Tag: family

Going Home

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Growing up, giving directions to my house was always interesting.  It went something like this…”Drive past the Natural Steps sign and Moreland’s Grocery Store, go around a sharp curve, over a hill, then you’ll see a straight stretch of road.  Right at the end of the straight stretch, turn left onto Mahar Road.”  Mahar is my mom’s maiden name, hence the name of the road.

My husband likes to tell people that I grew up in a commune, but that is not the case. The quarter of a mile road,  lined with trees on both sides, dead ends into a wide-open valley.  My grandparent’s house was in the center, surrounded by several homes belonging to my aunts, uncles, and my parents.  Huge oaks, towering pines, and grassy fields provided plenty of room for kids to run and play.

That’s where I spent my childhood-riding bikes, digging in the dirt, playing kickball and basketball with my cousins.  And since my mom had six sisters and two brothers, there were always cousins around.  They say I made them listen to me practice piano and violin…well, maybe a few times.  But most of the time, we were outside.  Distinct memories include singing at the top of my lungs while riding bicycles, trying to fool my uncle with mud pies, and playing “King of the Mountain” on Grandma’s front porch.

Almost thirty-three years have passed since I lived on Mahar Road.  Even while typing I think surely that can’t be correct! Oh, but it is…despite the years gone by and having a family of my own, I still refer to this special place as home.  I’m thankful to have grown up there-carefree, no worries about safety, room to let our imaginations run wild.

Of course, things have changed since I was a child.  My grandparents are no longer living, cousins are all grown and many, just like me, have moved away.  That doesn’t matter.  Simply driving the route that leads to home causes any anxiety to melt away.  My brain slows down, my body relaxes, and while there I truly rest.  Sometimes I even feel like a kid again.

Thinking about my childhood reminds me that home is so much more than a house.  It’s the people, the places, the memories.  And sometimes…you just need to go home.

 

Life’s Roles

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Daughter first

Sister second

Years later wife

Mom times three

Cousin, niece, aunt

Friend and teacher between

 

Each role gives purpose

Brings responsibility

Delivers sorrow 

Causes growth

Provides joy

Creates life

 

 I look ahead

The future unseen

New roles yet to come

Hopeful to embrace each one

Through smiles, laughter, or tears

And continue down this path to becoming me

House to Home

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Our family has lived in our current home for fifteen years.  Kids were nine, seven, and three when we moved in.  Prior to that move we had lived in four different houses in three different cities, and two different states.  I remember feeling so relieved to be settled.

As someone who spent the first seventeen years of my life (until I left for college) in the same house, all of our moves were challenging.  I worried about how the kids would handle each new place.  Would they make friends easily?  Would I?  Of course, we all adjusted in our own way.

This house has truly become home.  It’s where our kids grew up.  So many memories.  For example, my concern that Ryan would fall down the stairs.  He was so little when we moved in, and the kids bedrooms were all upstairs.  As it turned out, the concern should have been for me!  I was the first one to bounce down the stairs on my bottom.

Although there was the time Robert tumbled down the stairs.  Apparently Robert, Rachel, and Ryan were playing the game “follow your siblings directions while wearing a sleeping bag over your head.”  I’m sure you’ve all played that one before!  Some friendly advice; make sure the sibling giving directions knows their right from their left…

Many of the memories involve celebrations-and food.  Saturday morning pancakes, Sunday night Chinese take-out, Dad’s burgers on the grill, my chocolate chip cookies, yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Birthday parties, holiday dinners with extended family, graduation parties-so many things to celebrate.

Well…things are about to change.  We currently have a high school senior and a college senior, and an already moved out and employed teacher.  We know from experience these next few months will fly by.  And though our nest won’t be immediately empty, that is the direction we are rapidly heading.

Gart and I have talked many times about preparing for this next stage in life.  He would even joke and tell the kids we were going to buy a tiny house or move to a loft apartment downtown.  Neither of those is going to happen, but we are preparing to buy another house and sell this one.

Right now my thoughts are mostly in the details-time frame, moving boxes, etc.  But they  unexpectedly drift and I find my eyes welling with tears.  This happened while driving away from the home we eventually decided to buy.  It’s a beautiful home, warm and cozy.  I am excited.  So why was I crying?

Change is like that.  Even when the change is positive, it still comes with growing pains.  Right now my growing pains involve how my role as a parent is changing.  Since the majority of my parenting years took place in this house, leaving it will be emotional.

