It’s Time

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I woke up especially early this morning. I’m not sure why. I am typically an early riser, which means I try my hardest to be an early bed-timer as well. With two kiddos here, one pre-teen and the other full-blown teen, that’s not always easy for me to accomplish.

I do enjoy the very early morning though before anyone else stirs. Sadly, I don’t do the things I “should” but I have my coffee and morning rituals in silence. This morning, however, I awoke an hour early and knew I would not go back to sleep. Possibly, maybe, it’s because of all of the things that are swirling like the tornado in the Wizard of Oz in our world these days. The most significant thing this week is the loss of my mother-in-law. The past few months have been, well, a lot. Anyone who has tended to a parent through their final decline knows, there is a lot of stress involved. There are emotions that spike out of nowhere sometimes and there is simply exhaustion, both physically and emotionally. My husband’s family is rather small. He has only one living sibling, therefore, I have been striving to take care of all of the business things that one must as we prepare to lay her to rest, while also simply being there for everyone. That is a complicated endeavor, however, because my husband’s family is an hour away from us, north, in another state. I have (we) spent countless hours it seems on the interstate and small 2-lane highways through Southern Illinois since January especially and I love road trips.

There is not much that a sunny day, rolled-down window, and 70s rock (especially Southern Rock) won’t help. I’ve said before, that I can’t cry when I’m dancing … but I have learned that I can cry as I’m singing. Here’s what I’ve discovered as I have been processing my grief for my mother-in-law, as well as helping my husband, stepdaughter, and brother-in-law process theirs … I MISS MY CHILDREN. I do. I said it out loud for the first time yesterday and I thought my heart would fall out of my chest. I didn’t mean to confess it. I really didn’t. The past two days as I’ve made my morning road trip after getting the grands off to school – I’ve listened to music loud and I have cried. The depth of my grief for the simple missing of my two incarcerated children has tried to overwhelm me. Maybe I should let it for a moment. Maybe that’s why I have chosen music that reminds me of them … or reminds me of their childhood … or just reminds me … I have apparently spent the past 10 years solid living with the loss of my children locked down so tightly that it’s like an old Jack-in-the-Box toy. The loss of my family member has suddenly sprung that old wind-up toy and it just leaves me simply hurting. I know that my way of suppressing and moving forward and refusing to sit and “feel” things, when instead I must push forward at all times is not necessarily healthy. My deepest thoughts and feelings are save for only the ones I think can handle the thought that maybe “she’s not okay”. There are two humans on this planet that can handle that about me and how deep the pain cuts right now … their shoulders are wide enough to hold that information and their love for me and trust in God’s provision for me enables me to remember that.

Yet … what a word that is, right? Yet … until and including this … there is a light at the end of our tunnel that I can see, as can my children, just as you notice when dawn is beginning to break in the Eastern sky. Right? You see a small sliver of sky and realize that dawn is coming. A new day is on hand. His mercies are great each day and Joy comes in the morning. Those are two promises from God that I will confidently cling to. There is now a chance – a real, bonafide chance that I may actually have the ability to touch both of my children this year – if God’s willing – maybe even by the end of summer. Imagine that. I almost refuse to allow myself to.

You see, after 8 long years in the federal prison system, my daughter is due for release within months. It has been a very long time. Her children have grown from 1 year, 2 years, and 5 years to now 10 years, 11 years, and almost 14 years old. There will be many changes and adjustments in the coming year, but it is time. My son was sentenced to over 2 years in prison during this decline with my mother-in-law and the death of another dear family member. I sat and watched him in shackles and handcuffs as his sentence was handed down. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this episode, but it still remains a painful event for a parent to witness. As bad as my pain was, I needed him to see my face and know he was loved. I could simply get up and walk out of the building afterward with his face in my heart, but he had to be escorted, imprisoned, back to his cell. The next day a miracle occurred in our life. My son has been granted the chance for felony drug court. A lengthy, intense, involved program that will give him the ability to live and learn how to do so sober. Our felony drug court never ever accepts participants with violent histories. My son’s historical convictions are a plethora of violent offenses – domestic – while under the influence. SOMEHOW … GOD … convicted this team of people to take a chance on my son. The day I confirmed the information I cried for several hours. From joy. For the fact that reality set in and caused me to realize that after years and years of not having my children close enough for me to touch, I may actually have them both in my life this year! From the flat-out full-on miracle I was witnessing God perform. When my son questioned me about my thoughts … I simply told him God is writing the next chapter of your redemption story … suit up and get ready … it will be a glorious, yet bumpy ride.

