plporter Sun Oct. 3 21:16:33 1993
From: Perry L. Porter
To: _. _.
On Sun, 3 Oct. 1993, _. _. wrote:
> Perry:
> We are going through some very painful separation procedures with our daughter who
> is mentally ill. We had to have a termination interview where she was
> told that she would never return home to live with us--ever--it was
> terrible for us all. She is too ill to be handled in a home situation
> and still she needs the love that comes from family and she cried,
> making us feel un-utterably sad. She is often over-come with feelings
> of terrible fear and despair which the doctors have not yet been able
> to abate with drugs and which cause her to act out of control. Mental
> illness is certainly no fun for the ill. They are not in a dream
> world, they are in a nightmare world. We think, with misery, of all
> the times we punished her for behavior, which we now understand more
> clearly than ever, she could not help.> The only treatment facility that can meet her needs is a two and a half
> hour drive away and that means that we will be unable to visit with her
> often, if at all. Part of the diagnosis is that she see herself as
> separate from us for a number of reasons ......... but the case
> is too complicated to explain in any reasonable period of time. There
> is no pleasant way to view this except to say that we got her help before
> she hurt someone, or herself.
Perry wrote back:
How old was she when she joined your family? (adopted as a baby, now 14 years old)
It is times like these when I wished I were a stronger person.
I know that there are no simple answers. Most simple answers don't help that much anyway.
Let me tell you a of a few experiences I had a few years ago that might help.
I worked in a reform school for rich delinquents and druggies that were too young to go to prison. Most teachers lasted 2 years, but that was mostly because of poor administration.
If a teacher could not handle the stress it only took a month or two before they would quit.
I held the record having worked there 7 years. Others have since broke that record. But they were not their at the start when the teacher were most vulnerable.
The point is that 1/3 to 1/2 of all the 200 students each year were from Mormon homes. 70 to 80 percent of these were adopted children.
I taught a "prominent member's" son in many classes and another famous Mormon's son may have been in one of my classes. (Since these kids are way over 21 now, I'm not sure if their confidentiality is still in force. Anyway don't spread it around that some of our GA's send their kids to reform school.)
I tell you this to help illustrate that you should not beat yourselves up over things which you have little control. We had some of the best L.D.S. therapist in the world work at the school from time to time and none were able to explain the high number of dysfunctional children that came from adoptive situations. Many were adopted from birth. LDS or not, great families or not, adopted children seemed to act differently towards their parents from infancy. Even when the child didn't know they were adopted.
Once we were in a meeting of teachers and Therapist, the subject of Why a prominent LDS members' son was place in an institutions among, one step from prison, youth offenders? As teachers and therapists we were concerned that this student would learn a lot more bad than good while at that school. He was a Good student, respectful of authority etc. many manipulative kids have tried this angle of pretending to be good for a few weeks, but couldn't maintain it long. He had been there a few months The therapist explained that the reason that the kid was placed in reform school, was that his dad placed him there, because the child had been giving his mother a bad time about holding family home evening when their father was out of town.
He was in the same school with a student who had all most killed a man while gay bashing with friends (using a baseball bat) and another devil worshipper who's real idle was Charles Manson, and another who had ran away from every non - prison youth detentions center in California and another kid who had a weekly cocaine habit so bad that he had etched a hole inside his nose between the right and left nostril. This to me, illustrates that we can go too far in trying to force our children to live up to our expectations.
When bad things happen I try not to over analyze WHY but to concentrate on those things that I CAN control.
I follow the philosophy of the once popular bumper sticker, "Shit happens".
I just translate it into Italian, "Merda Sucesse".
That way I look at it in a foreign or detached way, rather then the more common or vulgar interpretation.
It is really hard to not regurgitate simplistic antidotes to real problems.
What I can say truthfully and from the heart, that I feel for your sorrow and the God that I find comfort in, is not doing this to you as a test or punishment.