Sometimes when I’m at home alone, our once busy house feels like an empty shell.  I’m thankful for the flood of memories that fills the empty spaces.  Just as our family established traditions and made memories here, I must trust we will do the same in our new house.  And as old memories travel with us and mix together with the new,  a transformation will take place-one that will turn house to home.

The Rest of the Story

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I have already shared events surrounding the birth of our first child, Robert, in two separate blog posts-Thankful and The Struggle for Control.  You would certainly think those events provided enough excitement for one pregnancy…but that was before he actually arrived.

One month had passed since our car accident.  My cracked ribs were beginning to heal, and I was ready to meet our baby boy.  Despite reassurances from the doctors that he was fine, my worry would not completely disappear until we actually saw him.  So a date to induce labor was set.

Gart and I arrived at the hospital early on December 1, 1994.  All checked in, the process began.  Doctors, nurses, monitors, IV…contractions. He would most likely arrive sometime before midnight.  That’s what they thought-but they thought wrong. Midnight came and went.  I was in active labor, but something wasn’t right.  Of course, this was our first baby, so what did we know?!

At some point during the late night/early morning, the doctor came in and things changed quickly.  Apparently, she should have been called much earlier.  Once she arrived, the whole room transformed. Suddenly it was full of additional medical personnel-a neonatology team, nurses.  Lighting in the room was adjusted, and the mood became extremely serious.

My mom and mother-n-law had been with us through the entire labor process.  But as the room began to transform, they were asked to wait out in the hall.  So they did.

We often see childbirth portrayed as an intense experience followed by this beautiful first moment.   A pink, crying baby is handed to the new mom.  She’s crying and the strong, supportive dad is leaning over-everyone is smiling and eternally happy.  Photos capture the moment, assuring it will never be forgotten.

When Robert was finally born, I can remember waiting…waiting to hear him cry.   Doctors and nurses were busy doing their jobs and there was nothing we could do but wait.  There was a flurry of activity and none of it sounded good. It felt like an eternity.  Then finally, a cry.  The sweetest, tiniest little cry.

A nurse brought him over so we could see him-not hold him-only for a few seconds.  He was pale, almost translucent, but that sweet face.  I can close my eyes right now and still see that face.  There are no pictures from that moment. Time and the seriousness of the situation did not allow for pictures.  Just as quickly as we’d seen him, he was whisked out of the room.  Gart followed.

Our moms, still waiting in the hall,  did not know what was happening. They’d witnessed the influx of medical personnel and their quick exit with the baby, Gart following close behind.  He was stopped at the nursery.  The blinds were closed.  Now he had no idea what was happening with our sweet boy.

Returning to the delivery room to check on me, he was once again stopped at the door.  I had suffered third-degree trauma, and the doctor was with me.  Poor Gart, it’s a miracle we ended up having two more children.

Finally, I was in a room.  Family there.  Waiting to see Robert.  Four hours later, we held him for the first time.  An IV had been placed in the top of his little head.  He had lost a lot of fluid during the trauma of his birth but was going to be ok.  Once again, we were thankful.

There were birthday gifts and cake later that day in the hospital room.  Because not only was December 2, 1994, the birthdate of our son, Robert, it was also my twenty-seventh birthday.  A birthday I will never forget!

I think I can safely say that is the rest of the story.  At least for today!

 

Instant Friends

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Have you ever experienced an instantaneous friendship?  You meet someone for the first time, yet it seems as if you’ve always known them?  That’s exactly what happened when I met Shannon.  Both of our husbands had new jobs which brought us to Liberal, KS.  She was the wife of a pastor and me the wife of a high school assistant principal.  We both had young children and were navigating a new place, far away from old friends and family.

If you’ve never been to Liberal, well…there is an actual edge of town. You can see nothing but fields for miles and miles in all directions. The town had a Walmart, a few restaurants, and a small shopping center.  We would drive an hour and a half to Garden City, KS just to eat at Applebees.  Needless to say, it was quite an adjustment for both families.

Our move to Liberal was the second big move we’d made in nine years of marriage.  Memories from previous moves brought images of tear-filled goodbyes with many dear friends.  Some of those goodbyes turned into lifelong friendships, but in that actual moment of leaving it felt like our world was falling apart.  As for me, the tears often continued as I adjusted and searched to figure out my place in a new location.  Looking back now I understand that those lonely times strengthened our marriage and brought our family closer together, but oh were they hard.

