Today's Leper

I watched a Today Show piece "Rossen Reports" on drunk drivers yesterday morning that was really bothersome to me.  The piece focused on the alarming number of repeat offenders who go basically unpunished.

The part of the piece that bothered me the most was when Rossen went to the door of the man who had many DUI's asking why he continued to drink and drive.  The man replied, "Because I'm drunk all the time."

The report then went from that scene to a statement from a MADD spokesman. 

If a family member of mine was killed or hurt by a drunk driver, I would in fact be mad too.  I would want retribution.  I would hopefully use that trauma as these women do to protect others. 

I worry that a loved one of mine will be the cause of a death because he or she is drinking and driving.  It is one of my great fears as the mom of an alcoholic. 

Those are all of the facts.  But, the problem that I have with that piece is not so much with what it said, but with what it didn't say but was implied.

Remember the 'War on Drugs'?  I am curious who benefited from that war.  What are your thoughts?  To me, I think a few politicians gained the most by spewing a few sound bites that sound like something might just happen to eliminate a terrible problem if we just wage war against this elusive enemy--drugs.

Remember the commercial "This is your brain (showing a frying pan) This is your brain on drugs (break an egg into the pan)?  I wonder if that really stopped anyone from trying drugs. 

When I saw the man who said, "because I'm drunk all of the time" I didn't see a guy who was having a good time.  I saw a man in pain.  I saw a man who did not know how to stop. 

Does that excuse his decision to drive?  NO!

Then why am I bothered?

I am bothered because that report falls under the "If it bleeds, it leads" column for me.  Yes, perhaps the spotlight will be placed on states with lenient laws for repeat offenders.  But, as a gal who volunteers in the county jail, I have a few questions for you: 

Do you understand that part of the definition of addiction is that the need to use or drink is so great that they will do anything regardless of the consequence?

Did you know that Dr Gabor Mate, an addiction doctor in Canada, says that we need to stop asking 'why the addiction and instead ask why the pain'?

Did you know that author John Bradshaw says that at the root of all addictions is shame?

Do you know what the rate of recidivism is from most jails or prisons?

I think that you and I and those who have lost a loved one to drunk driving all want the same thing.  None of us want to see lives lost.  But, how do we accomplish that?  Should there be tougher sentences?

I do not know the answer.  But, I suspect that we need more than just incarceration.  I think we need to offer some sort of treatment before we turn them out to just do it again.  And, there is one thing that is for sure:  if we shame and blame they are less likely to come forward for treatment before a tragedy strikes.

Remember the parable of the Leper?  I think we just keep living that parable over and over again.  I think we should all be looking at the bottom line.  The bottom line is that we want to prevent deaths as the result of addiction.  The question should be are we using every possible avenue to do it?

I'm praying for all of our loved ones and for those who have suffered as a result of them.







 

Sunny and Seventy-five.....

Today is a gorgeous day.  It is sunny and 75 as the country music song goes.  I would love to enjoy this day but instead, I got called in to cover the Dad's office.  If I seem a bit pout-y about this, it is because I am. 

I think that all of the cold, wind, snow and dreary skies have caused my body to organically blanket itself in fat for added warmth.  As I begin to shed thick layers of clothing and try to squeeze my body into some of my warmer weather clothing, I find myself mildly panicking.  You see, I will see my endocrinologist tomorrow.  It will not be pretty.

I'm not giving up without a fight though, in a desperate attempt at quickly shedding say ten pounds overnight, the Dad took me to Wal-Mart where we bought bikes.  They are complete with bigger seats and baskets.  My first ride caused me to collapse on the sofa for a two hour nap.

We have not heard from the Son in a week.  That is always worrisome.  The Dad and I have taken a vow to detach from his situation.  With a bit of Lenten encouragement, we are trying to walk this Paschal Path while praying for the faith to trust that God does in fact love him more than we do.

Our girls don't really ask about him.  They know that I freely share the good news.  They are weary of the bad so we just 'don't ask-don't tell' as they say.  Even friends rarely ask.  It is probably safer that way.  But, sometimes it is a lonely feeling. 

I am sneaking in bits and pieces of time to work on my book.  My book and I have a love/hate relationship.  I need to write it but it is painful and sometimes I dread it all at the same time.  I am drudging forward.  Secretly, I'd love to be able to wait long enough to slap a happy ending onto it.  But, in reality, it is probably best to end it here where we are trying to tread water and grow our faith.

It is in this place that we are just a bit closer to our Lord.  This is where we learn the most.  And this is where I am most afraid.  Today I pray for each of you and your loved ones as I pray for Henry.
 

You Can Either Laugh or Cry........

I haven't been here to post in a while.  I haven't visited your blogs either.  But, true to this blog's name, I have been praying for you and your addicted loved ones.