As I’ve experienced this deep grief and missing of my kids this week, I reached out to tell them both how bad I was missing them. Maybe they need to hear those things from me. Maybe it’s what makes them realize how important they are to me and to our family. I needed them to know how painful things are sometimes and how much I simply miss them. The minute I sent those messages … my children responded. God is good that way. My son called and let me cry and told me he loved me and is working to come home. My daughter called and cried with me. She promises she is working to come home as well. I know they both are. I will anticipate them but likely try not to get too excited until it’s real, for real LOL.

I know I’ve rambled. I apologize for that. My main thoughts are … this grief has opened wounds I wasn’t aware I had bandaged. It’s caused me to maybe finally “lean in” to how desperately I have missed my kids as a part of my day-to-day life for more than a decade now. It’s time. I told them that yesterday. I’m done being tough and strong and not showing my hurt … not to bring them down but so they know … their mom needs them. My sweet, sweet middle child, my stepdaughter has been a saving grace without knowing it for me for all of these years. God placed her with me years ago because he knew I would need her.

He is a God of provision – a God of perfect timing – a good, good God regardless of our personal tornadoes. Thank you God for simply sustaining us.

Baggage

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The word baggage was flung at me a few weeks ago by my daughter. I have not been able to flick that word off. I don’t know about you, but where we live there are these prehistoric-looking tiny creatures that are affectionately (not) called stink bugs. You don’t wanna kill them … hence you will experience the sole reason they are called stink bugs – so you flick ’em. The word “baggage” has adhered and I haven’t been able to flick it off.

So… the Lord is causing me to examine something, I suppose.

The definitions of baggage: 

1. personal belongings packed in suitcases for traveling; luggage:
2. past experiences or long-held ideas regarded as burdens and impediments:

Yeah, okay, so that makes sense to me. We all know those definitions, right? Most of us have likely packed a bag for a trip or an overnight stay and have brought our “baggage”, our things with us for said trip.

And, yes, we all have dealt with our own “personal” baggage. Those things that we pack tightly in our souls as we journey through our lives. We know people who have so much “baggage” that they struggle to maneuver through life. Maybe it’s fear of setting the baggage down, maybe it’s fear of opening the proverbial baggage, maybe it’s the fact that the baggage they carry is almost a comfort.

But when the word was thrown at me recently, it was used in reference to our Bear. It was not her mom stating that she thought her daughter had baggage, but someone had said it out loud to her – as an attempt to clarify their position on an event that had transpired – as an attempt to cause her mother to understand that people may view our Bear differently because she has “baggage” that they may not want in their lives. Hmm. Hmm.

So, I know that I am a faith-filled, hope-full wife, mother, and grandmother – along with all those other familial titles one can carry – and I cling to Christ who alone allows me to function. But … I was pissed. I still want to stomp this person. Sorry about the language but it was true. Sometimes things get said to us that immediately pierce the heart. Oh man, it was like an arrow straight to the bullseye target. Someone who should absolutely KNOW better because they witnessed things had the gall – the audacity – the flat-out nerve to say she has baggage.

As they say on news channels all too often – and ironically it fits in this situation – let us unpack this statement. Our Bear is a teen. By the time she was 5 years old, she had been found in a court of law to have been neglected twice. Twice. Absorb that for a moment. For anyone familiar with early childhood development and brain function and growth, those first 5 years are nothing short of miraculous, and in those years, in my mind’s eye, the brain is malleable – kinda like the Play-Doh the Nugget and I have been using a little. As it’s forming, when neglect is present it does significant harm. But I have learned over time and through education and my circle of sisters, that the brain can be healed. We have worked on those things for years now. Years. But here is what I want to absolutely shout and rave from the rooftops: THIS CHILD DID NOT PACK HER OWN BAGGAGE! She had adults around her whom she trusted, and adults around her who were strangers who literally stuffed her luggage so tight they had to use bungee cords to strap them closed. And then someone dares to mention it like it is only this child’s onus to bear.

When the children that we are tending to and raising and helping and cheering for go through the trauma and chaos that leads them to us, they are not fully whole. Right? The world has left them broken and bruised, whether physically or emotionally. They have to learn to navigate a world with the preconceived notions that are ingrained in them because they have to survive. They view everything through a survival lens. Our girl is the one you want in a crisis because her first and foremost thought is: what do we need to survive? It’s what she did for her younger brother in those first few years. She can gather essentials in the blink of an eye if she feels a crisis or departure is imminent. I was told once by a therapist in our girl’s very early years, that most children do not think that way. She was amazed at the tenacity and the thoughtfulness she put into being prepared to flee or hide instantly. She didn’t learn that playing childhood games with her little brother. She learned that because of the circumstances, the trusted people in her life led her to. She knows immediately when to trust her gut instinct about people. She can size them up in an instant, and without knowing why, know she needs to be away from them. She is wise in ways no teenager should be, yet she is having to learn how to relate to teen peers who have not experienced life as she has. I cannot even imagine that. 

