Letting Go of all the "Why's"

REPLACING THE “WHY’S”

What works for me, may not work well for you.  All I know is that I am grateful that what I have found IS working for me.  As each day goes by, days do go by and I can’t get them back.  I can’t waste time being sad that life is going on and anyone in my life that still isn’t ready to get help for their addiction, are not enjoying life with me.

That person knows I love them.  They know I have gone to great lengths to help them and that their addiction has denied them the opportunity to accept that help.  Should they come to me today, tomorrow or another day and time and put out their hand to me and tell me that they are ready to get help, and then I shall embrace them and walk next to them during that next phase in their life.  I will support that with all my being.

I will stop questioning every day “why they aren’t getting help”.  The questioning that I had done in the past is now replaced by daily prayer.  God knows how badly I want my loved one to get help.  I trust in God that He will lead my loved in the direction of help.  What I will not consume my entire days and nights with are what if it never happens or what if the addiction takes my loved one’s life.  In God’s hands I have placed my worry and fear.

Not knowing is replaced by prayer. 

Addiction has taken lives and left parents heartbroken and empty.  Addiction has also consumed our loved ones and even though they breathe life each day, the addiction keeps them so very distant from us.  Some ask, “Why would God do this to us?  Why would God bring all this suffering in our lives?”

I don’t have “your” answer, but I know the answer that is meant for me.  During the past twelve years, I have changed.  My faith has grown and I am a better person.  Dealing with the disease of addiction opened my eyes.  I led a very sheltered life where everything was done for me and given to me.  I took so much for granted.  Today, my heart is filled with compassion for others and my gratitude for life and every second that I am blessed with it is absolutely the most precious gift that I embrace each new day.  We all will not live forever and the life we have each day in the here and now is what is important. 

I believe that living a good life now will one day allow me to live with God and all my loved ones again without pain and unhappiness.  I do not question the “why” anymore.  The “whys” have been replaced with “I believe”, “I trust”, and “I have faith in”.

Today I embrace this day and will not let it slip away from me.  My choices.  What is working for me allows happiness into “my” life and for that I am truly blessed and grateful.

WHERE DO MEAN NUNS GO TO WHEN THEY DIE?

(A blast from the past story of my youth, being told because telling it helps me heal and move on.)

When I was in elementary school, the nuns would teach us to do our best never to start a sentence with the work “I”.  When you did, you were not being creative enough and it also would tell others that you were a very self centered person.  To this day, when I write sentences in letters it as if that nun is whispering in my ear, as that is how close I have kept that instruction to my mind.

You need to start some sentences with an “I” of course, so why is it so hard for me to do that?  Could be because the Catholic school that I attended from first through eighth grade was where I obtained the strictest discipline in my life.  Not all the teachers were nuns, but a great many were.  It was the sixties and seventies and when I began, their head-dresses were huge.  If you could remember the flying nun, they you can envision what I am talking about.  The dresses were black and white and down to their ankles.  Their shoes were black and never shiny.  When I was very young, to me their belts were made of rosary beads, but perhaps it only seemed that way because these huge rosary beads were near the waist area.  The white around their head-dress sealed in their face so only their skin would show.  During class as a little girl, I would sit in my chair and stare at my teacher thinking that her face was stuck in there and thought for sure it would never come off.

In third grade I had a woman teacher.  She was to me a regular person.  Not a nun.  She was in her fifties and her name I will never forget because it reminded me of the bright sun outside; Mrs. Shine.  Third grade was my favorite class of all time.  Mrs. Shine was always so very kind to me.  At recess she would tell the most amazing stories of all the trips she had taken during her summer vacations.  One of my favorite television shows at the time was The Munsters.  Mrs. Shine was going to California during Easter vacation and she told us that she was planning on visiting where they filmed the T.V. show The Munsters.  To this day, I remember about ten of us out in the school playground huddled around Mrs. Shine the first day back from Spring break listening to her tell us of how she visited the set of The Munsters.  What was so confusing to me was how I did not understand what she was talking about when she explained the house was a huge painted flat house and that there wasn’t anything behind it.  Today, any third grader for sure would get that but for a little girl growing up in the sixties that had me puzzled for many years.  Now, every time I am channel surfing and an old rerun of The Munsters is on, I have to tune it and think of Mrs. Shine as the show begins and the song begins playing as the cast names scroll on the screen with the image of that Munster house in the background.  Thank you Mrs. Shine!

