"Write my sweet, your pain away - of loves lost and won in the course of a day; your soul in the ink, it stains the page - with your joy, your fears, your contentment, your rage..." J.H.
Where to begin. One doesn't wake up one day and decide to go gallivanting across the country in a Tiny House, or leave their adult children and friends behind to start fresh in a new state. So what has brought me here? Not just "here" as in Tennessee, but here as in this night...this crossroads, this reckoning of my conscience vs. the life I have chosen - and the one I seemingly forsake.
I have wanted to write for weeks. I have spent days in the yard, picking up leaves, daydreaming, thinking, crying, remembering...but I have not had a catalyst, or perhaps it's the courage - to write down the thoughts that have been in my head. I've done a good deal of avoiding these past few months, avoiding my fears and my reality. The fear and reality that at 48 years old I still don't know where I "fit" in this world - or what I want. I've thought at times it was a man, or a child or a family that I was missing.....but I've had opportunities to have all of those things, in fact at one point in my life I HAD all of those things - and I have run from them. The family I have chosen is not my own, it's Emily and Kaila - and I am grateful and blessed everyday to have them in my life. But I had my own family once....and that is where this story begins.
I got a call today from my youngest son, Daryl. My Oogie Bear. Who I have not seen or spoken to since January. On that day I had to have a mutual friend tell me he was coming over and surprise him - because prior to that I hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly 5 months. He had blocked me from all communication, phone, social media, even refused to answer my emails. He basically blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and wanted nothing to do with me. I was heartbroken, angry and none of it made sense to me. His older brother and my parents tried to act as a go-between, but to no avail. Daryl wanted nothing to do with me. On the day I surprised him at our mutual friends house he was angry and tried to leave before I could speak to him. I cried hysterically begging him to talk to me, to tell me what I had done that was so wrong that he had severed all ties to his own Mother. He just said that he was mad that he was homeless and that he loved me but he was "done with having parents." I clung to him sobbing and trying to get him to hug me, but he just stood there, stoic and unflinching in his contempt for me. It broke my heart in a way that I can't fully explain. And then he walked out the door and I haven't heard from him since. Until today.
I've monitored his life through a few friends and family members enough to know he was working again, was still homeless and staying here and there - but had seemed to be getting his life back in order. He visited my parents and his great grandmother a few weeks ago along with his brother and cousin - so I was hopeful we'd reconcile sooner than later. Today when I saw his name calling me I was immediately happy and then worried at the same time. He wouldn't call if it wasn't an emergency....and I was right.
I answered the phone and he was hysterical. Crying so hard he could barely speak. I immediately thought someone had died....and waited to find out who it was. I prayed it wasn't his brother, or someone else close to me....but that was not the emergency today. Today was a crisis of poor choices and him having nowhere else to turn. The fact that he had to swallow his pride and call me -was undoubtedly the hardest thing for him. Not that he was in a car accident (everyone is ok) and his car had been impounded, or that he was on the receiving end of his second DUI in 5 years...those things paled in comparison to having to call his mother for help. Of course he had no one else to call - and of course he knew I would never turn him away if I could help him. The $300 he needed to get his car out of impound was worth every penny to me just to hear his voice and know that he was alive. He's alive and he apologized over and over again and said he loves me - but he is not ok. I know he's not ok, those close to him know he's not ok and worst of all - HE knows he's not ok.
Depression and addiction both run in my family. I've never had issues with substance abuse (despite some peoples opinions to the contrary), but I have suffered from depression for most of my adult life at one time or another. Police work only compounded my issues. My father was both an alcoholic and suffered from undiagnosed depression. I didn't know this when he was alive (he died at 44 while I was pregnant with Daryl from a heart attack), but in hindsight, he was most definitely suffering from depression leading up to his death. My father's brother was both Bi-Polar, an alcoholic and schizo-effective, his son Bryon was a recovering drug addict, my paternal grandfather an alcoholic....the list goes on. Add to it the fact that my father's side of the family all seem to have this Irish Catholic guilt and secrecy embedded into their DNA and you can imagine the cluster fuck of guilt and denial on that side of my family. Passed all the way down to my dear sweet Daryl...who has no idea how to deal with such a shit storm of emotions, failures, genetic pre-dispositions and anger. I hate that he hates his life.....because I've been in his same shoes. The difference being, I also know that the issues he's experiencing are temporary....and with help and dedication he can turn it all around and find happiness one day.
