Opening the Door to the Past

So, here they are! Steven and Christine together again! I am thrilled -- for myself and for Christine. I hope Steven is, too. Their reunion did not take place when we thought. In fact, when plans "fell through", I wasn't sure it would happen at all. "I guess it was God's way of telling us someone wasn't ready," I thought. But this afternoon, my son stepped foot in my house for the first time in almost two years! Everyone was on guard -- a little apprehensive -- but eventually, we began to "find our groove". I was pleased both of them wanted to include me. Certainly, it wasn't the way it used to be; given that my son is now a man, his little sister is quickly approaching the age he was when he left, and time has seemed to double with the things I have learned and the paths my life has taken, I'm not sure it will be the same. But I am willing to see where this path takes me, and I pray Steven can sometimes take it with me.

Praying For Wisdom

I'm writing this "cold", meaning I am using this to sort out my feelings as I write. Writing is how I heal, decompress, prepare, organize my thoughts -- but posting while I do it?! Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of time today to use my usual process -- write, read, rewrite, post (upon my discretion). That's not to say my posts are phony or insincere, but let's face it, the world is a scary place; hanging myself out there unchecked, is a little reckless, not to mention potentially libelous. Writing can be raw emotion; writing for the public should serve the public. To the point, my daughter took steps to reunite with my son. Steven has been "on his own" for almost two years. In that two years he has made no effort to contact Christine or me; he has contacted other family members, even neighbors, but has avoided us altogether. Before he left, he did some very unscrupulous things and told some very damaging lies. I am hurt; Christine is hurt. I believe it was that hurt and an aching to see him, to find answers, to close doors that prompted her to call him. From a parent's point of view, I believe he needs maturity. I believe he needs me to step back, let him find his way, and grow into a man that is self-sacrificing and brave enough to re-establish relationships he has dissolved, if that is his desire. Christine, obviously, is not his parent. From the perspective of one who, in the past, was foolish and lacking in self-respect enough to sacrifice and pursue those who cared only for themselves, I believe Christine needs to ask herself the question, "How far am I prepared to take this?" So far, Christine's answer is, "I don't know." It's human nature to want answers; it's human nature to think that all the answers exist in this world. After all, what scientist settles for "We just don't know"; what detective is satisfied with the word "unsolved". I'm just not sure Christine is going to get the answers she wants -- answers to the question "Why?" I ache when I think of the frustration that could bring. And what if he does give her an answer? What if that answer is to blame someone else? her? me? the crowd he fell in with? Will she take the blame? Will she blame others as well? Will she realize that he is ultimately responsible for his actions, before she gushes with forgiveness and grants absolution. Or what if he does own up, assume responsibility? Will she declare a fresh start and "pick up where she left off" -- giving him, once again, the key to her heart and watching pie-eyed as he walks on water for her? Will she count on his promise to "keep in touch" -- the same promise he made to me 20 months ago when we last spoke. I know the longing Christine feels. For months tears came to my eyes when I smelled his cologne in the stores -- the worst part being that I was the one who couldn't resist picking up the bottle and spraying "just a little". But I also know the consequences of tirelessly chasing after someone who hasn't even found themselves, yet. I know what an idealist I was at her age; I know I always believed you do anything for the ones you love. I've learned, more often than not, you do what's right for the ones you love, and "what's right" does not always correspond with where yor heart leads you. I know how smart she is. I know she is not me, and will not necessarily make the same mistakes I made. I know she has people who love her and support her. I know that I am not always right. Lastly, I know that God is in control, and it is my job to give him that control and pray for His leading in my parenting. I'm not forbidding her to see him; in fact, she's seeing him tonight. But, I will be there. If I have to sit and say absolutely nothing, I will be there. That, I guess is the irony of it. My heart is saying, "This is an open door to making your peace with him. Go through it!" My heart is also saying, "Don't let her go. Shut the door, don't look back, protect her from getting hurt." I'm going to do what I believe God says is right. I'm making this her decision and, depending on what transpires, her heartbreak or her happiness. But, no matter what, I will be there.

