A Failure; A Heartbreak

Well, I have to get this down on paper, or I can't do anything else. I am in turmoil. Part of me is relieved; the other part is devastated. What is a mother to do? I just don't do failure very well. I am someone who counts on being successful. I work unflaggingly to make people around me successful, too. I have failed as a mom, I am pretty sure.

My daughter is gone again. We have been losing her slowly for the past three years. She was always troubled - the product of being abused and neglected when she was very little - we adopted her at age 5, tried to save her. She has slowly been making all the choices psychiatrists and other experts warned us someone with her history would make. The past year has been horrendous. Scrapes with the law, jail time, here, gone, here again, you name it.

Last time she was arrested and spent time in jail, we bailed her out and brought her home. "I want to make a new start. I know the only chance I have is with you and Dad," she lamented. She sat right at our kitchen table and cried saying, "I'm just lost." Well, I think she knew it, but she didn't want to do what it would take to turn around. We tried to help her find a job. Tried to counsel without nagging. Tried to do our best to help her find her way.

Try as we might, we couldn't get through. Yesterday after a heated discussion, she went downstairs to her room and started planning. Today, between the time I left for work and the time her dad left for work, she made a run for it. She's 19. She is legally an adult. But, instead of going like an adult, she made a run for it like a scared puppy dog or a child who knew she was doing something wrong. It was a cowardly exit, but I think it was the only exit she felt she could make.

I am sure she left after I did because she knew I would stop her and could talk her into doing the right thing. Dad sleeps hard and would have missed the entire thing. She's just that smart. And, she's just that stupid. So, she's gone again.

Now I"ll have to live with the mother's fear that she is with bad people, making bad decisions, doing anything to keep from Mom and Dad from being right. She left without cell phone, transporation of her own, a job. She could be out on the streets. Who knows. And, she knows my not knowing will slowly drive me insane. Calculated for the maximum hurt, I am sure, since she doesn't want me or her dad to care about her at all. She doesn't know how to accept love or caring.

And, of course, I ask myself what I did wrong, or what I didn't do. I mull over conversations, missed opportunities, everything. We took her in, gave her safety and security, loved her deeply and totally. But, we were always realistic about our chances. Sometimes a child is so damaged she can never overcome the hurt and horror of the damage. Even though we did mostly everything right, it has turned out wrong.

As a teacher, I know this is just like having a student you go out on a limb for - try everything to help him succeed - just to have him fail due to his own decisions. As a teacher, I take those failures hard. As a mom, since the child is my own, part of my family, it is almost too awful to bear.

Tomorrow I'll get up and go to work, just like I always do. However, a piece of my heart will be somewhere else, somewhere lost. I pray she is okay and will one day find her way home. In the meantime, all I can do is ask God to watch over her and keep her safe.

Growing old together

This weekend, we snuck away to our favorite beach. I say snuck because I literally packed under cover of darkness and we didn't tell any family we were going until we were already gone. It's sort of irresponsible for us because we always do the right thing. Always. But, it was fun.

Yesterday morning we ate at Big Os along with the rest of the over 50 crowd. We shopped at the outlet mall in Foley and bought presents for our nephew and nieces. We laughed at inside jokes and drove around the mall and parked in front of the stores instead of walking all over the place because there was parking a-plenty. After all, it's January. No one goes to the beach in January.

Yesterday afternoon we sat on our balcony at the hotel and watched the choppy surf and talked about everything. We watched the seagulls standing at the edge of the water as though they waited for something. Our hair was windblown and our faces were ruddy as we snuggled beneath blankets and sipped cokes. We were relaxed and content.

Since it is January, the beach was inhabited mostly by Snowbirds, those people who live up North the rest of the year but come to the Alabama gulf coast to ride out winter. It's a lot warmer here than say Indiana or Wisconsin. The thing about Snowbirds is that they are all pretty much senior citizens. If you can believe it, besides the various help at stores and restaurants, we were the youngest people we saw.

Last night at dinner, we sat next to a table full of older couples. When the waitress came to take their drink order, the men ordered a pitcher of beer. One man turned to his wife and said, "What you want to drink, baby." Alan and I both heard it.

I looked at Alan who had tears in his eyes. "He called her baby, did you hear that?"

"I did, why the tears?"

"Well, I'd like to think we are on our way there...growing old together." With Alan's health, growing old together hasn't always been something we've taken too seriously. In fact, we look on each day as a gift. I remember when he couldn't see living past 50. On Tuesday, he turns 50 and he's talking about living to 75.

