MIKE: My name is Mike Garrison, with me is my wife Barbara.
Before we begin I would like to tell you a little about us so you can better appreciate the story. We did not enter into the experience as professionals. We are simple, ordinary people. We are both High School graduates. I have worked in the computer field for over 30 years and am the director of Data Processing for Nelson Brothers Furniture Stores. Barbara has had various careers. She's done some writing, some typesetting, some catering and now works for a small print shop doing their Desktop Publishing (computer typesetting). We have been married for 7 years today. I have two daughters ages 26 and 22. Barbara has 4 children ages 26, 24, 22 and 20. Two of them are married and one is expecting their first child. We are parishioners of St. Hilary on Chicago's north side. We sing in the choir and I also play the bass. We are also volunteers with the newly formed Alzheimers Hospice associated with Rush Presbyterian St. Luke Hospital in Chicago. We are not specialists in anything. We are partners in this business of trying to figure out the purpose and meaning of this life and the possibilities of the next.
What we would like to accomplish in our presentation is to tell you who we were two years ago, then tell you the story of our experience, and conclude with who we feel we have become because of it. Hopefully it will show you the process we believe is necessary for personal growth. How investing yourself in what you believe can change or strengthen you. It is not so much a talk on AIDS as it is a talk about us as people trying to transpose the gospel message into themes from our everyday life.
BARBARA: Who I was 2 years ago is best summed up in a reflection written as a result of attending a seminar on AIDS in October of 1987.
ADVENT: Written November 5, 1987
It is speculated that within the next ten years I will know someone who has AIDS, and that could even mean me. Not likely though, after all, I'm Barbara Garrison, married, white, successful, respected, loved, healthy and ah yes, "holy." It is difficult for me to believe this or anything else that tragic could ever touch my life - my world is pretty safe and secure.
The thing that does concern me is that I am married, white, successful, respected, loved, healthy, safe, secure, and yet somehow sad and empty. Yes, I am grateful that I have the luxury of feeling "empty."
Oh, sure, I have problems - life is not always sweet. But I can usually handle them with only a moderate amount of inconvenience or discomfort. Is that what we should be striving for, making it through with only minor discomfort or inconvenience?
You see, there are all these dreadful things "out there" that I am spared every day of my life. When I go to church on Sunday I pray for those who weren't spared. And I also pray in gratitude to a God who has been so good to me. Right?
But, you know, I can't help wondering about those people who are struggling and suffering. They are the ones referred to as "blessed." The poor in spirit, the meek, those suffering persecution for justice' sake, the ones who mourn, the peacemakers, .... theirs is the "kingdom of heaven."
Shouldn't I be near something that is "blessed?" That is what I want too, "the kingdom of heaven." I am all these things that seem so ideal yet none of them have been "blessed."
It suddenly appears that now I, the fortunate one, am the one in need. In need of the sick, in need of the poor, in need of the troubled. I cannot afford to remove myself from another's struggle simply because it has not touched me.
I suspect that it would all be made right in some very wise way if we all could just believe and trust. Believe in a God who knows me (I don't even know myself!). Believe in a God who understands (Nobody understands!). Believe in a God who is waiting my return (to where?!).
It all seems fairly simple on paper. And it is all there - both on paper and inside of me. So what is missing? Something to convince me. Something that will prove it to me.
I am going to be forty five years old in January. That means I have lived through at least forty years of gospel messages. Why can't I just feel satisfied knowing that I really am a good and kind person who is trying very hard to do her best? I guess because the only thing I ever "long-suffered" is uneasiness over all I have.
And here it is again, Advent. Advent, a time to remind ourselves through song, psalm, reading, and ritual that as much as it is possible to prove it, it was proven.... God came to us, and, in a form we could recognize, showed us how to live and when to die.
I know that I have heard it all 40 times before but each time it was different. I was different: Growing up, gaining in wisdom, preparing.
What will I hear this year? I am almost afraid to listen because this time I truly want to open my heart up and see what happens. I don't want to be lucky anymore. I don't want to be comfortable anymore. I don't want to be safe and secure and empty anymore.
I have to say though that I am a little afraid of what will fill that emptiness because I believe with all my heart, for me, it is time.