Soon after we settled in our new home, I heard an advertisement on the radio for a MOPs (Moms of Preschoolers) group meeting.  I’d never been to one of these before but was excited at the prospect of meeting other moms with small children.  There was also a weekly storytime at the library.  My two oldest would be starting school soon, so that would give Ryan (my youngest) and I a fun outing.

It’s funny looking back now, I can’t remember if I first met Shannon at the library or MOPs.  I definitely noticed her at both events with her young kids.  She had such a welcoming smile, maybe we would become friends!  We introduced ourselves, and it wasn’t long before we had traded phone numbers.  At least now there would be a familiar face at storytime and our MOPs meetings.

Not long after school started, Shannon asked if I’d like to go for a walk after we dropped our older kids off at school.  Our youngest kids were the same age, and still enjoyed short stroller rides.  That first walk remains etched in my memory.  We chatted about our families, what had brought us to Liberal, our future plans.  And then Shannon shared the most amazing thing.  From the time they knew they would be moving, she had been praying that God would send her a friend.  I will never forget her words, “I think you just might be the answer to my prayers.”

From that point on, we were inseparable.  Playdates, family dinners, babysitting for eachother…things all young moms desperately need. I’m not sure how I would have survived that year without her.  It felt like we had known each other our entire lives.  She would even laugh and say she must have named her daughter Kelli after me before she even knew me.  And to make the year even more exciting, she soon discovered they were expecting their third child!  So much to plan and celebrate!

Telling Shannon that we would be moving back to Oklahoma for the following school year was not easy.  I dreaded making that phone call.  We were in Oklahoma for the interview and she was in Kansas, having just given birth to their sweet baby.  Terrible timing, but I knew it couldn’t wait.  Always gracious, she understood.  Moving would eventually be part of their future as well.  There were tears and promises to keep in touch.  Despite having experienced this kind of goodbye with friends before-it was not any easier.

Although Shannon and I had become close friends in such a short time, I had no idea the lasting impact she would have on my life. After our move, there were regular phone calls in those first months and even a visit despite the distance between us.  But our communications quickly took a different tone as Shannon was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.

How could this be possible?  A young mom of three, healthy, no family history…the wife of a pastor.  She fought so hard.  Surgery, treatments, more surgery…and so many prayers.  I witnessed the outpouring of support from their family and friends past and present.  There were also a few misguided individuals who thought if her faith was just strong enough, she would be healed.  Most certainly they did not truly know Shannon.

If ever there was a time in life where I questioned my own faith, this was it.

I had the privilege of spending a week with Shannon and her family shortly before she died.  Oh, my sweet friend-fighting with courage and grace I had never witnessed before. Her cancer had spread once again causing tremendous pain and weakness.  But she was determined we would go shopping, and we did.  She had also planned an outing for us at a lovely tea room, and we went.  I watched as she pushed through, insisting on serving dinner and giving attention to her family-she loved them so much.

Shannon’s kindness as a friend, patience as a mom, and her unwavering faith in the face of terrible tragedy continues to impact my life. We may have only lived in the same town for one year, fifteen years ago, but I miss her.  The grief that she is not here with her family remains.  I keep a picture of the two of us on a shelf in my closet.  When I look at this sweet photo, I think about the power and importance of friends.  And remembering our instantaneous friendship, I am grateful.

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Thankful

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In an earlier blog post, The Struggle for Control, I shared the story of when my husband, Gart, and I were hit by a drunk driver.  At the time of the accident,  I was eight months pregnant with our first child, Robert. This story is multi-faceted, and I was not quite ready to share the following details in my earlier post.  Honestly, I’m never quite sure how they will be received.

The week after our accident I was recovering at home.  Being eight months pregnant with broken ribs was no fun.  My mom was staying with us to help with cooking and housework, etc so Gart could go back to work.  Although thankful we were all okay, there were many moments of worry and anger.  Worry over the baby, anger at the driver who chose to drive drunk, anger at the establishment where he and his friends had been drinking the night before… negative emotions all around.

One afternoon my mom began to share that something strange had happened to her the night before the accident.  She had not wanted to tell me before for fear of upsetting me further.  Doctors orders were for rest and calm.  Not an easy task when you’re feeling worried and angry!  Looking back, her timing was perfect and helped me work through difficult feelings.

