Grandfather Says: The Saint & The Money Man

Original oil painting by: Grandfather’s wife

The following was written by my late wife Elaine. She wrote a long book, a diary really, from which this is one passage. It is of note because of the astonishing contrast between the narcissistic, determined abortion-minded young radical women today and those described by (and embodied by) Elaine:

Toward the end of my homebound teacher career, I found out about state money available to do things for people like this handicapped girl, through a friend and colleague, the county’s school nurse, L.

Because of my friend’s knowledge of state agencies and her help to me, I was eventually able to obtain money and help intended for families like hers to get a room added on to her parents’ house for a safe place for her to play, a “room of her own.” She could not be left unattended, which placed the burden on her mother who had to watch her carefully, or keep her strapped into a special chair so that she would be safe from accidents, 24 hours a day.

The main part of my days with her was spent preventing her from accidentally hurting herself, and devising various activities we could do together. To make a very long process (a couple years of phone calls and letters) into a short story, I needed the clout of her pediatrician to help get this aid, and when we got that, it wasn’t long until the room was built. Thank you, Doctor. And school nurse.

One Sunday afternoon Dave and I were out enjoying a nice drive, with no planned destination, and ended up visiting her home, unannounced, and came upon this very touching scene: The man who had the power to make final decisions about state money, if any, for the project instigated by myself and her pediatrician was referred to, in a respectful way, by the girl’s parents as “the money man.”

On this particular Sunday, when Dave and I arrived for the unexpected visit, “the money man” was there having Sunday dinner at a table bountifully laden with their usual Sunday homemade and homegrown foods, and after dinner, on a Sunday, the “money man” was helping the girl’s father put vinyl siding, paid for by the state, on the outside of the new addition, which was to be her new room.

He knew who I was before I told him, and I was able to thank him for his decision to help this family.

I’m sure he had read many if not all of my letters to his agency, making the case for this girl. Talking about the dinner, the parents, but especially the severely disabled child, who until now had lived many hours of every day for years, strapped into her high chair, the man told me, in a quavering voice, “This family, and especially this child, has touched me more than any situation I’ve ever seen before.” (I always knew it would, if “someone” would come and see.)

The truth always speaks for itself. He saw love and he saw desperate need and he was the one who could help. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It seemed that the loving care and dedication and sacrifices of the mother, for all the years of the girl’s life, who could have given her up at birth to one of the state institutions in existence then, but chose to care for the child herself, was immediately recognized by this man, who has “seen it all,” as a saint.

Every day of her life with this child, she demonstrated above-and-beyond love and selflessness, a Christian woman in every way. Descriptions of her would include:

  • “a cheerful giver”
  • “it’s more blessed to give than to receive”
  • “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”
  • “stars in her crown”
  • “rewards in Heaven”
  • and mostly, I think, “a Saint”

The girl has outlived her mother, who died several years ago. I’ll never forget that selfless Mom. I’m honored to have known her as one of my closest friends. We all love you, Darlene!


About the Author: RD Blakeslee is a nonagenarian in West Virginia who built his net worth by only investing in that which can be enjoyed during acquisition and throughout life, as opposed to papers in a drawer, like stocks and bonds. You can read more about him here.

Photos: Courtesy of the Blakeslee Family

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