An Open Letter to the Drug Addict Who Turned In My Son

Dear Drug Addict, Drug Dealer, Ex Friend of My Son,

You turned him in to the police. In his words, you ratted on him. To him, you are a narc, a stool pigeon. He, my son, is angry and disillusioned  and hurt. After all, you sniffed together, toked together, sold drugs to other people's children' together and stole together to support your habits. He doesn't understand why his "boy" turned him in. He--will never forget this act of disloyalty. He will never forgive it.

Then there's me. How do I feel about you? Believe it or not I am so incredibly grateful, so very grateful. In fact, this blog post is meant as a thank you. Thank you for turning him in. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thanks...

I will admit that from the moment the two of you met, way back in kindergarten, I warned my son about you. I told him that you were bad news. But he didn't listen, and you and he bonded over illicit illegal activities and your broken homes.  But I was wrong. I am surprisingly happy that the two of you found each other. If you hadn't, he may still be out there, on the streets, doing drugs, getting high, selling to the sons and daughters of worried parents. He'd still be out there with you or someone else stealing, taking things that belonged to others and selling them in a way that gives no regard to the many he was hurting. Instead, he's sitting in a cell awaiting his indictment.  And for the first time, for the first time in two years, he's clean. He's detoxed. He's sleeping. He's had to face reality without the haze and fog of illegal substances.

Although his health alone is enough to thank you, it isn't the biggest reason that I am grateful. Nope. Not the biggest reason at all. You see for the last two  years I have been fighting a losing battle against formidable fierce foes, and no matter what weapon I used against them, I was sorely beaten. The biggest enemy, the giant named "The System" fights back with ludicrous laws and wields its powerful apathy, relentless relentless apathy. I will admit that I have crawled into many corners licking my wounds because of this enemy and had all but given up. But then you came along, and with one fell swipe of a  pen took down that system and all of its  might. And you may not know this but by doing so, by turning him in to save yourself, you became a soldier in my army to fight against all that you love; drugs, crime, lying, sneaking and dishonesty.

Because of you, I have slept for the first time in two years without worry, without nightmares that taunt me with my son's seemingly impending death, without fear.  For the first time  in many many months I have hope.  Because of his arrest, he'll plea in court. He'll take a plea and go to rehab. Rehab! And then he'll spend the next five years on probation.

Now I am not sure what my son will do in rehab or out of rehab. It may be a fresh start or a dead end. Those decisions are his and his alone. But whatever happens in the future, no matter what, you have given this long suffering mother a reprieve. If he chooses to take some help then I can rest easy. If he chooses to return to his life of drugs and law breaking, I can also rest easy for five years, thanks to a probation sentence that will return him to jail if he violates the terms.

So you see, oh Man-who-turned-my-son-in, you have done what I thought was impossible, what I have unsuccessfully tried to do for two years. You managed not only to get my child out of the toxic poisonous environment that perpetuated his drug use and pain, but by selling him out you set in motion a safety net that makes it so he is, for awhile, not without support. And for that, I am forever in your debt...

An Open Letter to The Tech-Distracted Dad in Dennys

Dear Daddy With the Phone and Beautiful Son,

I watched you and your son today. At first it was because the two of you together gave me such a warm feeling sitting there side by side on one side of a booth. I admired you for possibly making a decision to sit next to your son instead of across from him. That intimacy was nice to imagine...and it seems that that was all I was doing...imagining. Very quickly my opinion of you changed and truly my heart broke for both your son and you. What a waste your breakfast was. What a waste of a moment you will never get back.

While your son poked away at his banana french toast, your meal went untouched. Your head was down, fingers flying across the screen of a smart phone. You sat in silence. No one spoke for 10 straight minutes. Yes...I timed it. I. Timed. It. While you amused yourself with texts and games and Facebook, your son swung his legs, put a few bites of food in his mouth and stared off into space. Every once in awhile, he'd look over at me. I'd smile. But he was shy, not really trusting my friendliness. But I kept staring, willing you to pick up your head and meet my eyes. But you never did. You never did.

