My mother finally got a leg up on depression after 30 years of incompetent treatment. After 3-5 years of the first moderately happy years of her life, the side effects of 30 years of psychiatric drugs reared. She developed tardive dyskensia and peripheral neuropathy. Now she lives in constant pain and is basically disabled. And ironically she's handling it fairly well, since she really did eventually find some inner peace.

It's too bad she can't enjoy it. In particular, she's not getting to be the grandmother she wanted to be, after depression robbed her of being the mother she wanted to be.