 

Prayer is a joining up in relationship with my power who is Greater than myself--we had to work that one out but I've finally come around to His way of thinking....but, I digress.  I have been deeply working through prayer these last few months.

 

One way that I have found to pray is through writing.  I have been afraid to say that out loud even though  I have been calling myself a writer for a couple years .  I decided that it was okay to do that because --well, anyone can write.  But,  really what I  would like most is to become an author and that is an entirely different beast.  That means that I need to learn to write well.

 

I have been hunkered down working on a project that I will share more about later as I get a better handle on it.

 

My son is working at a wonderful restaurant and doing an IOP.  I am working very hard at staying out of his business.  And, when I forget, he is thoughtful enough to remind me.  It is a work in progress. 

 

Big Sister is in Louisiana in a doctoral program.  Her school got out for Mardi Gras (apparently we all went to the wrong school).  I think it was a great experience for her.  And," no there was no flashing for beads going on, Mom, in case you were wondering."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Sister is in her very last year of nursing (BSN) and was hired at a hospital as a CNA(certified nurses assistant) PRN (as needed).  She is thrilled about this as it helps her to make connections once she graduates,  because she is so afraid that she will never be hired.  Did you all know that it takes experience to get experience?  Because, I could not have possibly known that until she sat me down to explain it to me in slow......, loud .....words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dad has brought a new standard poodle puppy into our world.  He assures me that they are intelligent animals.  He (Louis) has chewed every magazine in our home.  He even went to the newspaper recycle basket and went through the entire stack to find any shiny magazine-like pages and pulled those out to chew into rice sized pieces which he evenly distributed all over the sofa and floor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He can pull the runner off of kitchen table.  He has not yet mastered the trick of keeping the napkins and salt and pepper shaker in their place when he rips the runner off of the table.  I am sure he will keep trying.

 

He has decided that we shouldn't be able to snack while sitting on the sofa since he cannot share with us--thus he has chewed up each and every coaster that we own.

 

And, he has a distinct eye for fashion.  He skipped over every cheap pair of flip flops that I own, opting for my expensive OluKai ones with the much needed 'old lady arch supports' for his chewing pleasure.

 

See, I told you he is intelligent.  Maybe I need a new trainer. 

 

I'm going to a silent three day directed retreat next week and then going to visit Big Sister.  I'll remember you there and your loved ones as I pray for Henry and all of you.

 

 

 

 

MYOB

I had forty-five days.  Forty-five days where I simply had no control.  He had forty-five days.  Forty five days where he had no control.  We had no power.

For forty-five days, I could admit that I was powerless.  I really haven't had any trouble admitting that my life was unmanageable.  But, admitting powerlessness, that was another thing all together.

But, for those forty-five days, I was actually aware that I was totally under God's care.  I had my ups and my downs.  Sometimes I felt brave only to crash and feel hopeless later.

By the end, I had accepted that I could not make a difference.  Before, I was so adamant about showing unconditional love.  Now, I questioned that love.  Was it really unconditional or an effort to love him out of his addiction (manipulate)?

The best thing that I did, was pay attention.  If I could quit planning long enough to just be present, then I could learn so much more. 

What if I stopped judging everything that he said ...what if I stopped thinking..., 'that sounds irresponsible or it sounds like someone who is not on the right road to recovery...' You know those crazy thoughts--If I could stop long enough to just witness who he is as a child of God, what would I see differently. 

So I became a spectator.  I watched deeply.  I listened intently.  Every time that I tried to get all 'judgy' I asked God to help bring me back.  The more I watched, the more I liked watching.  He is a very smart, fun and loving person to be around.

Once after he came home but before he went back to Sober Living, I was unable to stop myself.  "I'm just so worried because I haven't heard you say that you weren't going to drink again."  I said with tears rolling down my cheek (extra guilt thrown on top ).

"Mom, I feel bad.  I don't want you to cry.  But, I can't say that.  I don't know that I can say it.  So I'm not going to."

Crap.  Double crap.  I blew it again.  "Please Lord help me.  I knew better but I just could not stop myself.  Help me fix it.  Amen."

"I'm sorry."  I repeated. 
"I don't want you to feel bad because of me."  He said.
"I am the one who is sorry.  If it weren't you, it would be something else.  It's what I do."  I said.

 He looked surprised.  I felt better.  It was all true.  It was my stuff.  We are on this parallel journey.  If I can just stay on my path, I think it will all be okay.

These hardships are but lessons on living.  I'm praying for us all.  And, for Henry, of course.
 

Numb

"Well Mama, I think we have finally become numb."  The Dad said over our lunch, last Friday.
We were traveling to Columbus Ohio to the Dad's thirty year veterinary school reunion when I received a call from a bail bondsman letting me know that the son had been arrested for a DUI, his second in a month.

