I drive the short bus in town. technically it is a bus in the city's 4 bus transit fleet, all short of course. It is a small town after all. This is one of the activities that I pursue in my retirement. It puts a jingle in the pocket, keeps me busy (and out of my wife's hair), and allows me to meet so many people. The early part of my shift involves driving a route. I go from one end of town where the hospital and clinic is back to the other where the Regional Treatment Center is located. The treatment center is an interesting place. It is the oldest facility of its kind in Minnesota. Back in the 1800's it was called the Hospital for the Insane. At one time a man who grew tired of his wife's shenanigans could take her to the main gate and have her put away for a spell claiming that she was afflicted with Woman troubles. That's a true sory. One such woman plied a guard with alcohol and affection and escaped back to town where she tracked down her husband at the local hotel where he was keeping company with not one, but two ladies of the evening. She pulled out the gun, which she had lifted from the guard and proceeded to put six holes in her husband who was now very, very dead.

Presently the hospital/treatment center is a modern facility which houses a good portion of the state's committed sex offenders and a goodly number of criminally insane. Their building is way up on top of the grounds surrounded by high walls and razor wire. The lower campus, yes, drop the word INSANE from the title and suddenly it becomes a CAMPUS, houses a good number of people who have a lot of trouble functioning in society. There are two buildings that house what are termed Transitional Patients who are relatively close to being discharged. There are no sex offenders in this part of the program. These are the people that I have gotten to know over the last two years. I drive my short bus onto the lower campus once an hour and if ay of these folks want to go into town on a 4 hour pass they get on the bus.

There is a man who will be leaving tomorrow to go into a halfway house in Minneapolis until they are sure that he will be ok on his own. The story he tells is kind of amazing. Ten years ago his wife was running around with a financial adviser who talked her into investing their savings with him. Poor Dean, that's the patient's name, had no idea until he discovered the money was gone along with the weasel who was doing the investing. Dean went looking for his wife and tried to run her down with the car. That is really extreme, and the patient readily admits that a prison term of 1-3 years was appropriate, but something happened. The prosecutor and the judge thought that Dean was crazy, not criminal, and so he was sent to our fair city to spend time receiving treatment.

The man had to adjust to a harsh reality. They were not going to discharge him until they thought that he was no longer a danger. So many many people commit rash acts of intended violence and do a short amount of time cooling their heels in a jail, but guys like Dean waste away for 10 years taking various medications and jumping through hoops trying to prove their competency. Ten years. That is a long, long time.

Today he told me that it was official. He was being discharged to a place where it will be a little more tolerable and he was so happy. The point of this tale is in his parting words. He said that once he figured out what was going on he merely had to get on board with the program and get his work done. He looked up as he got off my bus for the final time and he said, "Its all about the journey, my friend." Isn't that the truth of it? We are all here working towards a common goal. Some of us are at the beginning and some near the end. We all share the common element of the journey. We are not going to be well overnight, or in a week, or in a month; but stick with your program and you will eventually be well - we will be well.