Seventh grade was my worse class.  My seventh grade, the head-dresses toned down some.  No longer did they have the large take off wings jutting out the sides.  It was 1970-71 and the head-dress was reminded me of the nun costumes you can now buy at Party City for Halloween.  The skirts also got a bit shorter, and were just below the knee.  My seventh grade teacher was Sister Marie DiPazzi.  She was short and chubby and her face was very round and always red.  She had the most violent temper and I wish I could find her so I could look at her and ask her “why”?   This nun did not possess anything remotely similar to Sister Maria from the Sound of Music.

We were taking those skills tests for math and reading.  The tests were all week.  Testing was something that I was really bad at.  For one thing, I was not a great student.  Thinking back on my learning experiences during my school years, I probably had some type of learning disability because I recall in the classroom my mind was always finding other things to concentrate on and if I had to open the textbook and read, I would just zone out.  If I had to read aloud or silently to myself; either way whatever I read, it went in one ear and out the other.  Nothing retained in my grey matter.  Studying for a test at home was just misery.  My mom never helped me with my homework.  She was great Mom, but was busy making dinner and cleaning the house.  When I would get home from school, I would change out of uniform and go sit in the kitchen with my homework and watch Mom coo at the counter.  I did the homework that came easy and left studying for tests to last.  Mom would say that Dad would help me study after dinner.  After dinner my sister and I would do the dishes and then I would go into my Dad’s office where there was the weirdest dark red and gold lamp hanging from the ceiling. If it was dark outside, this room seemed even darker.  I would sit at my Dad’s desk with my textbook open and try to study.  In the room were the World Book Encyclopedias.  We had the white and green editions; the ones with the color photos. My parents still have them in their house.  Mom threw out my Barbie collection when I was ten, and my sister's Beatles collection when she went to college, but no way were those World Books ever seeing the inside of our trash can.  On the top shelf of the book case were the big brown leather editions; no photos. Those I never touched.  After about a half hour or so of reading, or at least trying to read; my eyes would wander off to the World Books.  I crept over and would sit near them on the floor and close my eyes and then slide my finger along the books and count to ten and wherever my finger stopped when I stopped at ten, which was the volume I would open.  In the dark little office with the glow from the red –gold stained glass lamp, I would skim through the volume only stopping at the pictures.  Closing it quickly as I heard my Dad’s footsteps from two rooms away knowing he was heading to check on me studying.

Back at the desk with the book open, I would sit up straight so that when Dad came in he would find me studying and ready for him to ask me questions.  History was so very hard for me.  So many dates, so many places and getting them all connected was just a nightmare for me.  Math though was even worse.  What would send me into the zone where my head would shut off and my ears would ring, was when the questions where in sentence form.  The adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing problems when they appeared as numbers were manageable, but whoa…I was totally off in space when the chapter started asking you, “If Bill was selling ice cream bars at $0.50 and four people stopped by ever fifteen minutes to buy ice cream and Bill’s top seller was vanilla and he started out with fifty vanilla ice cream bars at noon, and by four o’clock he only had seven bars left and a total of $125.00, how many customer bought vanilla ice cream bars?”  Really?  Who wrote those questions and was their purpose in life to make a child’s life miserable?

Dad would come in and I know now of course he must have been exhausted.  He started got up every morning at six a.m. and had breakfast and was off to run his own electrical contracting business from the finished offices in the basement area of our home.  He did the physical labor too on the jobs as well as being the boss and owner.  He is 100% Italian and the most wonderful father in the world.  He was loving, kind, caring and we were his whole world, but this vein in his forehead would pop out if he got aggravated and helping me study could accomplish that.  He would ask me questions and from the long periods I would sit there thinking of the answers, it was plain for him to see that I had no idea and I am sure it was frustrating him.  I would get so tired and that darn red lamp was not helping.  After about two hours, Dad would call it quits and tell me it was late and to go get my bath and ready for bed.  He told me to read over for the test in the morning.  Every night Dad would come in before he headed off to sleep himself and stand over us and put his hand on our heads.  I would ask him, “Dad, why do you do that every night?”  Dad answered, “I am asking God to bless you.”  Then he would quietly leave the room.  (One of my best memories ever growing up.)

So, back to Sister DiPazzi.  Testing that week…all week.  Since we do these tests every year, by seventh grade I finally got this amazing idea.  The teacher would tell us, “Class today I want you to do questions 1 through 100.  Tomorrow we will start again where we left off.”  You would answer by filling in the little circles with your pencil for the one you choose as the correct answer.  My brainstorm one day as I was sitting there during the test, thinking of a way that I could get ahead was to do ten questions over what the teacher told me to do.  So that day, I answered to question 110, thinking to myself…”Wow, I will have more time tomorrow to think because I will have a head start.”