The Son has worked very hard to stay off of drugs.  But, he hasn't yet accepted his powerlessness over alcohol.  We did not bail him out, this time.  We did not try to manage his consequences.  This time, we tried to manage our lives, instead.

As I sat over lunch I thought about it, numb was the perfect adjective.  I didn't feel anything.  I didn't feel the panic, that I might have felt early on.  I didn't feel all that surprised.  Parents/loved ones know when the distance of addiction is present.  And, we know that something is probably brewing just over the horizon.

Instead of changing our plans to hover over the latest crisis, we went on our trip, taking in each activity with gratitude.  We stopped for lunch at a Jerry's restaurant, one that we had eaten at many times while growing up because it was the only restaurant in Elizabethtown KY.  I'd like to say that we didn't worry at all, but you would all know how impossibly untrue that can be. 

We stopped in Lexington Kentucky at the historic Keeneland Race Course and watched a few races while enjoying the beautiful sunshine that blanketed the still green pastures of central Kentucky.  From there we headed north and once we crossed the Ohio river we took in a little Cincinnati style chili at Skyline Chili.  Finally we finished our journey north by arriving at our hotel in Columbus.

The next morning after breakfast, we went to the All American Quarter Horse Congress, a show that is the culmination of all of the American Quarter Horse show season where the best of the best compete.  When my mind tried to return to the illusion of what I'd like to control, I would try to steer it in the direction of  'what am I to learn from today for my life.'  Then we had a little Rotola's pizza, the Dad's favorite from vet school and a trip to Barnes and Noble--what trip is complete without a new book or two?

We went back to the room and I read while he watched THE Ohio State cream Rutgers.  Then we headed to the reunion.  We visited and chatted.  Most were strangers to me.  At one point the Dad whispered in my ear, " Are you okay?"

Quite automatically I responded, "Yes, I am, now that I know who I am."

I'm not sure why that came out.  But, if I think about it, knowing who you really are instead of being the extension of others releases any fear that I might have had before. 

Post addiction, I can go to the reunion and see those who are posturing and think, "Bless their hearts" and enjoy those who are just want to touch base with old classmates.  Knowing who I am is a perpetual exercise in understanding intention.

That exercise allowed me to come to a place where I can let this place that we find ourselves in be about recognizing that this is his disease to figure out.  I will love him....enough to stop offering advice.  I will trust enough that I will allow him the space to feel God's presence and help. 

Numb, yes to the old fears and worries but yet hopeful.  Hopeful that like me, he will start to know who and whose he is and finally to know that that is all that really matters.

Praying for us all.  Praying for Henry.





 

Why don't they just Pull themselves up by their Bootstraps?

I'm back!!!!!  My computer had been sputtering for sometime, but I was determined to get every last breath out of it, but when only a white screen appeared, I knew it was time. Now with a new computer after six to eight years on my old one, there is a tremendous learning curve.

I went to the Southern Festival of Books this weekend.  I absolutely love this event.  I clear my October weekends in preparation for it.  There were over one hundred authors present.  Many of then have a session where they talk about their latest project and answer questions.  And, of course they sell books!  What's not to like?

One of my favorite southern authors is Rick Bragg.  If you have not read "All Over But the Shoutin'", you should.  I bought his new book about the life of Jerry Lee Lewis.  I'm not really crazy to read about his life but Rick Bragg's prose is almost poetic and so I will read anything that he writes. 

I stood in line to have it autographed.  And, what I thought would be a long boring wait, turned into a very interesting turn of events.  Strangers in line began to talk.  We began to share our hero worship of Rick Bragg but somehow the conversation took a turn when one lady that I'll call the church lady, started complaining about minimum wage employees like baggers at the grocery or store clerks.

She went on a rant, "There is just no work ethic anymore.  They ignore you and have those ear buds in while they are working.  I was taught better than that."
 
Another lady in line whom I'll call Compassionate Lady, tried to explain, "well things are different,  many of the minimum wage jobs are people who might not have been blessed to come from a family who taught them some basic skills."

The Church Lady went on to say, "well I just don't understand when you come from the richest nation in the world, that those poor people (she said with air quotes) don't just pull themselves up by the bootstraps like my grandparents did."

Almost in unison, me, Compassionate Lady, a man who had been talking with her said, "it doesn't have anything to do with money." 

Bam!  I couldn't believe it.  With my new post addiction heart, I am rarely in a majority.  The three of us began chatting away.  The man turned out to be a health reporter who also volunteers at a women's prison in Oregon where he is from.

Reporter began talking about a study done that speaks to how hard this new poverty that we face in this country is to overcome.  Mother Teresa herself said that it is easy to feed the hungry but the poverty in America is quite different and much more difficult to overcome. 