What he doesn't seem to realize is we ARE growing old together. We met when we were 20. Married at 21. We are almost 50 now. That's 30 years together. We have grown up together. Guess now we'll be in our 50s, growing old together is not a dream, but a reality. It's more fun than I'd ever dreamed.

Happy New Year

It is New Year's Eve. We aren't giving a party and weren't invited to one. No big deal. Big parties are expensive and stressful even though they are fun. So, here we sit watching the Chick-fil-A bowl and lamenting Georgia Tech's dismal performance. Hopefully Alabama will do alI right in the Sugar Bowl, but we have to wait two more days to see. I built a fire, but it just made it cozy - snuggling cozy. We ate a nice dinner and even had a drink, but I'm not sure we will make it to midnight. Alan is already drowsing; I think he'll be snoring in about 15 minutes, maybe even before I finish this post.

Last year we went to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra on New Year's Eve. It was awesome. I missed them this year. The New Year's Alabama last won a National Championship we spent at the beach. That was cool, but it was 1993 (?). The truth is we are not party animals at all. We note the passing of each year as one that finds us still alive and still surviving all that life throws at us. We try to make it to midnight, but if we stay up, we are conked out at 12:01.

This past year has been hard. Very hard. First, there was my midlife crisis move to the Freshman Campus. Then, my move back to Bumpus. Admitting you're wrong is hard to do. Then, Tracey's escapades have left us with permanently gray hair and broken hearts. Finally, Alan's stroke/not stroke and the seeming miracle we were given with his full recovery.

I won't be sad to see 2008 move on. I am looking for 2009. The great thing about a new year is it gives us an opportunity to try to be better people. It gives us an opportunity to leave behind that which has dragged us down while we take with us what we have learned. It is on this note I will end.

I learned that there are miracles. When Alan was laying in that hospital, completely paralyzed on his left side, I put my hands on his arm and looked to heaven. I just said, "Lord, I can't deal with this. I have had enough. I need you to take this from me. I need you to heal him." That's it. It's all I said. Then I sat in the chair next to the bed, buried my face in my hands and felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. When I next looked up, his left hand was up in the air. He had raised the hand he couldn't move. And soon, the rest of his left side started to move too. And in 48 hours he was back to normal. There is no doubt God answered my prayer and that we got a miracle, especially since the doctors could find no evidence of a stroke. They don't know what happened. Well, I believe it do. And, so I shall forever believe in miracles.

That's a good way to start a new year.

Procrastination

I am a procrastinator. Most projects I take on are very big, so I wait while I ponder how to handle them. Then, I am almost too late in diving in, and suddenly, I am under pressure. I work best under pressure. In fact, if there is no pressure, there is little work. I need a party planned to really clean the house well. I need grades to be due to get all the grading done. I need a problem with the car to have it maintenanced, and I need to be sick or out of medicine to go see a doctor. I know there is no excuse for this - none.

Right now I have 100 projects and 100 exams to grade and enter before January 5th. I brought them home with me to tackle over Christmas vacation. I had a plan...two hours a day each day and I could knock them out in three or 4 days. However, I got busy with other things. Shopping for Christmas, cleaning for Christmas, Christmas, cleaning up after Christmas, the nervous breakdown from all the stress, getting ready for New Years, thinking about taking down the Christmas decorations, the overstimulation of too much family...you see how it goes.

So, today, once I post this, I begin. I will take one class, wade through it, and go on to another until I am done. Because I am babysitting twins this weekend, I can't wait until then, so I have no choice but to do it now. Can't wait any longer. The heat is on.

On the Other Hand

So, my mother-in-law lives with us. It seemed like a good idea at the time we all decided to live together. She is in her 70s and has some minor health issues, but had been in the hospital and kept it a secret because she "didn't want to bother us." Then, a tornado demolished her house, so we said, just move in with us. The problem is, no one in the family, especially her own children even liked her! She has no real maternal instinct and is about as warm and loving as an ice sculpture. I figured that it was just because no one ever showed her love or caring, so I made it my personal goal to help her live out the rest of her days happily being taken care of.

