Daddy

We have a famous patient at work. She's not famous to the world, but in our little ole facility, EVERYONE knows her. EVERYONE. She uses a walker, and carries around a boombox radio and a purse. While steering her walker. Radio and walker in one hand. Purse and walker in the other. I met her the first time I went onto the unit at work. And she's been my friend ever since.

I've since learned that she never really had a family--youngest of many children. Dropped off at a facility before she turned 5. And she's lived with the state ever since. For about 50 years now (although she only thinks she's 7).

Recently, her boombox radio died. Broke. It was a tragic, tragic day. She told EVERYONE about how it broke. And we all felt for her. What do you do when you lose the thing most precious to you?

Well, today when I got to work she had very exciting news. Her "daddy bought her a new radio"! A teeny-tiny little purple radio. Perfect for carrying around everywhere. That's one exciting part to that story. But the second part is that... one of our social workers' dads has "adopted" this lady who has essentially never had a family. She calls him daddy and speaks with him on the telephone almost every day--she knows what's going on with him and he'll mail her cards. It's her daddy.

Aren't we like that? Doesn't God scoop us up and give us the most perfect teeny-tiny radio in place of our old bulky, broken one? Doesn't he place the lonely in families? Doesn't he allow us to call him daddy when we don't even deserve to do so? I was just so touched by that today. Watching the glow in her eyes as she told me about her new radio from daddy.

And Happy Birthday to my daddy! Thank you for being a faithful constant in my life. I love you!