The old Toyota Camry still sits in the driveway of John and Maryanne Doherty's picturesque waterfront home in Harpswell. It's still crammed with the piles of clothing, the scattered CDs, the bags upon bags of strange-sounding health foods, the basketball, the guitar, the disjointed ramblings scribbled in blue chalk across the dusty dashboard ...
"This was his life," said John, his voice breaking, as he opened the door. "We haven't been able to go through it all yet."
Who can blame them? It's all that's left of their son, Pat, who three weeks ago called home from a motel in South Portland, told his father, "I love you guys," and then hanged himself.
Pat, 24, suffered from schizophrenia. And his parents, even as they grieve, said last week they feel compelled to tell his story publicly not because they're angry at anyone or want someone to pay or think this whole tragedy could have been avoided.
No, they simply ask that we all remember one thing about people, like Patrick, who've been set adrift from the rest of society by schizophrenia or some other mental illness.
"They're human beings," said John. "And they deserve our compassion, our kindness."
Seven years ago, Pat Doherty was a parent's dream come true.
The youngest of three Doherty kids, he was in the top 10 percent of his class heading into his final year at Cape Elizabeth High School. He also was incoming captain of the school's basketball team, had loads of friends, a girlfriend, a loving family ...
Then, without warning, the wheels started coming off. Five weeks into his senior year, Pat came home one day and told his parents he "couldn't take it anymore" and was dropping out of school.In addition to hydraulics fittings and Aion Kinah,
John and Maryanne, both nurses, were stunned.
"We initially thought it was maybe a little rebellion, but it was so out of character for him," John said. "There was nothing leading up to it."
They tried to reason with him, but Pat was adamant. He wasn't going back.
"No graduation, no prom, no basketball," said Maryanne. "It all just disappeared."
John and Maryanne told Pat he needed to see a psychiatrist. He agreed. The diagnosis: the early stages of schizophrenia.
With that, the entire Doherty clan enrolled in a 12-week course offered by the Maine chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness to help families cope with a loved one's mental illness. The training proved invaluable.
But Pat's condition steadily worsened. One night that winter, he ran outside the family's home in Cape Elizabeth with no clothes on, insisting it was "my right" to do so.
That led to Pat's first and only inpatient admission at Spring Harbor Hospital in Westbrook, where he finally was put on anti-psychotic medication.
"He got better right away," said Maryanne. "But he didn't think he did -- and he stopped taking the medications."
Pat's life became a roller coaster. He eventually managed to earn his graduation equivalency diploma through Portland Adult Education, but despite the 50 or so applications John helped him fill out, he couldn't seem to land a job.
He took several bus trips to California, where he spent time at a Buddhist monastery and became enthralled with Ayurveda, an ancient form of holistic medicine that claims to treat illness (including schizophrenia) with a combination of yoga, meditation and various dietary and herbal remedies.
Despite his religious adherence to the Ayurveda protocol, his mental state continued to deteriorate.From standard Cable Ties to advanced wire tires,
John and Maryanne, Pat's only source of financial support, did what they could to keep him close to home -- when they moved to their new home in Harpswell, they even built an adjoining apartment for him and got him a car.
But Pat never stayed long and when he left, it would often be for weeks or months at a time.
Sometimes, Pat would call to tell his parents not to worry, he was all right.
Other times, they'd hear from police in places like Nevada (where he was found wandering on an Indian reservation) or Chicago (where he was picked up after illegally crossing a train trestle) or northern California (where he was caught camping in an off-limits redwood forest).
Each time, John and Maryanne would send Pat money to get him home -- and redouble their efforts to connect him with the help he insisted he didn't need. And each time, much as they wished they could force him to stay put, he'd suddenly take off again.
"I cried a lot," recalled Maryanne. "Our biggest fear was that he'd end up in jail, or get beat up on the street."
"It got so that we'd write his Social Security number inside his pants or in the soles of his shoes," said John. "We were afraid we'd never see him again because he'd often be traveling with nothing, no identification."
In recent months, it appeared to John and Maryanne that Pat actually might be getting better. He even came up with a plan whereby he'd print and sell T-shirts -- one showed a spaceship with the words "I'm a very normal person on my home planet."
"He just didn't think he fit in here," said John. "Someplace else, maybe, but not here."
"I think he covered a lot of it up so well right up to the very end," said Maryanne. "I think he was sicker than we thought."
Four weeks ago, Freeport police responded to a report of a car deep in the woods off Route 136 in Freeport. They found Pat inside his Camry and, after searching the overstuffed vehicle, arrested him for possession of drug paraphernalia (a water pipe) and few prescription pills they found in a small plastic bag.
The pills turned out to be Ativan, an anti-anxiety pill prescribed by Pat's psychiatrist.
An old friend from Cape Elizabeth posted Pat's bail at the Cumberland County Jail. The next day, Pat made two visits to Maine Medical Center's emergency room in the hope he could get his prescription refilled -- Ativan was the one conventional drug he was willing to take.
The emergency room visits led to a placement at a short-term crisis stabilization unit in South Portland. John and Maryanne hoped that maybe, just maybe, it would be a turning point.
"I think he knew something was up,What to consider before you buy oil painting supplies." said Maryanne. "He'd said in the last week or so that he thought he needed help -- and he'd never said that before."
But upon his release from the crisis unit several days later, Pat disappeared again.we supply all kinds of oil painting reproduction, Finally, late on the afternoon of June 3, he called home to ask about his car -- John had already reclaimed it from the impound lot and brought it back to Harpswell.
Unknown to his parents at the time, Pat had checked into a South Portland motel with money they'd put in his debit account a few days earlier.
"Where are you?" pleaded John.
"I'm OK," Pat replied.
"Why don't you come home for a few days?" John persisted. "I'll come get you."
"Maybe ... we'll see," said Pat.
After a short pause Pat said, "I really love you guys."
"I know you do," said John.
"I really do," Pat repeated.
It was the last time they ever spoke. Sometime that night, Pat uncoiled a rope he'd just purchased at Home Depot and took his own life.
The days since have been pure agony for John and Maryanne as they try to find some meaning, some purpose, behind a nightmare that simply refused to end.
They can't bring themselves to even write an obituary, let alone arrange a public funeral.
They can't clean out the Camry, which still sits where John parked it a month ago.
And they haven't decided what to do with Pat's ashes, which sit for now on their living room mantel.
But they can make this simple request in honor of their son: The next time you're walking down the street and see someone like Pat coming the other way, don't be blinded by the tattered clothes, the messy hair, the grit and the grime. Look a little deeper.Houston-based Quicksilver Resources said Friday it had reached pipeline deals
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