MIKE: I had always been sort of a conditional joiner: if I did not feel an immediate fulfillment or satisfaction, I would drop out and just pursue something else. Having begun going to church again a few years ago, I had a feeling I should be doing something other than just writing my checks, and having coffee after mass, talking about wonderful things with people. So maybe what I felt was if I would be AIDS coordinator for the parish I could do something of benefit without involving myself too much.
I felt sorry for people who had this kind of a disease. It was terrible the way they were shunned. And I felt glad that I did not have AIDS and probably would not get it. And sort of wondering what I'm suppose to do now - so I know about it, so what.
So, that is who we were.
The next part of our presentation will deal with the experience itself, and covers the next year and a half in our lives.
While there are many things in life that are just as tragic as AIDS, it is AIDS that has put the stone in our hand and in our hearts.
We are not going to give you more facts on the disease. And we are not going to talk about morality or make judgment calls on people's lives. We are here to talk about fear.
In the Fall of 1987, in response to a request from our pastor, Barbara and I volunteered to be AIDS Coordinators for the parish. Actually I was the one who volunteered because I was very curious about this disease that was reaching epidemic proportions. Barbara came along because she didn't want me to be alone in this if it turned out to be something fearful. We didn't know what would be required of us, but together with Father Darrow, we attended two training sessions. We saw films, gathered a folder full of handouts on AIDS, and listened to talks given by doctors, priests, and other experts. We came away filled with information, only to find out from Father Darrow that there were no persons with AIDS (or PWA's - persons with AIDS) at St. Hilary's. It was sort of like being all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Barbara quickly fixed that with a few phone calls to the agencies listed on one of our handouts. She felt we had a responsibility to the people of St. Hilary's, to get reliable information since we had volunteered to be that bridge for information. Before long we were called and asked if we would be willing to prepare a meal, once a week, in a house that was a home for 6 people who had been diagnosed with AIDS and had no way of financially or emotionally taking care of themselves.
Since our children are, for the most part, all raised, Barbara jumped at the chance to again be a mother.
So, on January 1st, 1988 we began our visits. Our first encounter was just to meet everyone and get some idea of the kitchen set up since we would be preparing dinner there every Friday.
As we drove there my heart was in my throat, my skin was cold and clammy, and I was wishing for some way to get out of doing this. I couldn't think of a single reason why I should be doing this. This is January - it's cold outside, and I'd rather be in my own warm house. Once I get there, should I shake their hand? What if they offer me a cup of coffee, or even worse, something to eat? We rang the bell and were shown in. There they were: Sergio, George, Darryl, Larry, Brian and Shane - all in the living room, making a lot of noise and having a good time. It didn't seem to me like they were dying of anything! I was very suspicious. And I was angry. After all, I volunteered to help sick people, not a bunch of party animals.
And Shane even told us that "I have no use for volunteers, they don't have any idea of what we are going through."
We continued our Friday visits, bringing dinner and friendship because we felt there must be something that we were not seeing yet.
When I found out that Sergio, one of the six had been a drug dealer, I was angry. He represented everything I hate! One part of me was feeling "Well, there! God sure took care of him for dealing drugs." And I was also feeling that by being there, at that house, I was condoning his past behavior and supporting his lifestyle. I had a great deal of frustration trying to resolve this conflict within me. I prayed about it, talked it over with Barbara, and even spoke with our pastor. This thing gnawed at me for weeks until one Friday Sergio was not at the house, he had been taken to Cook County Hospital.
We knew Sergio did not have many visitors at the house and wondered who would go to see him? I didn't like the idea of going to Cook County but it seemed very important to Barbara that it happen. So we went. "What was I doing, driving there with my wife, a loaf of her homemade bread in a bag, exposing her to God knows what, in the middle of the ghetto?" She asked me "What's the matter?" I said "this is nuts... what are we doing this for?" She said "We are doing this because it is a work of mercy." I said "Yah, right!"
When we finally found Sergio, he was in a room with a window facing the hallway. He lay in bed, all six feet of him weighing less than 100 pounds and very weak. He hadn't eaten that day and was very grateful to see Barbara's bread-his favorite, Pineapple Orange. He said he was worried about losing more weight and wanted to eat as much as he could but that sometimes, depending on the help, his food would be put on a tray in the hall. If he was awake and saw it he would go out and bring it in. If he was asleep they would take it away and he would miss his meal. It reminded me of the story of the lepers.