When he learned that I also volunteer in a county jail our conversation turned to our experiences there.   He was sickened by the number of women who are incarcerated that were sexually abused and don't know it.  Reporter explained how the definition of sexual abuse needs to widen.  I told him about one lady who said that when she was twelve years old "she let" a seventeen year old have sex with her so she guesses it's her fault.  He told me about an inmate who at fourteen years old "seduced" her stepfather.  They both wonder what is wrong with them that they would do such a thing.

We've separated and segregated ourselves so much that we as a people don't know or want to know what is going on in our own backyards.   I call the lady who initiated our conversation by complaining,  Church Lady because she first told us about all of the "good things" she does for her church.  But, then, is quick to judge and wring her hands over the way the poor bags her groceries.

I was the Church Lady before.  I don't have a right to stand in judgment of her. But, like any addict who goes into recovery, I too, had a conversion.  I like to follow the tradition of St. Ignatius of Loyola who lives by the simple idea of "Seeing God in All Things". 

There is beauty in going to the hard places and seeing hard things.  It is a paradox that is taught by St. Ignatius, St. Francis, twelve step recovery groups and most religions.  But, oddly enough you see it in practice in a twelve step group in a beautiful way that our churches could take a lesson from.

Seeing what I have always seen but with new eyes still shocks me sometimes.  But, it gives me a purpose.  I can be one changed voice.  That's all that I have to do.  Perhaps it will ripple.....I can only pray.

Praying for Henry and many, many others.


 

Amazing...

As many of you know, I work with the women at the county jail.  I do a couple of things.  I facilitate a writing class and I work with those who are within six months of release to help prepare them for re-entry. The writing class is a very loose exploration into awareness and communication.  But, everyone seems interested in looking in.

One of the young ladies was very closed off; private.  It was like pulling teeth to get her to write anything.  One class, I read a chapter from "Tattoos on the Heart" a book written by Jesuit priest, Greg Boyle.  Father G ( as the homies call him) started the largest gang rehabilitation program in the country.  His first chapter is called God I Guess. 

In that chapter he tries to challenge the perception that God is a God of anger, disgust and punishment.  Instead he uses a number of stories to explore the depth of love that he has for each of us in spite of our short comings.  He tries to express a love that most of us cannot fathom in clear understandable terms.

After reading that chapter, I gave them this assignment.  In light of Father Greg's words, how do you think that God sees you?

The next week, they went around the room reading their essays.  When I got to J.W. she simply said, "Mine is short."
"That's okay."  I said.
"Blind".  She replied.
"Blind?  Do you mean that you are blind to God or a Higher Power or do you mean that he is blind to you?"  I asked.
"I don't even know.  Both."

For a while, these were the simple utterances that I got from her until last week.  Last week I gave them each a story starter.  A story starter is just a sentence that they must expand upon and they have total freedom with how they will take it. 

J.W.'s sentence was this:  'Since the wind was howling, she was even more afraid.'

And this is what she what she wrote.  She has given me her permission to share it with you.

Since the wind was howling, she was even more afraid.  Other than the tiny candle burning, it was pitch dark in the desolate house.  How long she had been in hiding, only making an appearance long enough to keep up her front, she wasn't sure.

Monsters with razor sharp teeth, reaching out for her, danced across the walls.  Suffocating, she sank down lower into the corner.  She took another deep drink from the bottle and closed her eyes.  Warmth spread throughout her body, once again fighting off the bone numbing cold that had settled upon her years ago.

Time after time, year after year, this continued.  She dug herself deeper into despair, wearing a mask to cover up her pain.  She hid from the monsters and from herself.  Eventually, no mask could hide the misery she felt inside.  All the monsters that she was running from caught up to her, swallowing her whole.

Scared, angry, alone, lost and weary with no way out in sight.  Rock bottom.  She had a problem and was forced to face it.

One day she was in her dark place, with barely even a flicker of light left of the candle, when instead of taking another drink, she decided to pour out the bottle. 

The flame started to grow.  Day after day, the larger the flame became.  It grew and grew until the whole abandoned house was engulfed in flames.  The monsters were being faced and they ignited in the fire and died away.  She climbed out of the pit.

She opened her eyes and was able to breathe again.  Stepping up to the window, she looked to her future.  The bright sunshine filled her heart and she was no longer cold. 

I realize the wind will always continue to howl.  Sometimes it will be louder than others, but I am no longer afraid to face it.

Okay, as she was reading, I looked like Simon Cowell whose mouth hung open when Susan Boyle belted out that first big note.  I was so amazed at not only the thought and writing but the bravery that it must have taken for her to write this piece. 

This is a first draft!  She's working on it a bit and we are going to try to submit it to AA's  Grapevine magazine. 

I just had to share.  Do you see why I'm blessed when I go there?

Praying...always for all of us.