The letters keep coming, week after week, month after month. They are unceasing but their regularity is nothing compared to the misery and worry they reveal.

For the most part, the letters are from another world, from ordinary Missourians whose lives have been changed by the transformation of others. In a real sense, they are as much the victims as the victims themselves.

But still they come, from every corner of the state, from every imaginable household, from mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, even grandparents.

Here, read some of the concerns these letters convey, sent to a stranger who, perhaps by some miracle, can halt the suffering....

"...I am the mother and guardian of a young man who suffers daily from two major brain disorders..."

"...I worry about the day when I am no longer going to be here to help my child..."

"...Good friends of mine and their daughter with mental illness have suffered greatly due to the verbal abuse and threats their daughter received in a metropolitan hospital, under contract by the state...."

"...As a taxpayer and parent of a mentally ill son, I am frightened about the risk under managed care companies..."

"...My son, 37 years old, has been ill with paranoid schizophrenia for 21 of his years. For every one of these years my husband and I have struggled continuously for compassionate and proper care for him..."

"...I am the elderly grandmother of (name deleted), who was diagnosed as schizophrenic several years ago...I am the only family member to assist in his care..."

"...Without obviously needed changes in care and treatment, it will be a disaster for a countless number of mentally ill..."

The letters, some neatly typed and others hurriedly written and some illegible, all contain one enduring emotion: concern, even panic, for some member of their family or some friend or neighbor. All share the same emotions: worry, frustration and helplessness.

These messages have been sent because somewhere in the mental health underground of Missouri my name was connected with advocacy for more than 100,000 men, women and children now receiving some kind of treatment from the great state of Missouri.

Imagine, if you can, being so desperate for solutions to a problem that had endured for two, three or even four decades, that you would write a letter pouring out your concerns to a total stranger.

These are obviously human beings with an oversupply of worries and a great undersupply of assuagement. They have obviously voiced their concerns to others, and indeed, a writer occasionally expresses admiration for efforts by some official who has gone through the motions of trying to help.

The problem has been, and continues to be, that despite whatever efforts of assistance have been made, the results have been a steady record of failure. A member of the state Legislature experiences an above average number of requests, demands and complaints. The legislator who responds to 25 out of 100 requests is the unusual exception, not because of indifference but because of the sheer volume.

Rare, indeed, is the politician who does not grow cynical over time at the demands of constituents, and if the request is to transform a delivery system that is already in operation, the chances for reform are as remote as the mountains of Tibet. Legislators are mere politicians, not miracle men.

We have a serious problem in Missouri, not unlike those found in other states, and until it is resolved, or plans are made to correct its pejorative parts, we will continue to have worried, panic-stricken mothers and fathers and relatives who are trying to work through one of the most tragic consequences of human existence: mental illness, developmental disability, emotional instability and alcohol and drug addiction.

It's true that these problems have been around since the beginning of time, but instead of amelioration there has been a rate progression of these ailments, a progression caused by a faster pace of life, a more complicated society and the awful introduction of addictions that destroy the body and soul, as well as the mind, of their victims.

The parents and relatives of these victims are most usually politically impotent, not because they lack the ability or the stamina but because their own familial concerns preclude additional activities. So, in a real sense, they become victims themselves, incapable of letting go because of the desperate needs that intrude into the everyday lives of their loved ones. These victims of victims have been around for generations, seeking both help and understanding for the dark moods of their loved ones.

The valor of these people is extraordinary, rivaling and perhaps even excelling the conduct of combat soldiers who live through brief periods of panic and danger but eventually emerge back into normal living patterns. For those who care for and love with exceptional measure the mentally and developmentally ill, there is no end to periods of panic and times of battle. There is always another day, another month, another year of struggle. Like the malady, time is forever.

The war is never won because the battlefield is never level. The volunteer soldiers who protect the wounded never have enough weapons or manpower or influence or reinforcements, so they fight the war alone, fearful no one notices or cares.

"Is there no balm in Gilead, is there no physician there?"

~Jack Stapleton of Kennett is the editor of Missouri News and Editorial Service.