Twenty Six

Twenty-Six

            Melissa leaned back in the overstuffed tan corduroy chair, reached for a tissue blew her nose and wiped away tears.  As she watched Little Women and grieved with Jo over the death of her beloved little sister Beth, it so reminded her of losing Nicole, her little sister.  Grief was no respecter of time nor place. It flooded the soul with abandon. An emotional torrent of sorrow, regret, anger and lost love would oh so easily paralyze her heart and mind if left unvalidated. She stopped the movie as memories of Nicole waltzed through her heart.  The innocent beauty of her cherub face, bright blue eyes, a mop of blond hair and an impish smile beckoned Melissa on a journey of remembrance. 

            Nicole had been born eleven days after Melissa’s August fourth birthday.  Her cousin Debe, Nicole’s biological mother, had been a young, first-time devoted mom.  She and Bob married when they’d found out she was pregnant. Having lost her mother at thirteen she poured her heart and soul into loving her little girl.  Finally, she had a family which was hers and hers alone. 

            Melissa recalled when her Aunt Wanita, Debe’s mother, died of a sudden brain aneurysm at the young age of thirty.  She’d come to live with them.  To say it had been an adjustment was an understatement.  The divorce between mom and dad had just been finalized, so basically it was three teenage girls living together. They shared a bedroom, a first for Debe having been an only child.  Debe a messy Marvin. Melissa tidy tilly!  My oh my, the fights they had. Yet they had been equally fierce in the defense of one another.

            Debe doted on Nicole.  Dressed her in the cutest little outfits.  She loved her daughter to the moon and back. Then when Nicole was eight months old, Bob and Debe wanted a night out so had left her overnight with Melissa’s mom, Debe’s aunt.  A beautiful late April spring day forever etched in Melissa’s mind.  Forty-five years had passed, yet she could close her eyes and be right back in that moment. 

            She and Ed had been driving down “C” street when they recognized mom’s car coming towards them.  She’d honked the horn and frantically motioned them to pull over and stop. Parked on opposite sides of the street, her mother got out of the car tightly holding Nicole in her arms.  A pained look of shock written all over her face.  Melissa hurried across the street.  Her mother’s eyes were red and swollen.  Melissa’s stomach cramped as she anticipated what her mother had to say. 

            Through tears and sobs, she told Melissa that Debe and Bob had been in a head-on collision and both were dead.  Just a half mile from mom’s house on their way to pick Nicole up.  They wouldn’t let her see Debe. Uncle Dennis identified her body and told mom she wouldn’t want to see her.  That was an image she shouldn’t have to live with.

            Tears coursed down Melissa’s cheeks as she remembered the despair and gut-wrenching denial of NOOOOOOO, please don’t let it be so.  Numbing shock enveloped her as she reached for Nicole and clasped her tight.  So many questions with no answers swirled through her mind.  They had stood there by the side of the road, bathed in salty tears amid the raw anguish of a tragic death.

            The months that followed had been an emotional roller coaster as the custody battle raged between Nicole’s paternal grandparents and great-aunt.  Melissa’s mother, Betty, had been determined to gain custody of the eight-month-old.  The court room hearing a study in contrasts.  The paternal grandparents, good, solid, upstanding church going people. Their objective was for Nicole to be raised by their other son and wife, with social security and veteran death benefits going to them to help raise the child.

            Their lawyer painted Betty as a neglectful single mother with questionable morals and unsavory children.  Betty hired her friend, the well-known and ruthless lawyer Chris Christiansen, to fight on her behalf.  Nicole was under court ordered guardianship of a third-party custodian.  Melissa recalled the character assassination of one of her mother’s best friends while on the stand.  The opposing attorney had quizzed her about her personal life, implying she wasn’t a very good character witness because of her lifestyle.  He asked her if she lived with two men.  She answered yes and tried to explain, he shut her down with answer just yes or no.  She mouthed to mom’s lawyer, Chris, ask me who I live with.  The judge finally asked if she had something to add.  Immediately she explained the two men she lived with were her father and uncle. 

            When it appeared, the paternal grandparents stood a good chance of gaining custody, Chris had pulled Melissa into a conference room one on one.  He explained he wanted to put her on the stand.  The opposing attorney would ask questions that Chris could object too but wanted her to answer honestly, regardless.  If she felt too uncomfortable with the line of questioning let him know and he would shut it down.  Chris prepped her with the potential questions and asked if she was ready.

            Recalling that day, Melissa wondered how at eighteen she had the presence of mind to endure the brutal questions about all aspects of her personal life.  How old was she when she’d had sex for the first time? How often and where did she have sex?  Did she do drugs?  Smoke pot?  What kind of mother did she have?  The questioning had been intense.  Thankfully the judge finally put a stop to it.  He even went so far as to tell her mother she had a daughter she should be proud of. 

            What finally clinched mother getting custody of Nicole was she married Frank, decided to adopt her and forgo the financial compensation. Melissa was thrilled when the judge agreed to the adoption and Nicole officially became her little sister.  It helped soften her broken grief laced heart.  To say they doted on Nicole was an understatement.  Jen was four at the time and Frank adopted her as well.  It gave her mother a new role to play, devoted wife and mom. 

