There are essentially two kinds of darkness. The first is created by a world void of light. The second is the darkness brought on by limitations. In the first, you can still dream; but in the second, your dreams are chained by harsh reality. That “I can’t do that” thinking brings sadness and depression.
The clouds rapidly gathering in Becky’s world brought with them an unexpected fear. By 1997, her lack of vision caused her to hesitate when she walked down a street or rode a bus. Becky’s world was shrinking, and her limitations were being magnified. The once-determined independent woman was now feeling trapped. Being alone in an unfamiliar area was often terrifying. If she were scared to move freely, if she needed help at every turn, then what kind of future would be open to her? She didn’t want to be a burden on others or spend the rest of her life homebound.
Just as he hadn’t given up on Becky when she learned she was going to someday go blind, Steve wasn’t going to give up on her now. He still saw his wife as beautiful and bright, and he fully believed in her gifts and potential and recognized that the world still needed her talents. So while there was nothing he could do about the void of light caused by her blindness, he could knock down the limits that Becky and others perceived had been created by her loss of sight. Thus, he began looking for tactics to get her back into the world. He figured the best way to give her a push was to provide her with a companion. So with cheerleader-like enthusiasm, he suggested Becky get a guide dog. Ironically, what should have offered a ray of hope actually brought out old fears. As a child, Becky had been bitten by a dog and thus was terrified of them. So how could she learn to trust something with her safety if she were deeply frightened each time it was in her presence? It would take the encouragement of her family before she began to waver. Finally, wanting to escape a severely limited world and be with her children as their lives expanded trumped her apprehension. Putting childhood fears behind her, she made a giant leap of faith.
The organization Becky turned to was Guide Dogs for the Blind. After applications were completed, representatives of this well-respected organization met with Becky and her family. The meeting assessed the woman’s needs, goals, and environment. Because of her positive attitude, her outstanding physical condition, and the support of her family, she was deemed a perfect candidate for the program. Yet, as she would quickly find out, just passing the accepted criteria was only a small part of the process. Now the mother and wife would have to spend a month away from home, living in a dorm, being surrounded by strangers, and learning a new way to view life (the training is now only two weeks). For someone who was so close to her family and whose home had become a security blanket, the sacrifice seemed overwhelming. But it was that same family she feared she was deserting that wanted her to regain her independence. In a sense, they became what she had once been: someone who lifted others up during the hard times. With the approval and encouragement of those around her, on September 17, 1997, she boarded a plane for Oregon. Though doubts still persisted, Becky would later mark this as the day she took her first steps out of the darkness.
Boring, Oregon, is thirty minutes outside Portland. Named for an early settler, William H. Boring, the community of eight thousand was founded as a railroad town but is now known as a vital part of America’s lumber industry. Located at the far northern edge of the state, it is a much different place than Salt Lake.
When Becky arrived at Guide Dog’s campus, it was still shiny and new. Though the organization dated back to the days just after World War II, the Oregon school didn’t open until 1995. Thus, to the local citizens, seeing guide dogs leading students around the community was still a novelty. Yet, with its welcoming attitude and varied landscape, the wooded area seemed a perfect place to build a working relationship between unsure humans and well-trained dogs.
From the night she arrived, Becky was homesick for her family. She missed the noise and the routine that came from having two middle school kids and their friends parading in and out of her home. She also longed for the afternoon walks and late-evening talks with her husband. But now, with the security blanket that was her normal-if-limited life ripped away, she was immersed in a strange world filled with new voices and sounds. And everywhere she turned was a relative of the animal that had bitten her as a child. This experience was going to challenge Becky’s grit, determination, and will. She felt so alone, but sixty pounds of tail-wagging fur was about to change her attitude and future in ways that no one could have predicted.
As she met other students, as she listened to her instructors, and as she came to know the excited but focused dogs that had been specially matched to each student, Becky began to adopt a new attitude. She told herself, “You first find a way and then you find your way and you will make it because there is a buddy at your side.”
For the last few years, because she was afraid of running into things, Becky had almost crept through life. Her pace was slow and her steps unsure. But now a yellow Labrador named Pantera was bent on changing her gears. The outgoing “driven to perform dog” demanded to be trusted. She saw no reason to allow Becky to feel her way along a walk or through a room. In her mind, time was wasting and they needed to pick up the pace. At first, she literally pulled the young woman into the unknown, and it was overwhelming. But as Becky learned to trust Pantera, her fears faded, her confidence grew, and moving without fear was exhilarating! She hadn’t felt this kind of rush in years. And being able to walk at a rapid pace was just the beginning. As the weeks passed and the training intensified, the two were turned loose in the community. Becky rediscovered the “I can do anything” attitude that had propelled her through high school and college. In a sense, she wasn’t blind anymore. She had eyes she trusted, and that trust meant everything.
