A few weeks ago, my dog, Yves, was attacked in the woods by another dog. Yves is a grey standard poodle; he is thirteen years old and not in the best of health. We were just finishing our walk. I felt very calm and peaceful, typical after a nice walk in the woods. It was snowing lightly; the woods were beautiful.  I felt refreshed, ready to start my workday. Suddenly, out of nowhere a neighborhood dog came down the path and brutally attacked Yves. Going for his neck in a vicious way. I struggled to kick the dog off Yves. The owners walked by me and lended no aid or even attempted to get their dog. After several screams and kicks, I fell down in the snow. I looked up at the dog and rolled over, ready for it to attack me. Luckily, the dog left and rejoined his owners. I don’t know why it stopped; I was just very grateful that it did.

Yves was bitten in several areas, not enough to need stiches. The owners eventually came to our home to apologize, I had already had to go into work, my jeans still damp, so I never got to hear them out. It’s ok, I wouldn’t have believed anything they had to say. Actions speak louder than words.

I was terrified. It brought back all the distress of helplessness that I encountered with Sean. Trying to fend off something evil and vicious with no assistance at all. Trying to argue with an insurance company, trying to get him off the streets and into treatment. Trying to cope with the sleepless nights when he was missing yet again. Convincing colleagues, that people with substance use disorders and mental health conditions deserve respect and care.

I’ve become less forgiving. I used to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, always willing to believe in the good of our community. No, not so much anymore. I have seen the injustice of the world, even in Vermont, and I won’t back down. It’s a good thing, I was way too nice.

The injustice of our criminal justice system. The all-out greed of the Purdue Pharma.

Don’t get me wrong, there are many people who are good out there. Lawyers, doctors, pharmacists, police officers, writers, treatment providers all doing their best.  At least knowing you’re not alone helps the vulnerability.

No the PTSD won’t get erased, and Sean won’t come back to life. However, his life won’t be in vain, that I am very sure of.

So the website is for-kindness, which is meant for the world to have more kindness.  I choose the name because Sean was “for kindness”

Post bail November, 2015

Dear Mom.

I love you. You brought me into this world, gave me everything I ever needed and most of what I wanted for years. I’ve abused and manipulated your kindness and love. I never did treatment, I wasted your money. I tried to steal from you. I’m just a lech on everyone. I have been nice and kind and loving like you but, it was an act to get what I want.I am right where I need to be and will be for years.I don’t want to fight anymore….I’m not going to get what I want and that is a lesson I need to learn, you don’t always get what you want.I wanted you to post bail, I was really ready for change..I will not fight anymore, I will sit in prison and do nothing.I want to blame the police, the bullying and PTSD but, they only play a small role. At the end of the day we make our own beds, our own luck, and I will try and be the best man I can be.I want to be like you, successive (sic), loving, hardworking and have a true purpose.

THANK YOU for being my role model and my friend.

Your son, Sean

(Excerpts from a letter from Sean, I edited out some more personal pieces from the letter, I don’t think he would want them published. I am very sad reading this, how down on himself he was. He was worn out and tired, angry at himself. He had recently broken into our home and threatened his brother and myself. I doubt he would have really hurt us. He picked up his belongs and moved into a friends. Unfortunately, the friend was admitted to the hospital for psychiatric reasons and the young man’s family not knowing Sean had permission to stay at his place, called the police for trespassing. We didn’t post bail and Sean stayed in jail until he could get to treatment a month or so later. My most significant regrets involve not working harder to get better psychiatric treatment and less jail time. Our family was just completely worn out)

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I recently returned from Vieques, Puerto Rico. I have had the blessing of being able to travel there for a week every year, a vacation with my sister, Dawn, sometimes with my niece and/or Mom. We have been heading there for the last 10 years. A treasure, as travel had been a challenge with Sean’s illness, my husband staying home so I could get away for a short time.

It is a beautiful place, lovely beaches, horses roaming free, it is as if time stood still for a few years or decades.

I thought Sean would love it here. Relaxed and carefree, I suspect he could have gotten along pretty well, at least for a while. The geographic cure can work, sometimes for a week, sometimes for years. Usually, though life and it’s complications catch up.

I once worked with a physician in New York, who after struggling with personal issues, made it to Vieques. He tended bar and made a new beginning. Life caught up with him there as well, his adventures now the subject of a book (autobiography)

One morning, our little gang (Mom, Dawn, niece and I) arrived at a remote beach. You have to travel a pretty challenging road, with a four- wheel drive to get to Navio beach. It is one of our favorites. An exposed beach, plenty of surf and caves to explore. One time, we met a young man, doing yoga on the beach. His beat- up van was nearby, likely his camp for the night. He was getting ready for the day, yoga and a swim. He had long hair, no clothing on, and seemed very relaxed and happy. My Mom said, “Wow, he is a great swimmer”.  My sister and I looked at each other, smiled and thought “Sean”.

I didn’t want to bring Sean to Vieques, I thought he would be lost forever. A vagabond for good. I knew the medical facilities weren’t great, especially the mental health care. Sean spoke some Spanish, maybe enough to get around, I don’t know.

The idea of him being lost was terrifying. It was something I worked through in therapy, I could cope with him being out of contact with our family, if I knew he was well. I knew some people with substance use and mental health struggles needed to be away from their family of origin to become well.  A chance to find a chosen family.  It certainly was preferable to an overdose death.

So Sean lives on, in our hearts and minds, and in some, their real-life organs (his heart, liver and kidneys). A vagabond forever.