what do ya mean it’s been five years?

I found myself on WordPress today, unintentionally. I was looking over my family tree information after talking to my oldest daughter. Then I googled the family name from the 1600s and a blog came up about someone who visited my family’s original home in Wiltshire, England. I commented and was prompted to sign in by WordPress. So here I am.

It has been a real eye-opener, looking at my old posts and photos – an inspiration to add much more here.

The most recent posts I found before today, I wrote in 2012. It’s February, 2017. I really have to wonder what happened to five years of my life?

I’ve enjoyed my old blogs and columns. My tone back then sounds good to me. Healthier than I feel now, a reminder to laugh at life rather than let it smash me into the dirt.

Before today, I would have described myself as an angry woman. Nothing turned out as I planned. The son I wrote about on this site? Headed for prison most likely – currently incarcerated in the county jail with no bond.

Those little boys I talked about? Still in my care. Lots of ups and downs. More downs than ups. Ups often knocked out by downs.

I have spent five years standing my ground against the devil incarnate. I have spoken wisely and Godly one moment and resisted the urge to attack my son the next moment.

My son is a drug addict. My heart has been taken places I didn’t know existed. Before I understood he was not going to change, I allowed my emotions to run my life. Expectations that he could be the boy, the son, I knew and loved, eventually faded. Then disappointment took over. From there, anger stepped in. Now I have reached acceptance. 

Acceptance is uncomfortable because it indicates I’ve stopped fighting. Somehow my heart found a way to be satsified with life even tho one of my own is failing?  

That idea goes against everything I believe, everything I am. 

No, this acceptance comes with a caveat.

This acceptance knows the facts. This acceptance knows I cannot change the choices my son makes. This acceptance requires faith and the belief that a higher power has my son in His grasp. This acceptance is truly acceptance that I could forever lose my child and there is nothing I can do but pray. 

Moms fix things. Mom have hugs and bandaids and cookies to make things better…don’t they?

A good mom doesn’t hate her child – even a grown child who lies and steals and cheats; a good mom doesn’t turn her back on her son when he is at his worst – right? A good mom gives her own life to save her boy.


…it sounds good on paper. But living it is something else completely. And I don’t believe for one second that a good mom is supposed to sacrifice herself or others to try to save a grown man who won’t save himself. 

It’s been five years since I posted here about my son. And the only thing that has changed is I put an invisible barrier between mother and son to reduce the casualties… in order to save us all. 

He’s outta my hands. Turns out, he was never in them.


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