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- Humans in Healthcare: Chapter #2
Hey there! Thanks again for your support as I grow this newsletter and build toward the launch of a curated community.
If you've just subscribed, be sure to read my first post for some context.
A quick update: I’m developing an incredible pipeline of stories from healthcare professionals, patients, and caregivers to be shared soon.
As I work behind the scenes to bring these stories to your inbox, I wanted to take a moment to celebrate Father's Day by sharing a bit about mine, because he is a big part of the inspiration behind this newsletter.
Read all the way to the end for a surprise gift! 🎁
Enjoy :)
Generational goodness
My father grew up in a family of service.
The son of a pastor and a homemaker, sibling to a biological brother, and two adopted Korean sisters, his life was never really about him, but about what he could do for others.
In many ways he is the ultimate caregiver.
This started by caring for his sisters, never looking away from them as they navigated a culture that was not their own.
My father, his parents, brother, and one of his adopted sisters
After completing his bachelor’s degree in Social Work, he worked various jobs from supporting group homes for the disabled to cleaning a local bank at night to make ends meet, eventually finding his way to the local Corrections facility as a Corrections officer, never looking away from the troubled pasts and presents of the people who found themselves there.
Married to my mother and now father of two girls, he was thrilled to have a son on the way, dreaming of all of the father-son activities he would do with his boy.
The boy was born into the world, in what the world described then as “defected”, “imperfect”, “retarded”.
Despite one dream ending to embrace another, he never looked away from my brother with Down Syndrome and Autism, a non verbal child who required a different level of care and service, but not a different kind of love.
My brother Jesse
With another child on the way, knowing he had multiple mouths to feed and care for, he eventually transitioned to a better paying job through the Probation and Parole system which stationed him 6 hours from our home. He would drive 6 hours there on Sunday and drive 6 hours back late on the following Friday to be with us.
Never complaining. Always loving. Always serving.
There are many fathers who are an absent parent while still physically present in their own home.
Despite his physical absence during the week then, he was (and is) a very present father.
Me and my siblings
Through his job in Parole, he saw people at the lowest of their low moments.
People marginalized by society, deep in drug infested places and homes, unable to escape the social determinants and traumas that exist on the poverty stricken streets.
He never looked away.
Deputy Chief of US Probation and Parole
And when his time came to retire from Parole, he transitioned to serve the refugee population in his city, seeking safe harbor here in the states, seeing them as humans, as his own family, and never looking away from their differences, fear, pain, and trauma.
My father and his family of refugees
He never looked away from his sisters, born of a different culture.
He never looked away from my brother, requiring a different kind of care, but not a different kind of love.
He never looked away from me in the depths of my struggle with Anorexia and depression.
He never looked away from the marginalized, the poverty stricken, the traumatized.
He never looked away from the refugees escaping war, oppression, and death.
He never looked away from his mother, dying from Alzheimers.
He never looks away.
He is the ultimate caregiver.
He sees and serves humanity in the way it needs to be seen and served: through the lens of compassion.
Life hasn't always been easy for him and for us.
There is generational trauma that can be brought forth from generation to generation, but there is also generational goodness that can be brought forth, too.
This is how I know him to be and this is how I want to be known.
My father
The love in him is reflected through me.
The humanity in him is reflected through me.
The service in him is reflected through me.
The compassion in him is reflected through me.
And through me, will be reflected in my son. And in my daughter. And my children’s children.
Generational goodness.
My father and my son. Generational goodness.
Part of why I am bringing this newsletter into the world is to carry on the legacy that I’ve been taught: to remember our shared humanity. To not look away from people in their moments of being human, rather, to lean into the spaces and stories of what makes us all human.
And born out of those spaces, compassion that can extend beyond the walls that divide us.
Don’t we need more of this in healthcare and in life?
📣 Your call to courage today, courtesy of how my father lives:
Don't look away. Instead, lean into the spaces that make us all human and meet someone there.
Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity. — Pema Chodron
Download and share the visual! ⬇️
Call to courage: compassion
Happy Father's Day.
In humanity,
Amy
P.S. This won’t be the last you’ll hear of my father. I’m excited to be sharing a future series of what it is like to live and navigate the healthcare system and world with a child with significant disabilities, through the point of view of a mother, father, and sibling. Stay tuned.
P.P.S And just for you: a gift 🎁 Below, you''ll find a digital download to help you start to define your own legacy because it's never too early or too late to start being intentional about how you want to be known.
⬇️ Download here: Defining your legacy.pdf
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