That son of yours, he's beautiful. His eyes are so big and so clear. Have you ever looked into them? Do they stay with you the way they have stayed with me? What do you think he saw with those eyes today? I know, if you don't. He saw a father that was completely and utterly checked out. He saw a father who didn't understand the miracle that was sitting next to him. He saw a father who was more interested in words and games and images then he was with the flesh and blood and a vessel of feelings. He kept looking at you hoping that he was noticeable. And unfortunately he never saw himself as that. He never did.

There was a moment...a very quick moment...in which I thought that you were going to prove me wrong, that perhaps the inattentiveness was just a fluke. You raised your head. My heart leaped and so did your son's. I saw it in those beautiful eyes and in the way he snapped to attention and sat up straight and tall. "Here I am daddy!" he seemed to say. I waited holding my breath to see if the interaction you were about to have would be a deep one, a necessary one, a meaningful one. It wasn't. It wasn't at all. "Be sure you eat those bananas" you said staring at his plate, and you instantly went back to your phone surfing. So you missed it. You missed his distress. He crumbled. I am not sure it was because he didn't like bananas or because of your inability to see your son as a human who needs you and your attention and your wisdom and your eyes gazing into his and your support and your love...good gracious...he needs your love. After you looked away, his gorgeous face squeezed into one thousand muscle contractions of pain. Those gorgeous eyes shined with pooled tears and his mouth opened in one of those heart breaking silent cries. He cried silently for 3 minutes. Yes...I timed it. I. Timed. It. And you never looked over. You never reached for him. You never stole one of those bananas and elbowed him in jest. You didn't notice the silent cry. But I did and I can't forget it.

When the crying subsided, a change came over that angelic face. Your son made a decision. He was GOING to get your attention no matter what. At first he tried to impress you. All decked out in his soccer uniform, cleats, socks, jersey, and shorts, he stood up and practiced his kicks. He kicked over and over and over and over glancing at you after each and every kick. Very soon those kicks changed. It was almost undetectable, but there was a change. Those kicks became fiercer. He grunted with each one and swung his leg hard. He stopped looking at you and zoned in on those violent air kicks. I wonder what he imagined was at the end of them. Maybe I don't wonder...When the kicks didn't work, that son of yours crawled under the restaurant table. He was old to do that. Had to be at least 8. But that didn't matter. He was under the table, legs sprawled across your feet. Did you feel them? You didn't indicate so. Then he got up on his knees, head crouched down and he started rocking the loose chair across from you. Did you see it? You didn't indicate so. When that didn't work, he got up and my heart jumped into my throat as he walked away from the table toward the door. He clearly had enough. He marched with purpose one, five, ten strides and then...well then he looked back with that old hope in his beautiful eyes. You finally noticed. You finally looked up from the sanctified phone. "We are going in a sec," you mumbled. And then you shifted your attention to the meal. "Wow! That was an expensive breakfast!" you exclaimed. Yes sir, yes sir it was. It was a very expensive breakfast but not in the way that you were talking about.

That breakfast cost you. It cost you a great deal. It cost you the chance to connect with your son one-on-one, man-to-man. It cost you a moment to talk about the game, to teach him about sportsmanship, to tell him how much you enjoy watching him play or smile or kick or chat with his teammates. It cost you the privilege of perhaps teaching him what a man SHOULD be like as a father. It cost you seconds, minutes, an hour of gazing into those beautiful eyes. That is time that you will NEVER have refunded. It cost you a chance to high five him, to tell him a joke, to ask him about school or to help him solve a problem. Oh sir, it cost you, and if you continue on this tech-obsessed road, you will end up very poor indeed.

