An Unknown Loss to Winfield, Kansas

[The following post is true. Names have been changed for privacy.]

In 1973, Winfield, Kansas, celebrated its Centennial Year with festive occasions and high hopes for the future. Construction began on the new courthouse and new high school, and Strother Field was decommissioned as a training camp for the Air Corps Cadets (established during World War II) and repurposed  for municipal use.  Tours at the Winfield Crayola plant were more popular than ever, and all was bright.                                      

That same year, a little four-year-old girl moved to Winfield, Kansas, the place that would become her hometown for more than half-a-century. Her name was Linda. 

Winfield State Hospital circa 1960

Linda never stepped foot in the new high school (nor any school for that matter). She never strolled down Main Street or played at Island Park or toured the crayon factory. You see, Linda had unthinkable limitations. She could not walk… or talk… or focus on the view beyond her window in a four-story fortress that towered on the outskirts of town. Cloistered in that eerie structure, she and hundreds of others were unseen by the 11,000 people in town (except by those who worked there). This isolation was no reflection on the good people of Winfield. The same sad but necessary reality was true of countless other towns in states across America where such institutions once existed.

At its peak of occupancy, WSH served hundreds of patients

When the main building of this sprawling facility was first erected in 1887, it was officially called "The State Asylum for Idiotic and Imbecile Youth." Much more cruel were the unofficial names commonly used for such places. In 1909 the name was changed to the "State Hospital for the Feeble Minded." Various other euphemisms ensued until 1957 when the name "Winfield State  Hospital" was adopted. That was the name of the address on Linda's paperwork in 1973,

Linda lived in  sprawling collection of barred windows and corridors until 1984. The extent to which she was unaware of her surroundings was actually a blessing. Eventually, Winfield's State Hospital was closed and the entire facility became the state correctional facility it is today. By the time Linda moved from those long hallways to a new group home in town, she was fifteen, but other than the changes that come with age, her severe physical limitations remained. 

It’s hard to know whether the more homelike setting helped Linda remember that she had once lived in a house with siblings of her own. The circumstances that removed her from that home, after her life-changing head injuries were sustained, also removed her young siblings. As the result of a wise judge’s order and the help of Child Protective Services, Linda and her siblings were now in separate adoptive families all across the state. They had lost contact with each other, including Linda whose dependent condition made such placement impossible. Thus, the state hospital became her home and Winfield her hometown for the rest of her life.

Linda endured more tragedy as a child and an adult than any one person should have to face, and yet Winfield became a place where she was deeply loved by angels seen and unseen. 

“Caregivers” we call them because they bring caring kindness to an otherwise lonely existence; the strength of their arms lift a body at rest that must be turned; their legs walk behind the wheelchair; their hands apply the balm of Gilead; their eyes show the love meant to come from a mother; and above all, their voice gives answer to the age-old question… “Who cares?” They care, the “caregivers" who care for the "least of these." 

Through the decades in Winfield, Linda was blessed to have such angles watching over her. Some did so for many years at a time. THANK YOU. Thank you for caring for one so much in need of love as, in such a stationary state, she passed her time on earth. 

Linda never sang a song or danced a dance or tapped her foot to a bluegrass tune, but she did know essential rhythms of life: like breathing in and out; the beating of her heart, and the blinking of eyes through which she saw the passing world each day, but it was the kindness of caregivers and not the turning of calendar pages that gave Linda's life meaning. 

To those reading here who may wonder why a sister of Linda chose to share these thoughts with strangers. It is for the same reason she chose to place a large headstone at her sister's final resting place in Winfield. It is for the same reason thousands gather each year to honor Arlington's Unknown Soldier's tomb on which it says: "Here Rests in Honored Glory an American Soldier known but to God." Linda's siblings feel the same way.  It is altogether fitting and proper to bless an unknown soul with the gift of human remembrance. 

Linda passed away in Winfield, Kansas, on Monday, April 7, 2025. She was fifty-nine. She is survived by five siblings some of whom, in recent years, learned of Linda’s whereabouts and were able to reunite with her and with each other. Romans 12:15 encourages us to " Rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep." Thank you for sharing in our sadness on this April day, and in the hope that comes with spring through Him who makes all things new.