The next day, we were sitting in our classroom and the morning announcements were just getting over with.  Soon, the testing would start.  I was so excited.  I felt like I had a secret and I just knew this year my score would be so much better.  Then Sister DiPazzi went over to the door and said, Miss Rosato please come with me.  I got up and went to the door.  Across the hall was the nurse’s office.  We walked into the nurse’s office and the nurse, Mrs. Holtzlander was sitting at her desk.  Sister DiPazzi didn’t say anything to her.  She just got up from her desk and walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.  All I could think of was, how odd.  I wonder what is going on.  Maybe I thought something happened at home to my parents.  Last year, the twins in my class lost their father and when that happened, they left school early.  Sister DiPazzi stood on the far side of the room.  Behind her were big long windows and I could not see her face too well because the lights were not on in the room, and only the light from outside was coming in.  The walls were painted light green and the furniture dark.  The ceilings I remember were so high.  I was so little too.  My adult height was only five foot two, so in the seventh grade, I am sure I was not even five foot yet.  I wasn’t a skinny kid but healthy.  In seventh grade I had the Marsha Brady look.  Long straight dirty blonde hair parted down the middle with huge big green eyes.  The only thing that made us all long different in Catholic school was our faces pretty much, except for Doreen.  Doreen was my friend and she was the only black student in the entire school. 

“Do you have any idea why I called you in here Miss Rosato?” Sister asked?  “No Sister” I quietly and nervously answered.  Now, Sister DiPazzi like I said was pudgy.  She just was a short huge woman.  Her bust in that uniform just seemed to go out forever.  To us kids, she was a short black and white large mass with a red face that was always mean.  She never smiled or was nice to us, only when parents were around or other teachers.  In class alone, she was sarcastic and could drill holes through you with her eyes as they stared through you as if soon steam would start coming out of her ears.  Everyone knew that getting her mad was not a good thing.  Here I was in a closed room with her. 

The next thing I knew, this short fat woman lunged across the room her hand went back and went swinging towards my face where her palm landed across my cheek sending me reeling to the ground.  She stood over me and reached down and grabbed me by the shoulders and began slapping me on my face; first the right side then the left.  My face felt like it was on fire.  I remember trying to ask her what I did wrong and why she was mad.  She stopped me from talking by hitting me even harder.  Then she grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me and her face was right up to mine.  Her big red face and she began to tell me what I did wrong and as she told me she spit the words out of her mouth and I felt the spit hit my face.  “YOU WERE TOLD TO ONLY DO UP TO QUESTION 100 MISS ROSATO!  WHAT QUESTION DID YOU DO UP TO!  WHO TOLD YOU THAT YOU CAN DO UP TO QUESTION 110 MISS ROSATO!!!!  YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE MISS ROSATO DO YOU HEAR ME!!!!  I TOLD YOUR PARENTS ABOUT THIS AND THEY HAVE GIVEN ME PERMISSION TO SCOLD YOU MISS ROSATO!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM TELLING YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! “ Smack, as her last hard smack came across my face.  I fell to the floor and just sobbed and I was so very afraid.  She stood over me and screamed for me to look at her.  I looked up at the big red faced fat woman who had her hand on her wide hips and held my stare there afraid to look elsewhere.  She told me to get up.  I was shaking so bad.  I got up and stood there and she told me that she hoped that from now on I learned my lesson and will never disobey an order again.  She went to the door and opened it and stood there.  She told me to go to the bathroom and to wash my face and go back to class.

I walked down the hall and as I headed for the girls bathroom on the left, Mrs. Holtzlander passed me on my right.  She just looked down at the floor as we passed one another.  I opened the girl’s room door and walked into an empty stall and threw up.  Then I cried.  I didn't want to go back to class, but I didn't want to go home either.  My parents told them to do this to me.  Sister DiPazzi said they gave her permission to do that to me.

About ten minutes later, I had calmed down and had soaked my face with cool water several times.  My cheeks still felt so hot and red.  MY straight hair was all messed up and I tried to flatten it back down the best I could.  The white blouse had come out of my plaid skirt, so I tucked it back in and headed back to class.  When I opened the door, Sister DiPazzi was standing behind her podium in front of the class and told me to take my seat and to begin my test.  At my desk my test was turned over.  I sat down in my chair and turned over my test.  Questions 101-110 had big red X’s through them.  I started on question 111.