I have been doing this parenting thing for a long time and I can tell you for sure, I can promise you without a wavering certainty that you will ultimately one day lose the greatest riches that has ever been bestowed upon you. Your inattentiveness, your inability to connect, your lack of respect for the human that you created will cost you your son. And trust me when I say that when that day comes, you will look back and wish that you had been the father that he needed. You will wish that you taught him what a father/son relationship should be like. You will wish that you had been present in triumphs and his mistakes. And by "present" I mean THERE really THERE telling him what's right, what's wrong, how to be a successful human, how to grow into a confident adult, how to respect women like his mother and perhaps a sister. You'll wish that you looked into his eyes more often and marveled at the beauty of them. You will lose him--mentally, or physically or emotionally or a combination of all three.

Is your phone more important than the relationship you have with your son? Moment to moment it may feel urgent. It may feel more important. Business calls. You and his mom are divorced and you are trying to connect with a new woman. You may even be doing it to spite that ex spouse or baby mama without even knowing you are. But I ask you again sir, how will your inattentiveness effect your son's future? Have you ever thought about it? How will you feel if there comes a time, when breakfasts with him, chats with him, watching him play soccer is no longer an option? He'll rebel. He will rebel. A child without the guidance of a responsible father will soon feel angry and resentful and unimportant and he or she will inevitably turn to someone or someTHING else to fill the hole? What will you do then? Do you think your phone will give you the answer?

I Can't. I Won't. I Must. | Mamalode

A miracle pregnancy. An blissful father. An ambivalent mother. Click the link below. 



I Can't. I Won't. I Must. | Mamalode

 

Feeling Desperate?

Desperation is certainly an emotion that is felt by humans more than once throughout our lives.  It isn't solely a depressed emotion, or a poor emotion, or a lonely emotion.  Desperation thwacks us all--ALL. Perhaps desperation feels worse when things, the big things, are what's causing it.  Perhaps someone has lost a family member or a whole family.  Perhaps a single mom can't pay the bills or feed her children.  Perhaps a beloved job has been lost.  Perhaps a family home has burned to the ground, or someone has received news of a terminal illness.  These big things; family, money, jobs, homes and health are usually what give us comfort and keep us going.  However, if these things are all of a sudden taken from us somehow, I am sure--I know--it would feel like we've been set upon a surf board on a 80 ft. wave with a massive rip current underneath.  Nothing on which to lean. So what would help us keep our balance?  

This is a question I have been pondering over the last week.  There are so many who don't have the safety and love and security of family, work and home and health.  What keeps them going when the big things are gone?  What would keep me going if those big things suddenly disappeared?  More importantly, besides the big things, what are the little things I would miss if I suddenly disappeared?  

So for the last 48 hours, I have been paying attention to my days, my hours, my minutes, my split seconds.  I took stock of my life's little joys, and what I've found is that when putting my mind to it, there are so many wonderful seemingly insignificant things in this world that bring a sense of satisfaction and even happiness that I have never really even considered.  

Take yesterday for instance, I made homemade spaghetti sauce with meatballs.  As I was preparing the food, I imagined never being able to do that particular task again.  What I found was that there were so many things that I'd miss: the smell of garlic on my fingers after dicing, the tangy taste of sauce on my tongue while sampling, the pure feeling of satisfaction when a recipe comes together, the super smells that waft through the house when using a crock pot.  All of these I'd miss if I were suddenly gone.  

Last night, after a taxing day with my daughter, my husband gave me a foot rub and while that is one of life's BIG pleasures, I tried to break the act down into the small things that just make life spectacular.  I learned that even without a sweet husband, there were amazing things about my feet (yes I said my feet) and that rub that I'd miss if I suddenly disappeared.  Don't you just love the feeling of relief you get when you finally sit down after a long day and kick off your shoes?  What about rolling your ankles in circles as they rest on an ottoman or flexing and pointing your toes?  I found I loved to sit with the left side of my left foot resting between my big and second toe on my right foot. The cotton-candy smell of the lotion that my husband uses I realized is quite decadent and certainly makes me feel happy.  Even its consistency is one that I never really stopped to think about.  It isn't that runny lotion that one buys in the drug store, but the kind that feels like frosting in your hand and stands at attention before getting applied to your skin.  Lotion and feet--life's little pleasures.  Whodathunkit? 