I have tried and tried to make her happy. I let her think she is in charge of most everywhere in the house. She loves yardwork, so I let her select and plant all the flowers. I cook meals for her. She suggests menu items to me so I can cook them for her. I like to cook, so that's no big deal. I have let her volunteer to clean my house "like a house should be clean," pretending to ignore the obvious insult. I have added various chotskys and other sundry items she thinks will look good around the house. She "owns" the entire third floor and half of the second because she loves things more than she loves people. She has three bedrooms, the living room, dining room, and two bathrooms. They are all crammed with her stuff. My husband and I occupy three rooms including the kitchen since she doesn't cook. We hold the mortgage and pay all the bills. She lives here without cost to her. But, she is still not happy.

She complains about everything. Everything. And she talks. From the moment her feet hit the floor in the morning to the time she falls asleep in her recliner at night, she talks. About everything and about nothing. From "Oh, it is time to get the paper," to "I know you think I am crazy but I think you aren't dealing with your daughter the way I would" to "I am just going to sit home since gas is so high" she comments on everything and, worse, derides everything. I don't think she knows how to give a compliment. We all listen, but all the talking is negative. I really don't think she knows how to be happy or how to find happiness in anything.

Today there was a diatribe because it is too complicated to make a copy of anything anymore. Even with Kinko's, there is something to gripe about. Wow, having first taught needing a mimeograph machine and those tissue paper carbons to make copies, I think Kinko's is amazing. She's 24 years older than I am and she thinks Kinko's is the devil.

Really, I don't mind her taking over the house. I like my stuff, love my husband, hold the mortgage (it's in my name), do all the cooking (she really can't cook), so I know it is really my house. I don't mind sharing the dog even though she has taken to feeding it ice cream from a spoon and tells me I have lost my dog to her because they are better friends. I just want the talking to stop. There is nothing wrong with shutting up occasionally. No one wants to listen to 24/7 complaining. I just want some quiet.

Is that too much to ask?

A Life Filled With Hope

When I was 20 and recently engaged, my future husband took me to his grandmother's one Sunday afternoon. After a true Southern meal of fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, fried okra, green beans, and corn bread, the women of the family gathered on the front porch to discuss life and the general state of things. As I sat and listened to those women prattle on about every topic known to man, I remember thinking that this was a bunch of the most cynical, disagreeable, unhappy women I had ever heard talk. They were man haters, penny pinchers, story tellers, and violence threateners. In so many words, they proclaimed the world was going to hell in a handbasket, and that this was the end of days foretold in Revelations. I was only 20, had a whole lot of living to do to get to their age, was madly in love with my fiance, was filled with optimism and promise, and was determined to live happily ever after. As I listened to them talk, I swore I would never become one of those old biddies, several of whom were the same age I am now, nearing 50.

Flash forward to today. I am 4 months shy of 50. Still waiting on the end of days predicted in Revelations, because I hear someone predict it every day. I teach and look at the kids in my 8th grade classroom and think, "When I am an old lady living in a nursing home, these kids will be the ones changing my diaper and rotating me so I won't get bedsores!" It's a little scary.

Their anthem is "Waiting on the World to Change" by John Mayer. They already sound cynical and seem woefully unprepared to take on the challenges of a life where they will be using technologies we have not even seen yet. More importantly, I see many who are so locked into the technology of today they don't seem to be able to communicate "normally". But those same kids delight me every day. Their observations and commentaries are insightful. They write with depth and intelligence. Sure, they communicate a lot differently than I did at that age, but they are not stupid.

Our world is in way worse shape than it was nearly 30 years ago. The economy is tanking. The wars are going badly. People are angrier and angrier, and there seems to be little relief. I find myself in danger of becoming one of those old biddies. The world is still going to hell in a handbasket. It is just carrying different problems than it did when I was younger. We are in charge now and we aren't doing too well right now. We are so worried about the next generation because we need them to straighten out the mess we are making for them.

But then I look into the eyes of my eighteen-month-old niece, Stella. She smiles at me and I see hope. My nephew Mark, a 21-year-old boy, who visited me with his girlfriend last Sunday, is a good man who thinks of others and strives to do the right thing. In him I see the promise of youth. My other seventeen nieces and nephews all various ages from 3 months to 21 years old all give me hope for the future. I am still optimistic.

Christmas at my house was filled with three generations of family. We laughed together, exchanged gifts, and shared a great meal. We talked technology and customer service and music and movies. We hugged and loved, complained and argued. We knew, that at the end of the day, whether we loved or hated each other, we could depend on each other. That means something. And, I bet everywhere else, the same thing was going on.

Wherever you are, life sucks. Life is great too. It's all in how you look at it. I choose to be hopeful. After all, isn't that what this season is all about anyway? Things are tough, but the hope they will get better will get us all through.