Winning, losing and then sorrow

I've looked at pictures of Erica Blasberg over the past few months, and I couldn't help but fall into that black hole of stereotypes that define the culture of mental illness.

I asked myself, "How could a woman who looks like that commit suicide?"

When I read the news reports now, I ask, "How could we not see this?"

Nearly four months after the LPGA golfer was found dead in her home, officials declared her death a suicide on Tuesday.

The coroner's office of Clark County, Nevada said Blasberg died of suicide due to asphyxia, coupled with the presence of toxic levels of prescription medication in her system, including prescription headache, cough, pain and anti-anxiety medications, according to news reports.

Erica was a 25-year-old golfer who made more headlines for her looks than her wins. She was a number-one amateur performer whose modeling masked the lack of success she had as a professional.

But it's obvious now that it was her career that mattered more. She never lived up to the sky-high expectations that were set for her. She never fit that role of perfection that was created for her.

Most importantly, she may not have had the people around her that she needed, the kind of people who could have guided her through the disappointments and the troubles that plagued her, and blocked the path to success that eluded her.

Her suffering parents even acknowledged that she recently appeared to turn things around, even as they acknowledged that she had had a year filled with trouble and heartache.

Perhaps it was those troubles that ultimately caused her to wrap a plastic bag around her head, and cause her to suffocate? It's tough to say, and no coroner's report in the world could ever make sense of that.

Perhaps Chris Baldwin, from the Culture Map website that's based in Houston, was the most qualified observer of them all. In his Tuesday column, he was able to point out the signs that few others were able to see, only because he is not only a fan of sports but also an observer of life.

Chris Baldwin, as his bio tells, worked at traditional newspapers and online publications, covering everything from the World Series to New York City politicians to Justin Timberlake. CultureMap, he says, is a daily digital magazine that presents an "intelligent, provocative, needed voice" on culture.

It was from this place that he crossed paths with Blasberg, at an LPGA event in 2007, when he was able to identify the signs that are too often taken for granted whenever anyone is suffering silently from mental illness.

The first line in his post said it all:

The last time I saw Erica Blasberg, she was in tears on a golf course — and her putter was flying through the air.

Last night at a lot of places

I read a book recently, called "Last Night at the Lobster" by Stewart O'Nan, that made me think of all the boarded-up stores I'm seeing in all these downtowns I come across.

I can't help but think, as I look at the stores that sit next to the ones that are gone: Who's going to be the next one to go? Who's the next to get a big hunk of plywood slammed onto their storefront window, leaving no trace of life behind?

I think of what was behind those pieces of plywood. They were stores that sold anything from sandwiches to running shoes. I think of the people who worked their butts off to get people to buy shoes that nobody could afford. I think of how hard they worked to get people to pay $100 for sneakers, even if they were out of their mind to do so.

I think of the ice cream places on the way to the beach that left their buildings empty, except for the freezers that still sit there, unplugged from the walls. I think of how busy they once were, and how the workers will still scurrying around on Sunday nights in the summer, pushing buttons on machines and struggling to pull out of a four-inch scoop of cookie dough ice cream from a bucket below.

I think of their last nights, or days, and what they did, and how they could get through the last hours, the last minutes and the last seconds of watching a dream die. I think of how there was life behind the plywood, and how we shared in those lives, and how unfair it is that we never really get to know how it all ends.

With O'Nan's novel, at least, I get some idea. I get the idea of the social strata that exists behind every wall of every store, and how a bad economy not only destroys dreams but also ends a culture.

There's a social dynamic behind these walls that gives people something to live for, and something to hope for. Even more so, it gives them something to relieve the boredom of a hum-drum life, whether it's a life of high expectations or dead-end limitations.

I think of the book, and its main character, Manny, the manager at a Red Lobster in Connecticut who got high before he walked into the restaurant every day. I think of that last day, just as he was preparing to say goodbye to people who not only worked with him, but loved him.

I think of Ty the cook, who worked at a fast pace and always criticized another guy named Fredo, who had a habit and spilling things or has difficulty with many other tasks. Would Fredo ever get a job again? We can only hope, but not expect.

Manny, like Fredo, had a lot more troubles than just business. He had a girlfriend Dena and children, but much of the book is about his past love, a love he couldn't get over.

He couldn't get over his former affair with one waitress, Jacquie. He was surprised when she showed up for work on this particular day, since many others blew it off, knowing it was the last day.

But Jacquie came because she said she would, just after her husband dropped her off. Even on a day of endings, they knew there was something between them that would never go away.

On this last day, just as many things went right as they went wrong.

Though snow was falling, no snow plow came for hours. Manny and the staff scrambled to get things set up. Manny cleared the sidewalk and reminisced. But, mostly, he was working to head off disputes among staff.

Manny's former wrestling coach came in and, despite getting stuck in the parking lot on the way out, left a big tip.

A big farewell party - a party of 14 - came in and took up four tables. The staff struggled to handle it, and Manny tried to do what he can to alleviate the strain on the staff.

But it was still a struggle - especially when one of the customers found plastic wrap in his food.

