Paths of Destruction

The New Testament speaks of the wide path of destruction we are offered in our lives versus the narrow path we should adhere to in order to reach the gates of heaven.

So simple, so clear, so much easier to walk along a wide path; though I tend to prefer narrow paths that prevent me from having to walk side by side or in large groups. I love the solitude of strolling along the edge of a beach, leaving friends behind while I drink in the sun, allow the wind to curl my hair and delight in the squish of the sand between my toes.

But gheez, we all know, I have not walked the narrow path as set forth in the book of Matthew.  I walk the path my mama always told me to walk.  She would say just start walking and if you find a bunch of big boulders and shit, nay stuff in your way, then turn around. But if the path opens up to you without a lot of obstacles, six-pronged forks, hairpin turns and perilous falls to your certain demise, then by all means, just keep on walkin'.  Didn't matter how wide or narrow.  Didn't matter if it appeared to be the high road or the low road, for deception lies in preconceived notions.  Just walk.

With that said, actually walking that narrow path between the vast, scary ocean and the solid ground beneath my feet literally summarizes my existence.  If I step too far into the water, then I am solidly screwed for I can't swim and I do not like sea creatures of any kind, not even the little Nemo clown fish.  I don't want to be there but once I'm in, it is very difficult for me to get myself out.  However, if I stay put, on the solid yet sandy side - I will prevail.  I may not last very long as we all know what happens with castles built in sand but I will remain on my journey and wake up each day to move closer to the purpose for which I am here.

First order of business then - figure out my purpose.

Last week, while in Oklahoma City, I was able to visit with a wonderful friend from my long ago past.  She and I started out in the corporate world together, both hired around the same time in our late twenties, both naive and green, both single mom's to little boys who were the same age and both ready to set the world on fire. 

We didn't realize it back then but we were smart.  Really, really smart.  During our visit, we remembered words we used to teach each other, plans we made to change the direction of our company (which never materialized) and choices we made to change the directions of our lives (which did materialize, in the seemingly most interesting and fascinating of ways.)

She married a wonderful man who had two boys of his own.  They built a life together, raised those boys, had financial security and did all they were supposed to do to be good parents.  She rose to the top of her industry and is close to retirement with her handsome man complete with a place in Arizona and a family chalet in the mountains of Santa Fe.

I married a wonderful man, later divorced him out of boredom then married another man, had three more kids, moved to Wisconsin, got another divorce and am now raising the whole brood while the ex is serving time at federal camp "good time" for felony fraud.  I rose to the top of my career as well but retirment is not a word I will entertain for many, many years to come.  I struggle with the burdens and sometimes I breakdown from the sheer load of it all. I told her of nearly losing my second son, The Commando, after his dad went to prison. And I have no handsome man or mountain chalet anywhere near or far, not even with a telescopic lens.

She understood the agonizing story I told her of watching as they took The Commando from me and she lauded my bravery in not stepping in to snatch him up and take him home.  She knew how deep I had to dig to go through with this measure of intervention on a child who was raging, creating his own rath of destruction.

Then she told me how her son, the one who is the same age as my #1Son is strung out on drugs, committing crime, jobless, nearly homeless and still hasn't hit rock bottom. All three of their boys went down the same path of destruction my brothers chose.  She knows, just as I knew with my brothers, this will likely end in death or jail for each of them.

One would think my son would have been the one to fall into the deep end with the crazy life I created for him. Instead he is centered and good, thoughtful, hard-working, loyal and kind.

One would think her son would have benefited from a loving relationship, financial security, all the trappings of a solid, centered life.

But one can never know how these things turn out.

Just as it has been for my life, the edge of that water is always so close at hand, or at foot as the case may be. It is quite easy to fall in, to fall out, to fall over until you find yourself going down the road too wide. Wrong choice of friends, basic wiring of the brain, just a tiny slip and you are cast out into the raging currant.  Especially when it comes to drugs.  Drugs are as vast as the ocean and every bit as deep.  The longer you try to keep your head above water, the more drugs you will need to stay above sea level. Then you are caught in a whirlpool of sharks, waves, wind and three-headed sea monsters from the deep that will pull your ass under and keep you there until you grow fins and gills and breath it in just to survive.

I drifted off, into the analogy of the deep as my friend was sharing her heartbreaking news. I asked all the questions I could ask from someone who had experienced this many times over. But there was one question remaining. One that had never been asked, not even of my parents.

I asked if she knew what happened to him?  Could she tell me what went wrong?

It was then this beautiful soul, who gifted me so often in our times of abandoned youth, deliberately placed the most powerful gift of all in my hands, in my heart and in my mind. It was wickedly deliberate, because she is brilliant enough to know exactly what I needed to hear. She lit her words and then set back to watch the fuse burn until she could see the shrapnel, tearing through my brain and systematically removing all of my fears of being a single parent with a crazy life.  She obliterated my doubts and uncertainty for what the Commando and I went through.