            Melissa rose from the chair and wandered over to the shelf with photo albums.  She pulled out a couple, the pages yellowed with time.  Hard to believe forty-five years had passed and five years since Nicole’s fatal Heroin overdose.  She caressed the rough pages and smoothed the plastic over permanently stuck pictures.  There Nicole was at a year and a half, tiny fingers precisely picking M & M’s from a candy dish.  Her blue eyes mischievously sparkling daring Melissa to stop her, which of course she playfully tried but did not succeed in doing.  With each flip of the page another image of a darling little girl they so loved and pampered. Nicole and Jen’s relationship reminded Melissa of her and Debe’s, depending on the mood they were either best buds or worst enemies.  Bottom line, they were sisters in every sense of the word.

            “Ah!” Melissa murmured at the next page turn. There was one of her favorites of Nicole.  She was three, blond shoulder length hair, blue eyes, standing on the couch in a new blue dress with petticoat flared skirt and white tights.  She loved that dress because bells were sewn into the hem and it jingled whenever she moved.  With an infectious giggle she would twirl and dance all about the house.  She had been spoiled with love beyond belief and had been a happy child.

            Another turn of the page and another year documented Nicole’s life.  Pictures of her playing in the front yard, running through the sprinkler, going for walks in the woods and carrying the cat Daisy in both arms.  That cat tolerated a lot from that little girl.  There was a picture of Nicole and Jen in her kitchen both sporting a hot cocoa mustache. 

            When the girls where little Melissa had been a school bus driver.  Their teachers would get her to donate her time and take their classes on field trips.  It was always a delight to haul around little ones excited about going on a big kid adventure in the school bus.  Both girls fondly called her Sissy.  She’d tried to give them a sense of what a normal homelife could be and provided a much-needed safety net for them. Melissa resisted the temptation to dwell on the crappy stuff that happened with their mother. She didn’t want to contaminate this memory lane with mom shenanigans.  

            At thirteen Nicole had become a handful for mother.  She’d come to live with them for that year.  To say it had been a challenge was an understatement.  Melissa could so see Debe in Nicole.  Strong willed, independent, outspoken but then there was the softer side as well.  Nicole loved to write stories and her teacher praised her creative writing. Melissa regretted she’d not kept some of those stories. 

            After that year she moved back home with mom.  They would talk on the phone and visited from time to time.  But in typical teenage fashion Nicole was more interested in spending time with friends.  She wasn’t college material and had joined the Navy out of High School.  For medical reasons she got an early discharge.  But not before meeting and marrying her husband, Rob, an African American. 

            Nicole had struggled to get pregnant and experienced miscarriages.  She would call Sissy Melissa in tears knowing she understood the anguish of infertility.  They’d grown closer during that time.  Then finally Nicole got pregnant and nine months later delivered a darling little girl, Leah, she doted on. 

            Unbeknownst to Melissa at the time, before and after the pregnancy Nicole had started a very bad cycle of abusing prescription drugs.  She’d worked for different doctors and learned how to work the system to her advantage.  Especially after the HIPA laws went into effect.  She, Rob and Leah moved back by his family in St. Louis, MO.  Things went to hell in a hand basket real fast.  Nicole started stealing drugs and money from her in-laws.  Like any addict she bold-faced lied constantly.  Eventually Rob divorced her and she lost custody of Leah.

            Thus, began Nicole’s long slow spiral into addiction and a form of madness that resulted in her being put into a psyche ward time and again.  While there she was diagnosed as bi-polar and constant pain from fibromyalgia.  She qualified for early social security disability and was able to get her own apartment.  Before that she went from one addicts’ home to another eventually losing what little personal possessions she had.

            Melissa would never forget the sobbing disparate phone call from a pay phone outside a laundromat on a bitter cold winter night.  Nicole had been kicked out of the apartment she’d crashed at.  They wouldn’t even give her what few cloths she had.  She’d told her to stay put and made calls to see if there was a shelter she could get into. 

But lo and behold no such luck, because the moral of the story was if you weren’t in a shelter by six p.m. on a Saturday you couldn’t get into one until Monday night.  Thankfully the third shelter she’d talked to the lady explained that and recommended Nicole call for an ambulance and say she was suicidal.  It was a way around the system and would get her off the street for three days into someplace warm. A social worker would help find her a place to live before she got out.

It wasn’t the best-case scenario but it could have been oh so much worse.  Nicole could have ended up on the streets living out of a box and prostituting herself for her next fix.  The next ten years of Nicole’s life had been a merry-go-round.  She’d been in and out of psyche wards.  Underwent shock-therapy. Would sound like a normal rational person for a month and while on her meds.  Then begin the slow painful spiral slip back into depression, anxiety, fear and doubt.  She’d quit her meds and self-medicate with street drugs.  It became a bitter, bitter cycle of destruction.

One of the hardest decisions Melissa had made was to never, ever send Nicole money.  Several times Sam paid her electric bills so she’d be warm in the winter and cool in the summer.  The last time Melissa had talked with Nicole was on her fortieth birthday, six weeks before she overdosed.  The conversation hadn’t lasted long, she had been in one of her depressed cycles.  At least they had said I love you to one another before hanging up.