As she has grown and matured, I have seen her make great strides in her interpersonal relationships. It’s a slow process, but she’s doing it. She’s growing. She’s carving out a life and a tribe for herself and not a bit of it has been easy for her. But guess what – she’s unpacking that overloaded baggage that got packed for her – one article at a time. She is learning to remove those things she has no use for anymore. She is tossing things into a corner with each day, each week, each month, and each year that her brain heals and her heart heals. She is gaining a protective voice for herself as she removes each article from that overstuffed bag. Granted, she’s just beginning teenage life and we are having to help her grow and learn to live in this world as a strong, young woman. I have to accomplish this and not revert to the baggage I still have stowed in the closet that I packed while surviving her mom’s teenage years. She is her own self. We have to approach life differently. My daughter has taught me that – the simple statement to me: She’s not me, Mom, please remember that. And I do have to remind myself of that. 

But in all of this – all of the angst and laughter and anxiety that is part of raising any teen, I have a desperate need for those responsible for packing her baggage, to take ownership and acknowledge their role. I know my daughter has. When she eventually reads this blog I hope she knows that I do realize she has owned her role and she has fought for our Bear. But I still wonder if any of them, her parents in particular, will ever truly understand the depths of the emotional pain and the sweeping effects on HER life that their actions or inactions had. It’s immense. We have walked it with her every single day. No one else has. No one else sees the effects as we do. And honestly, there’s a little part of me that would like that one person to feel the pain she’s felt … but I don’t know that he’s capable of absorbing. And that’s not for me to determine, right?

I guess one of the main things I want to convey is that as I am beginning to face being the “parent” of a teen in this day and age is that I was not expecting to fight this battle. Naive, I suppose. I know kids can be mean. I am learning that adults can be too, those who “love” our children, and ones who do not truly even know our children, only their circumstances. Their words are painful. They can “make fun” or degrade a kid without having any knowledge as to why they don’t live with their parents – what happened – and have if nothing else, empathy to realize that if it’s not a “nuclear” family situation, then something is askew and maybe a little extra compassion and understanding should be put forth. I will have to learn how to face these moments with her as they each occur … without reverting to my old criminal justice, jailhouse working, mindset … cause honestly, the nickname I earned in that system was earned LOL and I was effective … but probably should not be proud of it. 

I want her to grow, prosper, love, laugh, and be happy. I want her to be particular about her own personal baggage. I want others who see some kid not living in a “normal” home situation to take pause … ponder … maybe gently ask … and show grace, cause I bet you have big old skeletons in your closet too. Am I right?

Our worth and our place on this Earth is only determined by our God. Our girl has a mighty story that she will tell one day and in doing so, she will help others heal or navigate a life that has been less that gentle. Our God set her in this time and place – much as he did Esther. Our God alone can work on hearts that are blind to their roles in her challenges. Our God alone … and you know what, I have run out of words. So maybe it’s simply … Our God Alone.

Acts 17:26 says:  From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.

Esther 4:14 says: For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

She was born in the perfect time, the perfect place for God. That is the only thing that matters. I hope one day she understands how remarkable she is.

Mom, I tried

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Those were the words I received via a text message yesterday morning from my 29-year-old son. Words that he sent me at the exact moment that I read the details of his latest incarceration. An incarceration that occurred only 3 weeks after his latest release back into society. Words that haunt me. Probably words that haunt him as well.

When we love someone who is in active addiction we are as helpless as newborns and infants who have zero control over their lives. We have zero control over the choices our loved ones make. We have zero ability to cause them to want a different life. However, we, the ones who love these lost souls deeply have to constantly navigate the valleys into which we are escorted.

When my son was released from jail this time there were a few of us who attempted to counsel him as to his future. Let’s face it, having spent the majority of his life in some type of regimented environment (i.e., treatment facilities as a juvenile, group homes, residential treatment, jail) there was not one of us who thought he could walk out of jail – stay sober – gain employment – learn how to be an adult with no transition. He has never been able to thus far. He had options. With cold-stone, wide open eyes he made his choice. He asked us to respect it. He asked us to trust him. Yeah, okay. I learned many, many years ago that I cannot win a debate or a conversation with an addict who has their mind made up. He wanted a life of his own, one with things he earned that couldn’t be taken away, yet he didn’t want to change one single circumstance that led him to jail. He did not change his proverbial people, places, or things. And we all know the saying about insanity … you repeat the same behaviors expecting a different result.