This morning, when feeding the dog, once again I imagined what it'd be like if I couldn't do that anymore.  I instantly knew that I'd yearn for the clicking of the dog's nails on the ceramic floor produced by Charley's joyful reindeer-type leap.  Even the sound of the kibbles hitting his bowl makes a sort of music.  And even now, sitting here writing away, I am thinking about the miracle of my brain and how it sends light speed messages so that my fingers move easily along the keyboard and that I love the way it feels when my nails click away on each key's smooth surface.  Currently there's a bird in my front yard cawing with a chorus of crickets behind it and a little breeze is billowing my sheer curtain through the open windows.  All of this is usually background noise and distraction but today I hear it differently.  I see it differently.  These are earth's tiny miracles that I have taken for granted for so long. I am sure without a shadow of a doubt that I'd miss all of this if somehow it or I were to disappear tomorrow. The small things can sustain us a bit if we let them.

I know, I do know that life is hard, the news is bleak,and the world seems to be crumbling.  But perhaps...perhaps, if we can zoom in on what once we thought was the mundane like cooking dinner, feeding the pet, sitting on a couch in our living room, lotion, and yes, even feet, we may realize that there is so much to life that we can lean on when standing on that shaky surfboard.  There are many things we'd miss if we disappeared into the ethers.  So when desperation knocks on our door some bleak day, when life's BIG things trouble or leave us cold, you and I can try and lean on the little things, the everyday things that I now know are not just noise, and details and things that I completely ignored, but instead are small miracles and necessary joys without which life just wouldn't be the same.  

After doing some thinking, I'd love to have you add what small things you'd miss if you could no longer experience them.  Let's help each other appreciate life's small miracles!

 

Robin Williams' Suicide: What only those that are depressed know.

Robin Williams is dead.  The funny man, everyone's uncle, thespian extraordinaire...killed himself perhaps as a result of an all too prevalent disease; depression.  As expected, the world came out wearing black, mourning, lauding, crying for this brilliant brilliant light of man.  I, like most people, read tweets, posts, watched CNN, unhealthily wading through text and mass media alike to try and make some sense of something so senseless. As I read, one line kept showing up...over and over in one form or another; "If you are in pain, please seek help."  "If you are thinking about killing yourself, find someone to talk to." "Here is the suicide hotline's number."  I have to tell you that the cavernous pit in my stomach grew a bit larger because although these words were written or spoken with good intentions, they show how deeply depression is misunderstood.

As a fellow clinically depressed human, let me assure you that many of us are talking and talking and talking to therapists on speed dial, to our pastors, to our best friends, to our doctors, to God.  As Daphne Merkin so eloquently stated in her 2009 NY Times Magazine article, "I have sat in shrinks' offices going on four decades and talked about my wish to die the way the way other people may talk about their wish to find a lover."  We talk.  I promise you we talk.  We also take medicine and exercise.  We stop eating foods with unnatural chemicals.  We sit ad nauseum in front of UV lights in the darkness of winter.  We take vitamin supplements. Hell some have even subjected their delicate minds to electric shock "therapy" to rid themselves of the malignant drowning-in-a-deep-thick-black-bleak-mucky-mud-feeling that is a favorite companion of this horrific disease.  

But here's something that many don't know...especially people who aren't depressed, who haven't had a run in with this dire foe.  Sometimes all the talking, the meds, the running and eating well, spending time with loved ones, even time in a psychiatric facility--it isn't enough.  We sometimes have bouts where nothing works--NOTHING, and it is those times that are the most daunting and haunted for those of us who try to function in a society that sometimes stigmatizes or rejects the searing physical and emotional pain that one feels when in the midst of that crushing remoteness. 

