FINISHED

The truth is.... I ache. 

Sometimes it is dull and sometimes it is so sharp I can hardly catch my breath. 

....especially on this Good Friday.

I have a constant conversation/prayer going on with God. Constant. 

It's about a lot of things... but for 27 years with an emphasis on the last 3 - it has been about my firstborn son.

I pray. I cry. I ache... and I ache some more.

I want it to be finished.

I got a text from my sister this morning.

It said, "He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many, he took up the cause of all the black sheep. (Isaiah 53:12 - The Message)

Praying for your little lamb, Andy."

I burst into a river of tears and said, "my son, oh God, my son...." 

And then it hit me....

God knows my ache even more than I do...

His Son was lost too. "He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many..."

And then....it was finished.

GREAT FRIDAY!

"If I have a little brother for you, will you take care of him?"

"If I have a little brother for you, will you take care of him?"

Andrew Slack, age 16

This was a question to which 10 year old Andrew Slack, enthusiastically said "YES!" So on June 1, 1935, he anxiously met his new charge, Jonathan Lee Slack. Little did anyone know how seriously he took this challenge.

....and no one will ever know the weariness of the asker, Ruth Slack, his mother. This was child #5 and smack in the middle of The Great Depression. Her husband, Cornelius Slack, was a hard worker but was crippled by a disease that kept him bedridden for many years. When he could walk, he would go door to door and sell homemade bookmarks with Bible verses stamped on them.

So from the time he was a newborn baby, my father, Andy, knew it was his responsibility to take care of his baby brother....and he did. Even into adulthood and old age, Andy felt that responsibility that had turned into deep brotherly and almost fatherly love. My Uncle Jonny was a daily household word and his name was certainly brought before God as I would hear my dad praying in his room.

Uncle Jonny - 10 years old

I love my Uncle Jonny and wish I could spend just one more time with him when he could remember... but Alzheimer's has stolen so much that it can no longer happen.

Thank you Dad for taking good care of your brother....and your family. I love and miss you every day....even ten years later.

UNASHAMEDLY GRATEFUL

Every Thanksgiving my kids waited for it. So with their eyes rolling and them saying, "Oh no, Mom, not again…" I would begin. It was always before the big feast and, yes, I was THAT mother who made us all stop - no matter WHO was around our sumptuous table bursting with delicious food and traditional smells and decor of the season….I was THAT mother who, before everyone inhaled the meal I had taken three days to prepare, made everyone stop and say what they were thankful for. The kids kept it short for two reasons: they wanted to eat AND they knew their mother was going to do her usual "thing" before the Thanksgiving prayer.

Although I do not have my precious cherubs at my table today, I will nonetheless do the same thing I always do - Give Thanks. Yes, I give thanks for the normal things, but the thing that my babies have all come to expect is the tears that come with my solemn statement of gratitude for the birthmothers that have been represented around my table for 28 years. That is when the tears start flowing from my eyes and the kids laugh and roll their eyes (probably because if they don't, they will cry as well.)

I am fortunate to have some wonderful women in my life who allowed me to raise their children into adulthood. These women are the most selfless people I know. They wanted more for their children than they could give at the time. Oh, they loved these babies more than most…but they knew…and they sacrificed. 

…and THAT is my cue for the faucets in my eyes to turn on and I do it unashamedly and gratefully….ever so gratefully.

Stalked!

Some of you seem to be interested in hearing my stalker story. Weird, because it has been over 30 years ago and I haven't given it a lot of thought - except it comes in handy when I have to participate in a "getting to know each other" type icebreaker.

The story comes in pieces. That's probably why I wasn't so freaked out when each piece happened. BUT... when I looked at the whole story.... well - see what you think....

Piece #1

In 1978-ish I lived in Burbank, California and worked as a merchant teller for Community Bank (which no longer exists.)

I had a regular customer who came in almost daily with deposits for whatever company he worked for. I remember how sour he always was and that was unacceptable to me. Whenever someone was all frowns, I considered it my duty to make them smile...and I usually accomplished this - but not with this guy. He just had a dead stare with absolutely no expression and that is why I remember him so well.

Piece #2

Around the same timeframe, I was rollerskating in "Beautiful Downtown Burbank" to the Golden Mall where I was mailing some letters.

Okay now, I was lookin' cute in my blue satin shorts and long blonde hair and twiggy 20-something body. (Note to my kids who are probably gagging about now: rollerskating AND satin shorts were all the rage...then.)

These are almost identical to my blue satin shorts I wore.
They are now selling them as "vintage" - harrumph!

On the way home, still skating, I noticed a green panel van pull around the corner and stop. A guy got out and approached me.

(Another side note: As my friends and family will attest - not much scares me - I even went home with some "ax murderers" one night... but that's another story.)

I continued to skate and he stopped me with a friendly look and a question. (Note: This was NOT my bank customer, but someone else.) His question was "will you model for me?" Back in those days, people were still being "discovered" in situations on the street.

I, however, was not in the LEAST bit impressed or interested and politely but firmly told him no. He continued to try and convince me and handed me his business card. I politely but firmly tore it up in front of him and threw it on the ground and told him that I was not going to model for him. That is when I continued to skate home, unruffled.

