We Are All Adam Lanza's Parents

Yesterday, my mother sent me a link to this video on CBS News, about a blog post gone viral after the Newtown massacre.

I remember the situation in real-time. I was one of the millions who read Liza Long’s provocative blog post on social media, and one of the thousands who responded to it in the comments feed.

What I wrote to Ms. Long was something along the lines of: You are not alone. You are brave. And we are ALL Adam Lanza’s mother.

What I meant by that was this: just because Liza Long has a son with severe mental illness, and so do I (although my son’s disorders are finally well-controlled, and of a different type), and so did Nancy Lanza, as do many, many other parents, doesn’t mean that this is no one else’s problem.

We live in neighborhoods, communities, cities and towns, states, and countries. We have to live together peacefully and productively if this whole “collective society” thing is going to work. I don’t care how much work you put into building your business empire or your log cabin in the woods. You needed us other folks to make all that happen. Even if what you got from us is not tangible.

This is not so much a political argument as a humanistic one. Did Lars and I canvas for hours and hours in the biting cold for Elizabeth Warren? You bet, but that is incidental. I’m not trying to convert anyone to any particular faith or political party here--just to a condition of empathy and social responsibility.

By and large, humans are social creatures. If we weren’t, we’d have nothing much beyond the most basic shelter and clothing and food. (Probably we’d be long extinct--but others can speak to that better than I.) None of the grand achievements of the ancient and modern worlds could have been realized if people did not, in some manner, work together. (Granted, that labor was sometimes slave labor. A good topic, and one for another blog.)

So, you want to be a painter? OK, then you need a model. Or access to a garden belonging to someone else. Someone probably had to manufacture your paints and brushes. Even if you make all your materials yourself, and paint only self-portraits, you need people to buy them--or admire them, at the very least.

As a writer, I can assure you that having no audience is no fun. And the proud mother in me agrees vociferously. We like to share. We like to kvell. Sometimes we need help, or moral support. And we need money. These are not individual activities, Readers.

The same goes for almost everything we, as adults, make or do. That’s why solitary confinement is considered a cruel punishment. It can make you lose your mind.

So, getting back to why we are all Adam Lanza’s parents. The conditions under which people who are severely mentally ill live; their lack of access to appropriate, affordable mental health care; the social stigma that makes asking for help difficult; the sheer financial cost of addressing this problem, at a personal, local, and national level--these are issues that affect every single one of us. Not only the mentally ill and their families. Not only the victims, when a rare (but not rare enough) act of mass violence occurs, but every single one of us.

If you thought this was not your problem, think again.

The system we have now is one that sows fear and reaps denial. Instead of implementing widespread mental health education and affordable access to quality care, we shut down ourselves and our resources, so the problem only gets worse.

One of the reasons I write so openly about the mental health challenges that exist in my family is because I don’t think we, as a culture, talk honestly and productively and frequently enough about mental illness. It is not an easy thing to do, but in my mind this is a crucial personal, social and public health issue. (By the way, you can read my very first essay on parenting a child with serious mental health issues here.)

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The sad truth is, you probably know someone struggling with depression or clinically significant anxiety, or OCD, or other, sometimes hideable mental illnesses, even if you don’t think you do.

The last thing I am, or will ever be, is an apologist for Adam Lanza’s or Elliot Rodger’s or any other mass murderer’s actions. And for a long time I was so judgmental of Lanza’s mother. Did she make some mistakes? Well, I would say the whole gun thing was a HUGE mistake on her part. I also think it’s a huge mistake on a national level, but that is one massive lapse in judgment we’re going to have to live with a while longer, I’m sorry to say.

What helped a bit with my outrage over the guns and the seeming inattention in the Lanza household was putting myself in Nancy Lanza’s shoes. It wasn’t easy. My feet are pretty big and I have fallen arches. But if I try hard enough I can usually cram them in.

Let me tell you what I know about Nancy Lanza without ever having met her:

• She was scared to death (and with good reason).
• The system failed her. And by “the system,” I mean everything. All of us. Hospitals, doctors, social workers. insurance companies, friends, family, neighbors, teachers. You and me, baby.
• Her kid was no longer a little boy. At some point most boys become stronger than their mothers. He was not in his “right mind.” He was scary, scary, scary.
• She remembered the baby-smell of him when she bathed him when he was an infant. The gummy smiles at six months. His heavy warmth as he slept on her chest.
• HE WAS HER CHILD.

I hate that people as sick as Adam Lanza are not likely to receive the care they need. I hate that their parents so often are isolated, afraid, and liable to slip through the cracks. I hate what can result when these two sad realities collide.

One thing I will never do is brush off the relentless mass murders this country keeps having to face by saying, “Oh, that is so tragic, but the guy was mentally ill.”

These situations ARE tragic, and most likely the perpetrators ARE mentally ill.

What we need to shout, each and every time a tragedy like this occurs, is: THIS IS OUR PROBLEM. NOW, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?