He was made promises by the legal system as to his future should he come back for the same type of offenses. He spoke to me of those promises made. They seemed to impact him in that moment. But then he’s on the street – same ole, same ole – no new skills besides switching to whiskey instead of synthetic weed and harder drugs. Was not a recipe for success. People got hurt. He is incarcerated. And his first message to me was …. MOM I TRIED.

I really wanted to rage back and ask did he really? Did he try?

When he asks me what is wrong with him can he handle the response I am ready to fire back? He has stayed so intoxicated from mind-numbing substances that he hasn’t been sober enough since he was 15 years old to address mental health. He doesn’t want to hear that until he’s in a crisis like today and he’s all about getting healthy and going to treatment. Sorry if my cynicism is leaking through today … but having spent my entire adult career in the bowels of the jails and CRJ system in my state, I’ve heard this same crying jag from inmates to their respective parents before.

I do, however, seem to have more peace when he is incarcerated because I know where he is. I know that for the most part, he’s sober. I know although it’s not preferable, he’s fed three times a day. I know although it’s not comfortable, there’s a roof over his head. I know, as he does at this point, he is back where he is most comfortable and that is tragic in itself. It makes me want to go throw up. But again – I must remind myself I DID NOT DO THIS. I DID NOT MAKE THESE CHOICES.

But even in reminding myself of this, when these moments occur it immediately pauses my breath. I found myself yesterday feeling grief again. I never want to associate my pain with someone who may have lost a loved one to death, but it is still grief. Grief for the dreams you had for your child. Grief for their future. Being a veteran of the CRJ business in this state, if the officials hold true to the promises they made my son, he’ll be gone for a very long time. But maybe that means not only will he live, but it may save someone else’s life because his trajectory was only going to end in destruction.

I have to take a moment to process these feelings of grief. I cried on and off all day yesterday. Those waves that we have all experienced in seasons of loss. I told Joseph that I’ll be better tomorrow – and I am – but I am learning that it’s okay not to be okay for a moment. If I refuse to acknowledge the pain I feel due to my child’s decisions then it’s just going to fester in me. My family doesn’t deserve me to be walking around with raw, festering grief that makes me like the dark side of an emery board … scratchy and raw. I have to learn to accept these depths in the valley to which I am sometimes plunged by someone else’s life choices.

Ironically, the preacher where I have been attending church is doing a series on Psalm 23. My plan to get up and get us all to church was derailed when I found our grandson in his room looking as if a massacre had occurred because of a raging, lengthy nosebleed. So, I made the best of it after the crime scene LOL was cleaned up and watched the service and today it was about the valleys we walk through. Oh boy. Yep – I seem to be standing at the bottom of one with a wall of granite around me. I’ve seemingly been picked up and plucked down unceremoniously in the middle of a dad-gummed valley. Thanks, son.

There were some really good points that the preacher said that spoke to me and I feel as if someone, somewhere may need to hear them:

1. Life presents us with challenges that are like glass walls. We don’t see them but run right into them and then we find ourselves in a valley.

2. You cannot always stay in the green pastures and get to where God wants you to be.

3. To get through the valley we have to walk through it one step at a time.

4. We should find courage and comfort in God’s presence with us in the valley – He is the shepherd that has us there and we should HANG on to God and let go of the outcomes.

5. We should never, ever lose sight of the hope and joy that await us on the other side of the valley.

These are things I am going to have to dwell on. I honestly, wrongly I am realizing, have prided myself somewhat on not staying in the drudgery, the valley but keeping on … and that’s pride in my own ability, right? As I said in the beginning, it’s a matter of no control. If I cede control over my child’s decisions and hang on to the Shepherd who is directing me and leading me through the valley, then I can shore up my strength and resolve while always keeping my eyes on the joy and hope as I navigate through.

It’s not easy. Addiction, alcoholism, mental health disease – not one single thing is easy in this regard. No one comes out unscathed but we can come out stronger, more assured in our place in God’s plan, and confident that our Shepherd never tires of us or our needs for comfort and direction from Him.

I will continue as always praying for my child. I will stay busy and continue to live my life the best I can as I raise grands whose mom is still paying her penalty for her choices.

Read Psalm 23. Substitute your loved ones’ name in each verse. It’s not an easy life but it can still be a sweet, good life. He promises us that. I will see the fruition someday of my prayers for my beloved children. I realize I may not live to see those answered prayers but I KNOW that they will be answered.

For anyone in the valley with me today, seek the Shepherd and that peace that passes understanding even in the deepest of valleys. Joy still comes in the morning.