She told me she could look back and see the exact moment when she lost her son to drugs.  She said she hadn't been strong enough to do what I did when she had the opportunity, when he was young enough still, to save.

And just like that, I remembered my purpose.

Green is the Grass

I'm generally not one to post random thoughts or idioms. I like to write with meaning and purpose - a beginning, a middle and an end. But tonight my mind is cluttered.

I am dancing, ever so lightly on my feet, like Ginger Rogers - backwards and in high heels.  I have opened up the channels and dialed up the frequency, not so much intentionally but I think more as a result of not having had a sip of alcohol for two weeks now.

I recently received my wake up call and I'm proud to say I picked up the phone and I listened with the ears of a woman who had been broken.  Hello, do you realize you are it for your kids now?  Do you understand it is all up to you? All of it. Everything they need for the next two and half years is on you. There is no family, no sugar daddy, no benevolent aunt - you are it baby.

I thank God, the universe, my dead mother, my dead father, my dead brothers, aunts, grandmothers and grandfathers for getting together to remind me that I am loved enough to be broken.  I am leaning into the pain, into this bitter wind, the winds that bring forth change, washing away the old. I am not resisting.

The bible says, do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, with the measure of faith God has given you. Done. (The bible didn't say 'done', I said that.)

I am becoming. I am not being. It is a life long journey to become the me that I was made to be.  And guess what?  God doesn't want me to be anything else than what I was created to be. Glory hallelujah!  But that implies I also have to be everything he created me to be.  Shit.

On the other side of death is freedom. Death of a lessor self is essential to allow a more noble intent.

I know what my intent is now and I will not fail to thrive.

The Talmud says, "Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'grow, grow'". If  you believe that, then you begin to comprehend how much we are loved.  Not to say we are more important than a blade of grass, for I can't really speak to the that. In the end, it may be explained to me how a single blade of grass served its purpose better than I did, but I am hoping that is not the case.

Call it low expectations but I'm fairly certain I can one-up a blade of grass.

Geesh, now I'm really asking for it.

I warned you this was random.

Pain is Inevitable, Suffering is Optional

I went to work today after dropping the kids off with their dad. He seemed perfectly ordinary; nothing unusual struck me about him. Same ol' Mr. Sunshine, with a chance of pain.

Later in the day, I was met at the copy machine and given a loving hug from one of my best friends. She is prone to spontaneous hugs so I didn't think much of it but then she looked at me so sympathetically,  like my puppy had just died. With her head tilted and her face very close to mine she asked if I was okay? Sure, I said. I’m fine, why do you ask?

“Mr. Sunshine was on the local news this morning; he has plead guilty to the charges pending against him. He’s going to jail for four years”.

And I thought last week was bad.

I had one of those moments this past Friday night when all the emotional stress I had been carrying all week came flooding out in an utterly defeated, ready to give up kind of way. It was a span of darkness. There had been a car accident, a girlfriend’s life shattered by a revelation, more layoffs at work, announcements of financial trouble for one of our sister companies and I had PMS.

Mind you, PMS in the late forties is accompanied by more than just heightened emotion. It is like you die each month. Depression, suffering, death, heavy, darkness.

I remember thinking the night after my car accident how much I could have used a good cry. I could feel my guts, all twisted up inside and I knew something was going to have to give to get me back to a calm center.

Then Friday night rolled around and all hell broke lose. I had tried so hard to repair my little Commando, to restore his faith in me after I was made to be the “fault” of our divorce, to build him back up, to keep him from following in the footsteps of his father’s narcissistic tendencies. I have him in counseling. His father refuses to help with the cost; yet, he spends most of his time in counseling talking about his issues with his dad.

I can honestly say, he is perhaps the most complicated child in the history of the world to raise but all of his difficult personality traits will serve him well in his adult life. That is of course, if I choose to let him live. In the five plus years since our divorce, he has come a long way. I have made great strides with him. He hugs me and loves me and listens to me (sometimes) and he stopped having the house-wrecking fits of rage some time ago.

Friday night, the rage resurfaced and my spirit was too weak to handle it. In the middle of his meltdown of epic proportion, I watched him cry, I felt his suffering and I heard him talk about how much he wished his dad didn’t have 50% of him. In my compromised state, I began to feel it would be impossible for me to help this child as long as I share custody with his father. For it seems we make 50% progress only to be 50% defeated.

My son does not know real happiness, he never has.

I have stood strong and fought hard but maybe it was time for me to call it quits. Maybe he would be better off with his dad full time. After the incident with our other child suffering a ruptured appendix while in his care, I had toyed with the idea of fighting Mr. Sunshine for full custody of the kids but I knew I couldn’t prove he was unfit and no judge would remove joint custody otherwise.