After not seeing or hearing Nicole for three days, and knowing she was home, a downstairs neighbor called the cops for a welfare check.  She was found lying on the floor a needle and heroin laced spoon on the table.  Coffee spilled on her and the floor.  She’d been dressed in grey sweats and stained white t-shirt. Hair pulled back in a pony tail. 

The cop found her cell phone and called mom, who in typical fashion couldn’t deal with it, called Melissa and she called him back.  He described the heartbreaking lonely scene of death and needed permission from the family to move the body to the morgue.  It had been a very surreal conversation.  In some ways Melissa had prepared herself for such a phone call. But one can never fully prepare themselves for such a gut-wrenching reality.

What followed was a foggy whirlwind.  Jen flew back to St. Louis and arranged a funeral for Leah’s benefit.  She described Nicole’s apartment as shabby, desolate and stained.  The top drawer of the dresser was virtually filled with prescription bottles, most still had pills in them.  Her cloths were stained and had cigarette burns where hot ash had fallen.  The whole scenario was a stark contrast to the adorable little, blond haired girl they loved and cherished.  A tragic end to a tragic life.

A couple years after her death Melissa talked with Nicole’s paternal aunt and found out mental illness was rampant on her side of the family. Knowing that, confounded the classic argument of nature versus nurture in finding a path of understanding for why Nicole’s life ended so wretchedly.  She and Jen discussed that maybe just maybe if Nicole had been raised in a more stable environment her life would not have been what it became.  But when mental illness runs in a family, being raised by a more stereotypical family could and would not have guaranteed her life choices would have been different. 

At times it was difficult to reconcile the woman from the child.  There was a myriad of unsubstantiated regrets, an emotional minefield of if only.  One if only was what could have been different if she’d kept Nicole until she graduated, instead of letting her go back to mom.  But the reality was that didn’t happen. There was no point in going back and beating herself up for what she had no control over. 

            Melissa glanced up at the top of the book shelf where Nicole’s ashes rested.  She’d taken Nicole to Vacation Bible Camp when she was about eight. Forever etched in her memory was how excited Niccole had been to tell her she’d accepted Jesus into her heart.  The light in her eyes had been filled with a genuine love for Jesus.  Regardless of her personal demons and torments Nicole had maintained a faith in her savior, even though the taskmaster of addiction tortured her body and soul.  Many a time she’d called and said; “Sissy pray for me!”

            Warm cleansing tears flowed freely as Melissa grieved with a yearning and longing to see the soul of that little girl fully restored to its intended glory.  There was comfort knowing they would meet again, face to face, her heart and mind forever redeemed.  Melissa let the tears stream down her cheeks as she imagined Debe and Nicole walking and talking in the garden.  There was a profound peace knowing someday soon she would be in that eternal garden with them. 

Twenty Five

Twenty-Five

The phone rang. Caller ID announced her sister Jen, Melissa brightly greeted, “Hi Sis!”

“You sound chipper,” Jen replied, “Sam’s visit must have gone well.”

“He was his typical goofball self.  Always good for a few laughs.”

“That he is,” Jenn paused than sighed, “You got a few minutes?”

“What’s up?” Melissa asked.

“I hate to bother you with this crap.  But Karen texted, basically to read me the riot act for not being in contact with mom.” Jen explained.

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Melissa frowned and sat down, “So what did you say to her?”

“Here let me forward the texts’ to you.  It’ll be easier if you read them.”

Melissa drummed fingers on the table and waited for the ping on her cell phone to announce their arrival.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone wanted to take them to task for being so mean to their mother.  The familiar tone indicated the texts had come.

“You got them?” Her sister asked.

“Yea.  Give me a sec to read it.”

Hi Jenn,

Just so you know.  Nobody knows I am writing this.  Your mom would not like it and John would totally have a fit!  This has been weighing heavy on my heart.  I am not preaching. And you are very understanding of my concern.  I think so much of you and love you, so do not misunderstand me.

But why is there NO CONTACT with your mom?????? I ask her all the time what do you hear from the kids?  NOTHING…… it is a mystery.  I know it saddens your Mom when her kids do not communicate with her.  I know when Melissa made that ugly phone call and said, “I was not family and stay out of it.” But your mom and I have been friends for about 57 years and I feel that friendship is a privilege.  We talk about most everything!  Your mom is in an apartment very nice.  She has made a comfy nest!

She has moved a lot but never has had help from you kids. Oh, sorry Melissa did take boxes to the PO …. Oops!  She has had health issues, but no call to her … “How are you doing mom?  Still living independently for 80! Wow!

I know we don’t always agree with parents (because we are all different) but do not cut off the line of communication!!!  What if your kids had NO contact with you?  This whole situation is a mystery to so many of us.  We all just do not understand?  It is so NOT RIGHT.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is LOVE. Thanks for listening, Karen

Melissa puffed out a frustrated breath, “Okay I read Karen’s text. I get she doesn’t understand. But she’s clueless!”

“Totally clueless,” Jen agreed.

“I hate that she thinks she’s not preaching, but so is!”  Melissa exclaimed, “It makes me angry! Puts a pit in my stomach!”

“I hear you! I waited a day before I texted back,” stated Jen.

“Before I get too wound up,” Melissa took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “let me read your response.”