I could see how it would be possible for me to treat him that way also if I only saw him as a former drug dealer. That would be hard to do now, seeing him so helpless. I felt shame for my anger toward him. It was not a matter of whether or not he had lived a life I could admire but more that it is not my place to judge another. We stayed and listened to his stories, brought him the latest news from the house, helped him on with his slippers, and left after a few hours feeling we had done a good thing for Sergio and for ourselves. When we said goodbye I held him in my arms and rubbed his back. I had indeed changed. There seemed no thought of me...... I was now thinking of him. He who loses his life, finds it. I was coming to know what that means.
BARBARA:
Sergio died on March 1.... alone except for the noise of the machines that pumped at his side. He never told his family in Bolivia that he was sick because he felt such shame.
THIS is what makes AIDS different than cancer or Alzheimers or any of the other terminal and tragic diseases. This disease puts barriers between people when they are most in need of each other.
Shane, died a month later. His parents came down from Waukeshaw when they realized his condition was worsening and took him back with them. His wake was held on a Wednesday night in Wisconsin. Having a van, we made the offer of a ride to anyone who wanted to go. George, Larry and Richard went with us. After the service, Shane's father spent almost an hour talking with us. He was amazed that we would travel so far on a weekday night. And he was pleased to see so many of Shane's friends.
We got back in the van, and Mike drove in silence while the rest of us told wild stories and laughed and laughed and laughed until our sides hurt and are hearts stopped aching. We dropped everyone back home and called it a day.... a very rewarding and holy day.
Fridays came and went. As I got to know everyone I felt some of the anxiety leave me. I went from, in the beginning, making giant-size carrot sticks that I could eat with my fingers right out of the pot (my pot from home!) ... to serving things like corn and mashed potatoes that I would actually eat from a fork (one of THEIR forks). And I watched Mike who started out by eating his entire dinner out of a coffee cup (a cup he had fished out from a remote corner of the cabinet where he figured none of them could reach) to actually asking Daryl to make him something to eat. We had come a long, long way together.
We never WANTED to be afraid - it just seemed to be there at first. A reaction to a lifetime of programming - of never wanting to "catch" anything. And needing to be protected from anything that might shorten this physical life of ours.
Yes, we were becoming a regular at the house. And changes were taking place in them also. While in the beginning they didn't feel too hungry - they began to count on my special dinners on Friday. On occasion they would invite friends to share the meal and the lively (always lively) conversation. We were becoming a little family. You could see it taking shape: they would tell me their stories and I would sympathize, or scold, or advise them. And they would ask Mike for help, a ride here or there, a prescription needing to be picked up, a hand with taking something down into the basement.
We took George to a Mass of anointing, watched Larry in a couple of volley ball games, and drove Daryl back and forth to an old friend of his family, Miss Josephine. In between these events, we made countless hospital visits.
On Good Friday, the day Brian died, George was alone in the house. Mike and I went for our usual Friday visit... and it came time for us to leave because Mike was part of the ensemble that was to play for the Good Friday services. I was looking forward to the service. My own soul was thirsty. Mike got my coat and held it for me to slip in to. I looked at George and could not leave. Inside I felt angry with George for needing me and I was angry with myself for giving up something that was so important to me. Mike left. George and I sat at the table and talked and talked and talked....
When I got up to leave I put my arm around George and gave him a little hug. He stood and put both his arms around me so tight - and hung on for what seemed like forever. Then he bent down and slowly kissed the top of my head. For the first time I realized how important we were to these people and, how important they had become to us. They were playing a part in our salvation. Our hearts were being broken and filled with a new kind of love. On that Good Friday, I died on the cross of a higher purpose, the life of another.
Fear. One of the barriers in our life. How can we rid ourselves of it when it is so powerful a force?
With knowledge. Accurate information about whatever it is we are afraid of. Accurate information from people who know.... not small minded people who think they know.
Then we need to believe we have a greatness within us.... and a desire to bring that greatness into being.
With this desire comes the need for a direction... if not toward something (like compassion, mercy, charity) then away from something (like hatred, intolerance, greed). Jesus set the example, but when that seems to remote to follow we have those people around us who bring to life the gospel messages in both their kindness and their courage.