But luckily I was prepared for the shocking news today thanks to a blog which contains scores of wisdom for not only facing your dark times but accepting them and embracing the growth that will undoubtedly surface each time we shed our skin. She has endured her rough times by remembering the Buddhist principle, “Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional”.

She quotes Pema Chodron from her book “When Things Fall Apart” as follows:

"The essence of life is that it's challenging. Sometimes it's sweet, and sometimes it's bitter. Sometimes your body tenses, and sometimes it relaxes or opens. Sometimes you have a headache, and sometimes you feel 100 percent healthy. From an awakened perspective, trying to tie up all the loose ends and finally get it together is death, because it involves rejecting a lot of your basic experience. There is something aggressive about this approach to life, trying to flatten out all the rough spots and imperfections into a nice smooth ride.... To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. .... To live is to be willing to die over and over again."

I can’t begin to tell you how much this quote centered me. I immediately found my balance, knowing I don’t need to worry about all these loose ends. I accept my life for where it is and if I stay open to it, the universe will provide for me. I certainly don’t want my kids to have to suffer through the embarrassment and shame of having a father in jail; yet, if I can have four years of their lives without his influence, I stand a better chance of reaching my son’s heart and helping him to finally, for once, feel accepted and know true happiness.

Another wonderful post by Robin over at Pre-Meditated contained a passage from the Holy Bible (New Testament). Can I just say how much I love that a Jewish woman from New York and a Southern Baptist from Oklahoma can connect through the teachings of Buddha and Jesus.

…....I may associate darkness with fear or sadness. Yet darkness may also mark a new beginning, a time of transformation. Out of what was, something new emerges. The chick emerges from the egg; the butterfly emerges from the cocoon. Time in the darkness is an important and essential part of the process of life….. In faith I move through times of challenge, even of sorrow, expecting good to be revealed through the activity of Spirit. In the midst of what may appear to be darkness, I open myself to new wisdom. With each experience, I emerge a new creation of Spirit….John 16:20

And so I emerge, a new creation of spirit who awaits the return of Spring. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to see it tomorrow.

Update: In speaking with Mr. Sunshine, he said his attorney feels certain they can resolve this with probation and/or a home confinement type of sentence. It will be several months before we know.

Mr. Sunshine (Part Five) - The Reformation and Resolution

He came back to me, changed and seemingly broken. He appeared to be coming out of his self-imposed delusions and moving toward the honest, somewhat shocking realization of who he really was. He would not consider himself a failure but he had failed, in so many, many ways.

He no longer wanted the hot, sexy young sales girl. He wanted a life with me. He wanted to be a father. He wanted to start going to church, to get a "real" job, to finally be a man and oh by the way, in order to accomplish all of this, we would need to move to Wisconsin.

While the thought had certainly never entered my mind that I might one day be living in Wisconsin. We were losing the house anyway. I had shut down the business and filed bankruptcy on the remaining debt. I didn't really like my new job and I was restless. We had visited Milwaukee many times to see his mom. It seemed like a city on the verge of cool; well at least much more on the verge than Oklahoma City was at that time. Why the hell not, let's do it!

We moved in August of 2000. It was glorious, fresh and new. It smelled clean and crisp; fall, my favorite season, was already in the air. Those first few months were exciting as we searched for a place to live, settled #1 Son into his freshman year of high school and began to explore our new surroundings. Mr. Sunshine had landed that "real" job for a national company, no less.  It took me a few months to find work back in my field. We were on our way, at the dawn of a new life. Time to rebuild.

When December rolled around, we had our first big snow storm. I had seen snow before, but never anything as beautiful as that. The entire place looked like a giant Christmas painting or Hallmark card. I bought snow boots for everyone and it continued to snow. We frolicked around in it and it continued to snow. We made snowmen and had snowball fights and it continued to snow. We went sledding and it continued to snow. By month end, we had received an all time, record breaking snow for the month of December - a whopping 52 inches.

It is the perfect metaphor for how my life with Mr. Sunshine evolved and eventually ended. Some snow is good; in fact, it can be great - a helluva fun ride but 52 inches in one month can put a damper on things.

Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The reformation of Mr. Sunshine With a Chance of Pain had begun. He started to dabble in politics, his first love and perhaps his only true passion in life (besides his children).  Within two years he was heading up statewide committees, running for county and statewide elected office, volunteering for national senate campaigns, pursuing a Political Science degree at night and making a name for himself among the most conservative of the ultra-conservative-elite.

Taxes are three times as high in Wisconsin as they were in Oklahoma so I was proud of him for his fiscally conservative position; however, he couldn't hang with the big dogs without drinking from their water bowls, much like those poor souls who drank the Kool Aid in Guyana. (Yes, I intended to portray it in such a shocking context.)