Our first baby shower was scheduled to take place the day our accident occurred. My mom and Aunt Linda were driving up from Arkansas, so it was not unusual that we spoke on the phone the night before.  Last minute details, what time they were leaving, what time we would arrive at the shower-a normal phone call.  Except for the added air of excitement as we said, “Love you!  See you tomorrow!”

For my mom, however, what happened next was the furthest thing from normal.

Through her tears, mom explained that right after she hung up the phone that evening before the accident, she heard a voice.  Clear and precise words, ‘That is the last time you will talk to Kelley.” Obviously, she was shaken and tried to put the thought out of her mind.  Where did that come from? Why would she think such a thing?  But the voice would not go away, so she began to pray.

Her prayers continued through the night and during the drive to Oklahoma the following day.  Pulling in the driveway at my in-law’s house, she immediately noticed our car was not there-we should have already arrived.  My brother-n-law came out to greet them and of course, she knew instantly something was wrong.  It is difficult to imagine the fear my mom felt at that moment…

A picture was taken of our car after the accident.  The driver’s side smashed, the trunk pushed in, the windshield broken…but my side of the car looked like it had never been touched-not even a scratch.  I remember someone commenting, “It looks like an angel was guarding your door.”

Psalm 91:11 says, “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways…”

I’m not sure how to adequately explain these events, yet I choose to believe.  I believe my mom’s prayers were answered.  I believe an angel was sent to protect.  Did I actually see one? No.  I don’t understand the how or why.  Sometimes my thoughts wander, thinking about how differently things could have turned out.  Truth is, none of us are guaranteed another breath, so I don’t dwell in that space for long.

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow.  What is your life?  You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”  James 4:14

Does this story impact the way I live my life each day?  Not like it should, I’m afraid.  As for today, I am thankful for my mom, who continues to be strong in her faith and persistent in her prayers.  I am thankful for her wisdom in sharing her part of the story with me at just the right moment.  And at this moment, maybe thankful is the best thing for me to be.

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Robbing the Cradle

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I’m sure you have heard the phrase “robbing the cradle.”  Typically it refers to someone marrying a much younger person.  People have teased me with that old saying upon discovering that I am two years older than my husband.  Of course, he never lets me forget that fact, even though two years hardly qualifies in this case.

On a recent trip to the grocery store, my daughter and I met an older couple.  As the wife turned around from the meat counter, she stumbled but caught herself.  She came to a stop right in front of us.  I asked if she was ok and said something like, “Oh, be careful!”  Very helpful I’m sure, but she smiled and struck up a conversation.

We soon learned that this fashionably dressed, white-haired, make-up wearing woman was ninety-three years old!  She shared her age proudly and thanked us as we commented on how amazing she looked.  Obviously, this woman had some spunk.

As we continued to chat, her husband (I assumed) walked toward us.  When something was mentioned about him watching out for her she laughed and said, “Oh yes he does.  Well, I did rob the cradle.”  Now mind you he was not a spring chicken and walked with a cane, but he had a precious smile.  We chuckled as she shared that she was twelve years older than her husband.  I quickly did the math in my head…so, that makes him eighty-one.

Just when I thought the story was finished, she shared more details.  “I was married to my first husband for seventy years.  And (pointing to her husband) we’ve only been married for three years.”  It took a few minutes for my brain to wrap around what this precious lady was saying.  Seventy years of marriage!  What a story!  I would imagine her current husband also had a story to tell, but he just smiled happily as she told hers.

Later I found myself wishing I could have spent more time with this sweet couple.  Many questions came to my mind.  How old was she when she first married?  What had happened to her husband?  Did she have any children?  How did she meet her current husband?  Answers I guess I will never have.  Unless we happen to run into each other at the grocery store again…you can bet I will be keeping my eyes open.

 

 

 

The Space Between Happy and Sad

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Have you ever experienced happiness and sadness simultaneously? All mixed together, each emotion fighting for control.  I’m not sure I can adequately explain this dilemma.  Writing the words down on paper provides little clarity, as I continue to inch back and forth between these two emotions.

We finally had contact with our friend Marie!  Her new home is not close to us, and her foster mom graciously offered to meet us for lunch.  Rachel and I were so happy to see her!  After seeing her regularly over the past year, this would be our first visit in two months.  There had only been one phone conversation.  I understood.   Adjusting to a new home, especially after all the trauma she has suffered, is difficult, and I wanted her to have the time she needed.

