Reflections
By: Ada Arford
Drug And Alcohol Treatment Centers:
Wow! I feel so privileged to be asked
to share my thoughts on the miracle
that is Valley Hope Drug and Alcohol Treatment.
My dad was Patient #31 at the original Valley Hope
location in October 16, 1967 – over
42 years ago. To this day, I cannot
discuss his experience without a lump
in my throat and tears in my eyes.
There are so many things I would
like to cover including my personal experience and that of my
siblings and my mother. But I think I would most like to tell
my Dad’s story.
My dad, Arthur T., was a brilliant man whose problem
with alcoholism started at an early age. He grew up on a farm
in eastern Kansas and from the age of 12 or so, his Uncle Ed
would take him along to St. Joseph, Missouri where he did his
drinking. Uncle Ed was an alcoholic and he would share his
beer with my dad. When Uncle Ed became too drunk to
drive, it was Dad’s job to drive him in the Model T. Dad told
me that he drank because he always liked the taste of alcohol,
in all its forms. In his generation, ‘anyone who was a real man
could have half a dozen drinks with the guys and then quit
and go home.’ He could never understand why that didn’t
work for him and he was criticized and shamed by Mother‘s
sisters and brothers as their large families would gather at her
parents country home for the holiday. The women gathered
in the large kitchen to prepare the food while the men went to
Grandpa Allie’s cellar to sample the wines. I was often
allowed to go down for a visit and Dad always had more than
his share. After dinner, the men would play pitch and Dad
was usually drunk by that time and was loud and abrasive
and Mother would be a nervous wreck until we left. Over the
years of my childhood, he had intermittently attended
AA meetings
and at one point was hospitalized in Kansas City
for what we were told was a ‘nervous breakdown’.
It was a God thing that
Valley Hope Drug and Alcohl Treatment opened in Norton
just 2 years after I married and moved to Norton County to
be a farmer’s wife. As soon as I heard of the opening, I called
Mother. She traveled from Casper, WY. She and I visited
with Bill K. who was one of the first counselors. We found
him to be amazingly perceptive and understanding. He told
her to never call work and make excuses for him – which she
always thought a good wife should do. He told her that if she
ever made a threat that she should carry through with it –
such as leaving if he didn’t change his ways. He told her that
Dad’s behavior was a cry for help. My mother had avoided
confrontation all her life, but after one particularly
frightening bout of his drinking, Bill K.’s advice gave her the
courage to convince him to come to Kansas for alcohol treatment.
Dad was a proud man and insisted on staying at our home for
several days so he could be sober when he was admitted. He
was 60 years old.
Our farm was about 4 miles northeast of Valley Hope and
I was welcomed anytime I chose to drop in to visit or attend a
lecture. I was even allowed to sit in on one hot seat. Although
he dutifully attended all the lectures, I could tell that my dad
was not convinced that he was really ‘one-of-those-people.’
After all, he still had a wife, family, and a job and was not on
skid row like ‘those drunks’. On about the 4th day of his
treatment, I walked into the facility and he met me with
tears in his eyes. He had attended the V-Chart lecture that
morning and he realized it fit his life perfectly, right down to
the geographical relocation. From that point, he was firmly
resolved to never drink again - and he never did. Weekly
Mass had always been a part of our lives though he never
talked about his spirituality. In fact, he was a member of the
generation that felt actions speak louder than words and
rarely discussed his Valley Hope alcohol treatment
experience with family and never with friends outside of his AA circle.
Mother’s sisters and brothers started having a reunion
every December after their children were grown. The first
time my parents attended was after they had moved back
here and Dad had been sober for 7 or 8 years. I drove them
back to eastern Kansas and stayed to enjoy the meal. One of
the uncles worriedly approached me in the kitchen. He was
concerned what to do about the wine traditionally shared. I
told him to go ahead and serve the wine and ask my dad if he
wanted seven-up. He did. When the family realized he was
not tempted to drink, everyone relaxed and it was a healing
occasion for the whole family.
When my parents moved to Almena, they bought a place
with a huge garden and a lot of fruit trees. Their lives
revolved around the production and storage of food. They
put in a small grape vineyard, raspberry bushes, more fruit
trees, a huge strawberry patch, asparagus beds, rhubarb, and
every vegetable imaginable (yes, even kohlrabi). They had a
well in the back yard and he rigged up an irrigation system to
water the potatoes and the strawberry patch, etc. Each fall
we would borrow a cider press and he and the neighbors
would process apples and pears in a variety of combinations
to make juice. In the back yard, he and my brother built a
large shop with a wood stove and plenty of room for the car
and his beloved Ford Rancho. There wasn’t a vehicle,
appliance, or an item he couldn’t repair. If necessary, he
would make the needed part. They were surrounded by
retired farmers and they all became fast friends. He, Art,
Ivan and Verner spent many hours fishing in area lakes,
talking over the back fences or sitting in his shop around
the stove discussing gardening and the ways of the world.
Mother grew all the flowers she had longed to have and
her roses were beautiful. In the spring, we spent many
adventurous hours on the Republican River in search of
the elusive morel mushroom. They derived so much
pleasure from the visits from my sisters and my brother
and their families who came as often as they could – and
the food never stopped. Despite all the upheaval and
turmoil that alcoholism brought into their lives, their love
for each other was a constant. There was a song about
‘sweet violets, sweeter than the roses’ that had special
meaning for them. As kids, we always quizzed them about
their secret smiles when they heard ‘their’ song, but they
kept their secret.
When he was around 56, he suffered a heart attack
that put him in the hospital for a month. The sobriety
that Valley Hope alcohol treatment gave him added 20 wonderful years to his
life, and to ours. Both my parents lived into their early 80’s.
His amazement at the loving and caring Valley Hope staff
never ceased and to him, drinking again would have been a
betrayal of their faith. He loved them all: Doc Leipold, Val
L., Bill K., Elaine K., Don A., Father Charles, Gladys A. and
Barbara G.
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