Manure Happens, have faith and courage in things that are true, thank God for the positive things in life. Don't dwell on negative things or dwell on their origins. Manure Happens.
We are here to learn to love God not blame him.
It is a wise and un-meddling God that waters our crops and at the same time erodes our soil.
I watched my friends wife, in our ward slowly die of cancer. I was tormented every day that I did not have the faith to heal her or ease her pain. I looked at all my sins and shuttered at the thought of having to rely on that weak faith to heal a person that I loved.
The only respite from despair, is that I knew that this family was not sin riddled like me, and still manure happens.
I am sure as great a person, as I revere Thomas S. Monson to be, his biggest fault it that he doesn't tell us about the many times that he is unable to heal people. This sets us up with a false hope, that if only we were like him or knew him we could ask him to rescue us from our trouble. I am sure that manure happens to him as well.
All I know for sure is that, "Manure Happens".
When our Christy Lynne died June 10th 1992 after only living 10 days, during those days I often thought, if only I had the faith I could bless her and she could grow up with a normal heart or at least survive the operations, that she had and would have.
I was afraid to pray to God if it was his will if Christy Lynne should live or die. I did not have the faith to change the course of nature, [hypo plastic left heart syndrome]. Having been on the other end of the stick with my friend's wife who had cancer, I did not want to put another person in the position to ask them to jointly require the faith to heal a critically ill child.
On the other hand what kind of person would I be if I didn't try to heal my child. What kind of Priesthood holder would I be if I failed?
The pressure was enormous, It seemed easier to avoid the situation than to face the consequences.
My wife confronted me many times, asking if I felt like giving Christy a blessing ...... yet. I was able to mumble off some excuse each time. The night before the heart operation I felt cornered and the bridge was before me, I didn't want to cross it.
Thanks to lack of preparedness, (no rancid oil on a key chain) I was able to get by with out crossing that chasm of faith. The operation went good but not great.
Christy showed slow signs of recovery for the next two days. Her vital signs were going down each hour. Renee pressed me again to give Christy a blessing. I shrank from the awesome task. I could get away with it with Renee, after all we had been through troubled times before. Then on June 7th or 8th I got caught in a social situation where my brother in law and sister in law were at the bed side and Renee asked if Don and I could give Christy a blessing.
I did not know a good way to get out of that one. At that point in my life I suppose that I was living the way that a Mormon should as much as I had ever been since my early, idealistic missionary days. Yet I didn't see myself as a faith healer. Well we gave Christy a very humble but generic blessing. I waited and was receptive to a strong prompting to say something special. My life was in order as much as it is ever going to be. Yet there was nothing. I didn't want to betray my relationship with God by saying, what was very wanting to be heard, and try to pass it off, as if it came from God, because I would have know it had been, from just me.
Christy Lynne Porter got worse that night and the next day.
God was watching us
from a distance.
And then, as if it had little to do with me or my weak faith. Christy Lynne started improving! Hour by hour minute by minute. About a day and a half later she was so much improve that they had taken her off all medication and was ready to remove some equipment so that I could feel comfortable about holding her. I went back to work, trying to get back to a more normal schedule.
Wednesday June 10 5:15 I get a call from Renee, She was trying tell me that I must come up to Primary children hospital in Salt Lake, that Christy was not doing well. Alan, a friend of my was asking for a ride home, I assured him that I could still give him a ride. He could sense that something was wrong. I tried to stay calm on the outside, but I was very anxious on the inside.
When I arrived at the hospital and exited the elevator I saw Tiscia (my 13 year old daughter) Her eyes were wet and red from crying, she didn't lead me to Christy's bed, but to a small room next to the beds. My head was spinning as I entered this small room. I still didn't know what was going on.
Things seemed as from a surreal perspective, like I was watching a slow motion film rather than the scene being live or real.
Renee was sitting at a chair to the left of an end table that was in the corner with a lamp on it, her mother was in a chair to the right of the table. She had been crying.