As soon as Marie saw us she hugged us and asked, “Did you miss me?”  Oh, sweet girl!  Seeing her smiling and joking with her foster mom brought great relief.  They have obviously bonded, and she is being well cared for.  When it was time to order drinks her mom asked if she wanted lemonade.  I smiled…lemonade is her favorite.

We enjoyed chatting and laughing over lunch.  Looking through the photo album Rachel and I made for her brought smiles and happy memories from this past year.  So why did feelings of sadness start creeping in when it was time to say goodbye?  I fought back my tears, not wanting Marie to think something was wrong.  And trust me, she would notice.

Where did our visit leave me?  Somewhere between happy and sad, inching my way back to happy.  This sweet child has been through so much, but now she is living in a home with a family.  For that I am thankful.  My role in her life will continue to change, and that is ok.  Yesterday I was teacher and advocate.  Today I am a friend.  And that is something we all need…always.

Marie called this evening.  We talked about the week, her new school, friends, and family.  The conversation was a happy one.  But oh her questions…”Do you miss me?  Will you see me tomorrow?” As our phone call ended, once again I found myself in that space between happy and sad.  Somehow I kept my tears at bay, realizing it would be selfish of me to allow the sadness to win.  At this moment, the reasons for happiness where Marie is concerned far outweigh the sad.

First Day of School

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Alarm goes off–the moon is still awake

Coffee?  Yes, please!

Today a new school year begins

Morning greetings–nervous smiles

Faces–old and new

Parents–grandparents–siblings

Hugs–goodbyes–tears

Teachers–students–classes–routines

Lunch–recess–specials

First day of school–soooo loooong

Tired feet–happy heart–sleepyhead

See you tomorrow…

School year number ten

Face to Face with Child Abuse: Personal Reflections of a Teacher

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My first experiences with child abuse stem from my years as a special education teacher.  I served students who had difficulty communicating.  The following reflections relate to one particular student who holds a special place in my heart.  Due to the need for privacy,  I will refer to her as Marie.  Not a day passes without thoughts of Marie. Feelings of sadness for her past, uncertainty for her present, but also hope for her future.  Her story has both broken and challenged my heart.

***

Words are powerful.  Even more so the images that accompany them.  Consider the word shelter.  For many of us, this word reminds us of safety and home.  Adding emergency brings much different imagery.  One final word moves us even further from protective pictures of safe and home… children.

Before my first visit to the shelter, my imagination created images in preparation for the experience of a clean building, professional staff, play areas, a visiting room.  The scene played out as follows.  A greeting from a smiling worker.  An onsite visit in a comfortable seating area.  After all, this facility provided care for children who had experienced trauma.

When map quest directed me to turn down a gravel road blocked by an iron gate, my previous notions of what the day would bring faded.  A quick phone call put me back on track, giving two guiding landmarks.  Passing the second landmark, I noticed an older, run-down, unassuming house.  This could not be the right place.  Private Property and Video Surveillance signs posted in the driveway prompted feelings of nervousness and uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door, spoke to the cat on the porch, and rang the bell.  A calm, quiet proprietor answered.  Precious Marie stood nervously at the back of the house.  Initially, she was unsure and did not seem to recognize me.  After seeing photos from when she was in my class, one a selfie of us on the playground, she smiled. You were my teacher!  Yes!  She did remember.  Uncertainties quickly turned to smiles, hugs, and laughter.

My visions of a visit to the home vanished as I spotted her backpack on the table.  My young friend was ready to go!  Now there were completely different reasons to be nervous.  Where would we go?   The area was unfamiliar to me, but we could find shopping and food!  A trip to Walmart produced a doll, nail polish, and a new outfit.  We had lunch and painted nails while sitting at a local fast-food restaurant.  Looking at old pictures and taking silly selfies helped us to get reacquainted.  Returning to the shelter, I reassured her that I would visit again soon.

As I drove home, my earlier thoughts of shelter shifted from place to person.  Safety and security in my life came from the people placed along my path.  Now I had the opportunity to provide this for Marie.  I know she is not my child, but this new focus gives me courage for future visits. 

***

My daughter Rachel attends college, studying to become a special education teacher. She accompanied me on my second visit. Her presence provided calm and confidence. 

