See Me

There is no other picture of Lauren and I that invokes more memories and emotion for me than the one at the right. It was taken in the nursery of our church on a Sunday night. I love it because it somehow captures the essence of what I tried to be as a dad for Lauren.

Just before Evan and Lauren were born, I listened to a radio program aired by Focus on the Family. Today I do not even remember what the episode was about but a story that was shared on that show grab my attention.

Knowing I wanted to write this post, I reached out to Focus on the Family to see if I could find out which episode it was so I could hear the story again. FOF responded with a very compassionate and empathetic email encouraging my wife, my son and myself. In the email they said the broadcast was no longer available, but the story was in a book called “Straight Talk for Men: Timeless Principles for Leading Your Family”.

In the story I mention, Dr. Dobson, the founder of Focus on the Family, was hoping to have an incredible day with his family at a ski resort. He was taking on the daunting task of teaching his children how to ski. As often happens on special family days like that, things did not go perfect and he ended up quite frustrated. Here is an exert from the book:

On the particular day in question, it was a bad morning for my family. Our children did everything wrong. There we were on a family vacation to produce a little togetherness, but I couldn’t stand either one of my kids.

They complained and dawdled and spread clothes all over the city of Mammoth. Maybe it will make other families feel better to know that the Dobson’s have nerve-wracking days like that. By the time l transported the family to the ski lodge, l was well on my way to total irritation. Danae and Ryan climbed out of the car with a grumble, and l headed toward a parking lot a mile or so away on the way down the hill l muttered a brief prayer. Actually, it was more an expression of exasperation than anything else.

”What am I going to do with these kids you’ve given to me” I said to the Lord, as though it were his fault. He did not reply

I parked the car and walked back to an assembly area where a flatbed truck comes by every ten minutes to pick up passengers. About fifteen skiers stood awaiting a ride up the mountain, and I quietly joined them. Then I noticed a “different” young lady standing with the others. She turned to look at me, and I observed the unmistakable appearance of mental retardation in her eyes. This late teenager was behaving in a very strange way. She stood facing the mountain, quoting the word ”Whomever” over and over. ”Whomever” she said in a loud voice. A few seconds later, she repeated the word nonsensically.

Having worked with developmentally disabled individuals for years, l felt an instant empathy for this girl. It was apparent, however, that the other skiers didn’t share my concern. They were young, attractive, and beautifully outfitted. I watched them glance in the direction of the girl and then take a step or two backward. They rolled their eyes at each other as if to say, “Who’s the ‘crazy’ we have with us?”

About that time the truck arrived, and all of us began climbing onto its bed. As the driver took us toward the ski lodge, the retarded girl continued to face the mountain and say the word ”Whomever.” By this time, she stood alone as the ”in crowd” left her isolated at the center of the bed. She was alone, that is, except for a big man who stood nearby. Suddenly I realized that he was her father.

It was at that point that this man with the kind face did something I never forget. He walked over to his daughter and wrapped his arm around her. He put his big hand on the back of her head and gently pressed it to his chest. Then he looked down at her lovingly and said, “Yeah, babe. Whomever.”

I must admit that l had to turn my head to conceal the moisture in my eyes. You see, that father had seen the same rejection from the beautiful people that l had observed. He saw their smiles…their scorn. His act of love to the girl was only partially done for her benefit. The father was actually speaking to all of us.

He was saying, “Yes, it’s true. My daughter is retarded. We can’t hide that fact. She is very limited in ability. She won’t sing the songs. She won’t write the books. In fact, she’s already out of school. We’ve done the best we could for her. But I want you all to know something. This young lady is my girl, and l love her. She’s the whole world to me. And I’m not ashamed to be identified with her. ‘Yeah, babe. Whomever!’

The selfless love and tenderness of that father flooded out from his soul and engulfed mine. Instantly I felt companion and love for our two children.

”All right Lord!” I said. “I get the message.””

As I listened to the original broadcast with tears in my eyes too, I vowed, that’s the kind of dad I would like to be Lord. I never imagined that years later, about 21, I would be saying “Yes, this is my daughter, she’s an addict and we can’t hide the fact. She doesn’t sing songs any more, her mind was once sharp and focused but now she becomes overwhelmed with the fact that she can’t even concentrate on her courses. In her current state she may not reach her dream of being a doctor and she knows it, but she is My Daughter and I love her.” More times than I can remember I put my arm around Lauren, metaphorically and physically, and tried to comfort her in the middle of her raging addiction as an uncaring and occasionally unsympathetic world looked on.

Lauren struggled a great deal with the stigma connected to addiction and mental health. She often said to me, “Dad, the moment people know I am addicted they have a pre-conceived notion of who and what I am.” She got it, she understood that part of her getting snared in addiction was her choice, no one forced her to start using drugs, but she wished people took the time to see past the outward evidence of her pain and listen to her story.

As a dad this would frustrate me most when she was in the middle of severe withdrawal. On these occasions, she would be in so much pain I would beg her to take a trip to the ED. She hated this and did as much as she could to avoid it because she knew what would happen. Sure, there must have been times when she was drug seeking, but not always, sometimes the pain was just unbearable. I would watch as staff eventually saw in her medical record evidence of opioid use (some of those times I did not know what was going on due to HIPAA laws). Their entire demeanor would change, a few would become completely negative, all empathy would ebb away and it showed in their actions. I understand that there must be protocol in an Emergency Department when someone is in pain – severe pain – and has a history of drug use, but sometimes this would manifest itself as pure disdain. It was heartbreaking for me, and demeaning for Lauren. Often I would think, my daughter is in pain, won’t you help her?

Other times it was a lot like it must have been on the bed of that truck in the parking lot that day, just people not taking the time to understand and see the person on the other side of the addiction or mental health issue.

Every addict has a story, and many of those stories are rooted in pain. If we are close to an addicted individual a very powerful healing step we can take, for ourselves, and for them is to take the time to listen.

This weeks featured image is by Brooke Shaden called “Betwixt and Between”