I think I could tell that Renee had been crying, but I don't remember her expression as much as I do still remember Tiscia's face more sad that I had seen before. I was immediately shocked at what seemed to be a totally incongruent part of this picture.
My mind was fixed on the image that Renee was holding a baby blanket with a baby in it. The face on the baby was Christy's, but I was confused. My immediate thought was, why is everyone sitting in here? Why is Christy out of the hospital bed and not connected to the monitors? Then as I got closer, even if people were talking I didn't hear anything.
I could only focus on one thing. Something was wrong with Christy's face, It didn't come to me immediately, but then like a bolt of lightning, it struck, her color was wrong! Her skin tone was dark yellow, not baby pink. With that realization came flooding all the other realizations that made those incongruent eternal seconds become crystal clear, my baby girl was dead.
I can not think of another experience in my life where I can remember such a short interval of time with as much vividness as that short sad slice of time.
A few months after the funeral Renee was able to write down her experiences and write a life history of Christy Lynne. She asked me to review it many times to add or clarify. I put it off.
Now over a year later I am finally able to put down in words some thoughts and feeling of that day.
Some how, months later, my wife told me that, she had heard that her sister had asked her husband if he had felt anything special, when Don and I had given Christy the blessing. When the response was in the negatory, I can only speculate where the conversation went from there.
My sister-in-law shouldn't be blamed for having such careless or over curious thoughts, it is a product of our Mormon social culture, to have such thoughtless curiosity. It is hard enough to deal with the loss of a loved one, but even harder if accompanied with guilt that it could have been prevented if only I were more worthy.
I have been able to cope with Christy's loss with a "Manure Happens" rationalization. But I am still nagged by the "If only I were.... , then ..."
My hope is that some Elders in the church may become more realistic role models. And that the ideal home teachers will not be seen as a 24 hour, on call, faith healers.
Don't beat yourself up if you were not always an ideal parent, because in spite of your good or poor efforts, from time to time manure happens. Realistic role models of parents would also be "truly" faith promoting.
This was not intended to be a long letter, it just grew into one.
Ciao plp
P.S. you may forward a copy of this letter to Arta and give her my love as I give you and _. mine.
It is a wise and un-meddling
God that waters our crops and at the same time erodes our soil.
_._. wrote back ...
Perry :
Please forgive the delayed response to your very kind letter of three days ago. My computer is being undependable and I have not been able to send letters. However, I was very interested in your experience with difficult children at the reform school and deeply moved by the story of your little girl's death.
I was riveted by your description of your fears and ambivalence over priesthood blessings. I have never heard such accurate and vulnerable "confessions" from anyone else before. My husband has expressed similar feelings, but not with such truly amazing descriptive power.
It is a spiritual gift to have such inner sight--perhaps even prophetic. To me a prophet is not so much someone who can foretell the future, but someone who sees deeply into the fabric of our lives.
I have more to say but I am afraid to write longer for fear my computer will suddenly black out as it has been doing for the last few days, destroying hours of effort at the keyboard.
Thank you for your love and good wishes during such a sad time
in our life.
Sincerely,
_.
It made me feel good that my letter and efforts in writing such, appeared to have been of comfort. Although compassionate service is usually relegated to the sisters in the church, it felt right to me, even if I hadn't been assigned that "stewardship".
I was a little uncomfortable with _.'s lavish and undeserving
praise. To understand my reluctance to graciously accept such
praise I must relate the comments of a letter a few months before
the previous one. It could be entitled "Why Mormons ought
to try to be more Christian once in a while." But it could
just as well be 1st person. The letter went as follows.
I have been briefly involved in "group" just 3 times. A class at BYU, a "in-service" at work and a bereavement support group at the hospital.
A little over a year ago Christy Lynne Porter was born with hypo plastic left heart syndrome syndrome. At the age of 3 days she had successful open heart surgery. And on the tenth day the Lord mysteriously to her back.
