Remembering Thomas

Photos of Thomas are everywhere in our home. From baby pictures, his senior portrait, celebrations, birthdays, holidays, and sporting events in between, my nephew’s image, in the various stages of his all too brief life, are within touching distance. Even though he is no longer with us, these photos remind me of the joy he brought to our family.

My favorites are the ones that are candid. The photo of him sailing over a snow mound on his sled, pure joy on his face. The one of him in Hawaii, being hugged by his Mimi, who is also no longer with us, at the shoreline. The images of him and his sister chasing each other around on the beach in San Diego. The picture from his 16th birthday party, one of the last photos I have of him, riding an inflatable and being towed across the lake by the boat. So much joy. So many beautiful, albeit painful, memories of all the fun we had together as a family.

We didn’t know just how much pain his smiles and laughter hid. Depression can be like that, lurking beneath the surface, then resurfacing. It can happen over and over and those of us with depression often become adept at hiding how we’re really feeling inside. Why would we be depressed? We have a great life, right? However, depression doesn’t care how good or bad your life is. It’s just there, making you believe things that are not true and pushing you to perhaps do things that you would not do if you weren’t depressed. Sometimes, those things are permanent, leaving behind the people who love you. They are poorer for no longer having you in their lives. They are devastated. Often, they are lost without you.

I still can’t help but smile with tears in my eyes anytime someone calls me “Dude.” That was what Thomas would call me. I never knew if he did it to be cheeky, but I didn’t care. I loved it. I loved his sarcasm and smart aleck comments when he began his teen years, but I also loved his kindness.

When he was in the second grade or thereabout, Thomas saved up his class “money” and bought me a Christmas gift at the school’s holiday shop. It was a toddler sized light blue sock with white skulls on it that had been made into a small change purse. I used that change purse for years, only putting it aside in a safe place once it had become worn. To this day it rests in my nightstand, safe from more wear and tear. I wish I could have kept Thomas safe from more wear and tear too. However, you can’t lock children away to keep them safe, and depression is no respecter of physical location. Or safety. But what we can do is fight to make sure that every child has access to competent and compassionate mental health care. Plainly speaking, we need more places where kids can go and talk about how they’re feeling without risk of derision or censure. We need to change hearts and minds to get rid of the stigma surrounding seeking out mental health care. We need to create space so that children can heal.

Every hurt matters. Even the ones we can’t see. ESPECIALLY the ones we can’t see.

- Kelly. A. Varner