It doesn't come easy or automatic. If you are waiting until you feel like it, you will run out of time. For me, sometimes I just have to say to myself "on the count of three I am going to get up out of this chair and write that letter - or make that call, - or put that fork in my mouth!" .... and then on the count of three I just do it without any more thought. It's just that simple and it works for me!
Once you have started moving forward in a new direction, you will need support. Oddly enough that most often doesn't come from our families. They get use to us being a certain way and feel threatened by any change. And many times we ourselves are afraid to leave the comfort of a family to venture out into the larger world, the larger family.
What it boils down to is the conflict between our fear and the command - Love One Another.
Fear grows out of the things that we think - it lives in our minds.
Compassion grows out of the things that we are-and lives in our hearts.
Some times is it necessary to have our hearts broken so that we can be given new ones.
MIKE: Our association with Chicago House ended rather abruptly. Sergio, Shane and Brian were dead. Larry, George and Darrell were still very much alive. Larry left the house because he did not like the idea of living with people who were dying since he was still very active and wanting to live to the fullest. George was asked to leave because he was in violation of a contract he signed regarding his drinking in the house. I drove him and all his belongings to Milwaukee where he stayed with a friend for a couple of months. He is now living with an elderly companion in Arizona. His health remains good and we keep in contact by phone and letters. Yesterday we heard his companion is very sick and we suspect George will be back in our lives soon.
Darrell, a 30 year old black man, was also asked to leave the house because of his relationship with Hugh, 38, white, and an alcoholic who seemed to cause problems with the other residents. Since we still had contact with George and Darrell we did not continue our activities with Chicago House. We were narrowing our focus and becoming more intensely involved with these three men, especially Hugh and Darrell. They were like the odd couple and with Barb and I (straight as arrows and dumb as rocks) added on we were a real quartet!!!
The question asked most often was "Why are you doing this?" Every time we actually thought about it we asked the same question. None of them lived the kind of nine to five existence we did. And none of them seemed to live with any values that even remotely resembled ours. I would have walked away in a minute, feeling perfectly justified but Barbara just kept plugging away. She was seeing something I did not. Occasionally I would voice my disenchantment and she would say "well, then you can stay home, but I'm still going." So I would grab my coat and off we went.
Barbara kept in touch with Darrell, then began to form a friendship with Hugh. They would call to talk to her at all hours of the day and night. When I would get the call it was short and to the point. They seemed to appreciate my frankness. And, in all honesty, I never really refused their requests either. I picked up a broken down chair Hugh found on one of his alley visits, and agreed to take Darrell to get his license renewed, and did assorted other errand type of things. I never felt good about it, I just did it.
Every Sunday we would visit them in their tiny room at the Bel Aire Hotel. Parking was difficult so we would end up having to buy something at the Market across the street so we could park in their lot. Again we were asking ourselves "What are we doing?" Last year at Thanksgiving we took our dinner there. I felt there were three turkeys but only 1 was in the roaster. The scene was somewhat comical and yet tender. The four of us, a card table complete with tablecloth, centerpiece, candles, china and crystal competing for space with all of Darrell's gear (a walker, wheel chair, commode) plus all their earthly possessions which were stored in large plastic bags. The room was filled with the smell of smoke, vodka breath, and a magnificent turkey dinner. We joined hands and prayed grace. After we thanked God, Darrell added his own personal act of contrition.
We continued our weekly Sunday visits bringing cigarettes and a hot meal, plus extra food for the week that would keep on the window sill. The room was small and cramped and Darrell was unable to leave it except with help. And once out really had no place to go. His friends were not into "works of mercy". Barbara could not bear the though of someone dying in such squalor so we supplied the security deposit which enabled them to move into a small apartment.
On moving day we went there after work with our van to move their "few things" into the new place. When we got there nothing had been packed. We spent the next 6 hours stuffing dirty clothes from all four corners of the room into large bags. There were probably weeks worth of dirty dishes soaking in the bathtub. And the roaches were running every which way as we disturbed their nests. Barbara stayed with Darrell in the room while Hugh and I made the first trip to the new apartment with half of the "few things" they said they had. I reamed Hugh out for his laziness and lack of consideration for us. We had worked a full day and he had been resting! He said he was sorry and blamed Darrell for the mix up. Back at the hotel Barbara spent those two hours packing up the remaining things and listening to Darrell apologize and blame Hugh for the mix up.