In eighth grade, our class went on a class trip because we were graduating and all the 8^th graders went on a class trip.  Our class went to a dude ranch in the Poconos for the day.  Sister DiPazzi went and wore shorts and rode a horse.  Every chance I got, I would stare at her and inside my mind I would wish that she would drop dead of a heart attack like my Uncle Carmen did and die, or at least have the horse buck her off so she could fall on her fat large butt and be the laughing joke of the trip.

For years I held inside that pain. That misery of what a child felt like to be abused by a grown woman that by so many people was seen as “holy”.  I was too ashamed to tell others because I had been convinced that the nuns had permission from our parents to discipline us. 

 It wasn't until my own children were in school; public school and I shared that story with my parents.  I remember telling it one night when my family was gathered in my parent’s kitchen for a family get together.  We were all sharing stories about growing up, and we got on the subject of going to Catholic School.   My eldest brother went there, as well as my other siblings, but my brother sent all three of his children to the same school.  They had a very different learning experience from ours.  My brother began to tell us about how this one nun slapped him across the face one day, and how he slapped her back.  That was what opened the door for me to tell my story.  It was a night of laughing and joking, so I told bits and pieces of it in a light hearted way.  Not going into detail of how frightening the experience had really been for me.  However, when I was done I looked at my parents and told them hold the Sister had hold me that she had their permission to hit me that day.   My mom looked down and told me, “Of course not. Why didn't you ever say anything to us, “she asked looking back up at me?  “I don’t know Mom, I guess because I believed her.  She was a nun.  She wore a cross around her.”

Over the many years, I have searched the Internet for the Sister’s name. Guessing I was looking for a clue that might connect her name to an obituary or perhaps a jail sentence for abusing children, but unfortunately never was able to come up with one piece of information linked to this nun.  However a few years back, there was a web page started for alumni of the school.  I joined and posted a comment on how Sister DiPazzi beat the heck out of me one day in the nurse’s office for answering ten questions more on the yearly tests.  A few weeks later, someone else posted how they remembered how Sister Denise threw a projector at some boy’s head. 

Within months, the website was gone.  The school closed down that year too.  All information on these Sisters of Mercy from the Diocese of Trenton that taught in that school seems to have completely gone from sight.  The only trace left is those still embedded and scarred in the memories of their victims. 

I am a Christian.  I have forgiven Sister DiPazzi, and that I did not learn to do by attending Catholic school.

Today when I reflect back on this, writing about it helps me to heal but although I have nothing to feel grateful for having had this experience, as a mother I made sure my own children knew growing up that if any adult tried to physically discipline them that it was wrong and to tell me about it right away!

So, where do Mean Nuns go when they die?  Most likely if they die and they still are mean and haven't asked for forgiveness they are in the same place with all the other mean unsaved souls.

God bless the public school system.

DON'T GO THIS ALONE - SUPPORT IS THE KEY

Another day in the life for a family member who has a loved one that is addicted to drugs, alcohol or both.  Where are you on this journey?  Alone, waking up each day in fear and ending each day weighed down by the intensity of that fear?  Perhaps you found support, for which you are then waking up each day feeling grateful to be alive and lie there in the morning opening your eyes giving thanks for another day.  You end your day in prayer again giving thanks for all the blessings the day had brought into your life.  You sleep at night.  Which one are you?

