Fruit Salad

The drive to Atlanta was as long as it was nearly unbearable. Traffic backed up for miles, drizzling rain, made for a less than wonderful setting. Looking out the window of the car soaking in the familiar landscape that I have gazed on time and time again, I thought about some of the happy times that I had once had, and I longed for them. Anything but this. After a literal two and half hour drive, finally we began to pull up into the parking lot. Much like a child quickly scanning around a new place, I too was wanting to see every detail to where I was. For it being such a busy town, once you began to drive into the quarters, it's almost as if it magically turned into a calm, serene place and it was miles away from all the hustle and the bustle. As we climbed the hill, the main building was in the center of the fork, which parking was to our right and we slowly crept in finding a spot.

I couldn't decide if I was able to breath or not, no one in the car really said anything much, except for the usual cliche comment everyone makes when arriving, "Well, we're here!" I gathered up my purse, and zipped it, slung it over my shoulder and opened up the back car door. Once I stepped out, I looked across the parking lot, not seeing anyone at the entrance. My mouth started to nearly dry out in anticipation, the clinking of my heel boots nearly drowned out the sound of my heart beating. Nearly there, it was too bad the shiny black pavement wasn't a dark midnight sea and I could swim away in. I wanted to be there, really I did, but things had gotten so complicated, until every situation was uncomfortable these days. What if he didn't want to see me? What if I got too emotional and wasn't internally strong enough to be here?

We stepped on the curb, there he was standing with his Bulldog hat, black rim glasses and holding a umbrella, my Dad. I knew it was him, but I honestly wouldn't have predicted what I saw. His complexion was the best I'd ever seen it. When he smiled, even his teeth looked so much more of a brilliant white. He grinned, hugged my grandmother quickly and then scooped me up and hugged me tight. I could feel him shaking a little, but his hug felt different than times passed, it was surreal. Who wants to see their father like this? No one I know, but I was so mixed up, because hated it so terribly bad, yet, I was so thankful that he was there where he needed to be. I kept thinking as I was standing there in his embrace, "so this is what it feels like? This is what it feels like to get a hug from my Dad, sober." He whispered and told me that he loved me and that he was so glad that I came. I told him that I loved him. My grandfather was next hugging his neck, and eyes were obviously misty. Then my Dad guided us inside the Day hospital where we were able to sign in and he lead us to a secluded room so that we could have visitation time for an hour.

He sat next to me and my grandparents spread out over the remainder of the room. It was a peaceful room with a soft neutral green shade that was dressed with a few large dry erase boards that had words and different things scattered all over from class being conducted. Dad kept reaching over and patting my knee, reminding me that he was so glad that I had came. I wondered if he'd expected me to come or if he thought that I wouldn't. I gave my word, that if he was trying to move forward I will always support him. I couldn't help but nearly be lost in what I thought his thoughts were. Soaking up his presence sober, hardly has words. It's almost like going on a blind date, you don't know really anything much about the person that you will be meeting except for the basics that everyone always covers prior to the meeting. I am a grown woman now, and seeing him clear minded, and alcohol free is something I have never seen a day in my life. When I say this, you probably think that somewhere in there that there had to be a time, but I assure you, there hasn't been. My uncle popped in unexpectedly, and we all chatted for a few more minutes and then we made our way to the family group class. We were waiting out in the lobby, and my Dad called me over to a group of people, and he introduced me to a lady that was in his group, along with her husband that was visiting. He seemed very proud to have me there, and I almost walked a little taller because he didn't introduce any of my other family to her. I certainly didn't think it's because I'm so special, and undoubtedly, the rest of my family probably had already met them, but I guess I just wanted to pretend for a moment that I was more important than anyone else to my Dad, if only for a brief introduction.

We made our way, exchanging subtle smiles, we sat down, and Dad was again at my side. We were asked by this kind, but obnoxiously loud mediator for the meeting, to tell who we were and our relationship to the patient and tell how we were feeling. It made it around the circle of chairs, and my Dad stated his name, and said four words, that I have never heard him say before...."And, I'm an alcoholic."

That had to be so hard to say in front of the family that you had adamantly denied this problem to. The level of difficulty I don't want to know, but I imagined that somehow the sense of freedom to just say it out loud was a blessing as well. The words aren't tangible, but seem as such, because I will hold on to finally hearing him claim his issue rather than blame me and my mother for it. My turn rolled around, and I nervously shared that I was good, but I felt like a fruit salad, so many different feelings at that point, but tha I was thankful to be there with him. It is mixed up. Knowing that he has hurt me so deeply, the things I remember him saying that I can not simply shrug off. Years and years of this irractic behavior really messes with your emotions.

He has lied to me, about me, (with believers) and knowing that my own merit didn't amount to a hill of beans with anyone. Knowing that despite all the sorrow, I have still reached out time and time again, and I was then, again, it's frustrating. On the other hand, I am glad to see a change. I need this change for him, and myself. I need affirmation that I am someone special, that I am worth fighting for and not with. I need to know that I am valued and not disposable, and I need all of that from my Dad. A statement was made later by my uncle about 'getting my brother back...' I was so stuck by those words until I had to focus not on the add in comments of other people but fighting back the tears that had began to flood my eyes. I don't know my Dad, not the real Dad. I have known a angry, bitter, hateful, non-participating father. Not the fun loving one that was so full of life. At that moment I realized, that I was practically sitting next to a stranger. If he can make this journey, and stay sober, and fix somethings, I will be finally getting to know my Dad for the first time, or at least that is what I am hoping for.

