Written by Tindra Hammett, River’s mother

I would like to tell you about my son, River Reed Hammett.

I would also like to tell you about the policies, the lack of education, the lack of medical understanding, and the broken systems that continue to fail families across this country every single day.

This story is not written to excuse tragedy. It is not written to erase the pain of another family. It is written because two families were destroyed. An innocent man lost his life. My son lost the life he could have had. And both families were left with pain that can never fully be repaired.

This is why I fight for the River Alert and River Act.

My son, River Reed Hammett, was born on March 16, 1999, in Twin Falls, Idaho. Around the age of two, I moved River to Geraldine, Alabama.

River was my little buddy. He was full of adventure, energy, imagination, and life. I learned very quickly not to put my hands in his pants pockets without shaking them out first. There was no telling what that little boy had collected.

River loved bedtime stories, Old Yeller, John Wayne movies, Power Rangers, and anything full of adventure. Looking back, I wonder how much his young mind absorbed from what he watched and experienced. At the time, I thought it was normal childhood imagination. Now, as a mother looking back through years of pain, I wonder if there were early signs that we did not understand.

River suffered from childhood epilepsy. It affected his memory, especially his short-term memory. During those early years, he also had mood swings and difficult behavior that no one seemed able to explain.

When River was around four years old and in Head Start, he became feisty and intense. One day he came running to the door screaming, with blood running down his face. He was frantic and fully convinced that “Indians had stolen his girlfriend.” At the time, I did not know what to make of it. Was it imagination? Was it something from television? Was it connected to his seizures or medication? Was it an early clue to how his brain would later struggle to separate fear from reality? I still cannot say for sure.

During River’s elementary years, I asked for counseling. I knew my son needed help, but I did not know what kind of help. What we received was not real direction. One counselor tried to explain River’s behavior by suggesting something about me during pregnancy. That was hurtful, unprofessional, and completely unhelpful. I was not given answers. I was not given a plan. I was not given a direction to go.

I also had the school counselor work with River. Eventually, I took my entire family to counseling through DHR. But those sessions were not designed to help us understand River’s mind. They were designed for families whose children had already been removed from the home. There was no direct insight into my son. There was no explanation. No clear path. No one told me where to take him or how to get him the kind of help he needed.

My mother kept telling me she believed River might be high-functioning autistic. Since River already had regular visits with a neurologist for epilepsy, I asked his doctor if that could be a possibility.

Every time the neurologist came into the room, River became extremely difficult and unruly. This was not the River I knew. My son was usually polite to adults, but with this doctor, he acted terrified and defiant. The neurologist told me River had a behavior problem and needed his bottom spanked.

But spanking had already become a normal occurrence at home and school, and it was not solving anything. Finally, I said enough. This was not helping my child.

Later, I asked River why he acted that way around his neurologist. River told me it was because the neurologist was Dracula.

River had watched the movie Dracula one night. In his mind, Dracula was real, and that doctor was him. River saw him as a danger. At the time, I did not understand the deeper meaning of that. I did not understand delusional fear. I did not understand how a brain can misinterpret reality. I only knew my son was struggling and nobody was giving us answers.

Feeling disgusted and exhausted, my husband and I moved our family back to Idaho for a short time to be closer to my family. I wanted River and his sister to have time with grandparents and cousins. I wanted support. I wanted a different environment. I wanted help.

In Idaho, River’s first-grade teacher had actual insight into epilepsy, and the side effects of the medication River was taking. That teacher understood more than many professionals had. It was a game changer for a short time. River’s medication was adjusted to Topamax, which is often used for migraines but seemed to help his seizure activity. However, it also made him very sleepy. It took away some of his emotions and much of his personality.

Just after River’s ninth birthday, on Easter, he had a massive seizure. It temporarily paralyzed half of his body for several days. River lay on the floor with his dad, and they prayed together.

The next week, we took River back to the neurologist for a brain scan. His scan showed normal brain function for a nine-year-old. It felt like a blessing and an answered prayer. River came off seizure medication. His memory and comprehension improved. He began to read more. He loved self-help books, mind-control books, books about changing your thoughts, and books about how to be the best of the best.

As River got older, problems at home escalated. By age fourteen, I thought he was just being rebellious. He had a terrible relationship with his father, and the fighting between them caused stress on the entire family. I sent River to stay with a friend for a while, hoping space would help.

