Hope for the Hopeless
“Dear God, if I am not gonna get any better, just let me die.”
My old friend “Zachary’s” audible prayer shocked my eyes open. I stared, wondering, “What can I possibly say to give him hope?” He continued, “And if You do take me to Heaven, please take care of my sweet family. Keep ‘em safe and provide for ‘em.”
The sorrow of the big guy’s words echoed in my ears. After more than a decade of battling trauma, he was physically and emotionally tapped out. After saying, “Amen,” he looked up at me, ashamed. He blew his nose and, with angry embarrassment, rubbed tears away using the backs of balled fists.
“So this is what it’s come to,” he croaked, “asking God to kill me.” Then things got real.
“Hey,” he queried, “what am I gonna do? My counselor was recently kicked out of his job. My ol’ buddy – the only one who knows what this is like – is gone for good. There’s no hope.”
Thankfully, my mind flitted to another burly acquaintance, “Ray Smith,” who recently told me of a group nearby.
“Zack,” I tentatively offered, “according to my buddy, his brain-injured high schooler – failing on a number of fronts despite years of family medical interventions – received fantastic support from Dr. Amen’s people. His clinic recently took two scans of the girl’s brain; had a clinician glean information from the daughter and mom; measured the young lady’s overall health; and gathered all of the above data, with the help of a psychiatrist. They suggested a new medicine that seems to be maximizing the high school girl’s intellectual and emotional health. He swears she’s never been better.”
I relayed all of this to Zachary before working up the courage to add, “I know it’s expensive, but I think you’ve got to consider it. Nothing else has worked for you.”
Three weeks later, I ran into Big Zack at a coffee shop. His formerly set jaw opened up in a shy smile while he clapped me on the arm.
“JJ,” he gushed, his teeth showing from beneath his bushy beard, “I gotta tell ya, it worked.”
“What worked?” I asked.
“The freaking ‘Ay-Men’ clinic worked!”
Turns out that they’d taken him through their entire protocol.
“My scans showed damage here and here,” he whispered, pointing to the front and left sides of his head. “And when my brain won’t shut off when I try to sleep, it’s ‘cause the middle of it lights up all the time. I’ve gotta go, man,” he continued, stepping away, “gonna go take my wife on a date. But ya know what else? Last weekend, instead of hiding in my room, I played ball with my kids!”
Through the window I watched him greet his bride with a bear hug. She looked up at him with tender admiration. He was once again her hero.
I can’t pretend to fully understand what the clinic did for these fellas. I just know it worked.
