Saying "No" to Mary

I said ‘no’ to my daughter yesterday. And I have agonized over it since that moment. I think it’s the hardest ‘no’ I ever said to anyone.

You see, my Mary is 43 now, and has lived in a group environment in West Virginia for twenty plus years. Well before her placement in a group environment, she was diagnosed with Borderline Retardation and Schizophrenia. 

Needless to say, she has been in and out of mental facilities. Twice for an entire year. Once she almost died from accidental toxicity to prescription medication. She has known the throes of depression and psychosis.

But in all of it, and through all of it, she has borne the battle well, and has been at least mildly content with “the hand she has been dealt.”

Until recently… when,

Charlie, her closest friend, some might say ‘boyfriend,’ a sixty-some year old resident of her group home, contracted Alzheimer’s Disease and had to be admitted to a skilled nursing facility.

(My first exposure to Charlie was when Mary suddenly put him on the phone during our weekly phone call).

And I asked him, 

“Why do you live in the group home?” 

To which he responded, 

“I drank too much strong coffee.” 

(It was all I could do not to “laugh out loud.”)

And then…

Mary’s closest female friend, Cathy, whom she met at a local hospital during one of her sporadic psych evaluations, and with whom she maintained a friendship, was transferred from the custody of her mother to the oversight of her out of town sister. 

And it hasn’t helped that my daughter has been without her anxiety medication the past several days; as the pharmacy had it on back order. 

And thus, while she was in the throes of it, Mary dropped “the big one.”

“Dad, I hate it here. This place sucks. I want to live with you.”

To which I replied,

“Mary, I want you to have the staff contact your psychiatrist. You need to see Dr. F. immediately. We can talk about this subject later.”

(And talk about it later we did) since yesterday Mary called me, and began her monologue with,

“Dad, you know I don’t like to fly. I’ve been thinking that maybe I could pay Steve, (her brother) $100 to drive me down.”

And before I could respond,

“You know, when I move in with you, you can keep my Social Security money;”(as if the whole thing was “cut in stone.”)

To which I came back with my memorized spiel, (as I had never ceased to think about this topic since her earlier call).

“Mary, I purposely waited to talk to you about this subject until you were a bit more stable. You remember you once said, ‘Dad, we all have our own lives?’ Well, we do. We are almost 70 years old now, and retired, and we are living out our golden years.”

(and)

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. If you left West Virginia you might lose your hospital, doctor, medication and monetary benefits. At least for a while. Every state has their own system, and you would have to re-qualify.”

(and)

“We would probably have to pay for all your medication and doctor visits until things could be worked out, and that could be a huge amount of money.”

(and)

“I have an aged mother here, Mary, and I’m already responsible for her financial and medical issues, and she never ceases to remind me that she’s not happy, and that she would like to check out of her skilled facility, and live at home.”

(and)

“If you came here, we would have to place you in another group home environment, and of course, this would require us to locate a suitable facility.”

(and)

“Mary, if I were a millionaire I’d buy you a mansion and hire you a butler and maid, and you could eat steak and lobster for every meal.”

I had repeated my lines like an actor on a stage, and without so much as a slip or gaff.

And in the previous couple of minutes, I think I managed to decimate what still remained of all Mary still retained of her spirit.

And I hated every word I felt compelled to say, and every implication of what I felt compelled to imply.

And yet,

what I felt compelled to say and what I am compelled to do, or not do represent the only reasonable words and only logical course of action available to me; and the only reasonable and logical response to what would otherwise be an altogether catastrophic outcome for Mary, as well as my wife and I.

So often it’s easier to say ‘Yes’ than ‘No,’ but so often ‘No’ is about “the path less traveled,” and results in a “joyful end.” But whether Yes or No, each offer some pretty significant ramifications in such a circumstance as this.

Oh, I have experienced some significant guilt since I uttered that ‘No’ but as a counselor I remind myself that there’s guilt, and then there’s false guilt. False guilt is like fool’s gold. It looks real, but it’s as fake as a three dollar bill. For you see, false guilt is… undeserved.

God give me the wisdom and courage to fulfill the responsibilities to which He has assigned me, and faithfully follow the steps which He has laid out before me.


 By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 20. Copyright pending

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