Our fundamental belief systems began to sharply contrast. Soon, I found myself on the receiving end of many a diatribe over such things as abortion, gay marriage and family values, you know - things like infidelity and divorce, which a few of my friends were going through at the time.

"You shouldn't hang out with them" he would say, "They are a bad influence". After a long pause the only thing I could think to say was:

Excuse me, but have we met?

In November of 2001 I found I was pregnant again.  He was, believe it or not, a top notch partner during the pregnancy. He had to be when they put me down to bed rest. But after the babies came and the stress of two premature infants became apparent, he was again skipping out the door for work, night classes and political commitments. When someone suggested he run for office, he had to go back and fix an itsy, bitty, teeny, weeny little mistake.

I will never forget the shock and romanticism of it all when he came home from work on my birthday, handed me a gift box and said something to the tune of well, we've had three kids together, we might as well get married now.

The son of a bitch bought me an engagement ring on my birthday to get out of having to buy me a present.

The girls had been born in May, this was August.  We were married the following June.  There I was in the bathroom, crying so hard, knowing I didn't want to be married to him, knowing I would have to wait many years for him to truly grow up, but telling myself - I want to put the bow on this package and make it legitimate.

I wanted to share the last name of my children and I didn't want to have to explain why mommy and daddy were never married.  I walked down that aisle. If you look closely at the photo of me from Mr. Sunshine-Part One, you can see my red nose and red, squinty eyes, swollen shut from the profuse emotion; yet also, perfectly matching my red dress. Does anyone still question why I selected red as an articulation of my bridal bliss?

There were many interesting things that happened from June of 2003 to November of 2004 when I decided to leave him for good. At the height of his political involvement, he was spending most of his time volunteering for the Tim Michels campaign for the U.S. Senate seat held by Russ Feingold. I was invited to attend some events for the staff and volunteers at the Michels' home. It was difficult for me to sit and listen to them go on and on and on about abortion, knowing the man sitting next to me had paid for the abortion of the drug addicted whore he had knocked up.

Let's suffice it to say, I wasn't invited to many more events.  They could smell a social liberal at fifty paces.

Then there was the time they all went out after some rally or something and one of the young paid staffer girls got so drunk, Mr. Sunshine brought her home, carried her into our house, while she was kissing on his face and neck and put her to bed on our couch.  That was a tough one to explain to the nanny the next morning.  "Oh, don't mind her, my husband brought her home last night."

After that, I checked Mr. Sunshine's email on a regular basis and found he had quite the emotional affair (that's all I can prove) with a another young volunteer who was incensed that he had stood her up at a fund raising event he had promised to attend.  As I recall, he missed the event because I forced him to accompany us to my annual company picnic. I didn't feel comfortable keeping up with two babies and a four year old by myself.

It didn't make sense to me why he said he couldn't come with us. Why was a campaign event more important. Then I understood, he wasn't just showing up to support the candidate, if you know what I mean.

In late October, I came home from an overnight business trip to Chicago and woke up the next morning to discover another woman's panties in my bed.  Actually, I didn't discover them, one of my toddler twins had picked them up and placed them on her head.  I grabbed them, checked the size (small, not me) the label (Calvin Klein) again, not me and the smell (most certainly used and NOT BY ME).

Twin was immediately scrubbed down similar to that of a potential hazardous waste exposure.

All of that nonsense aside, I still wasn't totally done until I realized the guy was never going to work a real job, live real life, be a real husband - no matter what I did.  He had been laid off by the big national company when they noticed his head was in the political clouds instead of with them. He had not found a new job, opting instead to start his own consulting firm and supplement his income from county or state elected positions.

All of this cost money. He had cashed out everything from his job, borrowed money on our house and put us in debt, again to the point where we didn't have enough money coming in to cover the bills. When there was no more credit to be extended, he went to his mom and asked her to finance some home improvements, selecting the colors and fixtures behind my back.

I came home from work one night to see carpet torn out, cabinets demolished and new items slated to go back in, which I had previously objected to.  Said objections were not solely a cost issue - I hated the idea of pedestal sinks when you have no cabinetry - where's a girl supposed to put her shit?

It was a life changing moment. I sat at the edge of my bed, looked at the debris around me and felt as if Cher had suddenly walked up to me, slapped me across the face and said, "Snap out of it".

Thanks Cher. You were right. I am 41 years old, I make a good salary.  It was a revelation, a resolution and a glory hallelujah, I was unquestionably resolved. I could support myself and my children without him, I had to if I wanted to survive.

Just as I felt on my wedding day, I was done, so very, very done. However, this time it was "real".

Turn, Turn, Turn

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 NIV