“Go for it! Just let me know when you’re done.” Jen told her as Melissa continued to read.

Hi Karen,

I appreciate you taking the time to share your concerns.  I’m afraid I don’t think I can shed light on the subject of mom in a manner that will be easy for you to understand.  So, I will keep this simple.

I made a deal with mom when she left Melissa’s and moved to California the last time – that as long as she stayed there at Anne’s I would keep the lines of communication open with her.  I made it VERY clear to her that if she were to move again, I would NO LONGER stay in touch with her. Mom made her choice.  She simply chose moving over having a relationship with her children and grandchildren. I told her I wished her the best for the rest of her life, and then I hung up. It’s that simple.

I could spend hours trying to explain the WHY’S behind my ultimatum to mother, but I respect your relationship with mom enough, NOT to burden you with the UGLY TRUTH’S.  You see Karen, you only know the truths that mom wants you to know. She only shares with you the parts that make her the martyr and us the villains.

And quite frankly, I no longer care what mom tells other people.  Whatever picture she paints for you and others is just that – her narcissistic interpretive impression of a world filled with cute puppies and ice cream with a cherry on top.  When in reality OUR lives were nothing like that!

I will leave you with this.  Thank you for being a friend to our mother.  She is very fortunate to have someone like you in her life who cares the way you do.  But rest assured, she will go on just fine without the façade of the mother-daughter relationship she wants you to believe we had. 

Lastly, here is something for you to consider… What does one have to do, to be so unforgivable, that warrants, ALL their children to cut them off indefinitely?  At what point and when, do the outsiders take into consideration what the CHILDREN have endured for DECADES to FINALLY give them the peace to call it quits?  Respectfully, Jennifer

“Good job sis!  You were direct! To the point! And far more diplomatic than I would have been!” Melissa praised Jen. 

“I had to work at it,” Jen stated, “Keep reading, she had a quick response.”

Hi Jen,

Thanks for sharing with me your views on the subject of your mom.  Like Dr. Phil says “Safe place to talk about hard things…” 

Her having narcissistic interpretive impression is a little much!  Our son was married to a narcissistic and it was very much a dreadful mistake… she almost ruined his life!  Thank goodness he is remarried and is back to normal.  His wife is a God send!  Believe me I have studied/researched narcissistic and your Mom is not that … no cherry on top!  LOL

And it appears to me you kids have a thing about her moves … why? That is her and her choice.  Gypsy Bet’s, we all call her!  Hopefully nobody calls it quits on their Mom unless she has been a terrible Mom, which she has not!

We pray you all can have peace in your hearts and do not let evil win!!!  Thanks for listening, Karen Take care!

“Once again she presumes, we are at fault,” Melissa scrunched her eyes and shook her head. “Why is it we’re always expected to make allowances for mom because that’s just the way she is?  Why is it they can’t or won’t see where she called it quits on us time and time and time again? All rhetorical questions of course!”

“I totally get it! It’s obvious there’s not a snowballs chance in hell she’d see that staying in touch with mom would be letting ‘evil’ win, as she calls it.” Jen responded.  “Read my response.”

Melissa continued Jen’s texts.

Actually, mom IS a text book narcissist!  I’ve done the research as well.  And so, has our therapists.  You just don’t see that side of her.  (It’s part of her act) We have lived it.  As I said, you only know what she wants you to know.  You’ve only heard HER version of truth.  And if you ever want to know the “Ugly truths” I’m willing to share them with you.  But that’s up to you.  As I said, I don’t think you would have the same relationship with her.

Oh, and I do have peace in my heart now that I am free of her once and for all!!  Free not to have to pretend anymore.  Free of having to be a dutiful child. Free of the fairy tales.  Free of it all!  And I know with all of my heart, my own children will NEVER feel this way about me because I am NOTHING like my mother when it comes to parenting.  I’ve never given my children, nor WILL I ever give them a reason. Jennifer

“Well said! But I don’t see any more texts. She didn’t respond?” Melissa asked.

“Oh, she did the next day. She sent a link to a website on forgiveness. Said just thinking of you Jen, Love Karen.”

“So basically, she doesn’t want to hear what we have to say or how we feel.  I guess that means because mom is a mom, she gets a free pass. Her kids need to buck up and continue to accept her the way she is.  But oh, by the way you guys can’t be who you are and that we’re being unforgiving!” Melissa fumed.

“Pretty much!  That’s the way I read it,” Jen stated.

“Once again it has to be all about mom!”  Melissa exclaimed.

“Yep!” Jen agreed, “People just don’t care or want to know our truth.  I mean haven’t we been told in one form or another we’re the ones with the problem not mom.”

“I have to remind myself what Naomi has helped me understand. We lived a life of tolerating the intolerable. We did such a spectacular job of biblically “honoring” our mother and covering her multitude of sins with love that people find it hard to believe she could not have been anything but a good mother. They probably consider us hypocrites for not continuing to do so!” Melissa ranted.

“Guess we should have ended up in jail like Uncle Dick said they all thought we would.  Instead we became successful in spite of her. It certainly wasn’t because of her,” Jen adamantly stated.

“No doubt in my mind they would disagree!” Melissa countered.  “So, you alright with this?”

