I am not going to tell you her real name, though I don't think she'd mind. She was my friend, my colleague, a certified peer specialist who ran a psychosocial rehabilitation and peer support group, and was a licensed clinical social worker. I will call her June.
 

June was born to a powerful, wealthy family. Her father was a famous minister, known for his work with homeless people. He received many awards and accolades and even preached on television. But, he had a dark side. He molested his children. I don't know what all he did to June, but she said it hurt.
 

June grew up to become a splendid young woman. She wanted to help people, so she became a teacher and taught elementary school for years. Perhaps, because of her past, June went back to school and became a social worker. She worked in psychatric hospitals, and mental health clinics in several different states.
 

And then she came to us. She didn't identify herself as a consumer at first, but she had flashbacks to her childhood and sometimes had to miss work. One day the stress of the flashbacks and holding down a demanding job, got to her so much she had to take two weeks of medical leave. And she had to tell her supervisor why. June's supervisor was an enlightened, kind person who has developed some of the best mental health programs in the state of Georgia, and she asked June if she'd like to become a certified peer specialist (CPS) and run a PSR and a peer support program. June said yes and was a member of Georgia's first peer specialist class.
 

June was an advocate for all of the consumers in her programs. She not only ran the programs but was always available if a consumer or staff wanted to talk one on one. She supervised one of the best CPSs I've ever known, and I know - from what this CPS told me - that June was an understanding boss who went out of her way to help the people she supervised. June would also do anything for the consumers she served. She helped people get jobs, go back to school, stay stable and out of the hospital, and - if they had no income or medical coverage - she helped them get disability. It didn't matter how long it took, June would talk to anybody, go to bat for any consumer. 
 

And then one day June met a consumer who lived at a bad personal care home. The owner was fanatically religous and forced the residents in her care to go on fasts for days at a time. This home provider told the people who lived at her personal care home when they could and couldn't go to PSR and peer support. June gained the trust of a consumer who lived there, and what the woman told her horrified June. June was determined not only to turn the home provider in to the authorities and shut down the place but to get this consumer out. 
 

The home provider must have gotten suspicious because, all of a sudden, this woman stopped coming to peer support. They were literally holding her prisoner inside the personal care home. Well, June wasn't going to stand for that. She drove to the personal care home and forced her way inside, against the wishes of the home provider. The home provider's son, a wrestler, body-slammed June to the floor. But June still got the consumer, and they left. June found a loving and caring personal care home for this consumer.
 

But, because she'd forced her way into the home, the provider swore out a warrent, and June was arrested for breaking and entering. The police came to June's home, handcuffed her, and - perhaps because they knew June was mentally ill - put her in a small cell by herself. And something happened to June inside that cell. All the childhood memories of abuse came back, and they came back in such force that June was no longer able to work and had to go on disability.
 

June moved to a small town in another state. I'm not sure what the final disposition of her court case was, but she didn't have to go to prison, which was a godsend, because I don't think she would have survived it.
 

Because June and I had become friends, I called June every week to let her know how much I loved and cared about her. Having been on disability myself, I knew that people on disability often worry about what they will do if they are reeveluated and taken off disability. For a lot of people, a paycheck or a disability check, is the only thing standing between them and homelessness. I told June that if she ever wanted to, she could always come live with me. I told her she could bring her beloved hound, and they could live in my home. I told her she could bring 50 hounds, and we could all live together, and I meant it. Talking to June once a week was theraputic for me. We talked about the mental health situation in Georgia, the loss of funds and services. We talked about my boss, who used to be her boss. 

We talked about the good times, and the bad. We rejoiced, and loved one another, over the telephone.
 

And things seemed to be coming together for June. She found a therapist named Paul who specialized in treating victims of sexual abuse and, for the first time, saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Paul taught June to love herself.
 

And then, she died. This beautiful, 45-year-old woman, who had suffered so much and helped so many people, who may have saved the life of the consumer she rescued from the personal care home, left us. When a family member found her, her beloved hound was by her side. 
 

When June died, the earth trembled beneath my feet. Why, I asked myself, "Why did she have to suffer so much and just when she was coming to terms with her past? and "Why did she have to die?" This wasn't the way it was suposed to be. June was SUPPOSED to get well. She was SUPPOSED to get where she was able to work again. Then she would come back to us and work here, and we would be friends down all the decades, until the end of days. A lot of people, including her supervisor, loved June and mourned her passing. The day she left, a gentle light went went out upon the earth. It was like the song, "Like A Candle In The Wind" sung by Elton John about Princess Diana. Like a candle in the wind, she had lit up the darkness, and like a candle in the wind, she was fragile, and her flame flickered and went out. 
 

And yet, her legacy lives on. The children she taught. The consumers she helped. The lady she rescued. The friends and loves she left behind. Her light still shines in our hearts. 
 

One day, I saw a butterfly dying in the sun, and I picked it up and put it in the shade, where it could die peacefully. And I remembered June. She had picked up so many butterflies dying in the heat of the sun and placed them under shade trees where they could thrive. That is her legacy. That is her story.
 

God bless you, June. I love you. And may you be, forever young. 

Certified Peer Specialist
Georgia