Our day was well planned.  After checking in at the shelter and signing out our young friend, we were ready to go.  First stop the zoo, then lunch, and finally shopping. I am not sure who was more excited about this outing!

I have witnessed Rachel interact with friends who happen to have disabilities on many occasions.  She treats them as peers, spends time with them socially, and has typical conversations.  She is also a passionate advocate for these special friends, always looking for ways to help them realize their potential. 

This particular day proved no different.  She embraced this precious girl with love and patience, looking for ways to give her independence and choices.  In instances where I would have made suggestions for Marie, Rachel recognized the importance of Marie having control over as many things as she could handle.  Following the zoo map, choosing what animal to see next, ordering pizza, and picking out sunglasses might seem insignificant. 

Although it was easier for me to visit the shelter this time, it was much harder for me to leave…

Rachel and I chatted on the drive home, recounting all the experiences of the day.  What a beautiful day!  We talked about the future,  what it will hold for Marie and what role we might play.  When I began to feel overwhelmed with questions about what lies ahead, Rachel calmly reviewed the events of these pasts few months. She reminded me of the circumstance that brought us to this day; receiving a subpoena to testify at a child neglect reliability hearing.

One step at a time, words of wisdom from my daughter as we headed home.  And a reminder when friends and family say Rachel takes after me,  the truth is I want to be more like her when I grow up…

***

Do you enjoy being alone?  I must admit I do not.  Although necessary at times, it is not a state I would often choose.  Others in my family seem to relish alone times, focusing on their particular interests.  Now consider the word isolation-it provokes a sense of being forced to be alone, having no control over our circumstances-an unpleasant solitude.

What if you were intentionally left alone without the warmth of human companionship?  Feelings of abandonment seeping in slowly.  Dwelling on these thoughts makes me sad and angry. 

A social worker visited our home for an assessment to determine if she would be allowed to visit…proceeding with caution.  Her love and care for this sweet girl were evident.  Although she knows terrible things from the past, she chooses to hope for the future. Most of our conversation stayed in that realm, thankful for current shelter, safety, and happiness.  Until she mentioned a fear of being alone in a room with the door closed.

My knowledge of the abuse suffered involved physical harm, and those incidences were over four years ago.  I had not allowed myself to think about what happened in the years following.  But now I heard this word-isolation-bringing a completely different understanding of what she had endured.  Imagine having the scars from being physically harmed, but also from intentional separation. Withholding the most basic human needs. We are talking about a child with intellectual disabilities, helpless to escape the cruelty imposed upon her.

I am not sure how to process this information.  If that is my reaction, imagine the difficulty for Marie.  There is no comparison, and at this moment, no sufficient answers.

***

When I consider my own children, the thought of them suffering or experiencing any kind of trauma is unbearable.  I want to be the best parent I can be.  Parenting is hard, bringing many responsibilities and challenges.  But it also produces rewards.  For example, hearing them call me mom is music to my ears.

One of the most thoughtful gifts I received from my husband was a sound wave print of my children saying, Mom. Hanging on the wall in our home makes me smile.  Am I a perfect mother?  Of course not!  But my children know they are loved.  My heart aches when they’re hurting and soars when they’re content.  The job of a mother is to love and protect.  That need is present from the moment a baby enters this world.  What happens when love and protection are replaced by isolation and abuse?  The results are devastating, creating lasting memories and trauma hard to overcome.

My mom is mean is not a phrase you hear every day.  Yes, I know kids sometimes exaggerate and say things that are not true.  Is it possible my own children thought I was mean at some point?  Oh yes.  I have even used the words mean-mama voice when talking about discipline.  I will think twice about using those words again.

Tonight I was talking on the phone with Marie.  She has temporarily moved from the shelter she called home to a behavioral assistance facility.  Rachel and I have been visiting her twice a week, and she calls us almost every night.  Our visits consist of coloring, games, reading her stories, looking at pictures, and laughter.  Phone calls are difficult. It is often hard to understand her. And the whole process is made more difficult by her disability.

Some moments, however, are crystal clear-tonight was one of those times.

Marie told me her counselor came today. She said they talked about her mom.  I was caught off guard at first, not sure what she would say.  And then the words came, my mom is mean.  She went on to recall how her mom would hit her at their house.  Hearing a child say their parent hurt them…I know she said more, but her words started to blur.  The truth is, I already knew her words were not an exaggeration.  I saw the bruises when she was younger, asked her what happened. I heard her say, my mama. I filed the abuse reports.  Then the family moved, and the abuse continued.  The abuse continued for four more years.