When the last trip was made we left them with enough food to last a week and closed the door on one of the worst experiences we had had so far. Barbara said "that's it, we're through, we're never going back again." Yippee!
A good night's sleep and Barbara was ready to do battle again. We dropped in on them to find them just as we left them. Subdued but still unmotivated. Barbara took over some cleaning equipment and laid down basic housekeeping rules. She informed Darrell he was to get in his wheel chair and start sorting through the 10 bags of clothing he would never wear. The rest Hugh was to wash downstairs in the laundry room with the detergent and coins she handed him. If he was smart he would have done what she said. He wasn't.
The move did not solve their problem, only Barbara's. He would not die in squalor with no view. He now had a view. Darrell continued to behave like a spoiled brat, not attempting to do anything about his surroundings; and Hugh continued to take care of Darrell night and day as an excuse to stay home and drink. The two of them fought constantly - and when left alone would call us to tattle on the other.
Darrell was becoming more and more difficult to take care of since his medical problems were increasing. He had the routine ailments: thrush in his mouth and throat, Kaposi's Sarcoma (a form of cancer) on his face and spreading over his body. His main ailment however was neuropathy, a virus attacking the nerves, specifically in his legs. His legs were gradually being pulled upward toward his body by the constricting of the muscles. His left leg was particularly bad because it was filling with tumors. Both legs felt like they were made of wood and resembled tree bark. He took methadone to control the pain that would come and go, especially if he felt cold.
Barbara decided that every other Sunday we would bring them to our home so Darrell would get a change of scenery and to give him something to look forward to. Hugh and I would hoist him in and out of the van and then up and down the stairs in our home. This continued for a few months until one Friday Hugh went out in the afternoon and stayed out all night. Darrell called us every hour to say that he still wasn't home. The last call was at 10:00 AM Saturday morning. He was very upset and said he didn't know what to do. We went over and with the help of bricks and a plywood ramp managed to bring him back to our house without Hugh's help.
BARBARA: Once he was safe and secure in our kitchen I thought to myself - now what! Mike and I had reacted and now were faced with an even greater problem - what to do if Hugh never came back. Hugh came back and was filled with remorse and guilt - vowing to never have it happen again. We returned Darrell to his apartment and again I shut the door for good!
You may be asking the same question I kept asking myself. Should we be spending all this time and energy on just one person? And if it is spent on just one person, shouldn't that person be someone who will turn around and pass it on? That seemed like a wonderful and ideal way to look at life. Sort of like a chain reaction of goodness. There was, however, something within all of this that would not let me go. I would leave the wonderful womb of church where God spoke to me week after week through scripture and ritual, incense and song. Yes, I left that safe environment and traveled into the streets where God told me to go - and I found Darrell. What should I do, turn my back on him just because it wasn't satisfying to me? We were important to Darrell - and he was the one in front of me. Dare I toss him back and look for another? And besides, this wasn't really for Darrell, I wasn't going to save his soul by all this good work. I was learning what it meant to follow in the steps of Christ. To see worth in everyone and to not turn my back on the sick and suffering in my world. A year ago I had said my Yes to all that is - I said I was ready to be changed - and this is what appeared. I must continue going forward in love whether it makes sense to me or not. And so I did.
The saga went on and on. We would get daily phone calls from both of them. Darrell's medical condition was worsening. He was put into Northwestern Hospital because they feared the virus had reached his brain. He was there for two weeks then was sent home. A week later he was again admitted for tests. Home again for a week. He complained to his doctor about Hugh and the care he was getting. His doctor felt his leg was too serious for Hugh to handle and he also was getting tired of Darrell's constant complaining about the conditions in his apartment. He admitted Darrell to the Northwestern Hospice as a temporary measure until he could get him into Oak Forest Hospital (a county long term care facility). His stay in the Hospice was a wonderful experience for Darrell. He was assigned a volunteer, Elaine, who became a daily visitor and friend. On the weekend Mike and I would go in with a pizza or some hamburgers, and we'd rent a video. We'd all sit around in the family room eating and watching videos. There was no denying the feeling of family I felt existed there.