When depression pitches a tent, when it decides to stay despite all measures, it is suffocating in its presence.  For me, every inch--from the hair follicles on my head to the numerous bones in my feet-- prickles with excruciating merciless pain and burn with the distinct feeling of one million matches being pressed against the totality of my skin. My limbs and head feel like they weigh thousands of pounds.  It is a monumental task to lift myself out of bed each day and move through what used to be simple air, oxygen and hydrogen that instead feels like a massive sucking sludge.  When I lay down at the end of the day the exhaustion is inexplicable and a concrete slab of anxiety presses down on my chest making it impossible to breathe.  When depression fights to stay, it follows me into my sleep permeating my dreams making them real and vivid and murderous.  It raids my subconscious and brings to the surface every fear that's buried there.  I wake in the midst of a panic so fierce that I am sure my beleaguered heart will explode into tiny bits, and then...and then I wake up. I do it all over again; a twisted Ground Hog Day movie that refuses to end.  Is it any wonder that some choose to end the cycle themselves?  

So in honor of Robin, for his laughter and his legacy, instead of sending someone to the nearest hotline or hoping that the clinically depressed reach out to someone, please...reach out to them, stay with them, ensure them that you'll never leave, that you'll be there for as long as they need you.  I am lucky. I have that--ten fold.  Don't get me wrong, so many have left--"friends" telling me that my life just drags them down--depression is not for the weak. It takes great strength for both the depressed and those that love them to not waiver in their resolve. Remember, those that are depressed don't want to be that way.  We are working, working every hour, every minute, every millisecond to navigate a life with this disease. So, for Robin's sake, to end the stigma of this disease, and to understand it just a little bit more, if you know someone whose depressed, reach out with an ear, a hand, an unwavering friendship. Be a light in that unending blackness.

The Definition of Dad--Ed Fisher's Way

There is this man and he loves.  There is this man and he teaches love.  There's this man and he wears love on his sleeves, in his smile, in the sound of his warbly voice, in the way his eyes twinkle at each and every human at which he gazes.  There is this man and he IS love.

Ed Fisher, lovingly called 'Pops', has forever changed my definition of "father."   A father loves you through all your mistakes and missteps.  That's Ed Fisher's way.  A father loves being with you and makes you feel as if you are the only one in the room, as if what you have to say and what you think matters.  That's Ed Fisher's way.  A father is a provider not just monetarily but one who gives of his time and a listening ear, a funny story and free "I love you's" each and every time you come and go.   He is a man whom you worship, and one you idolize.  His mind is occupied by God's word and the immense love he has for his family. He doesn't look outward for glory and laudation, for his family is enough...is more than enough...and you know that by the look of pride he has for each and every member. That's Ed Fisher's way.  Ed is a father that is never out of reach.  He's there, with a warm hug and without judgment or scoff.  He'll sit on the couch and sing you his favorite hymns just as easily as he'll sit under the dining room table to play hide and seek with his grandchildren. That's Ed Fisher's way.

Always the quintessential father, you never have to worry about falling from his good graces, as the word "rejection" just isn't in his vocabulary. You don't have to act or look or speak or think a certain way.  You don't have to be talented or pretty or handsome or ugly or broken or sad.  You don't HAVE to be anything. He loves us without conditions.  He loves us despites our not's and no's and nothings.  He loves because that is what a father--a true and real and consummate father--does.  He loves.  And no matter where I am, no matter what mistakes I have made, no matter where I go even if I trip and fall on my way, I can count on this father's steady, unwavering love.  This dad's love anchors me to Earth and let's me rise above it as well.  This father's love give me strength and an unending need to be as good as he makes me feel.  I love you, Pops.  I am a teacher, a writer, a thinker, and a seeker.  I am your son's wife and your granddaughter's mother, but one of the titles that I am most proud of, most fortunate to have bestowed upon me is that of Ed Fisher's daughter-in-law, Ed Fisher's daughter.  I thank you, dear father-in-law, dear father, for loving me like I was worth it.

