Son's schizophrenia spurs parents to raise millions for research

Brandon Staglin, national merit scholar and future astronautical engineer, was 18 when he lost half of his self. The right side, to be specific. It went away. In the blink of the eye, beat of the heart.

Brandon Staglin, left, talks about his battle with schizophrenia as his parents Shari and Garen Staglin listen during an interview outside their home in Rutherford, Calif., in this July 30, 2004 file photo. "No one wants to talk about it. No one wants to put it out there in the open," says Garen Staglin. "So we said, 'Let's get this as visible as possible, make it as delightful as possible." As a result, the Staglin Family Music Festival celebrates its 10th anniversary this September, having raised more than $22 million in direct and matching funds for mental health charities and research.

He spent the next week unable to sleep. He wandered the town of Lafayette, covering his right eye as he walked, fearful another personality would fill the void. He was picked up by police. Soon, he was in a locked psychiatric hospital.

That's where his parents found him when they rushed home from a business trip to Paris.

The 14-year journey from that summer of 1990, when Brandon Staglin was diagnosed with schizophrenia, reveals the tenuousness of reality, the capriciousness of mental illness and the power of a determined family.

Today, Staglin is 32 years old and managing his schizophrenia. His parents, Shari and Garen Staglin, have raised more than $22 million in direct and matching funds for mental health research and treatment. They have brought leading neuroscientists from around the globe to their Napa Valley winery. They talk openly about disorders long feared and stigmatized.

Last week, the Staglins sat in their art- and light-filled Rutherford home and shared their story. The conversation ranged from the deeply personal to the scientific. They talked about promising research they are funding, including a site in San Francisco that uses a software program to improve brain functions in schizophrenics and a center in Southern California that focuses on the early detection of psychoses in adolescents.

Brandon Staglin, whose watch beeps to remind him when he needs to take medication, recounted in harrowing, detached detail what it felt like to go insane.

"One minute, my identity was there," he said softly. "The next minute, half of my identity vanished. I walked around the house trying to call up emotions that weren't there. There was a very bright void. I remember sniffing, inhaling deeply to try to get these thoughts back into my head. I thought my soul was leaking from my head or feet. I thought I could spontaneously die."

As he talked, window washers and gardeners prepared the hillside home and grounds for the Staglins' annual mental health fund-raiser, a heady festival of wine, food, science and music. Last year's event raised nearly $2 million. This year's 10th anniversary festival will be held Saturday. The keynote speaker is Dr. Thomas Insel, the director of the National Institute of Mental Health.

Crying and confusion

The Staglins remembered the days following their son's psychotic break as a time of crying and confusion. They did their best to shield their daughter, Shannon, then 10.

The days before the break were altogether different. Brandon won just about every academic award possible. He skipped from sixth to eighth grade because of his high IQ and had above a 4.0 grade point average in high school. He scored a perfect 800 in the English portion of the SAT and a 785 in math. And he was an outstanding soccer player.

"Before Brandon got schizophrenia, he wouldn't take an aspirin," Garen Staglin said. "He was the picture of bodily health."

It was inconceivable, Shari Staglin said, that their son had a thought disorder.

"We thought there was a huge mistake," she said. "There was confusion, fear. We took him home from the hospital, and I remember him saying there was something wrong with his bed. He kept doing this unusual action with his hand. Garen took him out for a walk. When they came back, Garen said to me, 'Something is really wrong.' "

"It was everything," Garen Staglin said. "He couldn't function. He was hearing voices that were tormenting him. He couldn't get rid of incoherent thoughts."

The Staglins, who met on a blind date as undergraduate students at UCLA, quickly began to gather information, network with friends and track down experts.