Journey Through the Valley - Part One

Something happened yesterday that has struck me and my family in a deeply personal way. A man, struggling with depression, allegedly (though he confessed, so there's nothing much alleged about it) entered a realty office in Muskegon, asked for his realtor, and fatally shot him. News reports vary on whether he was shot in the face, in the back of the head, or in the side of the head. Any way you look at it, it was at point blank range. And any way you look at it, the victim was a dad, a husband, a middle school youth leader.

And he was a realtor.

My mom, the realtor, is at work today. She was going to go in yesterday, but then Troy was shot, so she stayed home. My sister joked that my mom should borrow my dad's flak jacket from when he served in Iraq to go to work today. Mom said, "Over my face?"

There has been discussion surrounding the shooter, this Robert Johnson. He is a 73-year-old man who was angry over the declining housing market, which meant that he would lose money on the sale of his current house. He blamed Troy for that. So he (allegedly) shot him. Dead. A life ended. Hope ended. Because someone was angry. And depressed.

And that's where the discussion is now. Everyone who has something resembling an excuse to share prefaces it with, "I'm not condoning what he did . . ." And then they say something about the despair that encompasses those suffering from depression. I agree with that. Wholeheartedly. But he (allegedly) killed someone. And how many more depressed people are in Muskegon and maybe mad at my mom? Or maybe my pastor dad? Depression doesn't give you license to do what you want, consequences be damned.

So what is it? Is it stricter gun control laws? (I maintain that people who shoot other people don't care much if they get their guns illegally too). Is it metal detectors at the doors of all buildings? Is it working in pairs so that no one can blindside you? Or is it the community--each person's own community--making sure that people with mental illnesses get treatment?

I have postpartum depression. For about six weeks, I was deeper in the valley than I ever have been. Thankfully I have amazing friends who stepped in and told me they missed me and wanted me back. They helped me help myself. Because they're my friends. Because they love me. Because they love my girls and my husband. Now my depression was never psychosis, and I never thought about hurting myself or my children. Some people do, and if those thoughts and compulsions are like the other symptoms that accomapny depression, they truly are uncontrolable. My depression is being treated with medicine and therapy, and I'm back, now. Still journeying through the valley, but back.

What about Robert Johnson? He had family. He had someone. He had a community who should have seen him and helped him help himself. After he (allegedly) shot Troy, he ran to his former son-in-law's house. The ex-son-in-law turned him in and, while not speaking formally to the press, told someone that Johnson had been angry about the house and had been suffering from depression.

Let me get this straight. You knew? You knew that this man, who I'm sure is a lovely, lovely man when he is healthy, was depressed and you just watched? You didn't step in? And now one man is dead, and another is charged with premeditated murder. Two lives ended. Two families destroyed. A community shocked at the first murder in 20 years. A profession trying to figure out how to work without fear in a turbluent economy and falling market. Because of depression?

Depression is treatable. For some it involves inpatient treatment. For some it involves outpatient therapy. For some it involves antidepressants. But it's treatable. No one needs to die because of it.

So now as Troy's family makes plans to donate his organs and arrange a funeral, middle school children from a church youth group try to cope with the loss of a friend and mentor, a little boy and little girl try to understand that they will never see their father again, and I send my mom to work wishing that she could wear a military flak jacket, I have to wonder. Where were the people who loved Robert Johnson? Why didn't they step in before his depression drove him to do something that cannot be reversed? Something that cannot be fixed? Something that cannot be treated?

I wish they had. The VanderStelt family wishes they had. Roosevelt Park and the greater Muskegon community wishes they had. The Nexes realty company and the WMLAR group wishes they had. And I'm sure, in the end, Robert Johnson wishes they had.

It's a journey through the valley, and while it is your burden to carry, you cannot carry it alone. That's what community is for.