When her husband, children, parents, grandma, and brother traveled to Boring to attend her graduation, they were shocked by the woman they met. Becky was graceful, self-reliant, and fearless. Steve was seeing the woman he’d met in college, and the kids were being introduced to a person they had never known. They were viewing their mother in a new light, and they sensed she was seeing them in a new way as well. And the dog, with her bright eyes and gaping smile, was simply beyond cool.
As Becky and Pantera showed Steve, Natalie, and Kendall around campus, they were constantly calling out, “Mom, slow down, we can’t keep up.” The woman, who a month before had been scared of the unknown and often took steps with great hesitation, was now fearlessly rushing ahead. As she marched forward, she was no longer talking about the limits created by her disability; she was rapidly sharing her new ambitions and dreams. Just as she had in high school, she saw a bright future ahead and was going to embrace it with every ounce of her being. She wanted to go hit the mall, go hiking, explore new areas of town, and even go back to school. She couldn’t wait to pack her bags, get on the plane, and let Salt Lake meet the woman she’d rediscovered in Oregon.
As she and Pantera settled into their routine in Salt Lake and returned to work at the Moran Eye Center, Becky wanted to see more of the world. No longer was blindness a roadblock; it was just an obstacle.
With no fears or hesitation, Becky went back to college to earn a master’s degree in psychology counseling. Pantera was with her every step of the way. In her spare time, she began to run with Steve employing a tether. When Steve wasn’t around, Pantera was there to train with Becky. In fact, it was the dog that nudged her so much and so hard that Becky decided to celebrate her fortieth birthday by competing in a half marathon. She ran 13.1 miles with Steve as her guide and Pantera waiting at the finish line to greet her. This was more than just an accomplishment; it was a reflection of Becky’s new belief in herself and her potential. She couldn’t be stopped.
She took a job with Lifeline Adolescent Treatment Center as a therapist for troubled youth. Many of those she counseled had been convicted of crimes and were angry, unpredictable, and antisocial. They likely initially viewed the small, thin, blind woman with disdain and contempt. Just a fe
w years before, when Becky was almost scared to leave her home, just being in the same room with these young men would have shaken her to the core. But having Pantera—who always put Becky’s life ahead of her own—by her side gave her the confidence to do her job and tear down the walls built by years of mistrust and pain. For a few sessions, Pantera was a bodyguard, yet the dog’s role quickly grew by providing the kids with something to talk about. The canine bridged a gap that opened up trust between the therapist and her clients. Thus, not only was Pantera pushing Becky’s potential but her new job was also expanding the dog’s role. She was now a partner in her work, too.
Pantera also quickly fell into the role of a childcare specialist. When the family was on outings, the Lab’s range of vision carried well beyond just Becky. He kept Natalie and Kendall in sight, too. Becky fully recognized this on August 11, 1999, when she took Kendall shopping for school supplies at a downtown Salt Lake City mall. After hitting several stores and purchasing most of what they needed, Becky found herself short on cash. Even though Kendall was old enough to be left on his own and the dog had never had a problem doing this in normal circumstances, today, when Becky tried to walk outside of the store, Pantera did not want to leave. After Becky ordered Pantera forward, the dog led her out of the mall, across the street, and to an ATM machine. As they walked back to the door to cross the street, there was a stillness; the street was quiet, and no one was outside. While Becky wondered why it was so quiet, Pantera seemed driven to get back to Kendall. The woman would later learn that a tornado had just touched down close by. Her comforting words did nothing to calm him down. Before she could stuff her money into her purse, Pantera urgently began pulling her back across the street. Unable to get him to slow down, a confused Becky fell into step. As soon as they entered the mall, the dog calmly guided Becky to Kendall. Once they were reunited, Pantera urged them to move farther into the store. A few seconds later, the power went out and they were plunged into darkness as a tornado ripped down the same street the dog and woman had just crossed. The unexpected twister would cause one hundred fifty million dollars in damage, kill one person, and injure more than one hundred fifty others. Judging by the damage outside the mall, there would have been one more death if Pantera hadn’t literally run Becky across the street and back into the building.
It was then an epiphany struck. This dog was not just a vehicle that opened up the world to a blind woman; it was an intelligent creature that could somehow sense dangers and steer people out of harm’s way. So he was a life builder and lifesaver.
Though he never again saved her from a tornado, for several more years, Pantera was a full partner to Becky the wife, mother, and therapist. Leading her each step of the way, Pantera grew as Becky grew, and her role at home and at work expanded, as did Becky’s. Pantera allowed her once more to embrace the optimistic and empathetic nature that was such a vital part of her youth. Because of her canine guide, she was able to direct hundreds of suffering souls through the greatest storms in their lives and steer them back to a road filled with hope.
