How can a person possibly put into words how it feels to say goodbye to someone who gave you a second chance at life, with no strings attached? It's a tale that's both hard to tell, but also necessary, for more reasons than I can explain.
Twenty-two years ago, at the age of 27, I found myself in a very dark place. Life had come collapsing down around my shoulders and my inner strength gave out. The burden of my life as a 4th generation Jehovah's Witness, a failing marriage, and health issues had turned a once vivacious young woman into an emotional wreck. While a group bible study was going on in my living room, I found myself on the floor of my closet, in the dark, calling the only person I knew could help me--Don.
Seven years earlier, at the tender age of 20, I became a patent legal secretary for a law firm in Phoenix, Arizona. Don was the one who hired me. He was impressed with my tenacity and good diction. He quizzed me on where commas should be placed in sentences, and discovered I had an outrageous typing speed. It was a unique interview...but an immediate connection.
After a few months, I was made the office manager. He made each of the partners give me a check for $100 and sent me out to shop for clothes, with specific direction on what I should buy. My uber-conservative "church clothing" wasn't cutting it for a professional office, I guess. He took me under his wing and taught me how to be the best employee I could be.
We had amazing discussions. He loved when I tried to preach to him. The man was a genius (and a member of Mensa) who loved nothing more than to bait me into theological discussions that usually left me feeling like a dolt. But, nonetheless, I'd go back for more. Little did he know, but he was actually putting small cracks in my cult-think.
I'll never forget when he told me that I was the daughter he'd always wanted. He showered me with love and kindness, and swift kicks in the ass. In other words, he treated me like a daughter. After I moved out of state, we still kept in touch through letters and calls. This kind of relationship with a "worldly" person was very much frowned upon by the church, but....
So, when I found myself in a closet, in the dark, I knew who would help me. As soon as he heard my voice, he knew I was in a bad way. He said, "Just get here. Don't worry about anything else. Just get here." The next day, I packed my clothes in my car and drove 8 hours straight through to his doorstep in Phoenix. He let me pour it all out, never judging, never condemning...just supporting.
I had no money, no job, no place to live. He provided it all. As I was in and out of an emotional fog, he was in the background making arrangements to get me into a counselor that specialized in helping former cult and high-control group members. I was scared. No, mortified. I was afraid that these worldly people were going to turn me against God, and that they would let demons into my mind. This is what I had been taught. I was like a skittish colt; but, he gentled me like a horse whisperer. Giving me one book after another to read, he began to open my mind to new ways of thinking. He taught me to think critically.
When the church elders began calling repeatedly, sending me into panic attacks, he pulled the plug on the phone. When they stalked the front of the house, he let it be known he knew they were there. Don had been a former Scientologist, and knew all of the tricks of high-control groups. He protected me and gave me the space I needed to heal. In short, he saved my life.
When all was said and done there was no way I could ever repay him for the money he had spent on my mental health. When I told him this, he gave me his patented look--that 'would you get your head out of your ass' look for which he was famous. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye and said, "I love you. All I want you to do is to pay it forward. If you find someone else in the same boat, you help them."
Last week, he lost his life to cancer at age 79. Today, friends said their farewells and shared their stories. So many were like my own. I can't begin to imagine the number of people who have gotten their own second chances because of this one man who lived his life with one mission--to leave the world a better place than when he arrived. He succeeded in spades.
Thank you, Don, for a second chance at life.