“I really am,” Jen sighed with relief. “Just like I told Karen. I’m done with the play acting. I’m free at last. My therapist helped me to see it’s the best thing. I have no regrets. I’ve forgiven mom. I don’t have to reconcile with her just because she’s eighty years old and will never change!”

“That’s what counseling helped me to see as well. Too bad we didn’t get to do this years ago. Then maybe people would be more understanding and willing to listen to our side of the story,” Melissa sighed, “but I doubt it.”

“I doubt it too!  Anyway, I wanted you to know what Karen had to say.”

“Thanks. I’m really not at all surprised with how she feels.  I know she and mom love to watch Dr. Phil. Maybe they’re trying to get us on his show,” Melissa giggled.

Jen cracked up and Melissa joined in. Unable to speak they laughed till tears ran down their cheeks at the thought of being on Dr. Phil.  They often said it would be a hoot if they volunteered their family to be a psyche grad students thesis project.  But guests on the Dr. Phil show would be over the moon hilarious! 

Eventually they calmed down and chatted about how they were doing and their daily lives.  Without having to say so, they knew outsiders looking in could or would not understand their bond is what had enabled them to survive and flourish. It was a bond forged through neglect, betrayal and consistent emotional abandonment by their mother. Through good times and bad, they had been there for one another.  Encouraged and comforted one another. Provided for each other in ways their mother never had, but took credit for. As siblings they cultivated the unconditional love and trust that a narcissistic mother had been unable to give.

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

            It had been a great three days with her brother, she hated saying goodbye.  They’d laughed, she’d cried, he teased her mercilessly.  Basically, their typical sibling shenanigans.  There was a comfort knowing they were on the same page when it came to mom stuff.  They had been there for one another through thick and thin, that wasn’t about to change.  “Thank God!” Melissa murmured.

            The burden of having been her mother’s golden child was waning.  There was a lightness of soul at not having to endure the imposed responsibility.  It was her choice to keep from straying back into the mother’s path of familiar guilt trips.  When Melissa felt troubled of spirit, she was learning how to tear off the weight of amiss prayers.  Not always easy but necessary. 

            “We wrestle not only with flesh and blood but principalities and powers rulers of wickedness in heavenly places,” she reminded herself.

            “Well that sounds like a lot of fun,” Sam derided with a smirk.

            “Hey, Doofas!  I didn’t hear you sneak up on me!  All packed?” She asked.

            “Yep, bags by the door.”

            “Should be a nice drive. The forecast calls for sun the whole way to Arlington.”

            “Whoo Hoo!”  He twirled a finger in the air, “Nice drive till I hit I5 through Seattle!  The things I endure for you!”

            “Blleth,” she rasps berried, “you have it so rough!”

            “Yea!  I’m stuck being your brother,” he made a goofy face.

            “Ok you two be nice,” Ed grinned as he placed an arm across Melissa’s shoulders, “Sure glad you came down Sam.  It’s been good for your sister.”

            “Anything for the old girl,” Sam smiled.

            “We’ll try and get up your way soon,” Ed said.

            “Doors always open!” Sam picked up his bag, “Better get going, don’t want to hit rush hour traffic.”

            Melissa hugged her brother, eyes welling up, “Love you Doofas!  Text when you get home so I know you made it.”

            “Thanks for everything Bro,” Sam hugged Ed and headed out the door. 

            Melissa and Ed watched from the doorway as Sam loaded bag in the car. Settled into his seat and backed out the driveway.  She waved and sighed as he pulled away. 

            “I know what you’ll be doing the rest of the day,” Ed said.

            “Really,” Melissa knit her brows, “And what might that be?”

            “Same thing you always do when company leaves.  Tidy and put your house back in order.”  He said with a raised eyebrow.

            Melissa laughed and shook her head, “You know me too well.  I hope that means you plan on staying out of my way.”

            “Better believe it, woman!  I know when I’m not wanted!  If you need me, and I emphasize ‘if’, you can find me in the garage!”

            She pretended to kick him in the butt as he walked off.  Sam’s visit had been good for her soul.  He always made her laugh till her sides hurt.  They used to tell him he could give Robin Williams a run for his money.  The stories Sam would tell about his time in the Navy as a Flight Engineer. He certainly could spin a tall tale.

She stripped the bed, started laundry, cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed floors. Content the house was back in order she made a cup of tea and settled into a comfy chair with her bible and journal.  There were a few things she wanted to debrief with God on. 

Her eyes lit upon notes from Jer. 6:16: Thus, says the Lord, stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths. Where the good way is and walk in it, and you shall find rest for your souls ….

 She reviewed several pages of notes and discovered an ancient path found in the ways of wisdom.  When Naomi asked her if she could remember a primary person who nurtured her, Melissa had been unable to think of anyone.  Naomi defined that as a ‘poverty of nurturing’ and encouraged her to seek nurturing from the mother aspect of God’s nature.  How scandalous was that?!  To try and think of God in the feminine. 

Melissa recalled when she’d walked through inner healing concerning dad trauma.  It had been easy to relate to Jesus not only as savior, but brother and friend.  Then when the time had come to relate to God as Father, she’d balked and wrestled with embracing any Father image in her life.  It was too painful.