During his sophomore year, River was voted class president. While staying with my friends, he was introduced to swim meets and workout supplements. I know supplements have their place when used correctly, but River did not use them correctly. He became obsessed with them. He took far more than the recommended amount, sometimes so much that his body would shake. Doctors did not seem concerned or did not listen to my concerns.

River eventually came home after one of his rodeos. He finished his sophomore year at Geraldine High School, played football, and was voted class favorite. But that summer, he disappeared. It took me nearly two weeks to locate him. With the help of River’s football coach, I was able to get his phone and regain some control over the situation.

That summer, I decided to take River to Idaho and move him in with my parents so he could finish high school there. I thought a change of environment might save him. I thought maybe my family could help him in ways I was failing to. Doctors and counselors had given me no real direction. River was rebellious, but he was also respectful. In my mind, his best chance was with my family.

River started his junior year at Filer High School in Filer, Idaho. He played football. He was in the top six in the state for wrestling. He qualified for state high school rodeo in steer wrestling and team roping. From the outside, River looked like he was getting back on track.

But underneath, things were still not right.

After football season, River began having issues with his grandparents. At the same time, he fell deeply in love with a young woman at school. He joined her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. River became neglectful of chores and continued refusing to stop misusing workout supplements. His grandparents warned him that if his behavior did not change, they would have to send him back to Alabama.

River was smart. He could be persuasive. But he also had irrational fears, deep feelings of rejection, and what I now understand may have been delusional thinking. River believed I had discarded him. He believed I had chosen his father over him. In his mind, I had given him away. That belief created anger and confusion toward me.

River convinced his girlfriend’s parents that he would be homeless or sent back to a family who abused him. They abruptly moved him in with them. They treated him well and gave him a place to stay. Before the school year ended, his girlfriend broke up with him, but her family allowed River to keep living with them.

River wanted that relationship back so badly that he learned the entire Book of Mormon in less than a year. He signed up to serve a mission for the church and was assigned to Texas.

After that breakup, something inside River changed. He became suicidal and depressed. His ex-girlfriend’s mother helped him get to a psychiatrist. River was diagnosed with PTSD and severe depression. He was prescribed medication, but the medicine intensified his depression, anger, and suicidal thoughts. Within two weeks, he had to return to the doctor for a medication change.

River was seventeen at the time. As his mother, I had very little say and very limited access to information about what was happening with my son.

River graduated by the skin of his teeth and went to Texas to serve a two-year mission. During that time, he disowned me and much of his family, saying we had abandoned him. He claimed another woman as his mother. There were emotional boundaries in that relationship that I believe were unhealthy and confusing for him.

River worked hard on his mission. He made friends and reached people. His obsession with working out was accepted as something that helped with his PTSD. But his thoughts continued to cause paranoia. His reality continued to shift.

The LDS church began sending River to mental health care, and he was placed on stronger medication. During his mission in Houston, River and other missionaries had a frightening encounter with a group of young men. After that, River’s fear and distorted thinking worsened. There was friction with his roommates. He was told to be kinder and not make intimidating faces.

During this entire time, I had very little contact with River and almost no information about his mental health treatment.

Approximately six months before finishing his two-year mission, River and his roommates were caught smoking marijuana. I do not know all the details. River was sent back to Idaho immediately.

When River arrived back in Idaho, everything had changed. His ex-girlfriend’s family no longer had room for him. They helped him get into an apartment, but River barely left. He became so depressed he was almost nonfunctional. I found him living in a terrible mess. Once again, I packed him up and brought him home to live with me, his father, and his siblings.

At that time, I thought River’s behavior was laziness. I thought maybe he just needed motivation, discipline, and responsibility. Sometimes he could function when he wanted to, which made it even harder for me to understand that something much deeper was wrong.

River was around twenty-two years old. He helped me with my side job training horses, and he did an excellent job. But when COVID affected the restaurant where he worked, life became unstable again. My husband decided it was best for us to move back to Alabama. River had a choice: move back to Alabama with us or find a place to live.

River made a few calls and left on a bus back to Texas.

A series of events followed. River choked a man unconscious and spent approximately six months in a Texas jail before the young man dropped the charges. River said the man had made a sexual move toward him and tried to kiss him. Looking back, I now wonder how much of that event was shaped by fear, paranoia, or distorted reality.

Later, River joined a pest-control sales job and moved to Atlanta, Georgia. He was promised big money, but he told me he nearly starved. After that, the group moved across the country to Boise, Idaho.

