Suddenly [Ives] was no longer speaking with [his friend] Tom but with the pregnant model, who identified herself as "Mary from Greenwich Village," now in a maternity dress and sitting with her elbow propped on the table, sipping some deli soup that one of the boys had gotten her, smoking cigarettes, and, despite her pregnancy, nursing her second or third glass of punch.
There used to be a time when Mary from Greenwich Village was the rule, not the exception. Everybody smoked, pregnant or old or underage, and drinking while with child was not an uncommon practice. Ives and his artist friends aren't shocked by Mary's smoking or drinking. They celebrate the Christmas holiday with her, lighting her cigarettes and pouring her more spiked punch. Mary is not being a bad mother. She's innocently ignorant of the harm she may be inflicting on her unborn baby.
These days, mothers are warned not to smoke, not to drink, not to eat canned tuna, among other things. In fact, a woman would practically have to be the Virgin Mary in order not to expose her future bundle of joy to some kind of danger. Bearing and raising a child in today's world is a harrowing and miraculous thing.
No, these first few paragraphs are not a prelude to an announcement that my wife is pregnant. I want to talk about a good friend of mine who's really hurting at the moment. "Sara" has a twenty-something-year-old child with bipolar disorder. Her child is obstinately refusing to comply with any kind of treatment for his mental illness, and Sara is at the end of her rope with him. This afternoon, she had to kick him out of her home. "I hate him," she told me this afternoon. "I can't stand to be in the same room with him." In another breath, she said, "I feel like I'm being punished for making wrong choices in my life. For marrying the wrong person. For having a child with him."
Mental illness in a close family member is a terrible cross to bear. I know. At various times, you feel angry, guilty, exhausted, frustrated, and powerless, and that's just in the first five minutes you're awake in the morning. Sara is dealing with this whole whirlpool of emotions. Plus, she has financial and health problems. I sat next to her this afternoon, and I let her talk. I didn't offer helpful suggestions. I listened. That's all. At the end of our visit, she seemed to be in a better place.
I'm asking you all to say a little prayer for Sara. She's wracked with guilt and hopelessness tonight. She needs a little peace of mind, a little light, in her life. And pray for her son. He's lost and needs to be found, if you get my drift.
Saint Marty is going home to watch the movie Boyhood this evening. Sara's bringing the popcorn.
Confessions of Saint Marty
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