Tonight I feel lost. I feel lost and like a failure as a Mother. The one most important job I had in my life - and I feel as thought I royally fucked it up. Like I didn't pass along the life skills needed to my own sons. Granted, I didn't figure out much of those life skills until I started suffering from PTSD back in 2014. Prior to that I was still self-medicating, running, avoiding and pretending everything was fine when it clearly was not. When my sons were teenagers and I was too naive and stupid to think they needed more of my attention - I spent all my spare time devoted to working my child porn and child sex abuse cases. I thought those kids need me more....my boys are good. God, If I could take back one decision I made in my life.....it would be thinking that my teenage sons didn't need me as much as the victims I devoted my time to. Of course they needed me....I just didn't see it until it was too late.
As I stepped out of the bath about an hour ago, my Grandmothers crucifix fell off my neck and onto the floor along with the chain. I rarely if ever take it off and I immediately thought the chain had broken. Only when I picked it up the chain wasn't broken. Neither was the clasp or the pendent itself. This small, inexplicable occurrence brought me to tears. Subtle at first, welling up inside me like a dam that was about to break - and then it did. Was this some bizarre sign from my dead Grandmother? I don't even believe in those things....not really. But it made no sense to fall off...it was absent a logical explanation. So what the fuck? If my Nana is trying to tell me something....it's shrouded in her damn Irish Catholic veil of secrecy that she kept her whole life. She never talked about the bad things that happened....not to her, not to her sons, not about any "family" issues. That old Irish Catholic guilt goes a long long way.....
I spoke with my Mom and Stepdad today, to let them know what happened with Daryl. I thought I was going to have to send them to the impound yard with cash but I was able to transfer money directly into his account. I apologized (again) for being such a shit bag as a teenager and we laughed about the "curse" that they put on me so many years ago when I was a teen. I remember so many times my Mother telling me, "One day YOU will have kids of your own, and I hope they are JUST LIKE YOU." This was said of course because I was a Grade A asshole from the age of 14-17. I think I had run away from home no less than 12 times in 3 years, stolen the family car twice (both times blowing the engine) and at one point refused to speak to my parents AT ALL - after being caught while I was AWOL. This behavior of course led my fairly normal parents to assume I was on drugs (I was NOT - never used drugs as a teen, I was just a stubborn little shithead) and send me to College Hospital for a 2 week stay in a "troubled teen psych ward." Let me tell you, there's nothing like realizing how lucky you are in the family department - as when you are locked up with a group of teens who actually have real family problems. My problems were that I didn't want to go to school, didn't want to follow the rules and basically wanted to do whatever I wanted. So stupid. When I finally got out of that lock up I was secretly grateful for how good I had it - and in my adult years have tried to let my folks know as often as possible what good parents they were and still are.
I will pray tonight. Probably holding my Nana's crucifix whilst watching "Brooklyn" (Nana loved that movie). I will pray that one day, 15-20 years from now, my sons will be at the stage in life where we can talk and laugh about what shitheads they were in their late teens and early 20's. Incidentally, I stopped being a shithead once I got pregnant with Douglas at 19 - because Motherhood came calling and I had to grow up REAL fast. My sons are on a bit of a delayed program....I'm blaming not only myself and their father, but the whole "millennial" culture that makes their generation more entitled and less independent than those generations before them. I will pray that Daryl stops being self destructive and realizes these problems he's having are under his control - and only his control. That Douglas finds himself and what makes him happy - and that when I'm 70 we will all spend holidays and birthdays together with our extended families. I pray those happy days come....and one of the 3 of us doesn't leave this world prematurely, leaving the other 2 behind with nothing but regrets, guilt and unspoken words. My heart could not bare such an outcome - much as I feign warrior strength in the face of any adversity. My sons were my life for 20 years and are my legacy. I want nothing more than their ultimate happiness.
Well, that was a depressing as fuck blog. But life isn't always road trips, concerts and laughter.
Love your people my friends, and TELL them....tomorrow is never guaranteed.
