Graduation: An end and a beginning

News-Sentinel photo by Ellie Bogue A mother-daughter momentBarbara Booth and her daughter, Alissa, spend some time together in the nursery at Charis House. Her daughter has been in foster care since birth, but Booth is now allowed to spend some weekends with her.

Today, the fruits of those labors are visible. Cleo Henry is graduating from the residential recovery program. The room is especially full.

Dressed in a chic new pants outfit, Henry, 46, sits in front of the half-circle of tables, facing the women she has lived with since June. Among those surrounding her are Darla Jackson, Michelle Clayton and Barbie Booth. All are nearing the end of their journey here, too, and will soon celebrate their own graduations. To graduate, they must complete at least 16 weeks of classes such as Responsible Thinking, Recovery Dynamics and Choices.

Long-term success for Henry - and all of the women - depends on continuing the lessons learned here. Although she leaves today, she will continue in groups as needed, with staff and mentors providing ongoing support, through a new three-year extended program.

"Research shows it takes at least three years for behaviors to change," says Executive Director Patty Crisp.

In data gathered for United Way of Allen County, which helps fund Charis House and other programs of the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission, Crisp says women who complete the program show significantly lower rates of returning to Charis because of repeated use of drugs or alcohol.

Today, Henry is moving into her own apartment. She has completed the residential program by staying sober and clean, learning how to handle disappointment, inadequacy and loneliness through the classes, recovery meetings, Bible studies and, most of all, the love and acceptance of staff and fellow sojourners.

Sitting next to Henry is Cindy Hartman, Henry's case manager, mentor and friend. Henry hands a pair of scissors to Hartman, then Henry pulls up her left pant leg to reveal a three-inch-wide ring of paper taped around her ankle.

"I, Cleo Henry, with one-half year with Charis House, and with 2« years left, am declaring myself drug-free. I came in here this way," she says, referring to the mock ankle bracelet representing house-arrest status on arrival. "I'm going out this way."

Hartman snips, and the paper ankle bracelet falls away.

Henry came to Charis, which means grace, after serving a three-month prison sentence for drug charges.

"When I was in prison, I did have in my mind to go back and use." But that was before she met "Pastor Patty," Hartman and the rest of the women at Charis House. She credits God for bringing her here and for giving her the ability to make decisions for herself. That's an especially big step because she has struggled with learning disabilities.

Henry, who qualifies for disability and federal housing assistance, searched for an apartment within walking distance of Charis.

"The people here, they've taught me so much. I don't have to use drugs. I don't have to use alcohol," she says, tears streaming down her face. "I couldn't read or write when I came here. Charis House connected me with Three Rivers Literacy Alliance. My life has changed a lot. I'm drug-free and with good people around. I'm taking care of business now that I never took care of before," Henry says during graduation.

Grief work

Some who come to Charis House are leaving behind little of monetary value. They've already lost their homes. A few come with just the clothes on their backs. Others give up their homes to enter the program. When they graduate, they're given a $300 voucher for Bargains Galore, owned and run by the rescue mission. Only essential household furnishings can be purchased with the voucher in order to start anew.

The losses of addiction pile up: children, spouses, jobs, health, years of life, Crisp says.

Coping with the grief of those losses sometimes involves writing a letter of farewell to the addiction or a letter of repentance to a wronged relative. Creating human sculptures to depict family relationships or recreating a memory through drama are other tools.

During Grief Group, leader Beverly Grote compares Henry's road to recovery with the crippled woman in Luke 13 in the Bible who comes to Jesus for healing. She'd been bent over for 18 years, the scripture says.

"We're all bent. We all need unbent," Grote says. "Cleo has been unbent."

Getting 'unbent'

Among the program sisters who have helped Henry "unbend" is Darla Jackson.

"You've been the kindest, sweetest person. You're not at all into yourself," Henry tells her 48-year-old friend. "You're into other people." Jackson smiles, then lifts her head higher.

Jackson's face always was downcast when she first arrived at Charis in May, staff recall. She got information about the house when, in desperation, she contacted First Call for Help, a United Way referral service.

In 2002, Jackson had lost her job to downsizing at a South Bend factory. Then she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. She has a son who has schizophrenia. Eight years ago, a daughter died after battling heart problems and a failed transplant.

Add to those problems the suffering of sexual abuse as a child and a divorce later on. Alcohol became a common pain reliever.

"I've had trouble believing God, trusting him," she says.

She lost her house in South Bend and moved last January to the Fort Wayne area to live with her son. Family tensions grew.

"I had depression, anger. I didn't realize I was an alcoholic. I didn't realize how many of my negative behaviors were related to my use of alcohol," she says.

At one of the house group meetings, Jackson says she admitted she is an alcoholic.

"When I said it, other people said they had the same problem. They didn't judge me. They supported me. I had a lot of bitterness and resentment inside that I'm working through."

Letting go of pain, fear

Letting go of pain and fear, and learning to trust God, also is the work of resident Michelle Clayton. She's completed the intensive program, has met most of her personal goals and is ready to graduate. She's applied for government-subsidized housing. All she needs is a job.

"I'm itching to get my own apartment," she says. But she's decided to stay until after the first of the year - and for good reason.

"My birthday is New Year's Eve. Ever since I turned 12, I don't remember my birthdays. I was always stoned," says the 30-year-old. "That's a really vulnerable time for me."

