One year later: Have we learned anything new?

A year ago today, I was riding on the train, coming home from the city, when the talk began.

"Michael Jackson is dead!" a man said.

There were some groans among the packed train-car passengers, but the shock and dismay quickly dissipated. Like any talk about Michael Jackson, all serious talk changed to jokes and laughter.

"He must have died because he was distraught over Farrah!" the same guy said, with a laugh.

I tried to ignore the jokes and, instead, banged out a column on this guy, this freakish entertainer who was bigger than Beatlemania, even as he displayed odd signs of mental illness.

I tried to ask the question: Was he mentally ill? If so, could we have saved him?

A year later, I still don't think we have the answers. I tried to answer the question myself, and my answer now appears on the "Wiki answers" website. But, a year later, we barely have an arrest, or a cause for what happened.

We've had no discussion on how things could have been treated differently. We don't appear to be any less sensitive to the quirks and obsessions that people develop once they achieve some level of fame.

All we have are the jokes.

Here is the column I banged out on my computer just after the news hit:

“A lot will be said about Michael Jackson as we learn more about this story,” Brian Williams said on the “NBC Nightly News.”

“He was incredibly talented, a child star who was an adult with deep troubles and physical and mental health issues.”

Those were the words that needed to be said a long time ago. Michael Jackson was mentally ill. And now he's dead.

But his personal demons brought him down more than the paparazzi ever did. His obsessions impacted him more than being spoiled, and his quirky behavior brought more shame than fame.

The spoiling, the media - those were merely the triggers. The public? They merely watched this spectacle of a life deteriorate from impossible levels of stardom to disgrace.

The spectacle will play out some more in the days ahead. But maybe we'll learn something from this, too. We'll learn that the seemingly inhuman is very human. We'll learn that the spoiled rich could also be troubled souls.

We'll learn that mental illness isn't a lifestyle choice. It's an illness, and everyone is suceptible.

I've never seen anyone in my lifetime achieve the kind of fame he had. It was like living in Beatlemania, even if it was an abbreviated version.

I was never a big fan of his music, but I do own "Thriller." Listening to it today, it seems outdated. But the genius of the pop craftsmanship will live forever. Pop songs just maybe the hardest songs to write.

Sometimes, it takes someone with an obsessive level of drive to make it happen. Look beyond the plastic surgery disasters, and give Michael Jackson his due.

Five more minutes to fund postpartum depression grants

By SUSAN DOWD STONE
Featured Blogger

We have spent the past weeks celebrating the historic passage of The Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act initiatives in healthcare reform; but there is one more step of advocacy we need from everyone RIGHT NOW that will greatly benefit the work all of you do for mothers and families in your communities! The good news is that it will take only five minutes and involves two phone calls. But we need your help by next Tuesday, June 22nd.

While development/assignment of the initiatives for research and public awareness campaigns are already law and will be budgeted accordingly, the 3 million dollars for grants to fund responsive community programs from many sectors needs to pass through the appropriations committee.

There are many fantastic organizations and programs out there whose funding could mightily contribute to the sustainment and formation of national, replicable blueprints for programmatic response to postpartum depression issues. Perhaps you or your organization have ideas for programs you would like to implement.

U.S. Senator Robert Menendez and Congressman Bobby L. Rush, are asking you to encourage your state senators and Congressman to “sign” the letter below.

All you need to do is 1 – call your two state Senators and 2 – the Congressperson representing your district to indicate you would like them to “sign” this letter.

If you are calling your state senator, please refer to U.S. Senator Robert Menendez’s letter regarding funding for the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act; If calling your Congressman, please refer to Congressman Bobby L. Rush’s letter in support of funding for the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act.

To find the phone number for your state senator click here.

To find the U.S. Congressman/woman representing your district, click here.

Dear (Chair and Raking Members of Senate/House Appropriations Committee):

We are writing (calling) to express our strong support of funding for the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act, which was signed into law as part of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (Section 2952 of P.L. 111-148). This provision has the support of over 20 national organizations, and we believe that it deserves priority consideration during the appropriations process.

This new law authorizes $3 million for a grant program to provide services to women with postpartum depression. Therefore, we respectfully urge you to provide initial funding of $3 million in FY 2011 to make this important program a reality.

The Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act will help provide support services to women suffering from postpartum depression and psychosis and will also help educate mothers and their families about these conditions. In addition, it will support research into the causes, diagnoses and treatments for postpartum depression and psychosis.

As you know, postpartum depression is a devastating mood disorder which strikes many women during and after pregnancy. It is a serious and disabling condition that affects 10 to 20 percent of new mothers. In the United States, there may be as many as 800,000 new cases of postpartum conditions each year. These mothers often experience signs of agitation or depression and may lose interest in friends and family, feel overwhelming sadness or even have thoughts of harming the baby or themselves. Unfortunately, in the most extreme cases some mothers have acted on those thoughts.

The funding we are requesting would go toward the creation of a grant program for the establishment, operation, and coordination of effective and cost-efficient systems for the delivery of essential services to individuals with or at risk for postpartum conditions and their families.

Local community organizations, hospitals or even state or local governments would be able to apply for funding to provide education and services with respect to the diagnosis and treatment of postpartum depression. For instance, if the recipient is a medical facility, the grants could be used to educate new mothers and family members about postpartum depression before new mothers leave the health facility.

Thank you in advance for your consideration of this request. By providing $3 million in FY 2011, we will be able to begin implementing this important program in communities across the country. We look forward to working with you on this important program.

