'Twas the Week Before Christmas…

As I write this today, on December 15, I am conscious of the fact that this date, from an incident many decades ago, is significant in my life. After I finished my psychology degree, I found what I thought would be my job for life. I was hired as a behavioural consultant with an agency that looked after troubled youth. We had a wonderful team and had children/youth from ages seven to sixteen in our care. Many of them had run-ins with the police, were kicked out of school, and were disowned by their parents. I had a caseload of eight, one of whom was Brian. 

Brian had a very troubled childhood and used substances for many years. He had a criminal record, and at age fifteen, he struggled with life, school, and just about everything. I never met his mom. His dad came for a few visits a year, always with a different woman on the back of his bike, gave Brian a few bucks and sometimes a small gift, and was gone within 30 minutes. Brian wouldn't talk about his past, but from the few things I gleaned, his home was violent and dysfunctional. 

To give you a sense of Brian's demeanour, I can recall one time he jumped a staff person and was going to put an ice pick into the back of her head. Another youth was there and tackled him. I heard the commotion, entered the room, grabbed Brian's wrist and took the ice pick. He was out of control. Breaking loose from my grip, he ran outside. I followed and tackled him in the driveway and held him until the police arrived. They kept him overnight and returned him the next day. That afternoon I entered the house and Brian was lying on the couch, moaning, with a cloth over his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he had broken into the barn on the property, turned on the welder and welded without a welding mask. In doing so, he had burnt his retinas. His moaning gave way to laughter, and he said, "I got you! I got you good!" Puzzled, I asked him how he got me. He said, "I got you because you'll be doing paperwork on this for the rest of your life!"

On December 15 that year, we were decorating for Christmas, but Brian didn't join in. In fact, we hadn't seen Brian for a few hours. December 15 was his birthday. Sweet sixteen, everyone had said! At that time, when someone turned 16, they were free to leave the facility. We checked Brian's room, but he wasn't there. We did a building and perimeter search but still, no Brian. 

Later that night, we received a call from the police in the next town. Imagine our shock when they told us they found Brian by a dumpster behind a hotel, dead. Later we found out that he had suffocated sniffing glue with a plastic bag over his head.

I was devastated. He had been one of my boys. This was the first drug-related death that I had experienced. With no support for how I felt, I resigned from my position two days before Christmas.

I took a job in a factory, and the following fall, I enrolled in a Master's degree program. Then I did my doctorate. That led me to a fifteen-year teaching career, but I couldn't get Brian out of my head throughout those years. Christmas time was a struggle because I was reminded of that failure. I knew that my sojourn into the university world was escapism.

Finally, with the support of a very wise counsellor, I came to my senses. I knew I had to find Brian. So I left the university (another story for another time) and began looking for Brian. I found him at the HUB in Burlington. I found him with the Brain Injury Association of Alberta. I found him at the Salvation Army, the Alex, Potential Place, and the Mustard Seed. There are Brians everywhere, people who have struggled with life trauma that led to mental health chaos and addiction. 

The other day I was conscious of Brian's death as we approached December 15, and I was speaking with Holly, our psychologist at Simon House. I told her about Brian. She had just come from an emotional group session with our guys, with our ‘Brians,’ and both of us were somewhat emotional. It reminded me that while I do this work because of Brian. I do it because I felt that I had failed him. I do this work today and find so many successes. That makes this time of year for me a little less painful. And it makes me commit, once more, to this amazing work of helping each ‘Brian’ who comes through our doors.

Dr. John R.

— President & CEO, Simon House