I all but forgot both of these pieces until -

Piece #3

I was watching the evening news one night and the top story was that they had caught the Hillside Strangler. (I vaguely knew there was someone on the loose, but it seemed like there were a bunch of serial killers around that time.) On the television that very night was the man who I saw EVERY FRIGGIN' DAY at my bank!!

Piece #4

What's more is they said he was working with an accomplice (who had not yet been caught.) And EVERY one of their victims looked like me! Long blonde hair and blue eyes. Their modus operandi was to stalk their victims and lure them into a van by asking them to model and then torture, rape and murder them!

So....that's my "I was stalked by a serial killer" story. It's a cool story to tell, but I feel that I just got lucky. I mean, I know that God protects me, but what about the others? The ones that weren't so lucky? I don't think it is because I'm particularly special.... it's something that I will probably never understand. I suppose it is that age old question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?"

My answer: I dunno.

A MOTHER'S DAY WALLOW

I gotta write something. I want to get past this sporadically emotional day. Not sure how. But I will.

What's the problem you say? After all, you are the mother of 5 and doesn't your blog title say you have a happy heart?

Yes, that's all true. But even this happy heart feels down sometime. Today is one of those sometimes. Actually, the last three days.

On Friday my friend's son surprised her with a visit from another state.... then the tears crept up on me. I was truly happy for her.... but can't help wishing it were my oldest son walking through the door... the oldest son that is not addicted to drugs. My beautiful boy. I even know that he will get through this and be okay someday, but it doesn't help this mother's tears on this day.

Do you know I have a grandchild? He and his mother live very far away and I don't know from one day to the next if this daughter of mine hates me today or not. Ergo - why I have not seen him in over a year.

There is another child of mine who angrily left home at much too young an age, threw so much opportunity out the window, and I only hear occasionally from her.

All of this leads me to wonder if I was maybe a really crappy mom. I mean, I never thought I was, and I didn't mean to be....but wouldn't you think that someone with my situation may actually have flunked the parenting 101 class?

I don't really feel very profound or poetic today. Just in a funky funk.

However, I cannot overlook the two of my children who are doing something good with their lives right now. ....and they even call their mother! I usually can look at them and say I did something right. 

But for this moment, just let me wallow for awhile....



 

What comes first? Grief or forgiveness?

Grief....Forgiveness...

More grief...more forgiveness....

What comes first? Grief or forgiveness? 

It swirls around in my head. The thoughts. The emotions. The unspecific grief. The profound disappointments.

All part of my life. I struggle to find them out. I search to define...

Grief - I lost my champion to death in 2004 in my earthly Father. He's gone. I lost the one who believed in me THE MOST to death in 2011 in my Mother. She's gone. Because of them, I will always stand up for and believe in myself. But it's not the same as having someone, somewhere that you KNOW beyond a doubt...who is at the head of your parade and waving a flag!

I have grieved their deaths. But I have not grieved the loss of my only defenders in life. The two who truly believed in me. They just KNEW I could do it. I felt it. 

There has never been, before or since, anyone to stand up for me. Not anyone. I didn't realize that until this morning during my run and subsequent shower. It just hit me like an epiphany....and, of course, the tears flowed as they washed down the drain with my shampoo.

I have come to a place where I know I must forgive some very specific people. But as I am asking God about it, I realize that I must grieve the losses before I can even know WHAT to forgive.

I am seeing that it isn't the actions of those that I need to forgive, but the disappointments that I have experienced. I am learning that whether or not they are to blame is quite beside the point.

There are a thousand actions that were wrong and against me, maybe even ten thousand. But it isn't the actions I need to forgive, but the people themselves.

That will come as I grieve the profound disappointments in my life. Penetrating disappointments.

Be patient with me as I navigate this alone, with divine guidance. As I free myself from this captivity of unforgiveness.

I will walk in freedom.

A MILLION MOMENTS THAT MAKE ME CRY

MY BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL BOY.

With my new box of kleenex almost gone, my gut wrenching, guttural cries continue.

Don't begin to THINK you understand unless YOU have been the mother of an addict. If you have been an addict...it doesn't count. If you have a dear friend with an addicted child...it doesn't count. Even if you are the beloved auntie or grandmother....it still doesn't count.

MY child. That I love more than ANYONE else in the world. Is lost right now. Is enslaved. And I cannot help him. I cannot save him. Although MORE than willing, there is NOTHING that I can sacrifice that will do it.

"I am beside myself - uncomprehending, terrified. Nothing in my life has prepared me for the incapacitating worry when I don't know where he is. I imagine [him on the streets] like a wild animal, wounded and desperate...."

"I am awake at four a.m. along with parents of other drug addicted children, children who are - we don't know where."

"Even after everything we have been through, I am stunned. [He] is injecting drugs - shooting them into his arms - arms that not that long ago threw baseballs and built Lego castles, arms that wrapped around my neck when I carried his sleepy body from the car at night." 

Hands that so deftly played the guitar, now reach for the poison that holds him captive.

"...anxiety has taken up permanent residence in my body."

"It's not that [I] am not thinking about him. His addiction and its twin, the specter of his death, permeate the air [I] breathe."

"[He] is still gone. Life does not stop."

There are a million moments that make me cry for my son. This is just one....

Yet I will FOREVER have hope. 

[Above quotations are from, "Beautiful Boy" by David Sheff]