Posts Tagged ‘family’

Fool me once…

Bless my child’s heart.  Keep a lookout for his safety.  Let him have enough food and shelter in a storm.  But not at my house.  Never again at my house.

There is such a mixed feeling involved in relationships that are abusive.  More than that, when the abuser is your own child, there is guilt, shame, responsibility, anger, helplessness, even this weird sense of sympathy and a need to justify why your child had to do what they did – make it understandable or something.

My son has been homeless since last Christmas, when I had to have him leave my home for stealing from me.  He’s been back twice when he needed a place to sleep.  The first time, we had had 8 inches of rain and I did feel so bad for him.  It’s so hard for a mother.  I never know where he is, and unless he posts on Facebook, I don’t even know if he is okay.  So when he called, after almost three months, I was so grateful that I let him in.  Evidently, so he could case the joint.

I should have known better.  My son does not have a good track record in my world.  He has stolen from me for the past five years.  We go on and off; he appears to hit bottom, comes to me for help, starts to make progress toward where he wants to be, then something happens and it all falls apart within days.  And in those days, my stuff goes missing. 

It makes me feel like a callous, unfeeling mother that I cannot allow him in my home ever again.  Not, at least, without tangible changes in his world.  But I am so tired of feeling victimized.  I think I’ve learned finally, at last, that where he is right now is not in a place where he can even consider others.  He is so desperate to fill  his own needs.  (Okay, this is me trying to justify where he is.)  The truth of the matter is that in this moment, the child I raised and tried to instill a deeper truth and sense of purpose in, that I love with my whole heart, is a thief.  And he doesn’t care who he steals from.  And I have to somehow let him go, with love and compassion, but even minimal support must end.

How will I get through this?  It’s not so much the gone stuff, it’s the deliberate saying ‘no’ to his infrequent requests for help.  It’s having all this love that spills out just for him that cannot be manifested in the normal ways we show people we love them.  It’s the pain of crying every night that your child is so lost and you are so helpless.  I can’t even offer him shelter in a storm. 

And it’s always that unanswerable question – why?


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It’s that time again.  I’m getting ready to go Home.  Every year around this time, thousands of womyn across the world start getting this restless feeling.  Moving toward Home.  I’ve noticed my inbox is fuller, womyn reaching out, checking in, reconnecting.  I’ve noticed my FB is much, much more active.  Even womyn who won’t physically be able to come Home this year are feeling the pull, thinking out last minute options, selling beloved things so they can get to where they need to be.  Home.  There are many tears shed, there are even more smiles and hugs and moments of Festival Majik.  Strangers send out money and love and ideas to help the sisters that sometimes they have never met get Home.  I love this.

This year, for the first time, my mom is coming Home with me.  It’s going to be amazing!  I hope her Fest is everything she needs it to be.  More amazing though, is that, at 64, she is still so interested in what makes my life rich that she wants to experience this.  I want to be her when I am older.  Okay, the her that doesn’t have the irritating faults that I’ve worked not to own.  But the open curiosity, the complete love, and the willingness to do something not so comfortable because she wants to be closer to her daughter.  Wow!  Next year, I’ll take her on a more spa-like vacation.  But who knows, maybe she’ll want to go to Fest again.  I talked to my step-father last night.  He’s worried she’ll fall in love with a womon at Fest and leave him.  I doubt that, but she might have a Festie Fling.  It’s just that kind of place.

So I am packing to be with my tribe.  I, too, am taking care of last minute details, sending tickets to womyn I’ve never met, because I love my Home and I want it to prosper.  I am lucky enough to work there, and be a part of providing a welcome and a hug to every sister I see.  It only seems right that I give back for that.

But time is moving too fast.  I haven’t planned well enough and I have major shopping to do.  There are closets to buy, shoes to try on, costumes to make, gifts to purchase and craft, cleaning to be done, oh, and bills to pre-pay.  So off I go, and if I don’t post again until September, you’ll know  why.  I’ll be Home, where there is no Internet, no cell, no electricity, no outside world.  Yay!

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Something is eating my crocuses.  Not the white ones, and the purple ones seem to be it’s second choice, but the mixed whited and purple striated ones are gone.  History.  Eaten down to a stump with not even a leaf left.  I wonder, do the the different colors taste different?  It’s kind of sad, because they got a late start.  While my neighbor’s daffs and even tulips are blooming, my little garden just started with the crocuses.  They got one day, and then they were food.

My son called a couple of weeks back, sobbing, asking for a place to stay.  It seems the GFs parents were tired of supporting him.  It has been almost a year, after all, and it’s probably not his fault that he hasn’t found a job yet.  I relented, I took him in.  All was well for the first week and a half or so.  I had jobs around the house he could do for money.  He was polite, considerate, followed the rules.  Then came the day I told him I had no more jobs for him.  Wow! NY minute!  It all came back.  The sullenness, the name-calling, the taking over of my living room, just the general pissiness.  Loud music, refusal to talk, especially about future plans.  I told him he has to find a new place to stay.  It breaks my heart that he and I fall back into that parent/child dynamic so quickly.  It also breaks my heart that he hasn’t reached his bottom yet.  I no longer think he’s doing drugs (hard ones, anyway) or drinking, but he seems to think that others should provide for all of his desires and needs.  I fear that he will be chronically in this socio/economic mental place.  How do I give him non-judgemental love?

I miss my little boy.  I miss my flowers.

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My mom and her husband have come to help me with home improvement projects for the new year.  It’s been a wonderful thing.  I now have a new bathroom.  Previously I had had a half bath upstairs, but now I have a shower, and we’ve replaced everything except the toilet itself.  It looks fabulous.  Or at least it will when I get in there and paint.  But the two person stuff is done.  And it’s been a trial, because they brought an intestinal virus with them and every day one or two of us has been laid out flat with body fluids jetting from both ends.  TMI, I know.

But laying here, so sick that I can’t really even think clearly, I am just so overcome with gratitude!  My family has come to help.  Even though they are sick.  How blessed am I?  I love that I come from a tradition of selflessness and giving.  I love that I have made that an intentional part of who I am and how I relate to others.  I love that my birth family and my Fest family are people that I can love freely, count on in a pinch, and who are always looking out for me. 

I hope that I can always do that for others, no matter who they are, and no matter what their beliefs.  That is how we be the change.

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