How was I supposed to respond?  The only thing I could say was, I am so sorry-moms are not supposed to act that way.  My heart hurts.  Words are not enough.  We will continue to visit, encourage her to talk about the hard things, and hopefully show her what it means to love.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. I Corinthians 13:7

***

Where does this story begin?  Each time I think about the answer, I find myself unable to choose just one point in time.  The decision to become a special education teacher, the first time I met Marie, filing the first DHS report.  These events culminate with this one story which has changed my life forever.

Many of my memories associated with Marie are sad, the kind of memories I would rather bury.  Before receiving the subpoena to testify at the reliability hearing, I had blocked specific events.  Four years had passed since she was my student.  And though I would never forget her, some things were just too hard to remember.  Until the day it became necessary to remember.

My heart sank at first sight of the word subpoena in my school mailbox.  There was no question who the notice concerned.  I followed the instructions on the letter and soon received an email filled with documents. Uncontrollable tears came as I read my own words from the reports I had filed.  And with them, the images I had worked so hard to bury.

I read, re-read, reviewed, made notes, whatever was needed to prepare for this hearing.  My testimony, if accepted by the judge, would provide a voice for Marie.  I was naïve in my hope for a settlement after the initial hearing.  That was not the case.  A trial date was set, and I would need to testify once again.

And so my reviewing continued, this time for the trial.  Sleepless nights, floods of unpleasant memories, and tears filled the space leading up to that day.  We have all watched courtroom scenes, real and fictional on television.  None of those could prepare me for the reality of testifying.  Being sworn in, sitting next to a judge, the jury on one side and the mother on the other.  A surreal experience.

My testimony provided details of events that happened years earlier.  Speaking with clarity and emotion, I remained strong in the face of a cross-examination which attempted to discredit everything I said.  Some images will never be erased from my memory. I made sure everyone in the courtroom understood that truth as I testified through my tears.  A tremendous weight accompanied this responsibility to speak for this one who could not speak for herself.

Relief, after the trial ended, was short-lived and replaced by concern for Marie.  Where was she?  Was she ok?  I knew I had to see her if at all possible.  Would she remember me?

My first visit to that shelter was just the beginning. My family spent the following year investing in this precious girl.  Phone calls, visits, birthdays, and holidays helped make sure she knew someone loved her.  Circumstances have recently changed with a foster home placement, and now I must let go.  I miss her.

***

Why is letting go so hard?  I remember the day we dropped off our son Robert at college.  I cried the entire drive there and back.  Two years later, it was Rachel’s turn.  It was still difficult to leave her in that tiny dorm room alone.  One more year until Ryan graduates, my baby.  Trying not to think about that just yet.

Today brings a different kind of letting go.  I had to let go of someone who was never my child but had found a lasting place in my heart.  Part of me wanted to be her mom.

Accepting that our family is not the final answer for Marie has been difficult.  Recently someone said to me, do you think your family could provide something another family could not. That stung, but it was what I needed to hear.  Suddenly the words letting go began invading my thoughts.  And then it hit me-maybe our purpose had simply been to provide love and friendship during a year of confusion, fear, and uncertainty.  And that was ok.

How appropriate that one year after that first visit, I receive word of foster home placement. Today some of my tears are selfish because I will miss her, but most are grateful-grateful for caring foster parents and a fresh start for our precious friend. 

***

The ending of this story is not clear.  As I patiently wait to hear how my sweet friend is doing in her new home, there is much reflection.  Our time spent with her this past year challenged us and brought us closer together as a family.  We love her, and I believe she loves us, even if we were not meant to be her family.

Marie made us laugh with her questions. Why are you so bossy? Directed toward my husband.  You almost married? Multiple times to my oldest children.  Why you so big? to my six-foot-three youngest son.  She brought tears to our eyes when she thanked us for singing happy birthday to her, telling each of us how pretty we sang.  And left us forever humbled by the way she trusted us…

In our last conversation, Marie mentioned the idea of moving to a foster home.  Her social worker had been preparing her for this possibility.  I asked her if she felt ok about that.  She smiled nervously and said yes.  There was a long pause and then her precious words, but I miss you.

Honey, I will miss you, too.  Always remember, what are we?

My friends.

Yes, sweet girl…always.