A Picture of Me

The internet is an amazing tool, no doubt. I guess I'm preaching to the choir on this. It's also no big secret how much trouble people can get into on the internet -- overspending, rekindling old relationships best left cold, eating away at too much of our time. This morning the internet provided me with a troubling picture of myself, a picture I had hidden somewhere behind Ancient History and Good Riddance to Bad Garbage. But there it was, as it has been for many years, waiting to reveal itself to me again and ask the question, "Are you prepared to look at me now?" Years ago I had a friend, a very close friend. She was single, a couple of years older than I, funny, always energetic and, I thought, attractive in a very exotic way. Her parents doted on her, as she was an only child, and they were just as wonderful to me. Not long after we'd met, she left a long term relationship that was deteriorating into abuse and misuse. I admired her courage, felt the pain she was experiencing, and watched in amazement as she emerged into an independent, self-sufficient woman. Truthfully, the relationship I was in was not wonderful by any stretch of the imagination, and I was somewhat jealous of the doors that were opening for her and her fearlessness as she stepped through them. Within months after her difficult, but liberating break-up, her health began to deteriorate. A problem she had been dealing with for many months had begun to wreak more damage on her body, drain her spirit, and leave her in almost constant agony. The independence she had struggled so hard to gain, was rushing right out the window. In the meantime, I had gotten married, purchased a house, purchased a new vehicle, my husband had gotten a better job closer to our new home, and shortly thereafter I gave birth to a daughter; it "couldn't have been any better for me". Much to my regret, the sharp contrast in my life and the life of my friend took a toll on our relationship. I felt it. It made me uncomfortable. I bailed. There was a little more to it -- I did have some valid reasons for ending the relationship or, at the least, distancing myself. There were personal reasons as well as issues I had with the relationship itself. I'm not sure that, given the opportunity to renew that friendship today, I would. The point is, none of that is important. I bailed. There was no heart-to-heart, no explanation -- I just stopped answering her calls. I ignored her. At one point I even felt guilty enough to try to reconnect. The issues were not going to fix themselves; they hadn't. It didn't work; I walked away again. When I saw her mother some months later, she told me, "It would have been better if you'd just left her alone." I wanted to defend myself, to explain why I couldn't continue to be her friend; I couldn't. I think I mumbled shamefully, "I know." I saw a woman in the store the other day; she reminded me of my old friend. Again, this morning, as I was checking out the news, her name came to me. So, with the internet at my fingertips, I "Googled" her. What I found shocked me -- a picture of a beautiful home with a meticulously manicured lawn in a quiet neighborhood. The warmth of happiness rose in me and I thought, "How wonderful! She deserves it. I couldn't be happier for her." As I looked a little more closely, I could see her at her front door. There she was, disabled worse than she was the last time I saw her. The feeling that dropped into the pit of my stomach can only be described as disgust. I was angry that her body had failed her so badly. Then I realized I was angry I had failed her so badly. I don't mean to say that her physical condition would be any different had I been there for her; I don't mean to say she seemed miserable and alone. As a matter of fact, she seemed quite happy, and her house was well-kept -- not the sign of someone beaten down and friendless. But I had hurt her with what I had done, and it was time to deal with it. I looked at that picture over and over, wondering what her life must be like today, wondering if she is married, wondering who her neighbors are and if they are nice to her. I even began to realize that one of the deciding factors in the dissolution of our friendship was my marriage which, ironically failed five years ago. I had reached all those wonderful milestones in order to bring some substance to a mirage; I had poured my heart and soul into that mirage and left the feelings of some very good people in its wake. I suppose I will be dealing with that realization for a very long time. But, back to dealing with my incredible lack of character in this situation... I still am. How do I ask forgiveness without doing any more harm to her, opening wounds she has healed? In the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, it says to make amends "except when to do so would injure them or others." Dropping down on her front step, ready to apologize with flowers and a cheesy card is not an option; I have no desire to attempt to contact her and upset her. I do have a need to make amends, maybe not with her, but with my God; to ask forgiveness for such deplorable behavior. Maybe I should or will even contact her parents to ask their forgiveness. And then there is me. The fact that my life not always been easy, the fact that I have sometimes paid dearly for my transgressions is a convenient way to let myself off the hook. But this is about fixing what's broken, not relieving myself of blame. I am going to have to forgive myself for this one. I have taken huge steps in the last five years to mature and change many of my old behaviors. I have come to recognize some of the self-destructive behaviors that drove me for so many years and I try to "nip them in the bud" before they disrupt or damage the incredible relationships I value. I communicate, and step out of my "comfort zone" to do so when necessary. I don't take on more than I can handle, thereby I avoid leaving too many people in the lurch. I try to make choices based on God's reasons or God's leading rather than allow myself to be guilted into them. But, as for forgiveness, that's got to come from within this time. I must look at the picture for what it really is -- a picture of the old me, who now, by the grace of God is capable of forgiveness; a picture of one courageous enough to move on with her life despite adversity and betrayal, and the other who learned so much from her. When I look at that picture, it will no longer induce shame, but hope that my friend has forgiven my lack of character and a prayer that I will continue to forgive myself and grow in grace as well.