Before I began attending Al-Anon meetings, I truly felt that "I got this!”  I could get my daughter's addiction under control.  As a strong willed woman and mother, it seemed that I had been always able to "fix" everything for my family, so why should this be any different.  Plus, I had an advantage here.
My husband is a licensed drug and alcohol counselor and has been in the field for over twenty four years now.  He worked for one of the nation's most successful treatment centers supervising one of the unit's there and now for the past nine years he has been an interventionist performing hundreds of interventions throughout the world helping families getting their loved help and moving the family in the direction they also need to be.  He works from home when he isn't traveling to an intervention or helping a family, so I am around hearing this dialogue every day of my life.  I can do this!
Well, I can't.  That is why my husband is successful at what he does.  He is skilled and trained and I had no clue on what I was doing and I failed miserably.
I knew everything from hearing my husband talk to families and addicts, but everything I retained in my head came out like oatmeal whenever I would talk to my daughter.  Just mush. I was telling her everything she needed to do to get help and why she didn't to do it. Finally I barked out my bottom lines to her if she didn't get help.
Yeah...all of it quickly went south of the border. What was left was just more resentment for both of us.
When she would call I would again begin to tell her everything she was doing wrong and how she was "screwing" up her life.  "What are you thinking?"  "Why do you want to throw your life away like this?"  "Why do you hang around such losers?  Don't you know these people are ruining your life?"  "Why don't you stop drinking already and straighten up and become more responsible?"  "Don't you realize you are a mother and your child needs you to knock this crap off?"  Oh yeah...I would go on and on expecting her to give me rational answers for these; what I thought at the time were reasonable questions to ask.
Finally after a few years of hearing my husband plead with me to go to Al-Anon, I went.  The years of dealing with my daughter's addiction alone left me exhausted and a very angry person.  I was turning into a monster and I did not like that person at all.
That first meeting, I still had a chip on my shoulder.  I walked into that meeting that night with the attitude like, "I got this.  I will show them who needs Al-Anon!”  No one was going to break me down with their 12 steps.  I am from New Jersey!  I am tough!  I don't need a bunch of weak fragile people to help me!
What I encountered were a group of about 8-10 men and women that did not look weak, fragile or broken, but smiling happy faces that were hugging one another when they began walking into the room.  Faces filled with hope, not despair.  As the meeting began, they started going around the room saying their names and I began to get nervous.  I had to tell them my name!  Really?  I had this feeling like in grade school when you know the teacher was going to call on you to answer.  I gave my turn and felt so relieved to get that over with.  I had been so nervous that I couldn't remember anyone’s name anyways.  The meeting was run at first like a typical club meeting.  Someone next who was the treasury of the group gave an update on account; summarizing the expenses on buying literature for our group's library, medallions, etc.  The secretary gave the account of upcoming events and published items and where and when they were available.  Then the person that had signed up to be this week's speaker took the reins and began the meat and potatoes of the meeting.  They had a topic and gave a head lining start and told how it related to them personally or the disease.  Then each person had a turn to chime in on either the topic or what they wished to contribute that night.  About an hour it lasted and as it was coming to an end, people talked about signing up for weeks ahead, who would be interested in meeting for coffee or after the next meeting, and finally how nice it was to see new faces.  We joined hands before leaving and said the Serenity Prayer and a closing slogan and it was over.  Hugs all round followed.  People came up to me and embraced me and told me how good it was that I attended and gave me a phone list of numbers of the members if I ever needed support or a ride.  As we strolled out of the room in our small mass exodus to the parking lot, one woman asked me if I was planning on going to the all women's meeting on Saturday.  I told her I had not known of it and she gave me the details and said she hoped she would see me there.  Out in the parking lot, some conversations were continued on under the dimness of the lot lighting, while others hurried off to the cars with the sound of key beeps unlocking doors followed by engines starting.  I did the same and soon grabbed my cell phone and called my youngest daughter and gave her the summary of what I just participated in.  My youngest lives on the west coast and the two of us are like peas in a pod; so alike and always on the same wave length.  She listened and we joked about a few things like how nervous I was at saying my name, but I felt so glad I went and I could hear in her voice how glad she was that I went too.
Since that night, I cannot even begin to describe how helpful going to Al-Anon has been to me.  Fellowship with these individuals have allowed me to gather up wisdom, support and friendship that allowed me to grow into such a healthier minded person that now knows that I cannot cure this disease and being from NJ doesn't matter squat, I can't control this disease even if my family were the Soprano's, and I wasn't responsible for creating it. 
In the past when my daughter's addiction was in my face, I crumbled and was beaten down. This happened time and time again because I had no resolution; I just reacted and was manipulated by the disease.  The addict is powerful and slick.  That was not my precious daughter anymore I was dealing with.  Al-Anon provided me with tools to make me stronger in mind and spirit, as well as clearing my vision of a path towards peace and serenity back in my life.
I encourage EVERYONE that has a loved one in their life that is struggling with addiction to get support.  Try it.  Find an Al-Anon meeting and go.  Give it a month or two.  Try a couple different meetings groups.  Read the literature.  I recommend Courage to Change.  Mine is on my coffee table and when I need some inspiration and motivation, I open it up to a random place and always find myself smiling after I am done reading. 
Or you can continue to do this alone. Crying yourself to bed another night.  Giving them just one more chance.  Saying you’re sorry for something YOU did not do.  Sitting there alone and wondering and worrying if they will overdose today or may be out on the streets possibly getting raped or murdered.  Alone and letting the disease drain all the happiness and life out of you.
Try it.  Support is the key.
  http://www.al-anon.alateen.org/

Changing the Channel and Tuning In

You know those days when you may find yourself listening to the radio, watching a television show, reading a magazine or just talking with people and the topic of something that you have been struggling with for awhile is just WHAM right there in your face.  You listen or read on and you think to yourself, "Wow, that is exactly the answer that I have been looking for!".  Well, that has been happening alot to me lately.

