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.