Monday, December 17, 2012

A Hole In My Heart

Sitting in the auditorium of the newly finished Behavioral Health Center I witnessed a miracle. On stage were thirty mentally ill men and women singing Christmas songs, reading poems or performing dance. When the Center opened in August many of them shuffled their feet into group rooms for therapy or screamed loudly for their medicine. Unorganized chaos had been transformed into Holiday Pageantry.

A pretty long haired blond girl read a letter she'd written. She did so in a low voice unaccustomed to addressing an audience of 200 who collectively leaned forward in our seats to capture her every word. It was the first time she had spoken out loud since arriving.

I cried like a baby in wonderment.

Afterwards a Superior Court Judge with tears in her eyes told me that it was the most wonderful thing she had ever witnessed.

"Next year, I'm bringing all of the Judges. This is amazing."

There was never a next year.

A state-of-the-art treatment center, the first in Georgia in decades, shut down because of bureaucratic Government oversight, personal jealousy, and an angry group of Judges who mandated treatment instead of jail and were frustrated when it created more demand for services than we could possibly deliver.  

When all was said and done, I was left holding an empty bag ... in this case a brand new but empty building ... with lots of egg on my face. It was front page news of course and my two decade track record of delivering one successful program after another crashed into a wall and burned around me.

At the Christmas party the following year, almost one-hundred employees who had lost their jobs thanked me for trying. Most were going back to work at the way it used to be.

I cried then too.

I didn't know it then but it was my last Christmas doing that work after three decades of giving it everything I had ... wives, time, money, compassion and lots of sanity.

Today, three years later, I am mostly recovered though there is a tremendous hole in my heart that was ripped away when it all fell apart. When love collapses it leaves scars and holes that are never fully repaired.

Over the past several days Sarah and I have mourned with the rest of the world at what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Twenty babies, seven school teachers and one mentally ill person are all dead.

If I were there I know I'd be crying. In addition to the slaughter of innocents I'd also weep for what the United States does to mentally ill people which isn't much. Treatment is under funded, often in horrible conditions, uncovered by insurance and weighted down by bureaucrats who really don't give a shit. The mentally ill are mostly left to their own devices, abused and raped by those hired to "care" for them, under-treated, under-medicated and un-cared for by society.

Sure, there are a few bright exceptions but exceptions never make the rule.

Looking back on it, I am proud that I tried yet still coping with failing.

Over the past few months, I've run into some of the players from the failure. Jim Lientz and B. J. Walker said they are proud we tried and helped the people we did. Peter Doliber told me over breakfast that we were just ahead of our time and I was too caustic and polarizing. He said Mark Baggett tells everyone I'm a Son-of-a-bitch and I'm more than happy to oblige him. Frank Barker isn't worth talking about.

The Bible teaches we're to care for the least of these, our brothers and sisters. I know first hand that the mentally ill are un-cared for or under-cared for if treatment is available. The United States believes prison is the answer so it's one of our biggest industries. Lock them away! If you hide the problem then it doesn't exist.

Until a sick person gets a gun leaving us all wounded and wondering.