To the Woman With The Raised Eyebrows: I did not abandon my son

To the Woman With The Raised Eyebrows,

“How’s your son doing?”  You posed this question to me in the middle of a Walmart aisle even though you are merely an acquaintance.   It didn’t surprise me though.  When you live in a small town, a town in which you grew up and now live and work, news travels fast whether it be true or false.  It was no secret to many that my son had been in lots of trouble for the last year; getting kicked out of school (from the district in which I teach), being put on probation, using drugs, as well as many other parental nightmarish things.  I was used to the questions and had gotten pretty good at being vague, or so I thought.  

“Pretty much the same,” was my canned answer.  This is the answer I give to those who don’t really deserve an answer.  These words help me to replace my anger at the audacity of the asking by those who have no business doing so.  And so, it was the answer I gave to you as well,  “Pretty much the same.”  

Usually that ends it.  That phrase is a signal that there really is nothing to talk about.  It’s a signal that I really don’t want to say much.  It’s usually a signal to change the subject which is what I tried on that day we ran into one another.  

“How’s your family?” I asked.  But you didn’t want to let it go.  For some reason, a reason that I may never know, you pressed forward saying,  

“Oh dear!  How do you handle that when you have a small child in the house?  How do you keep her from all of the things he’s doing?”   

And I don’t know why but I instantly felt defensive. I am ashamed of myself.  I shouldn’t have felt that way.  But I did.  So I answered your question when I should have been strong enough to tell you that those logistics were really my family’s business and not yours.  

Instead I blurted out, “She doesn’t see him. We don’t see him. He doesn’t come to our home.  So she doesn’t know about ‘all of the things he’s doing’.”  

And that’s when it happened.  Your eyebrows raised to the ceiling  and out of your mouth came what I am sure is the reaction that many parents would have about our decision to not see our son.  “What do you mean you don’t see him?  How could you abandon him? If his mom won’t help him, who will?”  

I felt my neck get hot and an iron fist begin to clench in the very center of me.  Angry words began to line up like soldiers in my brain.  But I took a deep breath and I reminded myself that you were ignorant.  Your questions proved that.  You had absolutely no information about my son and our relationship and so instead of letting those war words fly, I chose to forgive you.  Right there in the middle of Walmart...I forgave you, wheeled around you, managed a “Yes, I guess that is one way to look at it,” and pushed my cart heavily laden with groceries and guilt down the aisle away from you.

But I want you to know...I want parents who haven’t experienced the things that I have experienced with my son to know...that the decisions that parents with troubled teens make are personal and agonizing and made with unconditional love and aren’t to be judged by anyone.  You don’t get to do that until you have lived with each and every one of us, until you have seen the backroom deals, the pleading, the letter writing, the bargaining, the visits to the hospital, to the principal, to court, to the police stations, the days of crying and the nights full of terror.  

Our decision to use “tough love” on my son came after every other method had been exhausted.  At the end of our rope, we spoke to a therapist who suggested what we knew all along; that my son, whom I love with all I have, will only change, will only seek help when HE thinks there’s a problem, when HE is ready and not a minute before.  She also helped us to see how necessary it was to tell him that as long as he continued living the lifestyle he was living, we couldn’t allow him in our home, that we wouldn’t pretend that all was well because to us and FOR him, all wasn’t well.  

Make no mistake, my son knows we love him.  Part of “letting him go” was to also tell him that when he was ready to live a different lifestyle, when he was ready to get help we’d move mountains to assist him.  We’d be his biggest cheerleaders. We’d use every resource and walk every step of the difficult journey with him.  But until then...until then...we just can’t support the life that he was choosing.  Loving someone unconditionally doesn’t mean that we don’t set boundaries. Had we continued to accept his behaviors as if they were alright in our world, we would have been sending a message to him that he could keep on walking down that dangerous path.  

 

So, my dear  Woman With Your Eyebrows Raised,  don’t ever make the mistake that being tough means we’ve abandoned my son. Tough love is just that--love that is tough--on BOTH the family AND the individual.