In 2020 my son Henry Friedler died by a self inflicted gunshot. This was the culmination of a long and heart wrenching battle with Bipolar Disorder. In coming to grips with my son’s death, I started to write his story. It soon became our story. It is really a story of the resilience of a family, a man, and a marriage. It is a story of taking that gasp of air at the end of a tunnel-a breath that says you are alive, you made it through your own tunnel of darkness and you will find happiness on the other side. What follows is a chapter I call “Whole Foods” that I hope you enjoy. This is just one excerpt of my memoir The Tunnel.
The Tunnel :: A New Orleans Father’s Memoir About Mental Illness, Grief and Resilience
The next few weeks were bad. Henry quit showering and wore the same clothes for days on end. He smelled bad and wouldn’t look you in the eye. We would later understand these
signs as the beginning of a manic phase. Over the next week, his mania morphed into psychosis. He had no car, so he would walk everywhere. It was the middle of April 2016, and the temperature was over ninety degrees—a typical hot, humid day in New Orleans—yet Henry was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. His hair was long and unkempt, and he had a scraggly beard. I was on Magazine Street, grabbing some lunch near my office, when I spotted him across the street. He didn’t see me, so I followed, hanging back like the CIA agents you see in the movies. He looked like any nondescript homeless guy on the street, and I almost wouldn’t have recognized him. Except he was my son.
It was a confusing time for Heidi and me. Our son was drowning, and we felt helpless. We were stuck between a bunch of bad choices. As Henry had continued to get worse, we tried to persuade him to get help, to see a psychiatrist, but he refused, saying, “I’m not sick, you are.” Since he was over eighteen, we had no say in the matter. American healthcare laws are so protective of the patient, it leaves little room for situations such as ours. His doctor wouldn’t have been allowed to talk to us even if he had one. Which he didn’t.
We were unsure of what to do, not least because Henry was yet to be diagnosed. I was still unwilling to accept the one that kept presenting itself to us: bipolar disorder. Heidi suspected it and began reading anything and everything, tireless in her ability to research the disease. She went to classes put on by the National Association of Mental Illness (NAMI). She begged me to read the books she ordered, but I refused. In my mind Henry was not bipolar. And even if he was, how could books help? I was Superman after all. I could fix this. But I wasn’t and I couldn’t.
In 2000, when I was forty, I decided to get a master’s in counseling from Loyola University in New Orleans. As part of the curriculum, they gave us a thick book called the DSM. The DSM stands for Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. It is a reference guide for every conceivable form of mental illness. I never got my masters, but I still had my textbook. I pulled out my DSM and read through various diagnoses. Henry certainly fit the definition of bipolar to a T. Depression, check. Bouts of mania, check. Mania morphing into psychosis, check. It was impossible for me to keep my head in the sand any longer.
I trailed Henry down Magazine Street as he ambled along. He was smiling and singing loudly, oblivious to the scene he was creating. As he reached the corner of Magazine and Joseph, he wandered into the Whole Foods. Our Whole Foods in Uptown New Orleans is impressive. It’s an old, converted bus barn with enormous glass windows in the front, allowing the store to be flooded with light. Through these windows I watched the show that was on full display inside. It was as if I was watching television. Or, in my case, a horror movie. Henry marched up and down the aisles, talking to anybody and nobody. As he got
deeper in the store, I lost sight of him only to have him reappear in a different aisle. I could see his mouth moving, often aimed at the food along the shelves. Occasionally a person would get close enough to get his attention. While I couldn’t hear him, I knew what he was saying. I had heard plenty of it—endless rants about government overreach and the ills of big business—and none of it made a ton of sense.
Fed by his recent conversion to veganism, in an attempt to regain his footing without the use of drugs, Henry always felt safe in a Whole Foods. He felt unjudged. As if the wholeness of the food transferred to the store itself. A kind of temple of the soul. But on this particular day and in this particular store, he was indeed being judged. And the verdict was not good. They asked him to leave. Ask being a nice way of saying the security guard escorted him out. He left peacefully, amazed that no one had been interested in his diatribe, like a small child unsure of what he had done wrong but certain that he was no longer wanted—a recurring motif in his life.
Lately, my presence seemed to set him off, so I avoided being seen. Watching Henry being escorted out, unable to help, hurt me to my core. His naïveté at what he had done wrong made it even more painful. A grown man, acting like a child, being treated as a problem. I wanted to explain to the guard that he was a good kid having a bad time. That none of this was his fault. That he was sick. But instead, I just watched as Henry left the store, his head bowed. I imagined what he must have been feeling. How harsh the world must seem. I followed him for a distance, curious what he would do next. Hoping that nothing bad would happen. But soon his head popped up and his smile returned. The wonders of a manic moment. This is one excerpt from Tripp Friedler’s full memoir, The Tunnel.
To Hear More Of The Story In Person…
The Garden District Book Shop will host author Tripp Friedler on September 24 to celebrate the release of his memoir The Tunnel. The Tunnel is a father’s memoir about a family’s odyssey through the world of serious mental illness. It is a story about the battles Friedler’s son Henry fought with his parents, with various authority figures—including schools,
teachers, and the police— and most importantly, the battles Henry fought with his own mind. Henry’s story takes place for the most part in the distinctive air of Uptown New Orleans. He came from a well-educated and prosperous Southern family, the only son between two sisters.
The memoir chronicles the way society views, treats, and even criminalizes the mentally ill. It is a love story of a husband and wife as well as a fractured love story of a father and son. But at its heart The Tunnel is a story of the resilience of a family, a man, and a marriage. It is a story of taking that gasp of air at the end of a tunnel—a breath that says you are alive, you made it through your own tunnel of darkness, and you will find happiness on the other side.
The evening will begin at 6:00 PM. Friedler will sit down with Nick Richard, the Executive Director of NAMI, to discuss his work. Afterwards, they will be available to mingle with guests and Frielder will sign copies of his book. Friedler is donating 100% of his royalties from The Tunnel to mental health charities.
Entry to the event is free and open to the public but the shop encourages interested parties to RSVP to ensure entry and reserve a copy of the book on Eventbrite as space is limited. Additional copies will be available to purchase.
Tripp Friedler
Tripp Friedler is Heidi’s husband, a father, a business owner, an author, and a philanthropist. He’s donating 100% of his royalties from The Tunnel to mental health charities. Tripp is the author of FreeGulliver: Six Swift Lessons in Life Planning. He earned a bachelor’s degree in economics from Amherst College and his law degree from Tulane. Tripp is a Chartered Life Underwriter (CLU), a Chartered Financial Consultant (ChFC), an Accredited Estate Planner (AEP), and has finished all class requirements for a masters in counseling at Loyola University.