Tales of Motherhood

I could open this with a fancy line. I could say so many things about mothers. But I am going to keep it within the realm that realistic motherhood is. Its not always glitz and glamour, but lot's of smiles, tender moments and ocassionally fits of frustration! The overwhelming sense of amazement and love that is wrapped up into the tiny bundle of joy taking their first breath of life is miraculous. It goes deeper for a mother because they have been adapting to kicks, movements, hiccups and learning their unique personalities long before their father ever could. The anticipation of their first cry, the first time you touch their soft, delicate skin, seeing them for the first time, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that they are now in your care. You spend your time studying their every wrinkle because you just want to savor every moment with them. Closing your eyes, and inhaling the scent from the top of their little heads.

For months, we sacrifice our sleep for their hunger, sickness, diaper changes, or fixing treats for their class at school. We desperately want to be a witness to every 'first' that they have. We attend field trips, parties, church, family events and doctor and dentist visits. WE create our own fun with picnics in the living room when it rains on our parade, bake cookies just because they feel special & big getting to pour in the sugar. We don't follow rules when the bubble bath says to use only 1 capful, bc we know it's only really a FUN bath if we just pour in the amount we think works good for maximum bubbles. We go to the trouble of setting up our dining rooms for tea parties for our extra special guests' that dress up in their favorite dress up cloths and non-matching jewelry & shoes. They waltz in as if they are royalty and the smiles can't be wiped or scrubbed off their sweet faces bc they are enjoying their special tea time. We make up fake tickets, set up pretend concession stands and let them pretend it's the movie theater and let them order popcorn & drinks and turn their tickets in and enter into the 'theater' in your living room just to make family movie night a little more memorable. We play games until the cows come home because we are snowed in, read books, help brush teeth, learn to skate, ride bikes, play ball, go to the park, and laugh because that is single handedly one of the greatest tools they can have, a joyous laugh each day.

We cry when they are sick, get hurt playing outside, get their shots or disobey because we just love them so. We doctor boo-boo's, fix toys, create new ways to do things, set up Thomas the train tracks and the entire island of Sodor takes over your living room. We become more than protective when anyone hurts their feelings, we want to show those other hoodlum kids who is the real boss! We save lost socks from a life of solitude under beds, we motivate them to eat a really good lunch so they get dessert when their Dad is watching, and sometimes sneak them a piece of cake anyway bc we can't stand them going without.:-) We adore our daughters going to the store in blue jeans, cute shirt, white easter gloves on, with their purse that is stocked with miscellanious items, and see the great pride they have with the chosen attire. Watching our strapping boys stomp around with their red dalmation hat on backwards, plaid shorts, t-shirt and baseball cleats on and he feels like a real man. We call everyone in our cell phones when they achieve something great, or say something hilarious, or we lasso in the best prayer warriors we know when something doesn't go just right.

We rejoice in their salvation, bc we realize our relationships will continue. We guide them to surpass us in our achievments because we want so much more for them. We try so hard to consistantly give them better and more than we ever had. We build firm foundations of Christ, teach them that it doesn't matter what 'everyone' else is doing, that what we say goes, learning to earn instead of having their hand stuck out in expectation. Teach them life doesn't always deal you a fair hand, but that is never an excuse to do wrong or give up, they must face challenges eye to eye and don't back down, respect should be given, and that you don't have to like every task that is laid before you, but completeing that job, and doing it well as if for the Lord himself says more about their character than man's words ever could. Talking and saying things is never enough, the actions and ways we daily live our lives speak the truth of who we are everytime. The Golden Rule should be followed, even when it feels like it stings and burns your heart to execute.

We pray for them when no one knows it, we pick up their stuffed bear from the middle of the living room even though they should have done it. We make excuses to hug them, and our hearts melt when we get slobbery kisses on the cheek. We adore hearing "I love you" from their little mouths, love to watch them sleep peacefully, and when their giggle boxes get turned over, because then so does ours. This happens even when they have done something not good, but they are so darn cute looking back at you, giggling is hard not to do. We sweep up dirt from adventures that carry on from the outside to the inside. We stuff drawings and special stories into a keepsake box for them when they are older. We share stories of family from times passed, we administer band aids, regardless of how microscopic the scratch, followed by M&M candies as their medicine. We fix food plates for stuffed animals or babies that magically come alive right before dinner time.

We teach them manners, and forgivness. We teach patience, love, compassion and integrity. We teach them that Mommy will never be older than 29. We teach them that dessert should be eaten first sometimes, that, friends come and go but family is forever. We teach them that their will never be any greater fans than us, we teach them to be honest, look for the good in others and always seek the common ground even with strangers. We teach that 'Sportsmanship' is above 'Championship." If they can dream it, they can do it. "I can't" isn't acceptable, but 'I tried is". We teach generousity is always a blessing, to both the reciever and the giver and that the only way to God is thru the blood of Jesus.

Somewhere out there, there is a mother that does it all alone and manages to do the job of 2. There is a mother that has the help of her spouse, there is a mother that takes care of a child that is not her own, but loves them as such. There is a mother that has never laid eyes on her child since the day they were born because they wanted a better life for the child than they could give. Somewhere there is a heartbroken mother looking into eyes of children that will never be able to see their deceased father and they couragously face everyday with a smile and a heart of love. Somewhere there are sweet children that will not be able to hug their mothers because they have gone to be with the Lord, because they were obviously too beautiful for this life and God wanted them home with him. Somewhere there is a mother rocking in a chair gazing at a decorated room, with empty arms because maybe her baby was too early and can't come home yet or maybe they have gone home to be with the Lord. Somewhere a mother is dedicating her every breath, thought and action to investing in the lives of the children they have, and no matter which mother you know or are, I wish you the VERY Happiest of Mothers Days and may God bless you and your wonderful families this year and for always!