After several years as a therapist with different agencies, Becky started her own business. Pantera was there for the ribbon cutting before retiring and being replaced by Cricket. A now fully confident Becky no longer needed a dog to provide her with courage; so the role Cricket played in her life was different than that of her first guide dog. At Resilient Solutions, an individual, marriage, and family therapy practice employing fifteen human therapists and one Labrador that might well be just as valuable, clients poured out their emotions as they dealt with loss. As if able to sense clients’ pain, when they no longer could talk, Cricket would get up, walk across the room, and give the clients a chance to pet her. This simple act seemed to put things into perspective and to reopen the lines of communication and healing. Just like Pantera was not trained to avoid a tornado, Cricket was not instructed in how to help humans deal with grief. She just grew into that role. After Cricket was retired, another guide dog, Georgie, stepped into the same role. She also shares her calming and healing spirit with Becky’s clients.
In 2013, Becky was honored in New York City as the National Mother of Achievement. Accepting the award with the nationally known therapist was her partner, a yellow companion that seemed to be constantly looking for new worlds to explore. From a girl who once feared dogs to a woman who now fully trusted dogs as her eyes and partners in work and life, Becky Andrews continues to naturally share her gifts of comfort, encouragement, and compassion with those who have lost all hope. As her dogs have guided her out of a very dark place, she guides others into a world without fear.
Ignoring Barriers
A barrier is of ideas, not of things.
Mark Caine
There is something born into a few individuals that drives them to reach beyond normal human boundaries. They dream of things that supposedly can’t be done and do things that others do not dream of. But their greatest achievements are usually not accomplished alone. In the end, they find it is teamwork that allows them to do things that few have ever imagined.
Trevor Thomas was born to move. It seemed to be in his DNA. By the time he began to walk through his parents’ home in Elkhart, Indiana, everyone had problems keeping up with him. He was downhill skiing by the age of three and already racing bikes down steep hills when he entered elementary school. As he grew into his teens, he tried every sport he could find, challenged every ride at amusement parks, and even dreamed of climbing mountains. By the time he was enrolled at the University of Colorado, normal sports no longer gave him the thrills he craved, so he threw himself into extreme activities such as skydiving, backcountry skiing, and racing cars. Those around Trevor thought of him as a strong, independent visionary who, if born a few hundred years earlier, would have been exploring the new world with Lewis and Clark or sailing the seven seas with Magellan.
After earning his college degree, he became an event planner. Using the creative part of his nature, he set up everything from small conferences to large conventions. Building on his success, he moved into asset recovery and, later, corporate sales. Still, at the heart of everything he did was the lure of seeking out new ways to challenge his agility, reactions, and courage. He felt he was most alive when living on the edge. Thus, his work was merely a means to pave the way back to his passion of facing new tests and encountering new obstacles.
He was in his thirties when he opted to take a break from the real world and go back to school in Nevada. His years in business had given him an up-close and personal look at the legal machine in motion, thus providing a thirst to learn more about law. But for a man who relished each moment spent in the great outdoors, there was a big price to pay. He was now forced to all but live in classrooms and libraries, reading as much as fourteen hours a day. While challenging his mind like he once had his body, he noticed a slight change in his vision.
As the hobbies that drove his life depended upon perfect vision, the last thing the adventurer wanted was to wear glasses. Initially he figured if he gave himself a break from reading, his sight would return to normal. It didn’t. Soon he was straining as he walked up a street or drove his car. Worse yet, the colors he’d relished when exploring nature were turning into shades of gray and black.
More perturbed than worried, Trevor made an appointment with an optometrist. He was then sent to a vision specialist and then to a regular doctor. It took several tests before he was diagnosed with a possible autoimmune disorder. His body saw his eyes as invaders and was doing everything it could to shut them down. The worst news was that nothing could be done. All the experts agreed that Trevor would be completely blind within months.
Some greet news like this with denial and others with sad acceptance; Trevor reacted with anger. How could this happen to him? He had challenged mountain trails, roaring rapids, and uncharted ski slopes. His dreams centered on physically pushing his body and his courage to the limits. He defined himself by the risks he took and the adventures he experienced. W
ithout that thrill and rush, life was simply not appealing.
As his vision quickly faded, so did Trevor’s will to live. With the blindness came things he’d never before experienced or even acknowledged: stress and a complete lack of confidence. For a man whose life had once had no limits, the new reality was claustrophobic. It was as if he was trapped in a dark room, the walls were closing in, and he could do nothing except wait for the last bit of light to fade from his life and extinguish all hope.
Now Trevor’s dreams of seeking out the passion in life had become nightmares of being surrounded by boredom. He saw himself with little value and almost no future. What could he do to keep from being a burden to his family and friends?
Charlotte, North Carolina, was not an easy community to navigate for those with perfect vision; but for a newly blind person, it was a nightmare. Trevor used to dash from one store to another, but without his sight, nothing seemed the same and every step was made in fear. With no visual landmarks, just navigating a block seemed like a bigger challenge than skiing down a steep mountain. On top of that, the noises were louder—at times almost deafening—and odors were much more intense, too. With fear and frustration his constant companions, he seemed to have lost all control of even the simplest areas of his life.
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