Will You Hug Me?

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     My mind wanders back to a singular incident in a rather non-descript place.

      The process that brought me to that time and place began in a heretofore unfamiliar setting. I sat at a table with several representatives of the mental health profession: a lawyer, a judge and… my daughter. We hadn’t met to have tea or “shoot the breeze.”  I was there to insist on my Mary’s commitment to the state mental facility at Arcadia. She is schizophrenic.

      I was a little amazed that her public defender verbally ignored my daughter’s needs. His entire purpose was to “get her off.” He failed in his task, thanks to her doctors, and my own testimony. When it was all said and done, my Mary cried hot tears, as we were led to a small, empty room, and were given a few moments to say our good byes. I’ll never forget her hopelessness, or my inner turmoil that day.

     I will always be thankful, for though she has experienced a few relapses over the years, this was her first real opportunity to heal, stabilize and exhibit change.

     Every 3-4 weeks, my wife and I drove south to visit Mary. It was a long trip, and the scenery consisted of small towns and pasture land.

    We had just driven up to her particular domicile, and as usual, she was there to greet us. However, this time there was someone else with her who I did not know. He was a “big old boy.” This young man must have weighed 300 pounds, and “hovered” at about six foot. I didn’t know how to relate to him, but decided I’d just have to do my best.

     But just when I decided I didn’t much like Mary wasting my time with this guy, the incredible happened. Momentary Ministry. (There’s that phrase again).

     The young fellow looked me directly in the eyes, and uttered a few words.

     “I don’t have anyone to visit me here. My parents never come, and I don’t have any friends.

… Will you hug me?

     Well! You guessed it. Right before God and everybody, I wrapped him in my arms, and held him for several moments. His arms also embraced me, and I felt his head as it drooped onto my left shoulder. If for only one moment, he knew someone loved him. (Tears come to my eyes even now).

     You never forget moments like that.

     Since then my sensitivity to the Vulnerable among us has increased. 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 25. Copyright pending

 

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