Sincerely,

(your name)

My hero, the hitter

My hero isn't a professional baseball player or politician. He sure isn't a millionaire or anybody with a lot of power. He's not a mayor and he's not a coach. He ain't even old.

The only diploma he's gotten so far is the little paper certificate he got six years ago when he graduated from kindergarten.

He's a 12-year-old kid who shares my name. He's my son, and he's got a set of Popeyes that can swing a bat and hit the ball very far.

When he does swing, he almost always hits the ball, and rarely, if ever, misses.

My son's seen more happen in his life than many of his peers will ever see. All the obstacles he's had to face in his life have helped shape him into a sharp, smart and even funny person.

More than anything, however, he's a shining symbol of strength and courage who inspires us every day.

He's a kid you'd want on your team. When the defense falls apart, and some other kid wearing a flashy, expensive travel soccer uniform is running toward him, kicking a little round soccer ball his way, my son will slam his body on the ball and grind all momentum to a halt.

The other team will get angry and even try to hurt him. In one recent game, a player from another town was so angry about his superior goalie skills that he stepped on his head. But my son will keep playing, and he'll get even better at stopping the ball the next time, because that's what courageous people do.

They keep going.

He'll go out and pitch, and give up some runs in the first inning. But in the sixth inning, with two runners on, he's the kind of kid you want on your team, standing at the plate, waiting for the next pitch.

He'll hit the ball with his bat, and make sure the ball's in play - even if he gets out - because that's how you get runs in.

Yeah, he'll get upset when he fails. He'll bow his head and blink his eyes when the ball hit off his bat is caught. But the next time he's up, and there's runners on, you'll be glad he's on your team.

This past year, he played better than ever. He hit his first out-of-the park home run. Last weekend, he made a diving play at first base. He played catcher, and once settled down a nervous and unsteady pitcher by raising his arms, and smiling at him.

But the day he truly shined was not a day he hit one out of the park. It wasn't a day when he dug balls out of the dirt that were thrown by his pitcher.

It was the day he stood on the mound and, barely, by a hair, got out of the way of a screaming line drive that was hit off a $300 aluminum bat - a "Combat," as they call it, which is as potent as a pistol.

It was a moment that even inspired some local parents to start talking about getting rid of these things, these juiced-up, corked-up aluminum bats that have no place in any baseball game.

It was the kind of hit that could destroy - and, let's face it, even end - a life. If my son didn't have the reflexes he had, I could be writing a very different story right now.

But he did something a lot of people wouldn't do, right after a a near-miss. He got back up, and kept pitching. He got up, and kept fighting. He wanted to finish the game, a game that his team eventually lost. But my son didn't care, because that's what courageous people do.

They keep going, even when the obstacles are there. They keep fighting, even when nobody else cares.

My son's season, and perhaps his baseball life, are over. He's aged out of Little League. Instead, this summer, my son and I will sit in the bleachers and watch my 8-year-old play tournament baseball.

He won't have a team anymore, but I know he'll watch his brother, and he'll want to be out there, slapping the catcher's mitt with a ball he's pitched. He'll want to be out there, trapping these bullets with his glove in a way that few of his peers can.

But I wish you could all get to know him, anyway. He's still be a guy you'd want on your team, because he'll be the team player he's always been, even if he's not wearing the uniform. Sibling rivalry or not, he'll be cheering on his brother, rooting hard, hoping he'll succeed.

He'll realize that it's his brother and his family, and that's whom he should be rooting for first. That's what strong, courageous people do. They keep moving, and they move on, even when many people wonder how they can.

Things could only get better

Ten years ago, a rancid odor lingered through the dark, hollow corridors. There was a telephone that was off the hook. There were names on the back of shirts because they were constantly stolen. There were people mumbling, yelling and howling.

I was told that things could only get better at Ancora Psychiatric Hospital, where my mother stayed for four months in 2000.

That year, we spent Mother's Day there, bringing my 2-year-old son to a side door that was filled with quarter-sized holes, as though somebody tried to use a railroad spike to break through.

We talked to my mother through the holes, providing her a half-hour of comfort before the aides finally relented and, after much pressing, let us in. They allowed us to see her in a sterile waiting area away from the smell, the shirts and the shouts.

Things will only get better, we were told. At least there weren't murders or rampant drug use, they said. Someday, New Jersey will build bigger and better facilities that will make Ancora obsolete. Maybe the patients will move into group homes and find lives of their own. Maybe they'll be able to wear shirts that will stay safely in their dresser drawers.

Fast-forward to earlier today, when I did a Google search of Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. I was interested because of some news from my father, news that I didn't believe.

Haven't things gotten better? I asked. I was told this, over and over, as we dealt with my mother's care until January 2003, when she passed away. Someday, there will be a place for her and others, I was told. Someday, there will be phones and television sets and places that provide comfort for those who are mentally ill.

Perhaps this Asbury Park Press headline says it all:

TROUBLES AT ANCORA PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL

Overcrowding. Poorly trained staff. Rampant drug abuse. And a constant danger of being assaulted or even murdered, not only for the patients but for the psychiatrists treating them. Welcome to state-run Ancora Hospital.

Here is the link to a series of stories on Ancora that were printed by this New Jersey newspaper over the past two years: http://www.app.com/article/99999999/SPECIAL/80114089&template=recurring.

Things will get better, I was told. But maybe they can only get better with articles like these. The only true way to ignite passion in people is to print it.