Where was Darrell's family throughout all of this? His mother had been a faithful 3 times a day caller for most of this time. When he moved into the apartment she would visit him once a week. His Dad chose not to be involved with Darrell - not because of the disease but just because there never had been a close bond between the two of them. Occasionally his mother would join us for one of our Sunday afternoons. One Sunday I invited his whole family and his Dad and sister came along with his mom. We sat around the dining room table and had a wonderful time - again, we were no doubt becoming family.
When Darrell appeared to be growing weaker I had our pastor come over and we prayed over and anointed Darrell. This was a very important event for me. Darrell received it the same way he did any of the other things we did for him - with words of gratitude but no apparent effect. It did, however, bring his mother and I closer together. She was always so appreciative of anything I did for her son. Being a mother I understood completely.
In March she was hit by a car and broke both her hips. She herself was hospitalized for two months and then even the calls stopped.
When he was accepted into Oak Forest he was very unhappy. Unlike the hospice there were no phones in his room, no videos, no volunteers, no menus to fill out. He was put into isolation. Mike and I were again the only visitors. Only now we were also his only contact since he could not get out into the hall to use the pay phone. It was too far out for anyone to travel..... except for Mike and I who were feeling like it was becoming more and more important that we be faithful. His mother was still unable to drive, and now unable to even talk to her son.
The facility itself was not that familiar with AIDS. It was something the staff feared and misunderstood. When he was not quarantined, we would take him outside and sit at the picnic tables with a bucket of chicken and a strawberry parfait. The first time we did this he called three times to thank us. We continued our sunday afternoons until his knee worsened and he was again quarantined.
One Saturday we had a message on our answering service "Darrell wants you to come out here right away." We left immediately and arrived to find him, for the first time, truly depressed and frightened. He had always been so brave and positive. When we walked into his room he looked up and began sobbing. "Please take me out of here. I just can't stand it." The week had been a very bad one. He was wearing a diaper, the catheter bag was filling with dark red urine, his legs were curled up and the smell of rotting flesh was filling the room. There was nothing we could do but be there while he cried in anguish at all that was and would be. He said "you are my true friends. I knew when I called, you would come. You always come when I need you."
He said he was afraid his leg was poisoning his system. I asked what he wanted us to do and he asked Mike to make him some of his instant soup. While Mike was out of the room he gave me a sample of his pills which he had hidden in his kleenex box and asked me to find out if any of them could help his leg. I gave him his gym bag which was across the room and out of his reach, the bag which contained all his personal possessions from the apartment he never returned to. I made him as comfortable as I could, ran my hand through his soft black hair, and then said goodbye.
I went home and called his parents. His dad answered the phone and was annoyed when I said they must go out to see Darrell. At his mom's insistence they went.
That Monday, July 31 at am my phone rang. It was Darrell's mother: "Barbara, the hospital just called. It's over. Darrell has passed away. That night I cried as if my own son had died, for in fact that is what happened.
She asked me to preach the final tribute for Darrell which I did with great pride. This life which was so different from mine: (married, white, successful, respected, loved, healthy) this life was now in my hands to elevate before the community in tribute. In that moment all the questions about What am I doing and why - were answered. God had moved within me.
MIKE: How are we different now because of this experience?
My heart wasn't full of God's love and mercy. My mind was more filled with what can I do in all of this and does Barbara need my help, and other concerns for her. All things physical and immediate. And so I'm still begrudging of my time and my energy and I still have certain feelings about other people's worth and value. And it seems like it is a very selfish thing. But what helps me overcome it is that I can verbalize my selfishness and when I do that I can see it. And when I see it I feel ashamed. What happens is that I come face to face with this shamefulness and I have to make some choices, I have to make some decisions. I can say "Well, I'm going to bury this thing and just let it go away and I'm going to watch this program or I'm going to do what I want to do. But I can only do this so often because before me I witness Barbara doing on a continual basis this ministering to other people, and she has a purpose and she knows where she's going.
And now I understand this. And if you would ask me questions I would be able to give you an answer as to why I am doing what I'm doing. What I'm going to do next and why I'm going to do it. I can participate in my acts whatever they are, because they are more for my benefit than for the other person.
BARBARA: How am I different Today?