Mother’s Day Isn’t Easy

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This post was originally done in 2019.  Boy has the time flown in these past 4 years.  The grands continue to grow and cause me much laughter and gray hair … while teaching me to stop and learn from the past and grow towards the future.  I thought, however, this might help someone today … love to all the moms out there.

Today is Mother’s Day.  That one day of the year in which we honor our moms, and the women that have been instrumental in raising us.  For those of us with small children in the home, it’s one of those holidays in which we get special treats that were made at school from our little ones, and I have saved every one that I received from my children and now my grands.

But Mother’s Day is not an easy holiday for all.  It goes without saying that those who no longer have their moms are filled with a touch of sadness and melancholy today as they remember their mom.  It is also unimaginably difficult for moms who have lost their children.  I cannot think of a more difficult burden to bear than losing your child and no longer having them dwell on this earth.

But something should be said of us mothers who still have their children on this earth, but are separated from them for whatever reason.  My two children are incarcerated.  As with other holidays and special occasions, I honestly do not remember the last Mother’s Day that I could touch either of my children.  Couple that with raising grands, and knowing how desperately they must miss their mom on this day and it’s difficult.  As an aside, our Bear celebrated her 9th birthday yesterday and although we had a video visit with their mom, it’s still a challenge to celebrate these events.

Being the parent of an addict or an incarcerated individual is a life-altering challenge.  If our adult kids are in active addiction, they are often as apart from us as if they were incarcerated.  Buying Mother’s Day cards is difficult for me.  I don’t like to do so.  Not one bit.  I will say that I still have my mom who is without a doubt one of the funniest, loyal, strong, loving women I know.  I also am fortunate to have a second mom who has been just as instrumental in my raising and there are other women in my life who have been that role model to me throughout my childhood and adult life of a strong, Christian woman.  But reading those cards in order to purchase one or two breaks my heart.  This year, Joseph and I were together as we looked at cards and I did tell him after I got what I needed, that for the record I hate buying Mother’s Day cards.  I sat down this morning and looked at Facebook, but had to close it because it makes me cry.

I don’t want anyone to think I am whining or that I’m not thankful my children are still alive.  But I also want people to understand that it is a difficult day for those of us in this unique situation.  Our children are absent from us.  Our grandchildren don’t have their mother present to celebrate with, haven’t had her for a number of years, and won’t have her for several more.  The children I poured my heart into chose a different path in life that separated them from me.  It does not mean I love them less, but it does mean I’ve learned to love them from afar.  Those mothers who don’t know if they’ll hear from their child today, who don’t know where their child is, who can’t reach out and touch that child, who can’t help that child, have a difficult day ahead.   Mother’s Day, much like Christmas, is a holiday you can’t seem to escape.  It’s everywhere.  Our grands are well aware and they have to learn at an early age how to compartmentalize their mother and her role in their lives and heart, much as I’ve had to, but as an adult.

Although I am always thrilled to celebrate my mom, I realize I do so with a prevailing sadness.  On Mother’s Day I do not want people to feel sorry for me, to try and make things up for me, or to be fearful that I don’t want to acknowledge or celebrate this day.  I love any celebration that brings family together and I have learned over the years how to fold my emotions in, so to speak, and simply move forward on days like today.  I do not want anyone in my world to treat me gingerly because they think it’s a difficult day.  It is.  But I have learned how to roll with it, as I know countless other moms have.

God blessed Joseph and I with the opportunity to raise our two grands.  It was an opportunity neither of us dreamed of.  It came about through no fault of our own or our grands.  Regardless of how difficult today is, I still have the privilege of loving on them and watching them grow.  On days like today the unconditional love of our children is vital, although we may not get to experience that now as we did when they were little.
Don’t get me wrong, I know my children love me, and I know their addictions are not personal to me, but some days it does feel personal.  However, I must purposefully choose to embrace the good memories, the small victories and continually pray for their hearts and souls.  In the meantime, I will absorb any loving my three grands that I will see today can throw my way.  I may be an old, crusty attitude-riddled mom, but I’m still a sucker for my children saying I love you, as well as my rotten grands allowing me to live in their world.  They each and every one have my heart, for always and I am truly blessed in being able to say I am a mom.

1 Corinthians 13:7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

“Leave the broken, irreversible past in God’s hands, and step out into the invincible future with Him.” ~ Oswald Chambers

As moms of addicts or incarcerated children, we must always move forward in Love and continue to walk towards our future with Him who guides each of us.  We must allow that.  It’s also okay if we cry a little.  Happy Mother’s Day to all and especially to those who are walking the same path we are, I pray for God’s sustenance and extra love today!