This is our Tinkerbell -- or Jezebel, depending on how well she is behaving that day. We adopted her in January 2008 from the Delaware County SPCA. We went that day "just to check it out", you know, "just see what they had". All words that were used when we left the house that day. We had just put down my "best friend" of fourteen years, Palmer; she'd become ill suddenly and seemed to beg me for help with each breath. Scott was on the road that week, and we had planned to take her last ride to the vet when he got home; she couldn't wait. She hadn't eaten for days, and whether it was pain or just the confusion created when her "Mommy" couldn't seem to fix what was wrong, her eyes gripped my heart in desperation. I left a tearful message on Scott's voicemail that Christine and I were headed to the vet for a quiet, sorrowful departure that night.

It had been less than a month since then. I didn't want a replacement -- there could never be one. I wanted time to grieve. I wanted, when the time came, to go out and get a dog because we wanted a dog. My family wanted something completely different. Truthfully, Palmer had been a little strange -- she was my dog, my best friend, and everyone else, she tolerated -- and not always so well. My family saw this as their chance. While I know they cared for her, they didn't love her like I did. They saw her as "not quite what they wanted"; now she was gone. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to paint anyone in a bad light, but this was a family we were building, and "my old friend" was exclusive. They never complained or wished that she was not around, no matter how many times she grumbled, growled or snapped at them; they just saw an opportunity to add another piece to the equation that we all could enjoy. And that is exactly what we did.

Of all the dogs that day, "the tennis ball dog" was the one that everyone gravitated toward -- everyone except me. I assumed the part of the taskmaster. "We're just looking, remember?" "I thought we weren't getting a dog today." "We didn't even get the house ready. What're we gonna do -- just turn her loose and hope she's housebroken?" I think at some point Scott snapped back into reality and said, "I'm sorry, Babe, did you say something?" But it was all over for practicality. "The Tennis Ball Dog", AKA "Tinkerbell" had them from the door. She was sitting, pressed up against the front of her cage, tennis ball in her mouth and tail wagging. When she stood we realized it was actually her tail that was wagging the rest of her, and she was a sweetheart. She'd been turned in by the police in a "round-up" of dogs whose owners were suspected of dog fighting; she bore some scars on her face, but apparently, not on her heart. She has turned out to be "our dog" and, in her own way, she is something different to each one of us. To Scott she is "a man's dog", greeting him at the back gate when he comes home and sharing leftovers with him at the kitchen sink. To Joe, she is his buddy, cuddling at the foot of his bed at night. To Christine, "Belle" is "the cool dog" that attracts a crowd wherever we go and, as a result, makes Christine the center of attention. To Madison, Tinkerbell is still "the tennis ball dog", waiting for Maddy to come along and make a huge fuss, talking baby talk and scratching behind her ears while she plants a big kiss right at the end of Tinkerbell's nose. When it comes to Olivia, Belle is her partner in crime -- standing by with ears upright and head cocked, watching Olivia's every move, knowing that somewhere along the line Olivia will unearth some treasure or uncover some treat that Belle can explore and gobble up. To me, Tinkerbell is mine -- not like Palmer was, never like Palmer -- but she lays with me, seeks me to let her out or feed her, loves to walk with me, and assumes sitting in the passenger seat of my truck is her God-given right. She comes when I call her, runs through her repertoire of tricks on my command, and most days, follows me from one end of the house to the other.

Scott and I are reminded frequently of just how blessed we are, and today we realized that, right down to our dog, God is good to us. We could have fared much worse than our "sometimes Jezebel", but even with the loss of a "good friend" God chose to bless us with someone whose company we could all enjoy.