That is where River’s reality began shifting even more. He borrowed money from a friend. He struggled to be productive, find work, and recruit others for the sales job. He began believing his roommates were talking about him, that they did not like him, and that they were going to kill him.

As River began to fear for his life, he finally reached out to me. He begged for help. He told me he was hearing voices. He said he was willing to do whatever I asked if I would just help him.

I sent him money to come home to Alabama.

River moved back home. I helped him find a job. He was edgy and angry, and he had a major chip on his shoulder. I knew he needed help, but I still did not know what kind.

A friend sent me to a walk-in clinic in Rainsville, Alabama. River talked to the doctor and convinced her he had ADHD, depression, and PTSD. That confused me because River had never been diagnosed with ADHD as a child. He had childhood epilepsy. As I have since learned more about schizophrenia and psychosis, I now understand that the early symptoms of serious mental illness can sometimes be mistaken for other conditions.

The medication seemed to help some, but River was still edgy. He worked for a short time, then began sleeping all the time. He focused constantly on podcasts about self-improvement, mindset, and taking control of the world. Then he joined another pest-control sales group that sent him to North Carolina.

When he came home from North Carolina, River was extremely delusional and paranoid. His anger toward his family had grown so intense that I could no longer allow him to live with us.

I was able to take River back to his doctor. I still did not understand how serious his illness had become. I thought that if the doctor saw him, she would recognize the delusions and help him. But the onset of psychosis was not recognized.

River moved in with a friend to another town and another county.

Within three weeks or less, River went into full psychosis.

He threatened his entire family on social media. He verbally threatened me while I was shopping at Walmart. For the first time in my son’s life, I was afraid of what he might do to me or to our family.

That is where the major roadblocks began.

I called the sheriff’s department. I left my buggy of groceries at Walmart and met deputies in my driveway. River was not there. He was not living in DeKalb County. He had not physically committed a crime there. The officers’ hands were tied. They had no jurisdiction in the county where River was located. They were not sure what I should do. They patrolled our area that night, and one officer told me to speak with the DeKalb County probate judge first thing in the morning.

But when someone is in psychosis, waiting until morning is dangerous. So much time can pass. So many things can happen.

The next morning, I went to the probate office in Fort Payne, Alabama. I was sent to a lawyer’s office behind the courthouse because River lived in Attalla, in Etowah County. That lawyer called ahead for me. He was the only authority figure who picked up the phone and tried to help move things forward.

I went to Etowah County Probate. I gave testimony for River to be involuntarily committed. I was made to feel like I was the criminal for trying to get my son help.

The judge issued orders for deputies to serve River and detained him for questioning to determine whether a 72-hour hold was justified. It took approximately 42 hours before River was brought in.

I was required to attend court 72 hours after his detainment. River was still in full psychosis when his hearing took place. He appeared by video while my daughter and I attended out of his sight. His words were hateful and frightening. That was not my son’s heart. That was illness speaking through him.

The judge and attorney were concerned that if River was released too soon without continued care, there could be a repeat of another terrible case where a young man murdered his entire family.

The judge ordered 150 days of inpatient treatment. River was to be stabilized at Gadsden Regional Psychiatric Unit and then sent to a long-term care facility where he could learn more about his illness: schizoaffective disorder, PTSD, and depression.

For the first time, I believed we finally had a plan.

But the plan did not happen the way it was supposed to.

River was released after only about 70 days. Instead of receiving the full long-term care the judge ordered, he was placed into outpatient monitoring. He was supposed to be watched closely. He was supposed to stay on medication. He was supposed to have support.

But outpatient treatment only works when there is enforcement, accountability, and a system that understands anosognosia.

Anosognosia means a person cannot recognize that they are sick. It is not denial. It is not stubbornness. It is a symptom of brain illness. When someone is in psychosis and suffering from anosognosia, they may truly believe they are fine. They may refuse treatment because their brain will not allow them to understand they need it.

That is what happened with River.

There were missed appointments. There was medication refusal. There were warning signs. There were chances for intervention.

At one point, River received an injection that caused serious problems and led to another hospitalization. After that, he became even more resistant to medication. Eventually, the outpatient order was dropped. River was no longer under the protection of court-ordered treatment.

He went months without proper medication.

River tried to work. He tried to function. He was not a monster. He was a young man with a severe brain illness who needed treatment, structure, medical care, and accountability. But the system treated his illness like a choice until it became a tragedy.

