F

ebruary 6, 2002, dawns cold and gray in Central Virginia. Around 8 a.m., family members begin gathering in Greg Mason's hospital room. The strapping 45-year-old - he once had a ticket to play college football for famed coach Bobby Bowden - now lies helpless. The eerie, rhythmic whoosh of the machinery that breathes for him assaults the tranquility, reminding all present that hospitals are rarely hospitable.

Greg's face, long contorted and bloated from his 28-year descent into madness, shows little trace of its once-handsome features, except for his piercing azure eyes. They flick open intermittently, imploring the woman who is at his side, gently mopping beads of sweat from his forehead and repeating, "I love you," in the soothing voice only a mother possesses. Three single tears trickle down her son's cheek. He knows he is about to leave his earthly prison.

Today, when Greg's siblings look through old photo albums, they smile at snapshots of the precocious, tow-headed lad whose antics entertained them as they were growing up. In one photo, the kid whose slightly pointed ears earned him the playful nickname of "Spock" is in a field catching butterflies barehanded for his impressive collection. In another, he smiles sweetly, arms folded, in his cardigan and white bucks - his classic Pat Boone pose. Greg knew how to attract attention at the earliest of ages with those big blue eyes of his.

When he was seven, Greg made the decision to give his heart to Christ, the youngest of all his siblings to do so. That childlike faith would be his unseen anchor in the turbulent years that followed.

"Dark night of the soul"

Greg continued to win hearts and accolades through his high school years. However, in his junior year, a melancholy spirit slowly began overtaking him. Was it just normal teen angst or the pain of his father's battle with alcoholism or his parents' divorce? Whatever the reason, the normally outgoing teen became brooding and withdrawn. His grades slipped. He began choosing the wrong friends. Ultimately, drug use showed up.

At 19, Greg was diagnosed with a bipolar type of schizophrenia. He sometimes had delusional bouts and outbursts of frightening anger. Voices told him to do things he didn't want to do. Feeling unclean, he took endless showers. One night, he snapped and began smashing things, cutting himself when he pounded a glass shower door with his fists. That was the beginning of a long roller-coaster ride of hospital stays, various antipsychotic medications and therapy programs. Off and on, it appeared as if Greg might be able to lead a stable life. But always the inevitable setback would come.

His mother, two brothers and sister, along with a supportive extended family, resigned themselves to Greg's illness as best they could. "We each tried to be there for him in our own way," says his mother, Laurie Mason, who never gave up hoping God would heal her son. Only God could plumb the depths of his illness.

Being around Greg wasn't easy. Like many people trying to overcome alcohol and drug abuse, he became a chain smoker and caffeine addict. He was jittery and developed drug-induced ticks. He laughed out loud over phantom amusements. He created imaginary empires and wanted to patent his odd "inventions." But he also wrote beautiful, other-worldly poetry. Some people in his small town saw him as the village idiot. Others prayed or offered a sympathetic hug to his mother.

Two of Greg’s poems.

Just being there

“If not for prayer and loving, supportive people, I would have gone over the edge myself.”

Laurie Mason had the toughest job as Greg's primary caregiver in the latter years of his life when he could no longer live independently. The cozy terrace apartment she created for him was always hazy with cigarette smoke. Burn marks from the smoldering butts dotted the furniture. Laurie installed extra smoke detectors and prayed. She cooked her son's favorite meals and took him to family gatherings or to church when he was in the mood to go. She got his father to take him fishing. His brothers took him along on golf outings. His sister encouraged him to write his poetry. They made a big deal out of his birthdays and each Christmas.

"I thought of what I was doing for Greg as a way of serving Jesus, himself," Laurie recalls. "He was truly ‘the least of these.'"

Each family ultimately finds its own ways to cope with a mentally ill loved one. As the Mason family knows, there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Few understood this as well as Laurie, who had faced depression and other mental illness in her mother, her former husband, her daughter and other relatives.

Sadly, many families are torn apart by guilt, bitterness or disagreements when mental illness descends on them. Not only must they labor to understand and love the person they no longer recognize, but they also must endure the unfair stigma or judgment of their neighbors. Unconditional love is often a meaningless platitude to them.

"If not for prayer and loving, supportive people, I would have gone over the edge myself," Laurie believes. "I just learned to take each day as it came and to be thankful for small things." She implores others to do the same. "I knew God loved Greg, and I had to cling to that belief and to my faith," she says. "I never blamed God. I tried to see Greg as God saw him."

The God of all comfort

One area of thankfulness for Laurie was the way Greg always turned to his Bible, especially in the last year of his life. Remarkably, perhaps providentially, the Bible he'd received as a gift following his childhood profession of faith had survived his vagabond, tumultuous years. He found noticeable comfort in reading Scripture.

Greg’s notes written in his Bible.

While his family wondered how Greg's faith could remain intact as he slid farther into the turgid depths of schizophrenia, God lovingly revealed the truth on that February day as he lay in the hospital, his body finally spent.

As his family held hands, prayed and sang favorite hymns around his bed, Greg peacefully slipped into eternity. It was a bittersweet moment of release. Only then did the miracle become evident. His face, so long twisted and tormented by the demons of his illness, immediately relaxed into an expression of utter beauty and peace. They couldn't take their eyes off him, so amazing was the transformation. Clearly, Greg was in the loving arms of the Savior who had never left him.

A few days later, Laurie and Greg's sister, Denise, came across his Bible as they were going through his belongings. Opening it, they saw several Scripture references he had written on the flyleaf, along with some other scribbled words. One was Isaiah 53, the Messianic prophesy concerning "the man of sorrows." The story of the prodigal son in Luke's Gospel was there, as well as the Romans Road to Salvation verses. Also on the list was 1 Corinthians 3:12-15, the passage warning of God's coming judgment of each man's work by fire. Looking back at what Greg had written in the front of his Bible, they saw this: "My work stood."

"Greg left a sermon for us. It was his way of telling us to be at peace," concludes his mother.