(left) Dr. Amy Miller, with her brothers and their mom, in Pennsylvania 

(center) With her boyfriend, Wayne, in Panama 

(right) In the hospital with two of her nearly lifelong best friends, Abigail Free and Diana Howard. 

My sister, Amy, who died on September 15th at age 71, from causes related to Leukemia, was an accomplished person by any measure. She had a doctorate in clinical psychology and practiced for many years, until she retired and moved first to Austin, Texas, and then to Panama. She graduated magna cum laude from Yale University (class of ‘75) and was a proud alumnus of the Brearley School here in New York, where she had many wonderful friends and was the editor of the yearbook.

She was, most importantly, a loving and much-loved daughter, sister and friend. And a loving, caring, and giving aunt to my sons, Jarrell and Gabriel Jay, and an aunt indeed, if not in blood, to Diana Howard’s five wonderful daughters, Alice, Charlotte, Francis, Olivia, and Rachel. Her Brearley classmate, Dr. Barbara Landreth deserves special mention. Her picture should be in the dictionary next to the word friend.

Her Brearley classmates: Abigail Free, Helen Thurston, Kathryn Ross and, especially, Dr. Barbra Landreth; Diana Howard, Rev. Erik Kolbell and Julian Lines warrant special mention for the friendship and time they extended to Amy during the last, often very difficult months of her life, as she battled the leukemia that would eventually claim her life.

But Amy’s talking about Amy’s life without talking about the vicious depression she battled for most of her life would be like not talking about the elephant in the room. And with Amy, even in her dying days, it was pretty much always the elephant in the room.

I am a believer in the idea that while secrets are sometimes mandatory, for personal and professional reasons, they can also be a form of tyranny and that’s what happened to us, however understandable. I also admit that I failed to understand Amy’s depression until I read William Styron’s essential—that word again—book, Darkness Visible, which describes the hell (right word) that he went through. I urge you to find it and read it.

It is for the above reasons that I am asking you to donate to NAMI-NYC or the National Alliance on Mental Illness of New York City. I know that if my family and I had access to NAMI-NYC or an organization like theirs, our lives would have been different and so would Amy’s. This is just some of what NAMI-NYC does: www.naminyc.org. If you or a family member or a friend suffers from any of the following, reach out to NAMI. (There are NAMI offices all over the country.)

A contribution to NAMI-NYC would be the greatest tribute possible to Amy. I’ll start with an initial donation of $1,000.

Amy was the bravest person I ever met, and she was also the most difficult. The two go hand in hand here. For more than 50 years, it is not an exaggeration to say that the vast majority of her days were spent in a struggle to survive. The last 20+ years were the longest she went without a hospitalization.

Amy was a complex, often contradictory person, but the evidence is there that it was this horrible illness that brought out the part of her that often-provoked judgment and conflict. It took me longer than I would like to admit to acknowledging that Amy was suffering at a level that we can’t really understand. It was that bad and it was heartbreaking.

And yet it must be clear that hers was a success story. She retired to Panama some years ago and it was there that somehow—perhaps a combination of medication and the right environment—her old self re-emerged. She made wonderful friends and met her boyfriend, Wayne Gordon, who predeceased her.

She would call or write to apologize to many of those who she realized had been affected by moods provoked by her depression, and when she visited New York, she took great joy in hanging out with old friends; going to the theater with them; and attending lectures on pretty much anything and everything,  nearly all of which had been absent from her life for too long.

Depression and how we talk about it has got to come out of the closet. It would have been different if, back then, she had been diagnosed with cancer or any other out-in-the-open illness. Severe depression, especially that which changes a person and/or requires hospitalization, is difficult to discuss and explain. NAMI is changing that. Bluntly: It’s not a matter of waking up and smelling the coffee, as so many of us still think.

Please join me in paying tribute to Amy by donating to an organization that is trying its best on every level, through advocacy, support, legislative efforts, research and several other avenues, to limit that illness’s impact. Feel free to email me at millergabe42@yahoo.com with any more questions, including concerning any things you’re curious about Amy or our family or anything else, and thank you for your gift in Amy’s memory.