with one’s soul now liberated to continue on its journey, whatever, wherever that may be.
* * *
The location I planned for Joshua’s ceremony was on the beach across the street from The Association for Research and Enlightenment, more commonly known as the A.R.E. This landmark spiritual center is devoted to preserving and sharing the metaphysical material given through Edgar Cayce. Whenever Josh flew in for a visit, we would often come to this very stretch of beach. He loved coming here with me before sunrise. We had some time before dawn to lie on the sand and gaze in wonder at the star-filled sky. Together, we attempted to identify the constellations that seemingly floated above us. This was such a special time for us, tender moments between mother and son connecting on a level beyond the world.
Joshua also felt a deep connection to dolphins. He always looked forward to the possibility of seeing them at this beach. More often than not, we did. At sunrise, several would show up— the ‘icing on the cake’ during our visit on that particular morning. Josh loved to watch these delightful creatures as they frolicked with one another, out beyond the waves at break of day. What joy I felt in seeing my son without a care in the world during those times. This was the perfect place for my ceremony to honor him, holding loving memories of special times we shared here. Without knowing it at the time what transpired for my two friends and me, once we began our ceremony on this beach, would become forever etched in our minds.
As I stood at the oceanfront it was hard to believe that Josh left this world five days ago. Reality hadn’t fully set in as yet—that my baby was truly gone. I would never see his face, hear his voice, or hold him in my arms again. I held on for dear life to my trust in spirit while immersed in inexpressible grief and loss, hoping I wouldn’t go under. It felt as though I was walking in my sleep, all so surreal. Yet I was on a mission this day and refused to allow my anguish to overcome me, to prevent me from doing what I must do to honor my firstborn.
The three of us began our ceremony by first praying for my son. At the designated time I took the figurine of the Native American mother holding her child and brought it to my heart. I told Joshua he was, is, and always will be in my heart, and I would be holding him forever as symbolized by this figurine. I then walked to the edge of the surf alone. My friends remained on the sand several feet behind me to allow me some privacy. I stood there another moment or two in quiet prayer before flinging the figurine out into the waiting arms of the ocean.
What happened next left me breathless. Out of the blue, literally, a lone seagull appeared overhead. The beach was totally deserted on this chilly, overcast autumn day, except for us three. There were no other birds to be seen but this one. The gull flew over the spot where the figurine entered the water and just hung in the air, wings fully extended. It appeared suspended by an invisible wire. It hovered in this space, perhaps ten to twelve feet above the water, for what seemed like an eternity. We three stood motionless watching this scene in stunned silence.
And as I continued to observe this seagull frozen in midair, all of a sudden it hit me—the memory of one of my last conversations with Joshua. Josh and I were discussing the book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, several days before he died! He deeply related to that story. He also felt like an “outcast” as did Jonathan. And now this strange experience with this unusual seagull on this empty beach today, taking place at the very moment of Joshua’s cremation. I thought, “No way, impossible!” Yet could it be that somehow, someway it was possible, and in fact was happening? That Joshua was making his presence known, symbolically, through this unexpected appearance of the gull?
Unable to control my emotions I began to laugh and cry all at the same time. And with arms raised I called out to the seabird seemingly motionless above me, “Hello Jonathan! Have you come with a message from Josh for me?” It seemed that once I made the connection between that very recent conversation with Josh and the unusual circumstances surrounding the appearance of this seagull today, the bird’s mission was accomplished. It then glided over to where I was standing, and after landing several feet from
me looked at me for a few moments before taking flight once more.
I turned to my two friends in utter astonishment to express what had just happened for me, what I believed the appearance of the gull represented. They were awestruck as was I. We all had the same sense of being witness to some mystical encounter after observing the seagull’s strange behavior. And now linking this gull to Josh’s very recent conversation with me about another very famous gull we felt it was much, much more than mere coincidence. Without any doubt, in my heart I knew I had been given a sign from spirit that Joshua was now flying free, unbound from the limitations of the life he endured.
* * *
The memory of the encounter on the beach with my “winged messenger” has not faded since Joshua’s transition. I feel certain it will be with me always, as is Joshua—in my heart, in my mind, in my soul. Even now, by simply closing my eyes, I can still
“see” my seagull as it delivered its message to me on that unforgettable day, and still feel the presence of spirit reassuring me that Joshua lives on.