On October 29, 2024, River was in active psychosis.

That morning, I took him to a psychiatric appointment in Attalla, Alabama. His provider saw that he was paranoid, delusional, responding to internal stimuli, and not properly medicated. The provider requested involuntary hospitalization. A psychiatric bed was available at Gadsden Regional.

That should have been the moment River was medically detained and transported for emergency psychiatric treatment.

Instead, county lines, paperwork, confusion, and broken procedures took over.

A mental health officer evaluated River and refused immediate transport. I was told to go to another county because where River lived was not Etowah County. River was able to answer all the mental health officers questions and had a job. My son did not meet the officers check offs for transportation. I was sent from one place to another while my son remained in psychosis.

I went from Attalla to Boaz. From Boaz to Etowah County. From Etowah County to Marshall County. I was trying to do exactly what the system told me to do. I was trying to get my son help before something terrible happened.

But the system moved too slowly.

Within hours of the mental health officer’s assessment, tragedy struck.

River was at work in Boaz. In his psychotic state, he believed another man was going to kill him. He believed a piece of paper was a weapon. He believed the man had harmed his sister. His brain created a false reality, and he acted inside that false reality.

An innocent man lost his life.

A family lost someone they loved.

And my son, who had been in front of medical professionals that same morning, became part of the criminal justice system instead of being safely transported to a hospital bed that had already been available.

That is the heartbreak I live with every day.

I grieve for the man who died. I grieve for his family. I grieve for every person who loved him. I grieve because his life mattered.

I also grieve for River. I grieve for the little boy who loved bedtime stories. I grieve for the rodeo kid, the wrestler, the football player, the boy who could work horses and charm a room. I grieve for the son who begged me for help when he heard voices. I grieve for the life that illness stole from him.

This was not one failure. It was a chain of failures.

• It was a failure to recognize early warning signs.
• It was a failure to educate families about severe mental illness.
• It was a failure to understand psychosis and anosognosia.
• It was a failure to listen when a mother said something was wrong.
• It was a failure to enforce outpatient treatment after a court had already recognized the danger.
• It was a failure to act immediately when a psychiatric provider requested involuntary hospitalization and a bed was available.
• It was a failure of county lines, paperwork, and jurisdiction.
• It was a failure to treat psychosis like the medical emergency it is.

And because of those failures, two families were destroyed.

This is why I am fighting for the River Alert and River Act.

The River Alert would create an emergency alert and communication system for severe mental illness crises, especially when someone is in psychosis, has anosognosia, is missing, crossing county lines, refusing treatment after prior commitment, or at risk of harming themselves or others.

The River Act would help remove the barriers that delayed River’s care. It would allow immediate emergency action across county lines. It would require communication between counties, courts, providers, and law enforcement. It would help ensure that when a psychiatric provider documents active psychosis and requests hospitalization, that request is taken seriously. It would require training on psychosis and anosognosia for first responders, mental health officers, jail staff, and others who are placed on the front lines of this crisis.

The River Act is not about taking rights away.

It is about protecting the right to be well.

It is about protecting the right to be safe.

It is about treatment before tragedy.

People suffering from psychosis are not always capable of recognizing their own illness. Families are often the first to see the danger, but we are dismissed, delayed, blamed, or sent from office to office. Law enforcement is expected to handle medical emergencies without the tools, training, or authority they need. Judges and providers are trapped inside policies that do not move fast enough. And jails become the holding place for people who needed hospitals.

This country must stop pretending that severe mental illness is only a personal choice or a family problem.

It is a medical crisis.

It is a public safety crisis.

It is a human rights crisis.

My son River needed treatment before tragedy. The man who lost his life deserved a system that acted before danger reached him. Both families deserved better.

I cannot go back and change October 29, 2024.

I cannot bring back the man who died.

I cannot give River back the life he could have had.

But I can fight so another mother does not have to beg for help while her child is disappearing into psychosis. I can fight so another family does not lose someone they love because paperwork and county lines mattered more than immediate medical care. I can fight so law enforcement, courts, hospitals, and mental health providers have a clear emergency process before tragedy happens.

River’s story is painful. It is complicated. It is heartbreaking.

But it must be told.

Because silence protects broken systems.

And I will not be silent.

Treatment before tragedy.

Right to be well.

Right to be safe.

River Alert and River Act now.

Tindra Hammett