StandingWater Creations

Some years ago, before I started blogging, before I moved to the east coast, New Hampshire, before I decided to try one more time to get into BYU... back when I wasn't sure where my life was going, and after my dad decided to sit down and tell me what he (and my mother) thought about the direction my life had taken; back at that time in my life I helped, one day, move a family out of a house and into an apartment.

For sake of privacy, the "man of the house" was a twenty-something named R-. R- and his sister were mentally challenged adults who required special assistance, special programs, and whose family pulled in an amount of money each month, from the Government to assist in living expenses and etc. R- and his hometeachers* announced for weeks prior to this move that they had to move, that they needed to move, and requested help repeatedly.

Somehow I was volunteered to help. As memory serves, the roommate I had at the time, the guy I rented a room from, asked me to come and assist for a couple of hours. He was closer to 40, at the time, and I was kissing 30. The outcome, I went and helped.

I don't know how to accurately, or adequately, paint the picture of this house. If you've ever lived in Utah and have seen the houses that are 100+ years old, you might get an idea of the house these kids and their mother lived in. It was not new, the house was definitely old. The house also sat right next to train tracks and face the street, to the left of the front porch was a guard rail that stopped traffic when a train came charging through the neighborhood.

These were not the best of circumstances.

The reason R- and his family were being removed, though, was entirely the result of them. It was not because they didn't pay rent; but rather because the house had, since they'd moved into it, become almost entirely uninhabitable.

When we (the members of our LDS ward or congregation) entered the house expecting things to be packed we were not surprised that nothing was packed. That the mother, R-, his sister, had done nothing knowing, for a couple of months, that they would be moving. We'd been told, repeatedly, that everything, or most everything, would be packed and that all we had to do was load it into a truck and move it to the apartment or storage unit they were renting.

Nothing was packed. Nothing ready to go. And our appearance seemed more of an upsetting event to the family than one of gratitude or thankfulness that we'd bothered to set aside our plans for a Saturday, all day, and come and assist.

Because of my relationships with people at that time, I called more people and asked that they come over.

The outcome was that we had both men and women from our congregation helping move a family that didn't, to all appearances, desire to move.

That was not the worst of it.

The worst thing that we encountered, in the process of trying to get R- and his family out of the house came when we started into the basement to move the furniture and beds out of the basement. This is where R- and his sister lived (in separate rooms). The moment you descended into the basement your nose was hit with the putrescence of urine and feces emanating from everything. The family had a dog that they did not let out of the house, nor did they clean up after it when it defecated and urinated on the floor. The outcome was both disgusting and gut wrenching.

When the girls from our congregation went downstairs to try and assist with the moving, they got sick. My roommate got sick. Eventually, there were only a couple of us and R-, whom I had to ride every step of the way, to move the belongings out of the basement and into the truck.

What got me about that day, and what I found important, was the absolute squalor and filth that these people lived in. They lived in filth and stink and disease and expected that the world, and the Relief Society** would step in and save them from themselves. They expected that we would just gloss over everything and do the work for them. I guess, as mentally handicapped individuals, they should expect that as society has conditioned them that if they are not willing or able to take care of themselves then the government or the church will step in and take care of them.

What got me, though, was not - so much - the squalor but that R- had, as a result of his activity within the church and the special needs program gotten a girl pregnant out of wedlock. He had a baby that he shared (or more accurately his mother shared) custody with the wife (or more accurately her parents). This child lived in this home several days a week, went up and down the stairs, and had to spend time in the squalor and filth that these people lived in.

As an aside, what really interested me is that the nature of the retardation in both parents does not actually transfer from parent to child. The child was normal. However, rather than give it up for adoption because neither of the biological parents had the ability to take care of it, the grandparents stepped in and insisted upon keeping the child. This I may never understand.

Back to what I was writing about...

As we moved things, shifting from the house into the garage, we would come across things that were broken. I would like to think (I know in many cases) that I can fix a lot of things. I got this from my dad. I may not want to, but I can; and as a result of that ability, I will occasionally insist that we don't get rid of something simply because it is broken. Rather, depending on how important the item is, I will generally go out of my way to fix things - or not. Recently, I've discovered myself wantonly throwing things away that I intend to fix, but have been sitting in boxes or on shelves far too long to the point that they are no longer relevant or worthy my time.

However, with R-, I would come across things that I could see were not fixable and would say, "R- we need to throw this away."

He would look at me, look at the object, and say, "I am going to fix that," or, "It's a family heirloom."

I think that what sometimes happens in a person's life, like R-'s, is that they find out that people will insist upon doing something, like throwing a cherished piece of trash away, and nothing the person says will stop the act of throwing away what is clearly junk... until they hit up, "family heirloom," or some similar phrase. In R-'s case, and his sister and mother, "family heirloom" explained a lot of things that were literally just broken junk that could neither be salvaged nor recycled and as a result needed to go to the dump.

Nothing doing.

That day we moved several truck loads to a storage unit that ended up being filled with junk, trash, and the remnants of squalor that came with the way the family was living.

One of the thoughts that is associated with this day is the realization that when there is a lack of leadership in something, I am willing to step in and take charge. This is not something I want to do, and certainly not something I look forward to doing. What was evidenced, to me, of that day is that I had to call women from our congregation and more men to come and assist in the process. It was up to me to direct the flow of movement and traffic and to make sure that people like R- were engaged in the activities that were the most felicitous to the day.

As the day wore on, and other responsibilities appeared, it was up to me to tell the different people they needed to leave to go and fulfill other responsibilities. And then to finish, not alone but rather close to it, the work with R- and his family, make sure the moving truck was returned, that the house was (mostly) empty, and that our involvement in the endeavor could come to an end.

I don't enjoy situations like that; but will step up when no clear leadership or direction is given.

On the flipside, I am just as happy to stand back and let someone else lead. I am happy to be a part of the congregation or crowd and to allow the events and decisions come from someone who is in charge. I don't mind. In many cases that is the way I would prefer things to be.

I do have a desire, though, and that is the ability, in some small way, to participate in the groups and activities that I am (by nature of my religion) a part of. I want to help somehow.

John Hattaway | smokingpen | Alicia Grey | Clockwork Princess | Cassandra West

Real Heroes Fly

*A hometeacher is someone who is assigned to check in on families within the church, share personalized messages with them, and report any temporal or spiritual needs to the Bishop
**The Relief Society is not only the oldest women's organization in the world, is it also the group that helps with many of the temporal needs of the members of our church and members of the community. This is strictly a women's organization.
***A Branch is a smaller group of members of the LDS faith who are not large enough to create a Ward. They are led by a Branch President instead of a Bishop; though the structure of Wards and Branches are often very similar, they mostly differ in size.