A woman with a toddler who was behaving badly got snotty with the waitresses, while Nicolette, another waitress, did battle with a group of elderly women.

The elderly people complained that they can't use coupons - even though they stole all the sugar packets. They left a one-penny tip, and Nicolette threw a fit.

Manny finally got fed up and stormed out to the mall. Before he left, however, he gave everybody their paycheck, just in case they walked out to.

When he returned about an hour later, Manny saw the parking lot was partially plowed. Some employees he left, but he still had a staff, a cook, a couple waitresses. Just as life was ready to end, he got a short reprieve.

Manny also didn't care. He got ready for dinner, even though the snow is much worse. Nobody came in for dinner. A bus came by with people who just wanted to use the bathroom. Manny and the remaining staff played lottery tickets that Manny bought for Eddie. Nobody came close to winning.

Around 8 p.m., Manny decided to just shut it down. He cleaned everything, and threw everything away. He then dealt with phone messages from his preganant wife.

But even then, he couldn't get the intimate images out of his head with Jacquie.

In the end, it was just the two of them. They had avoided each other all day, almost. But they were the hardest workers there, so they were the ones who saw everything through.

In the end, they embraced. They said this is the best, though they definitely wished things were different.

If only their wish could be their command.

Being awkward is not just unique; it's normal

I know a girl named "Faith" who wrote a book called "Being Awkward." Honestly, I felt a little awkward about writing about "Being Awkward."

But then I keep going back to the first words that came to my mind, after reading it to my kids for the first time, and hearing my 4-year-old daughter say, over and over, "Read it again!"

I keep thinking: "Geez...how normal!"

And how appropriate.

And how smart.

How appropriate for an 8-year-old girl to tap into the emotions of many others - kids and adults - who feel like they just don't always fit in.

How smart for an 8-year-old girl to connect to a world of fear, a world seeking comfort in the face of tragedy, even if her book is intended to be more of a young child's innocent metaphor than direct social commentary.

How normal for an 8-year-old girl to know, or to understand the kinds of feelings I've had lately as I've watched so many people struggle with money, work, marriage, war, parenting, substance abuse, health care, homelessness and general malaise.

In a lot of ways, awkward is the new normal. Actually, when you think of it, maybe Faith's onto something here, because the idea of being awkward, accepting it for what it is, and finding comfort in that fact ain't so new.

Indeed, this is a book that can teach others to trust themselves to do what's right, and to find happiness, even if it doesn't meet the social norm.

I saw it my own family, 30 years ago, when my mother and father fought like cats and dogs. They fought over money and just about everything else, and we felt "awkward" because we couldn't do anything about it.

We just wanted to be normal, or some variation of it, even if it didn't fit the Brady Bunch's definition of it.

To us, being normal meant being comfortable, and accepting our fate, whatever it may be. That's what Faith's book is about, really.

Faith is actually 17 now and the book was written in July 2001. It was never actually published by a large publishing house, though it should be.

It was part of a Metuchen, N.J. library workshop, and the library kept it in a pile of similar books that have been written by children over the past 40 years.

Most of the books were about "what I did on my summer vacation." This one, obviously, stuck out, and not just because I knew the person.

It stuck out because the theme of living with who you are, dealing with change and ultimately finding comfort with your life - whatever the circumstances dictate - is timeless.

Indeed, if the book were published, I would suggest a subtitle:

Finding Normal.

In the book - which she dedicated to her little brother, Julian - she talks about how a girl named "Awkward" felt "normal" - normal, because she lived in a house out in the West.

She lived in a farmhouse, she said, "although I don't have any animals, not even a horse."

One day, she thought of going to the town pool. Problem was that the rural town didn't have one. It didn't have a mall, either, so that idea, too, was kaput.

A bird flew her to a suburb, where she could have access to all these neat things. But here was the catch:

"I had a great time at the suburb surrounded by water except when I realized my hair was sticking up, a bow on my pants, a zipper on my shirt, my face was mixed up."

"I WAS AWKWARD!!!"

All she wanted to do was get back to "normal." She squeezed a flower and out came a watermelon. She ate it and went to sleep; when she woke up, she was living in the same farmhouse again.

Yes, that farmhouse - the one without the horses. How normal.

Then, just above a crayon-colored picture of the sun, and a girl with an orange face yelling, "Yeah!" came the poignant last line:

"I learned to like what I have."

I've known Faith's family for many years. I've known her father since I was in elementary school, so I was there when this family came together and grew. I've felt as close to this family as I've felt with any family.

This is a smart family, and I've learned so much from them as I've watch them expand, and give birth to two children - Faith being among them - who are very much a reflection of their parents: Smart, funny and idealistic.

But there's a trait that stands out, one that sticks to me like glue, because it's a common bond we share.

In a way, they're awkward, though I prefer the word "unique."

Or maybe it's just the right kind of normal.

They take risks and chances. They don't listen to the most popular music. They don't try to fit in with the popular crowd, whether it exists among kids in a high school or among adults in a suburban, bedroom community like Metuchen, N.J.

They define their own normal. You may call it awkward. I say it's just right.