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Success Stories

The Story of Tommy

Photo of Tommy

When Tommy was three, I went to visit him as well as my daughter and her husband. I wanted to surprise them because I had not seen Tommy since he was 12 months old. I lived almost two thousand miles away from them. I had driven for thirty three hours only stopping to "rest my eyes". I didn't have enough money to stay in hotels. It was about 2pm when I knocked on the door. No-one answered. I tried the knob and it was open so I decided to go in. I yelled out to let everyone know that I was there. No-one answered. As I was walking, I heard a strange whimpering sound. I thought maybe it was a new puppy. I began walking toward the sound. I discovered that it was coming from the basement. As I walked down the basement stairs I began to get a sick feeling but I wasn't sure why. As I entered the basement, it was dimly lit from the few rays coming through the small windows up high on the walls. I could see a small whimpering figure in the corner. As I walked toward the figure I began to realize that it was my grandson.

I ran over to him thinking there must have been foul play and then began to wonder if my daughter and her husband were O.K. When I picked him up, I discovered that he was covered in feces. I reached up to pull the string so that I could see. When the light came on, I became sinkingly aware that my grandson had been in this basement for a very long time. There were smears of food and dried feces all along the walls with only his little hand prints. As I talked to him, I realized that he could not talk. He made guttural sounds. I saw that he was not even diapered, he had some scraps of food on the floor, he had no blankets, no toys, and he was in the dark. I could not believe what I was seeing. I wanted someone to wake me from this nightmare. When I looked into the eyes of my grandson, I realized the most devastating fact of all. His eyes told me that he had lost all hope. I held him close with uncontrollable sobbing. I said to him in a voice that came straight from my gut, it was a voice that I did not recognize, "Mommy's here, Mommy's here", while rocking him back and forth. I carried him upstairs and discovered that my daughter and her husband were passed out in their bed apparently sleeping off the drugs that were lying around the room. I called the police.

Over the course of the next six months, I was given custody of my grandson. My daughter and her husband were put in jail. And I began my mission to bring my grandson back to hope. I contacted and worked with all programs in my community and those within a 30 mile radius. I began to see changes. He learned to walk, he learned to talk, he learned to play. I also noticed small things that were different. He hoarded things. He had a hard time playing with other children because he could not share. He had fits. He could not sleep through the night. He was afraid of the dark. He did not laugh. And, his eyes still did not have hope.

Over the course of the next few years, I worked relentlessly to bring back his hope. It did not come. finally, his therapist said that I should get help from the state and get him into residential treatment. Going into treatment meant that he would be living away from me for a while--possible a long while. I could hardly bear the thought. But I knew that he needed more than I could give. These were the saddest years of my life. I had lost my daughter and now I was losing my grandson. My daughter had finally divorced the man who turned out to be a drug addict. She was a now a recovering addict. I could not, however, find it in my heart to forgive her.

Tommy went to six treatment centers and eleven foster homes in the next seven years. They all said that he was not ready to come home. They all said that I could work with him in family therapy. For some reason it never really worked out. They all said that I cried too much. They all said that he was not making very much progress. He continued to be assaultive, he had anger episodes, he continued to hoard things, he was impulsive and as he reached puberty, he even started touching people inappropriately.

finally, when he was fifteen, he received yet another discharge notice saying that they could not handle him anymore. He went to yet another treatment center. Pathfinders Treatment Center. I felt that this would be more of the same but I had no other options. While at Pathfinders, he started out being very combative because they made him follow strict rules. He did not like that. They made him be outside a lot. He was not used to that. He would prefer watching TV or playing video games. They made him responsible for his poor grades when he refused to put forth effort in school. He had consequences. They made him go to group therapy sessions where he had to talk about his anger, inappropriate touching, and substance abuse. He had to deal with his hoarding. He had to learn to cooperate.

After a while, they asked that I come to family therapy. Just as in the other treatment centers, I could not even talk in therapy; all I could do is cry. After a few months, I learned that I had some work to do personally. In our family therapy, I learned that I could not expect Tommy to have hope if I had lost mine along the way. I had forgotten to take care of myself emotionally because, for all these years, I was so worried about Tommy. I learned that if hope was to return to our family, it must begin with me. I spent 18 months going to family therapy at Pathfinders each week. The therapist even had my daughter and her new husband come to some of the therapy sessions. I do not know whether it was me or Tommy that had it first, but all I know is that one day I looked up, and I realized that we both began having hope again.

finally, the day came when the Pathfinders treatment team said that it was time for Tommy to come home to live with me. They said that we were ready. I could not believe that this day had come. Tommy and I could hardly contain ourselves. In those few weeks, knowing that he was coming back home, I realized that I was feeling a joy in my soul that I had not felt in so many years. He felt it too and he was even able to talk about his joy. He said that he could not believe this day had come because he thought that it would be just like the other treatment centers where he had lived.

Today, we continue to go to a therapist near our home. The Pathfinders therapist talked to our current therapist with my permission. Tommy and I are doing well. He still has some problems and so do I but we are able to manage them with help from our therapy sessions and from extra programs at Tommy's school. We even have visits with my daughter and her husband. What I know for sure is that Tommy and I will work hard never to lose hope again. Tommy calls the people at Pathfinders ever so often just to say hi. Sometimes I think he just wants to make sure that they are still there.