Some occasions what I may have heard has been rather subtle, nothing quite full of WHAM, but enough to get my attention.  The messages are coming over loud and clear though, and for that I am grateful.

As like many people today, I work a forty hour week, have a family and am raising my grand-daughter who will be turning thirteen in just a couple of days.  The daily grind Monday through Friday can be powerfully exhausting at times.  Once home at night, I get dinner ready and then clean it up or we might have to dash off to gymnastics two nights a week to boot.  My husband's job requires some traveling, so there are times when I am going solo, which I know doesn't sound like a big deal to some Mom's with three, four or even more children but remember, I am the grand-mom and my energy level isn't what I had in my thirties or forties for that matter.  All life has become so very routine.  There are days when I catch myself doing the same thing so often, I loose track of the day.  I never ever would think that by fifty four years old, my most favorite place to be in the entire world would be in my own bed at night by nine p.m..  If my life could have a T-shirt slogan it would say in big letters "Walking Granny Zombie" because that is how I feel some days. My body is going through the all the motions of living, but not a whole lot is set aside to just relax and rejuvenate.  I try to really hard to on the weekends, but Monday through Friday boy, well I am in the zombie zone.

So back to the messages I am getting.  Here are some examples.

1. Parenting out of guilt.  I am guilty of this.  My grand-daughter's mom is an addict and I have been raising her for about four years now.  She has always been in my life, but since third grade is when her Mom decided to choose a boyfriend and substance abuse over being a Mom.  With that always in the back of my mind, I always find myself not giving her consequences.  The problem is, she is such an incredibly great child.  Sweet, caring, intelligent and so loving.  When she doesn't listen, I just keep asking over and over again, which usually ends up with me doing what I asked her to do, or getting upset and marching up to her room and yelling for her to get off the computer or phone and swearing that she had better watch out if I came back in ten minutes and still found her on it.  Well of course ten minutes goes by and I am just repeating the insanity of the same act, which you and I both know is not providing any results.  Seeing her beautiful little face as I get upset, the guilt just floods into my head and then I am telling her I love her and asking her nicely as I begin cleaning up her room. 

Now from my routine, I would say that I begin to start entering the major zombie zone area about 7 p.m. so my patience is wearing thin.  When these circumstances are ongoing, I just want to escape and in my mind the resentment for my daughter robbing me of my happiness begins to start slithering back in with all the toxic emotions that come along with it too.  Before you know it, I hate myself.  I look in the mirror and I am so upset that I allow myself to be like this over and over and over again.

My husband; who used to work as a counselor at a youth home years ago, has been telling me for years that I have to give her consequences. "Take her computer away.  Take her phone away.  Take her TV away.  Tell her she can't go to the sleepover."  Lots of good suggestions, problem was...I just hated doing that because..."I PARENT OUT OF GUILT!"  I don't want her to hate me and think I don't love her.  I have to prove to her that I love her and that I would never hurt her like her Mom did.

Here comes the message part.  Sorry it is taking so long.

So I am driving home from work one day.  Lots of traffic.  I always listen to my classical station...of lovely soothing music.  I clicked on the radio and it was pledge week!  I don't know about you, but I really despise pledge week.  I know it is the most effective way to have funds come in for support, it's just that I really can't wait for it to be over and would like nothing better for pledge week to be from 7 pm - 7 am.  So, I am looking for a channel and by accident I hit the AM/FM button and switched the radio from FM to AM.  A woman's voice came on welcoming the listeners to the family talk part of the show.  "Thank you for joining us today.  We have an great show for you today and it is on "Parenting Out of Guilt" and our guest today is author and psychologist Dr. .....".  OMG!   The Doc was a man with the most lovely radio voice that just captivated my attention so my hand left the radio tuner and returned to the steering wheel.  As I drove on, my mouth slowly became agape as the message I was hearing was clearly...CLEARLY meant for me to hear.  I look back now and realized that during some parts of the doctor's prescription to "me" and his audience, I was sitting there nodding my head in agreement, validating to my conscience to listen and that this was exactly what I needed to start doing.  The message was very powerful and effective at reaching the my inner mind that had for years been doing things incorrectly. 