For now, she shares a small bedroom in the Charis House basement with her children, Rhiannon, 3, and Jagger, 2.

At Charis, Clayton's leadership skills have blossomed. She and Johnah Nellums, who graduated in early October, recently started a biblically-based 12-Step program on Thursday nights.

The program builds on Pastor Patty's philosophy: "You've got to take the stinkin' thinkin' and put it into thinkin' like the Lord would have you."

News about the job

In addition to the new group, Clayton still regularly attends Cocaine Anonymous. This week, she gets her pin for being clean for nine months. It's cause to celebrate - with a soda and cigarette.

As a more senior member of the house, Clayton takes a shift answering the phone in the office in the afternoon. On this day, she drums her fingers on the desk, waiting for that call from a potential employer. A big part of her future is resting on the answer. She has bookkeeping and office experience, and believes the interview went well.

"But is this employer willing to take a chance on me?" Clayton asks.

Minutes later, the phone rings. It's the employer, a home health agency.

Whooping and hollering spreads like wildfire down the hall as word travels Clayton has landed the job. She will start as a part-time office receptionist, moving to bookkeeper "when I'm ready to go full-time," she says.

Her friend Nellums, 37, comes back to help celebrate Clayton's good news. Just her presence in the room sends a positive charge of confidence.

"Eight months ago, I didn't even have my own pair of socks," says Nellums, who did time for dealing drugs and now works at a local fast-food restaurant. "Today I'm working on a degree in human services at Ivy Tech. I have my own house and bank account and car. It's by God's amazing grace.

"I was sick and tired of me. I've been shot, was stabbed three times. The thing is you've got to change your playmates."

Visitation

Barbie Booth also has come a long way since walking through the doors of Charis House in July.

The 34-year-old mother hopes to regain custody of her son and infant daughter, who are now in foster care because of her drug addiction. Six-month-old Alissa is all smiles, grasping for her mother's finger. A head of light brown hair sets off her rosy cheeks. The other women coo over her at dinner.

"She is healthy. I call her my miracle baby," Booth says. "I was so messed up I used (drugs) on the way to the hospital to have her."

College trained, Booth once had a high-paying job selling parts to automobile manufacturers. Today, success is measured in meeting daily and weekly goals.

"I earned another coupon to Baby's Closet," Booth says proudly, showing a voucher that will allow her to purchase clothes and products for Alissa. Every clean drop, or drug-free urine test, means another voucher.

"With God's help, I'm on target with my goals. I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for Charis House."

Not all are addicts

Fellow resident Kim Arnett looks longingly at baby Alissa. Arnett no longer has custody of her 2-year-old son, Korbin. But it wasn't substance abuse that made her give up Korbin. A fight with her mother led to her homelessness. She went to Charis House because she had nowhere else to turn. Arnett, who is 27 and suffers from bipolar disorder, was living with her parents until May. She hopes to regain custody of her son from her parents once she finds a job.

"We just couldn't get along," she says about her mom. Such situations frequently lead some adult women to homelessness, Crisp says. Their on-going dependency on parents or friends reaches a crisis point.

Arnett says the Charis House program has taught her to accept responsibility for her decisions and to set boundaries for herself.

"I've been told not to say other people convinced me to do things. I chose to give my power to someone else."

No guarantee

Pastor Crisp can't guarantee that these women will live the rest of their lives addiction-free or as good decision-makers.

But much of the current research, including studies by the National Institute of Drug Abuse, reveals the best programs share many characteristics with Charis House. They are residential and based on abstinence from drugs and alcohol. They take a cognitive approach - reshaping the thinking - and combining counseling and medication as needed.

In the extended program, funded in part through the Foellinger Foundation, Crisp hopes to do more comprehensive tracking of the outcomes of the Charis program. The residents' journey, she says, isn't measured in giant leaps, only small steps - some forward, some back.

"I'm taking baby steps," Jackson says. "...I may take steps back, but I know I'm not going all the way back. If you mess up here, they'll let you have it, but they'll never stop loving you.

"I kind of think of it as becoming a butterfly," she says. "I was in a cocoon. I'm coming out as a butterfly. I am becoming more beautiful, and it's so wonderful."

The women

* Cleo Henry, 46, is the most recent graduate of the Charis House program and now lives in her own apartment. She is learning to read and write.

* Darla Jackson, 48, says her self-confidence and her health, including serious heart problems, have improved since she came to Charis House. Her daughter died and she lost her job, leading to alcohol abuse.

* Michelle Clayton, 30, who has been clean for nearly 10 months, just landed a job and will graduate after the first of the year. She lives at Charis House with her two young children.

* Johnah Nellums, 37, completed the Charis House program in October and is pursuing a degree in human services at Ivy Tech. She comes back weekly to help lead a recovery group.

* Barbie Booth, 34, looks forward to overnight visits at Charis House by her two children, now in foster care. She once held a high-paying manufacturing sales job.

* Kim Arnett, 27, has no chemical addiction, but she is learning how to make better choices and improve social behaviors. She has bipolar disorder. She hopes to regain custody of her son, who lives with her parents.

* Patty Crisp, 56, a licensed mental health counselor and certified alcohol and drug counselor, is also an ordained minister. The women call her Pastor Patty. She is executive director of Charis House.