I'm not empty anymore. I am convinced now that the spirit of God works within us when we are open to all that is around us. There are no lucky people, and unlucky people, no rich people and poor people, no black, white, gay, straight, married, sick, healthy and on and on categories of people. There are only people people and we are all part of the same family. I am your sister, your mother, your daughter. Darrell was also your son, your son whom I cared for because he was part of my life.
All the while this story was unfolding there was no one who even knew about it, no one wanting to interview us, or asking us to address a group about our experiences. There was only Mike and I going through these seemingly bizarre and foolish motions. We could not see how any of it helped anyone but Darrell, his mom, and Mike and I.
Now, suddenly, here we are, two ordinary and unknown people, standing before you because of a speaker who had to cancel out at the last minute. There isn't anything radical or heroic in anything we did. We simply tried to live the gospel message. By doing so we came closer to each other and to God.
It is my wish that when you leave this room and enter back into your life you forget Michael and Barbara Garrison, for we are not important. What is important is that you carry with you these three things.
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APRIL 4, 1958 - JULY 31, 1989 In this crazy uncertain life: Who can you count on? Who can you turn to? We have only each other and our faith in a God who loves us. We are all born into the same dilemma: What to do with this life we've been given. What can we do, really, we are such ordinary people. We can make this world a better place because we passed through it. We can touch a life with kindness, we can teach a lesson through our example, we can help another in their struggle to find peace, to find God. We can be people you can count on, people you can turn to. And in the giving we will receive. I know I am richer because I cared about Darrell. Darrell touched my life, taught me something I will never forget. He showed me what it means to be brave. Faced with the fact that he would never ride his bicycle again, never skate again, never run and finally never walk again.... faced with that great tragedy he continued to be cheerful about life. He hung on to each moment and found something to look forward to in each day. This is courage - to live amid troubles and woes and not let them pull you down. Never in all the time I knew him did he ever say anything self-pitying, or begrudge me my freedom or my fun. It was an inspiration to behold. He was also one of the best story-tellers I have ever known. He could remember the exact dialogue in a conversation, and when he finished telling you the story it was as if you had been there yourself. Many of his stories made me laugh so hard I would be in tears. He said "he didn't make any of it up" his life just happened that way. A quality in Darrell always struck me - and perhaps this speaks to the good training he got from his mother and father. Darrell was a gentleman of the highest order. He was always grateful for anything you did for him and remembered to say thank you. He would even bring it up at a later date - again thanking you for any kindness paid to him. He was courteous and respectful of himself and of others. Darrell loved life and lived it as best he could. On Saturday when Mike and I were visiting him I ran my hand through his hair and he looked up at me and said "I've got both hands full of grief." Yes, early Monday morning Darrell left this life with all its hardships and sorrows and pain - left this life to travel on to the next. He left behind the things of this world - the soap operas, the Reese peanut butter cups, the videos, the caramel corn, the gallons of ginger ale and orange pop. He left behind a mother who loved him, a father who watched over him, a family who meant much to him, a partner who took good care of him, and friends who shared in his life. Yes, early Monday morning Darrell left behind the uncertainty of this life where you can count on nothing, to walk free at last into the promised land. Walk free at last into the arms of his God......the God who fashioned him and watched him learn and struggle and grow....the Father who loved him and waited for his return. |
April 17, 1998
BARBARA'S CURRENT COMMENTS
These events took place over 15 years ago. We are no longer the people in the story for we also have moved on. I am now an agnostic who no longer needs to see the evidence of my worth or goodness. I involve myself in nothing beyond the moment to moment living out of my life. (The Waiting Place)
Mike is an Atheist who survived a triple bypass without the help of God, but thanks to a roster of incredibly skilled and caring people (A Heartbreaking Story with a Happy Ending).
Some of the people in this story still pop in and out of my daily routines. Darrell's mother, Mary, has been faithful in her appreciation of what we did for her son and sends me cards and notes testifying to that fact. Hugh has moved his energies into something more positive: MACT, a gay, multi-racial, multi-cultural organization committed to combating discrimination in the lesbi-gay community and society at large.
Zensquared represents people and thoughts in transition. In the future we hope to have the written communications between mother and daughter over 20 years time. It will be your story as much as it was and is ours. (Victoria)