I went home that night and had a wonderful night.  I applied the advice I heard to instances that occurred and was amazed at how well received they were and successfully executed without garnishing any respect for me.  Also, I happened to have caught a smile from my husband the first time I went over to my grand-daughter and asked to see her IPhone to which I replied when it was in my hand, "Okay, so now go upstairs and clean your room.  You may have this back when all your chores are done like I have asked you to do."  I walked away into the next room where I finally let out my breath when I hear her go up the stairs with the vacuum. 

Well, that was over a year ago, and our family has become a home that is thriving with love and respect for one another.  Plus, I have not touched that dial in my car, except for after my husband uses it and I have to say goodbye to the 80's station.  What is amazing is that every day when I am listening to this station, there is something good and useful that I am able to take away and apply in my life.

God works in mysterious ways, but He also answers my prayers.  He knows how busy my life is and how difficult it is for me to take time for myself, so He found me a radio station that broadcasts messages to me during my commute to work and back home Monday through Friday.  For this I am grateful. 

Behind Closed Lids of Slumber, You Are There

I do not know what it is like to lose a loved one to the disease of addiction, but what I have experienced has been a very long period of just "hanging on and not knowing".  It is when you ask them to leave and cannot continue to have a healthy relationship with them and distance between both of you increases.  You spend less and less time with this person, even though they are in your daily thoughts for most of the day.
When I go on the internet and type in key words to gather more and more information every opportunity I can on this disease, there are times when I stop to read posts from parents that share their experiences of losing a child to drugs or alcohol, or having their loved one be so deep into the addiction that it led to being incarcerated for a very long time.
These experiences I cannot relate to, however I do know loss.  My mind senses it every day.  I look at the phone and expect it to ring.  I often walk pass my front room window in my home and wonder if the car slowing down my street could be pulling into my driveway.  What do I expect?  What am I waiting for to happen?
I hold on.  The hope that sustains me will not perish.  Each day, there could be a slight chance that it will be the day when the phone does ring, or the knock at the door is the one I have been expecting.  What?  Who is it that I imagine would be at my doorstep when I open the door?
Tonight like every other night for almost twelve years I will lie down to go to sleep and as I lie there in the darkness of my room waiting for slumber to take me to the peacefulness of nightly rest, I will see her face and as always ask my God to be with her and bless her.  Watch over her and keep her safe.  Let her hear a voice within her one day soon that will encourage her to pick up the phone and call, or to find a ride to bring her to my front door.  One day, to bring the distance that is now so far and wide between closer by her reaching out with her hand for help and I can be there to take it. 
Closing my eyes and behind my lids I will begin to dream, because it is there that I have begun to etch the image of those dreams that will carry into the hours that my body and soul shall rest.  Having her there she remains so close to me, until daybreak and I awake to the blessings of another day.  Hope continues.

SUPPORT IS THE KEY

I have written several posts on my FB page about having support, through which I have been able to recover as well. 

Al anon provided me with the tools I needed so desperately to get through some horrible days and nights that this disease was just beating me daily.  I admit, I was not sold at first.  I went into my first meeting one night and thought to myself, "Oh I will show them who needs help!".  That was my inner resentment character who at the time had taken control of my entire being.  Got through the meeting and drove home picking it apart to myself in the car.  Listing what was wrong with it, what I would do differently, how would they know how I am feeling, who gave them their licenses to practice psychology....nothing they said was going to supposed transform back into the Gina that used to be! 
My husband asked how the meeting was.  Great, just great I told him.  Then snapped at him for something totally from out of left field and went to bed.  Poor hubby.
Well, I kept going. Around the fourth meeting, I realized this wasn't so bad.  I started making a connection with people in the group.  Then to give myself some variety, I began going to an all women's group on Saturdays.  I began to read the meditation books, interacted and shared more with other members that before long my toolbox was beginning to be filled with some pretty helpful resources that provided me with answers, solutions and an approach to finding serenity.
My daughter's addiction had transformed me into someone unrecognizable as well.  I was no longer a fun person to be around.  All the resentment that had built up inside me had me snapping at people all the time, and just plain angry and nasty.  Before I could ever begin to start picking apart my daughter's wrongful behavior any longer, it was time for me to start taking an inventory of my own behavior.  When I did, I was just ashamed.  It was time to start working on myself and put all the energy I was exerting into making myself a better me.  Had I not attended those Al anon meeting, I would never have realized this.
Any 12 step program uses the 12 steps as a foundation for their program.  The 12 steps of Al anon opened my eyes.  They can be applied in any walk of life, and if followed can make anyone a nicer, happier and content human being. 
Meeting others in the Al anon support groups allowed me to see that our family members may have different addictions, but our similarities are quite remarkably amongst us.  Sharing our stories and supporting one another allows us to heal and grow stronger.
Today, I am so grateful for the tools in my toolbox that I use every day, so that now when I look in the mirror, I like the person that looks back at me.