Ingrained in her was the image of her own father as distant, aloof, angry, dark and brooding.  Even though she’d been daddy’s little girl as a child that had all changed that fateful night, he’d come home falling down drunk and mistaken her for mom, calling her Betty. Inner healing calmed the ravages of the emotional trauma, it wasn’t an easy process but a freeing one. Regardless, she’d made the choice to do the work; let Jesus heal her soul and embrace God as Father.

The Father wooed her ever so gently and lovingly, He’d made it impossible to resist. Melissa contentedly recalled that memorable day when she’d been looking for Father’s Day cards. Always a challenge to find just the right one for each of the father’s in her life.  Her dad, stepdad, and father-in-law.  When she’d finally settled on cards and started to walk off a question crossed her mind, “Don’t I get one?”  It stopped her dead in her tracks.

A card for Father God! It had never crossed her mind to even consider such a thing. In that moment an overwhelming warmth of loving grace flooded her soul. She turned around and felt inexpressible joy at picking out a card for Abba Father.  She wouldn’t have to censor herself and take into consideration what message fit the man the card was intended for.  She could throw caution to the wind and pick out the sappiest card that expressed what she really, really wanted to be able to say to a true father. 

When she found the most perfect one, she lifted it to the heavens as an expression of love for the magnificent unconditional love Father had lavished on her.  It was a joy unspeakable and full of glory moment, one she’d never forget. Reconciliation with her Dad had been possible because she’d embraced God as Father. This she knew to the very depths of her soul.

            Also, reconciliation wouldn’t have been possible without the blessing of her dad sincerely apologizing for all the bad and crappy stuff he’d done. They had slowly and tentatively developed a new father daughter relationship.  One based not just on love, but actions that spoke louder than words. 

            He’d call on Mondays when Alice was at work. Those conversations always started with a joke that would leave her in stitches. Joke telling was not a gift she’d inherited, fortunately Sam had.  Then they’d discuss current events and discovered a mutual love of history.  He’d tease her about how long it was taking her to get a Bachelor’s degree, called her a professional student.  Looking back, he’d probably been a bigger influence than she realized on her decision to get a B.A. in History. 

            The year he’d been diagnosed with lung cancer, on top of emphysema and COPD, she’d flown out to visit three times.  The last visit a month before he died.  Her dad had started smoking when eleven. Docs said it would cause more stress than good to make him stop after his cancer diagnosis. His solution to cigarette smoke in the apartment; turn on the exhaust fan over the stove and stand next to it.

            Alice, her stepmother, always hated leaving them alone. She had to go to the store one afternoon so they had some rare time, just the two of them. Her Dad stood next to the stove, she sat on a wobbly stool in the kitchen as they chatted.  It was a conversation she’d never forget and be eternally grateful for. Her dad looked so frail just a wisp of the robust man he’d once been.

            “Sis I have to ask you something,” she remembered him asking with a pained look.

            “Sure Dad,” She’d answered. “Ask me anything you want.”

            “Why did you come back?” His furrowed brow deepened with regret and perpetual sorrow.

            She knew what he was asking.  After all the shitty, bad, unforgivable things he’d done.  That as a child she’d been witness and subject too.  After all that why would she want to be there, with him?  She knew that she knew he carried the burden of not being able to forgive himself.  How was it possible for her too?  Without him saying it, she knew that was what he was asking.

            Silently she’d prayed; “God what do I need to say that will sooth his soul?’  In a flash, she had the answer.

            “Because you’re my dad.  I’m your daughter and I love you.” She’d answered in a voice choked with years of pent up emotion.  Tears freely flowed down his deeply lined cheeks.  Her tears mirrored his, a precious moment frozen in time. Tears collected in the heavens because Father’s will be done on earth.

He’d responded from a place of abject brokenness; “I love you too sis.”

            Years of hopeless condemnation melted away in the presence of the Father’s love. They had been given a gift in that moment of time and it had not been squandered.  It was an eternal moment, a sliver of a glimpse of God’s holy mercy.  Melissa’s heart melted in the remembering.  There were years such a moment would never have been possible.  Thankfully with Father God’s favor and blessing the seeming impossible had become reality. 

            It was a very cherished memory.  She liked to imagine her dad in charge of that section of eternities library which told her story.  What had been stolen from him on earth was restored in the heavens. He was getting to know his daughter as the Father knew her. At their glorious reunion she looked forward to the telling of his story as well.  It renewed her soul to remember with wonder that which had been lost was forever found.

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

            “Good morning,” Melissa brightly greeted Sam and handed him coffee.

            “Ugh! What’s good about it?”  He grumbled, white hair a bedraggled mess of bed head.

            “Well aren’t we a chipper one,” she grinned. He murmured a few choice words about her being an annoying morning person.

            Sam shuffled over to the table, sat down, sipped his coffee and stared out the window.  Melissa knew her brother well enough to leave him be while he compartmentalized the ever-present pain.  Doctors told him in his early fifties he had the body of a ninety-year-old. He’d pushed it to its limits in his youth.  The clincher happened when he’d injured his back. Over time it’d resulted in two steel rods to prevent being paralyzed. 

