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by Phoebe Killian Keifman (Editor), Donald L. Killian (Author)
"Lee cringed at the thought of Ruth coming home and finding his lifeless body who knows where. What a horror that would be for her and everyone else. How would she get over it? Could he do something so cruel to someone else? He groveled in the pit of hopeless despair. Why couldn't the walls just cave in and take him far away? Somewhere distant from this mental anguish and away from the swirling, confusing voices battling inside his head." "Lee opened his eyes and had to wait a few moments in order to get his bearings. Where was he? Obviously he was not sitting in his living room talking with Lynn and feeling good about life. He was lying on a bed. He tried to figure out where he was without moving. He stared at the ceiling and tried to focus. Nothing. He let his eyes drift over to the right side of the room. Another bed with someone sitting on it. That did not register. He glanced at the door to the left of the foot of his bed and noticed it was open. On the other side was a hallway. He heard loud voices. Dr. Ingerson's face flashed across his mind. Oogden Institute of Psychiatry. He was in a mental institution? Stark reality slapped him in the face. Yes, the voices beckoning him to end the anguish yesterday. The trip to Community Hospital. Wendy's. Paul." "Sometimes he couldn't see or 'feel' hope, but it would never leave. It was always hanging around somewhere, and there was an endless supply of it. It had been what got Lee through withdrawal after he was finally able to accept his plight. It was what kept him always looking forward for the 'next good thing' after he had begun to get well and feel his health returning. Hope. Hope was the fuel for Lee's long journey through withdrawal. Without acceptance and hope, he would have perished."
