The struggle to mend families

Improving personal relationships motivates many men in the program.

News-Sentinel photo by Aaron Suozzi A quick recoveryJerry Watson was recently released from an 11-year prison sentence and was on house arrest while participating in the Fort Wayne Rescue Mission's recovery program. Watson went from being the mission's poster child to speaking at public events for the facility to leaving the mission before he completed the six-month program.

It was McCreery's brother.

The two caught up, talking about what was going on with the family McCreery had disregarded the past five years. When McCreery got out of prison five years ago, he was about to see his mother at Christmas, but he changed his mind at the last minute. He didn't want to face the people he felt he had let down by abusing alcohol and drugs.

He is representative of addicts at the Rescue Mission who doubt their own worth to their families. Some are embarrassed. Even more, especially when they get to the mission, are so engulfed in addiction they are oblivious to the people around them.

But a number of them say they are in the program to try to improve family ties.

"I lost contact with all my family," McCreery says, standing in front of the mission's main desk. "I didn't care about anyone but me."

Before his brother left, McCreery asked him to say hello to their mother for him.

"No. Do it yourself, Rod," he said.

In a letter he sent a few weeks later, McCreery said hello to his mother and much more. She wrote back. They planned to meet for dinner on McCreery's 35th birthday, almost two months since he entered the Rescue Mission's restoration program. It fell on a gloomy Sunday afternoon.

The weather was of little consequence to McCreery. He wanted to make up for not seeing his mother on Christmas five years ago.

Depressing days

David Dixon's old attempted suicide note is eerily written in red ink. In it, he tells his family it's not its fault he's chosen to do this. He says he will suffer in the afterlife.

Toward the end, he admonishes his ex-girlfriend to take care of their 4-year-old son, Dylan. The couple's rocky relationship only led Dixon to drink more, and he believes that exacerbated his depression.

"I never thought depression could be as severe as it is," says Dixon, who's been in the program for about a month.

His salt-and-pepper hair is combed and flares to the sides. He looks through thick glasses. He used to be an engineer in Florida and owned a painting company in Fort Wayne.

The other men snip at him when he works the kitchen. They think he messes things up. When they start to yell at him, he simply talks over them, explaining why he's doing things a certain way. He eventually walks away.

Stuck to the door of Dixon's locker is a picture of Dylan, who stays with his maternal grandmother in Fort Wayne. Dixon sees him once a week. He wants to see him more.

"I will get my life together for him," he says. "It's worth it."

Most of the men agree and are fighting for the same reason. Two beds down from Dixon, Jerry Watson talks about his six children and 23 grandchildren, some of whom he hasn't met. Above him, Julius Woods names off his nine children.

Patrick Crooks went to prison a second time before he came to the mission. His sister was killed during the attacks on the World Trade Center two years ago. Now, he longs for the family he has left. It's why he is here.

"If I finish, maybe my family will have something to do with me," he says. "Before I would have not cared. Now I'm fighting to stay in the program."

Reflection

Sunday night, McCreery returns from dinner with his mother. They went to a small restaurant on Washington Center Road, then to a park to talk. He's chewing on a snack, still trying to figure out if the meeting went well.

"It was good," he says with a sigh. He pauses, looks forward. "Yeah, I think it was good. We talked."

Tuesday morning, McCreery is working as receptionist at the mission when the mail comes. Everybody is anxious to see if they got something. McCreery has a card from his mother.

At that moment, it doesn't matter he's been wearing the same clothes the past several days, that he's unemployed and that he's been to prison three times. He reads the card, and he's happy. "She talked about a mother's love and how she has faith in me," he says. "She said she wants to get together again and have me see my grandfather. She hopes for the best for me and she said she has faith in me."

He says the last part with a tone of curiosity in his voice, as if he wonders why she believes in her son. He used to drink. He used to abuse drugs, and his partners.

He came to the mission in 2002, but left after a month. That same day, he was drinking and drugging again. He returned a month ago.

"When you get to a point where you are sick and tired of being sick and tired, you will do anything to change. They're giving me my family and my life back here for free."