            In usual stubborn fashion, he’d disregarded the doctor’s advice to stop activities like golf and canoeing. Because it would create additional scar tissue.  Which resulted in more pain and a twelve-year dependence on increased dosages of narcotics.  It hadn’t helped he’d married a younger woman who always wanted to ‘play’ and encouraged him to take pain meds so they could.  

            Despite doctor’s orders to wean himself off oxycontin, he went cold turkey after they’d put in a spinal cord stimulator; a godsend for his lower back.  He still endured upper back pain.  With the help of pain management techniques, he could function. But only after coffee and a profuse amount of morning cursing and complaining.  Melissa puttered in the kitchen and waited; he’d yack when ready.

            “More please,” he grunted holding out his cup.  She filled it, noting his lite blue eyes looked more alert despite the half-mast eyelids.

            “How’d you sleep?” She asked.

            “Not bad,” he explained, “I ate pot candy before going to bed, so got my six hours.  Just the usual pain and wishing I were dead.”

            Melissa knew this was a common morning refrain.  Although there had been a time, he’d seriously contemplated suicide.  She could think of three specific incidences, where over the phone, she’d talked him out of it.  Thankfully it had been a good ten years since that period in his life.  The constant pain, divorce, and oxycontin addiction had been a strong pull to end it all. Now he just needed to talk about wanting to die and argue with God about why He hadn’t taken him yet. 

            “What’s on the agenda for today?”  Sam half growled.

            “No agenda.  Just hang out,” she answered. “Unless you want to do something.”

            “Nah! I’m happy staying put.  What’s Ed up too?”

            “He ran over to Bob’s for coffee.” She shook her head, “He likes being retired and ‘gossiping’ with Bob. My word not his.”

            “Retirement sure has mellowed him,” Sam commented.  “I can remember back in the day he was the energizer bunny.”

            Melissa laughed.  An unbidden image of her husband dressed in a pink bunny suit like the one from his favorite holiday movie A Christmas Story dazzled her thoughts.

            “That wasn’t that funny,” her brother looked at her quizzically.

            “Sorry I was picturing him hopping all around in a pink bunny suit,” she continued to giggle as Sam spit out a mouthful of coffee and loudly chortled.

            “Hey you could have warned a guy,” he smiled and wiped coffee off his chin.

            “Sorry!” she grinned “Yep he certainly has mellowed. I also think he’s just giving us time to chat without him around.”

            “Cool! So, what ya want to talk about?” his tone brightened, “Quantum Physics? String Theory? Good versus evil?”

            “Coffee must be kicking in,” she rolled her eyes, “How about what a cute freckled face redheaded girl you made when you were little.”

            “Hey! That was all you and Debe’s doing!  I was too young to fight back!”

            “Yea, it was pretty fun. You were our living Doll.  We’d put a bright scarf on your head.  Clip on earrings, bright red lipstick and you were all ready for us to play house and make mind.” She said with delight.

            “It’s a wonder I’m not more screwed up after what you two did to me.”

            “Ah! You wish you could blame it on that!  We both know it helped you get in touch with your feminine side!”  She mocked with one hand on her hip.

            “And you wonder why I made a career of the Navy.  I had to do something drastic just to deprogram myself after you two!”

            “Like that made a difference,” she challenged then softly asked. “Do you ever wonder what Debe would be like today if she hadn’t died so young?”

            “Really haven’t thought about her in a long time. You think of her often?”

            “Now and again,” she sighed. “Usually on her birthday in March and especially when Nicole died.  I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if she were alive.”

            “Hmm, after all these years you still miss her?”

            “Yes. Even though it’s been forty-five years since her death, I do. She had a way of cutting through mom’s BS and calling her on it. I never learned to do that. I think of all the mischief we got in. I mean, she’s the one who got me to smoke my first cigarette, Salem Light.  I got a bit of a buzz off um and was hooked.”

            “I remember you guys sneaking in the back door of the trailer after being out late to a party at her boyfriend’s trailer,” Sam chuckled, “You didn’t realize mom hadn’t come home yet from her own night of partying.”

            “Yea that sucked,” she flinched at the memory. “We could’ve come through the front door.  Instead I boosted her and then she pulled me up.  Which was hilarious because we were drunker than a skunk.  I kept insisting I hadn’t drunk anything!  So, couldn’t be drunk.  She giggled uncontrollably as I staggered and slurred my words.”

            “Come morning we had a major hangover. I think the only reason mom didn’t notice is she had her typical weekend hangover. Next day, after Debe talked to her boyfriend, I discovered why.  Because, seriously, I hadn’t drunk anything. They’d made a punch and added fruit cocktail.  All I did was eat the fruit at the bottom. Well, little did I know fruit absorbs alcohol and actually makes you drunker. I never made that mistake again!”

“Live and learn! But did you really?” Sam taunted.  “I recall you guys going over to Doug’s a lot!”

“Hey, what about the mischief you stirred up when we lived there?” Melissa challenged.  “I don’t care if it’s politically incorrect but we were trailer trash! A stereotypical family when it came to a single mom with four kids renting a trailer. Living in a park full of kids like us running amok without much supervision.  Thank heavens it was the early seventies where an adult could still read you the riot act for being a hoodlum!”

“Are you implying I was a hoodlum, little miss goodie two shoes!”

