By
My father is one of the four mentors that I've had so far in my life. I'll tell you more about that part of him another time. Today, I want to tell you about a time he almost died.
It's 2014; my dad is 70 years old; he's my business partner; I work with him every day; he is vibrant, thoughtful, and loved - by everyone. He is also bleeding internally. We convince him to go to the hospital. You know the drill - ER, ICU, tests, more tests, no answers, no sleep, new doctor, tell your medical history eleven times... Finally, they got him stabilized enough and checked into a room. Tired, we reluctantly go home, my stepmom needs to rest, and I need a shower. Dad's alone in the hospital.
Now, one of my dad's superpowers is connecting with everyone. He takes his time to know every person's name; he pauses the person, writes their name in his phone, and takes a genuine interest in them.
People. Love. My. Dad.
In a hospital, this superpower amplifies. I remember multiple occasions where I've walked into a crowded, busy hospital setting, said I'm Richard's son, and immediately am lovingly escorted to him. Complete with "Oh my God, you’re Richie's son," "your dad is the absolute best." "I love your father." "He's right down the hall, the third curtain on the left." Once the parade floats are put away, there's my dad, hooked up to some beeping machines and smiling.
This time was different. This time dad was scared. No answers, thinking he will die, and surrounded by interns. Along comes Dr. Lyman. A short, cutting, direct-to-the-point Nephrologist. In most settings, Dr. Lyman probably comes off like an asshole. But at this moment, he's Moses, parting the sea of interns. He walks up to my dad, holds his hand, and puts his face directly in my dad's face.
"Hi, Richie; I'm Dr. Lyman. I've got you."
That was it. That was what my dad needed. He needed to know that there was a leader who was going to make sure he was okay, who cared about him and would fight for him.
Dad survived. He credits several doctors for saving his life. However, it was at this moment that he believed he would live.
Three months later, Dad's okay, back at work, and we are all sitting in a weekly Sales Meeting. Dad vividly tells us his "I've Got You" story. My Sister tells us that when she is sitting with a family and helping them through the stress of deciding on home care, she will often use the phrase "I've Got You" or some other version of this statement. What our clients need from us, more than anything, is the actual knowledge that another person understands their pain and is going to care about them—human to human.
Now you don't put this on a brochure. It's like "Love" and "Trust"; you can't shout this into a group of people and have it stick. You do this one-at-a-time, person by person. It helped us to have this story, to give what we do context, to highlight it in a setting outside of our work, and relate to it. Having the words to learn from what we do, talk about it, and gift it to another person.
Over the years, I have met many brilliant business owners and CEOs who fail miserably in conveying their mission to others. Let this serve as a call-to-action, to dig deep into your language, your story, and the human connections you have to find what sits at the core of what you do. If you need help, I founded Solutions In Place to help leaders identify their blindspots and compensate for them.
