Passages and eternal promises
Many long years ago, when our third daughter was in kindergarten, Hubby followed up on a phone call to the law practice where he worked, to make a home visit to a mildly retarded man who wanted to sue his doctor. He listened to the details, explained that doctors do not have the duty or ability to guarantee perfect outcomes, and that there was not a case to pursue. The gentleman asked if Hubby would come back sometime and play him a game of checkers. He said he would, and he did.
"I'm going to skunk you!" this fellow declared. "I'm gonna ANNIHILATE you!" And it turned out that if there was one thing Marshall could do, it was play a mean game of checkers. He managed to beat the lawyer sitting across the board from him, their respective IQ's notwithstanding.
Hubby came home from that intended one-time indulgence shaking his head. Marshall had no one, his mother was still living but had no contact, and he lived in a group home. He had basically grown up at the state home for the developmentally disabled (as we term it now) and he was hungry for company. Hubby felt like he needed to go back because that was something simple that he could do for someone else.
This became, over time, a fairly steady pattern of taking him out every six weeks for a movie and a burger. Some Saturdays I was not in favor--I had three girls and was pregnant with our oldest son, and I needed his time myself on the weekends. I lost those arguments, and tried to stop complaining. I did understand. Until he was moved too far away, to north Seattle, the every-six-weeks deal went on, more or less, for over twenty-five years.
Marshall talked Hubby into being his payee, and that didn't last long, because that meant that we would get a phone call at the least little whim, (drop everything) come bring me a soda, etc. It also turned out that the other thing Marshall was good at was money--keeping track of every penny, he knew exactly what he had, and he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and when that wasn't possible he became angry. He didn't understand obligations that had to be covered out of it, 'it's my money and I want (this).' He called me once and threatened to have my husband put in jail, I hung up on him after an angry retort, and Hubby made arrangements for someone else to be his payee again; then things settled down.
He would get his dander up and hold grudges. When his mother died without leaving him anything--there wasn't much of anything anyway, but without a remembrance--he went to court to change his name. Guess who did that for him with the court, when he couldn't be dissuaded. He became Tommy J. Fox, I forget why Tommy--not Tom or Thomas--but he was keen on Michael J. Fox, so plucked part of his name out of the ether for himself. He moved a lot, and got committed to Western State Hospital several times, and became hard to place because he went into rages. He got mad and bought a bus ticket to Florida one year, simply because it was the farthest place from Washington state, but a funny thing happened: he exited the bus at Riverside, CA for a pit stop and fell on the ground with a grand mal seizure and was rushed to the hospital. A sharp neurologist's evaluation diagnosed him with a seizure disorder which was the source of all those periodic explosions, where he had a definite cycle of increasing agitation over a period of weeks until he would blow up...and lose his placement.
He was shipped back to Tacoma with new medical records and a prescription for Dilantin, and it was like night and day. His physical health deteriorated over the years, his knees gave out, and his right leg was fused. He was a heavy burden to push in his wheelchair around the Western Washington fair, and Hubby wouldn't tackle that duty anymore, but he did take him to Disneyland. Tommy was injured as a passenger in an accident, not seriously, but Hubby worked the insurance issues for him and asked him if there was one thing he wanted to be able to do if he got a little money that he could use any way he wanted. He wanted to go to Disneyland. After pricing packages, Hubby told the insurance adjustor that no, he couldn't drop the amount a little to settle because this was the price of a trip to Disneyland for a man, still a child in many ways, who would never have another chance to go. Couldn't they seal the deal? They did, and the two of them went off on a plane for a three day pass. (And came home with Toy Story t-shirts. Hubby is a sucker for cartoons)
It was always the bane of our lives when Tommy (or Marshall) had free access to a phone. Hubby had to sternly reiterate when he could call--not at 6 a.m. Not during the workday when he wouldn't be home yet. Not every ten minutes for hours when he was anxious about something. I confess that it was bliss when he had no such access, but those six-week outings continued, making sure that they always hit mid-December for his birthday.
Tommy had a stroke a couple of years ago, and had to be placed in a nursing home for a while...later, back to what used to be the state school where he grew up, now reorganized. He was too far away, too much time, too much cost for gas with Hubby unemployed, though Hubby visited him once when he had business to take him way north.
Tommy J. Fox left this life this morning, and there won't be any services because there would only be the two of us to care. I had found a picture of him and set it aside before our move, to use when the day came, but it's not in the box, I've gone through it carefully twice. It was taken on our porch,, around 1985, one of the couple of times we brought him out to our home for dinner. Six foot two, not yet physically disabled and ill, not yet prey to the ills that would beset him. If I find it later, I will put it up and link back to this.
In all of this, years back, Tommy had asked to be baptized and was interviewed by the mission president to gain approval. We gave him the children's scripture stories, the ones that look sort of like comic books, and he was very happy. He became combative over perceived slights as time went on, and resisted any gently offered tutelage on forgiveness. He was sometimes the bane of the obligation to home teach, I guess, in a new place with people who had no idea of his story, but was later treated with great kindness by a ward here when he moved back to Tacoma last, before he was moved away because of his stroke. In the last couple of years he had sweetened; the refining process can work upon us all. He was an Aaronic Priesthood holder and wants us to do his temple work. He didn't have the capacity to enter into those covenants here, but he will stand whole and unimpaired in the next life.
Hubby used to explain his involvement that if each of us would decide to help one person, the world would be made a better place. He felt drawn to this man as his 'one person.' In the early part of this saga, he looked at me one day and said, "I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that when we meet up on the other side, he will be a person I will want to know." Tommy always named Hubby his best friend. We will not know who he is, fully, until then when all that was wrong with his body will fall away. My good husband's faithful perseverance helped bring me to better charity, and I ceased long ago to resent the time and attention. We have a date in the Lord's house next July. Rest in peace, Tommy, all is well now.