“If the shoe fits!” She retorted, tapping a finger on her upper lip, “As I recall you knot heads almost killed a guy with one of your stupid tricks.”

“Naw, we just scared the crap out of him,” Sam shrugged with swagger.

“You caused him to wreck his dirt bike!”

“He was an arrogant asshole!  Picked on us younger guys all the time.  It was his comeuppance.” 

“But creating a manlike dummy and dropping it from a tree limb as if it was someone hanging themselves just as the dude rode underneath! I mean seriously what were you thinking!!”

“I was eleven! You don’t think at eleven!” He mocked, “It’s far more fun to go; I wonder what would happen if … and then do it.  So, we did.”

“You were probably the ring leader knowing you,” She rolled her eyes.  “What’d mom do when she found out?”

“Oh, the usual.  Got out that old leather belt, walloped me a few times.  Grounded me for I don’t remember how long.”  He smiled and added, “Those were the days.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t end up in juvie for some of your antics!” Melissa shook her head with disbelief.

“Yea, that’s for sure!  I remember we broke all the electric meters.  Boy, the whole trailer court was up in arms about that one.  They just couldn’t prove it was our little gang.  It wasn’t too long after mom moved us to town into that house next to the cemetery.”

“Didn’t she send you out to Dad’s?  Seems like whenever you got to be a hand full, she shipped you off to Dad.”

“Probably. She did that so many times I’ve long since lost track of when, what or where,” he frowned.  “One thing I do know is I had trailer trash down to a fine art.  Dad and Alice lived in trailer courts. So between them and mom I ran wild and free!”

“I vaguely remember a few hoodlum antics from when you lived with dad,” Melissa stated.

“Wherever there’s a group of boys there’s trouble brewing, that’s for sure,” he paused, “There were twelve of us, age seven to fourteen.  We were hanging out in a treehouse, smoking cigarettes we’d stole from the cigarette machine.  The treehouse caught on fire. Smoke billowed made it hard to see as we hightailed it out of there. Ended up starting a bit of a forest fire, burnt about an acre before got put out.”

“You know it’s a wonder, an absolute wonder, you didn’t end up in jail!”

“Ah I never really did anything that bad,” he sheepishly stated, “It usually started with ‘you think it would be cool if …’ It’s just examples of the stupid stuff kids do when left to fend for themselves.”

“Good thing you joined the Navy!  Heaven only knows what would have happened to you otherwise!”

“Best thing mother ever did for me was sign those enlistment papers.  She thought she was doing me a big favor. What she didn’t realize was I was so done and wanted to get away from her. She was getting ready to send me back to Dad for the umpteenth time. Like I told cousin Margaret there’s reasons I left home at seventeen.”

            “Reason’s few understand for sure,” Melissa agreed.

            “You and Debe could’ve got into trouble a time or two. Don’t make it sound like it was just me,” Sam protested.

            “True, but ours was usually mom sanctioned.  When laundry needed done Mom would send us in the car to the laundromat. Tell us to be careful, don’t get caught because Debe was fifteen, me fourteen.  Needless to say, we’d start the laundry and off we’d go for a joy ride,” Melissa pondered for a moment, “Or she’d send us to the store for cigs.  Basically, if mom didn’t feel like doing it, she sent us girls.”

            “Those were the days,” Sam sighed.

            “That’s one way to look at it,” Melissa chuckled, “To say we had an unorthodox upbringing is an understatement. I know it seems relatively harmless but, in all reality, it was a shitty way to grow up.”

            “We survived, it could’ve been worse,” Sam stated.

            “Of course, it could have been worse, and therein lies the problem.  Don’t you think having to remember your childhood with “it could’ve been worse” is a problem in and of itself?”

            “Sure,” Sam replied, “but it’s how we’ve survived all those years.”

            “We tolerated the intolerable.  Justified and excused it because mom was being mom, not about to change and nothing we could do about it,” Melissa matter-of-factly stated.

            “Pretty much sums it up that’s for sure,” Sam agreed and grinned, “But hey, it does give us some wild and crazy stories to tell.”

            “Me oh my we do have stories,” Melissa laughed. “It would be a trip to if you, I and Jen combined our stories.”

            “No doubt a bestseller,” he chuckled.

            “Bestseller?” Ed echoed as he stepped into the kitchen.

            Melissa jumped as Sam explained, “Yea Melissa’s going to write an expose.  Tell our tall tales, because that’s what people will think they are.”

            “True, but little would they know it’s a truth stranger than fiction,” Ed validated.

            “I like that description! There you go Sis, the title to the book.” Sam said with delight.

            Melissa raised her hands in protest, “I can tell how the rest of this day’s going! You two ganging up on me.  So, I surrender!”

            “Ah you’re no fun,” Sam pouted.

            “You’ll get over it,” Melissa mocked.

Ed laughed then added, “How about I take us out to breakfast.”

“My treat!” Sam chimed in.

Melissa put cups in the dishwasher.  Ed headed to the bathroom and Sam shuffled off to get ready.  She smiled and remembered when Sam had been eighteen, Ed thirtyish and they’d smoke pot together.  Now they were old men excited to be going out for their favorite meal of the day, breakfast.  Life was good.