We learned she would have problems during an early sonogram. Our two sons Steve and Jim (10 & 8) were with their aunt in Idaho. The hardest thing I have ever had to do, was call them and tell them that their sister was dead.
My wife had a much harder time coping than I did. People in the ward seemed to admire how well we handled things. My 13 year old daughter Tiscia helped me make the funeral arrangements and pick out the head stone. She was more brave than I, in a new situation. I was so proud of her.
A month or so later people kept suggesting that we go to a support group. I didn't think that we needed to, but I went for Renee. At the beginning I thought that they were a bunch of immature, self pitting, sniveling cry babies. Some had been going to this thing for 6 months. They had other kids and were young enough to have many more. (most, some 20 years younger than us).
Then at the end of the meeting, when every one, but one, realized that we have had enough for one day, (please finish so we can go home), a young, small red headed girl in a nurses uniform spoke up the first time. Her voice cracking as she told her story of the ill development of her child.
The fetus had a rare forming defect where the skull had no brain, and only a partial brain stem. The prognosis was that the child would live only a few minutes, if at all.
The doctors had presented her with an option to terminate the pregnancy. We were also given that option at an early time. Even though you think that the answer is instantaneous and automatic. When it hits you in the face, it is such a serious decision that you don't want answer either way too quickly.
Type can appear jet black on the white page, but seems more gray when the story is your own. (Perry L. Porter Aug 16 1992)
She had been briefed by her doctor as to the latest church policy in regards to a terminal fetus. After prayer she made the decision to terminate the pregnancy.
Now the sad part. When she got back to her home ward people started talking about what she had done. She felt ostracized. To put it in her own metaphoric words "They won't play with me any more."
My eyes were wet for the first time in the meeting, as they are now, as I recall the intense pain and hurt she was feeling. I wanted to go to her and hug her, though my wife might not approve. Instead I sat and tried to cover my tears.
Not everyone in the room was moved. The sniveling wimps, wallowing in their own self pity had none left for someone who had made a decision different than their own.
There seemed to be an awkward silence even though people were still talking. I wanted to console her that I had not judged her for her private and most difficult decision. I could not find the right, private moment.
I will close now and let you draw your own parallels to this experience and your experiences in Christianity and that variation call Mormons
I do regret that I am a weak and lowly person, for I have had more than one occasion to be at the hospital. I know what area she works in. Her face is chiseled in my mind, yet her name is long lost.
I am ashamed to admit that I let people in my ward praise me for how brave I was in the loss of Christy Lynne.
Yet I have not had the courage to go to that hospital, search out that lonely and hurting girl and give her a hug and take time to play.
Ciao Perry
God is truly watching us
from a Distance.
In my own moments of weakness and lack of charity maybe it
is best if God were not watching too closely.
To read the text of Bett Midler's From a Distance.
[Commentary: This page does deal
in a sensitive way with hypo plastic left heart syndrome and the
difficult subject of when a couple is given the option to
terminate the pregnancy. Plus the ambivalent feelings related
to giving a priesthood blessing. Hopefully this will be
of comfort to those that make that most difficult decision, even
though that was not what we decided with Christy Lynne Porter.
After 7 years of hind sight I still think the decision is very
personal, and I would not judge badly a person that made a difficult
decision either way. My heart goes out to anyone who's child
is born with hypo plastic left heart syndrome.]
Or if that does not work, try this mail
form.
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All opinions are mine and mine alone,
and represent my thinking at this point in time,
(subject to change based on better information).
All original writings of mine are just that, to reproduce, forward or use, parts or whole, you need to get permission from me first.
Spellings constructed for effect and to confound the ridged. ;)
©1996 by Perry L. Porter. All copyrights are maintained by any parties (individual or corporate) which may have originally created any of the information or artwork contained herein. If you see your work, and I've mistakenly not given you or your company credit, please E-mail me, I'll gladly add the appropriate credit, if you feel it's necessary.
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