"I'm going to skunk you!" this fellow declared. "I'm gonna ANNIHILATE you!" And it turned out that if there was one thing Marshall could do, it was play a mean game of checkers. He managed to beat the lawyer sitting across the board from him, their respective IQ's notwithstanding.
Hubby came home from that intended one-time indulgence shaking his head. Marshall had no one, his mother was still living but had no contact, and he lived in a group home. He had basically grown up at the state home for the developmentally disabled (as we term it now) and he was hungry for company. Hubby felt like he needed to go back because that was something simple that he could do for someone else.
This became, over time, a fairly steady pattern of taking him out every six weeks for a movie and a burger. Some Saturdays I was not in favor--I had three girls and was pregnant with our oldest son, and I needed his time myself on the weekends. I lost those arguments, and tried to stop complaining. I did understand. Until he was moved too far away, to north Seattle, the every-six-weeks deal went on, more or less, for over twenty-five years.
Marshall talked Hubby into being his payee, and that didn't last long, because that meant that we would get a phone call at the least little whim, (drop everything) come bring me a soda, etc. It also turned out that the other thing Marshall was good at was money--keeping track of every penny, he knew exactly what he had, and he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and when that wasn't possible he became angry. He didn't understand obligations that had to be covered out of it, 'it's my money and I want (this).' He called me once and threatened to have my husband put in jail, I hung up on him after an angry retort, and Hubby made arrangements for someone else to be his payee again; then things settled down.
He would get his dander up and hold grudges. When his mother died without leaving him anything--there wasn't much of anything anyway, but without a remembrance--he went to court to change his name. Guess who did that for him with the court, when he couldn't be dissuaded. He became Tommy J. Fox, I forget why Tommy--not Tom or Thomas--but he was keen on Michael J. Fox, so plucked part of his name out of the ether for himself. He moved a lot, and got committed to Western State Hospital several times, and became hard to place because he went into rages. He got mad and bought a bus ticket to Florida one year, simply because it was the farthest place from Washington state, but a funny thing happened: he exited the bus at Riverside, CA for a pit stop and fell on the ground with a grand mal seizure and was rushed to the hospital. A sharp neurologist's evaluation diagnosed him with a seizure disorder which was the source of all those periodic explosions, where he had a definite cycle of increasing agitation over a period of weeks until he would blow up...and lose his placement.
He was shipped back to Tacoma with new medical records and a prescription for Dilantin, and it was like night and day. His physical health deteriorated over the years, his knees gave out, and his right leg was fused. He was a heavy burden to push in his wheelchair around the Western Washington fair, and Hubby wouldn't tackle that duty anymore, but he did take him to Disneyland. Tommy was injured as a passenger in an accident, not seriously, but Hubby worked the insurance issues for him and asked him if there was one thing he wanted to be able to do if he got a little money that he could use any way he wanted. He wanted to go to Disneyland. After pricing packages, Hubby told the insurance adjustor that no, he couldn't drop the amount a little to settle because this was the price of a trip to Disneyland for a man, still a child in many ways, who would never have another chance to go. Couldn't they seal the deal? They did, and the two of them went off on a plane for a three day pass. (And came home with Toy Story t-shirts. Hubby is a sucker for cartoons)
It was always the bane of our lives when Tommy (or Marshall) had free access to a phone. Hubby had to sternly reiterate when he could call--not at 6 a.m. Not during the workday when he wouldn't be home yet. Not every ten minutes for hours when he was anxious about something. I confess that it was bliss when he had no such access, but those six-week outings continued, making sure that they always hit mid-December for his birthday.
Tommy had a stroke a couple of years ago, and had to be placed in a nursing home for a while...later, back to what used to be the state school where he grew up, now reorganized. He was too far away, too much time, too much cost for gas with Hubby unemployed, though Hubby visited him once when he had business to take him way north.
Tommy J. Fox left this life this morning, and there won't be any services because there would only be the two of us to care. I had found a picture of him and set it aside before our move, to use when the day came, but it's not in the box, I've gone through it carefully twice. It was taken on our porch,, around 1985, one of the couple of times we brought him out to our home for dinner. Six foot two, not yet physically disabled and ill, not yet prey to the ills that would beset him. If I find it later, I will put it up and link back to this.
In all of this, years back, Tommy had asked to be baptized and was interviewed by the mission president to gain approval. We gave him the children's scripture stories, the ones that look sort of like comic books, and he was very happy. He became combative over perceived slights as time went on, and resisted any gently offered tutelage on forgiveness. He was sometimes the bane of the obligation to home teach, I guess, in a new place with people who had no idea of his story, but was later treated with great kindness by a ward here when he moved back to Tacoma last, before he was moved away because of his stroke. In the last couple of years he had sweetened; the refining process can work upon us all. He was an Aaronic Priesthood holder and wants us to do his temple work. He didn't have the capacity to enter into those covenants here, but he will stand whole and unimpaired in the next life.
Hubby used to explain his involvement that if each of us would decide to help one person, the world would be made a better place. He felt drawn to this man as his 'one person.' In the early part of this saga, he looked at me one day and said, "I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that when we meet up on the other side, he will be a person I will want to know." Tommy always named Hubby his best friend. We will not know who he is, fully, until then when all that was wrong with his body will fall away. My good husband's faithful perseverance helped bring me to better charity, and I ceased long ago to resent the time and attention. We have a date in the Lord's house next July. Rest in peace, Tommy, all is well now.
Comments
Post a Comment