Holildays are the hardest we all know....

Thanksgiving morning began with an exchange or greetings near and far with family members. Reality however was that the emptiness and hole that resides deep inside my heart is where my morning began as I was in bed opening my eyes like I do every morning knowing that my child is not back in my life yet. She is still out there on her own course of addiction not surrendering to get help. My body ...

refreshed from sleep, sits up and as I slide my legs off the side of the bed, my feet hit the floor like cement. This weight of sadness and emptiness will drag me through the day and feel heavier with memory that enters into my mind of when she was healthy and our holiday pasts were filled with joy and happiness.
I am a Heartbroken mother of an adult child that is an addict. My heart aches for my daughter to be in our lives again.
Dinner out at a local restaurant has been a resort to lift the low, but being surrounded by other families sitting smiling, talking and sharing the day is almost too much to endure....because what I see and want is what they have...being TOGETHER!
Blessings...I am not alone. I have a wonderful husband and I am raising my daugther's beautiful and healthy daugther...my grand-daughter that is sitting across from me talking, smiling, laughing and we are engaged as a famliy!
I AM a mother of an adult child that is and addict. I am blessed because life goes on for me. I will endure and I will not give up.
Thank you Alanon and my family and friends that have supported me and provided me with the insight to know to let go...let God.
The weight is lessened and the darkness becomes light when I give my fears to my higher power and keep my soul filled with faith.
Don't stay alone and let the darkness and heaviness of your child's addiction keep you in an unhealthy place. Seek life and support.
Stop blaming what you could have done. I WAS a good mother! I AM still a good mother! I AM an AMAZING grand-mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, co-worker, and human being. I will live today, continue to love and pray.
Peace!

Posted on my FB paged on 11/25/11. 

 

 

While listening to a radio talk show today going to work, the host's topic was about good versus evil and how each day we are faced with the temptations of evil and how we are always tempted by it no matter how good we try to be. To stay strong and protected against the lurking evil all around us, the speaker suggested staying faithful, positive and kind, etc...
This made me think of Addiction and how it too is like an evil monster that lurks in the darkness and is always waiting for those that can fall weak by its temptations.
When the addict or alcoholic gets the tools they need to stay sober, if they don't continue to do what is needed each day to remain sober they become vulnerable to relapse, and the armor of sobriety begins to weaken.
It inspired me to write the analogy below.

Posted on my facebook page on 9-8-12

http://www.facebook.com/shilo1er#!/photo.php?fbid=417217891660859&set=a.386921208023861.85812.171497539566230&type=1&theater

I AM SEEKING SERENITY

Each day that I wake I give thanks for the gift of life, because life is a gift and to open your eyes and realize that you get another chance to breath and embrace all that it offers, well...I find that truly wonderful.
I didn't always feel this way of course. 
My eldest daughter has been addicted to drugs and alcohol for the past twelve years.  It is a sad truth that my story is not unique.  There are countless mothers just like me living with this heartbreak. 
It took years to reach where I am in my life right now, to where I can find a glimpse of serenity; something I am striving each day to gain more and more of. 
When you obtain your first taste of serenity, there is a peace that overcomes you.  During your journey through the darkest days, you never thought you would ever sense this freeing moment.  Upon quenching my spirit with it at first, I knew I needed more and also knew what I needed to do to get it.
The disease of addiction is masking my beautiful daughter right now, and although she may appear to be familiar to me in appearance, the eyes that look back at me and the foreign characteristics that she possesses are frightening and heart wrenching for me as her mother to accept.
Sharing my journey through these words here, are given to any and all readers out of love and compassion in hope that whatever is taken away can be used to help or heal.
When serenity seeps into my day, I always feel so very blessed.  Either in the morning or before I go to bed, I reflect on my life and think of at least one thing I am grateful for.  Today I am grateful for knowing how well I am taken care of and that I don't have to have an extravagant life, full of luxuries to be happy.  A peanut butter sandwich for dinner while watching silly TV shows in bed with a beautiful healthy grand-daughter is simply one of the greatest luxuries life can provide me with.