“Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.” Psalm 127:3
On Wednesday of this week my daughter, the one whose children I’m raising, celebrated her birthday. I did not reach out to her. I wondered if she’d try to contact me. She didn’t, but did message my granddaughter later that night.
The last time I heard from my daughter was Mother’s Day. She hadn’t known it was Mother’s Day until someone mentioned it. She was an hour away and didn’t know when she’d get back that day but wanted to see the kids. I tried to figure out how to work with her, but she got angry when I asked questions about her schedule instead of automatically saying yes.
I tried to reach her a few days before Mother’s Day to arrange something. I messaged the last two phone numbers I’d had for her, but it turns out she no longer has those numbers. That happens a lot with addicts.
Long story short, she got angry because I was trying to figure out when she’d be back in town and actually suggested meeting in a day or two because she couldn’t give me an answer.
When she gets angry, she rants at you. It’s ugly. I tried a few times to talk with her but ended up hanging up on her. It was my Mother’s Day, too, after all.
Her response? She called my granddaughter. I could hear her crying and yelling over the speaker of V’s phone even though she was in her room with the door shut. V gave simple responses, two or three words at most. I wanted to tell her to hang up on her mother, but I didn’t know if I should or not. How was she taking her mother’s attack on me? Did she want to see her mom? Did she agree with her? Would my interference push her in that direction? Luckily, her brother was outside and missed the histrionics.
Turns out V didn’t feel much compassion for her mom. That’s sad. My heart breaks for my grandchildren. I grew up with two loving parents. They were amazing. My grandchildren have us.
Before you comment on how lucky or blessed they are to have us, please don’t. That’s one of my least favorite comments from friends who mean well. They aren’t lucky. They don’t live with their parents. To them, it feels like their mom chose drugs over them. Even during the periods when she’s clean and working (there have been a few), she still doesn’t stick to it long enough to regain custody. Deep inside, they probably wonder if she loves them.
I wonder that, too. I think she’s unable. It’s common for addicts to lose the ability to love or feel empathy or compassion. Drugs change your brain. Everything becomes a means to an end. She claims she loves them, but her actions, when she is around them, come across as territorial. They are hers. Her children. Not mine. She doesn’t understand the blessings and responsibilities that come with parenting. Children aren’t possessions. They are souls we’ve been asked to love and nurture.
My husband and I do what we can. It’s not easy. Children of addicts often have ADHD, and these two are no different. There are other aspects of their neuro wiring that make raising them a challenge.
Although it’s a challenge, I don’t dream of the day my daughter will straighten up and do the right thing. I, actually, worry that she’ll do just enough to convince a judge she’s capable of raising her children. She’s not, and she never will be.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe she’s capable of getting help and straightening up her life if she chooses to do so. I have said many prayers for that, but I don’t try to pray for specifics with her anymore. I don’t reach out to her anymore. I hand her over to God.
Do I miss her? No. Except for days like Wednesday when you can’t help but recall the day your child came into the world.
Recently, a sister from my church said it best: “I don’t suppose you have maternal feelings toward her anymore.”
YES! That’s exactly how I feel.
Many of you are probably struggling with that idea and can’t fathom not having parental feelings toward your children. In fact, another friend overhearing this conversation rejected my response. She insisted I had maternal feelings toward my daughter. She can’t relate and rather than recognize my relief that someone understood, she told me I was wrong. Her path with her children didn’t hit this wall, so she doesn’t know.
As the verse at the beginning of this post says, children are a gift. But children become adults who must make their own decisions. As parents, we raise them to make the right ones, but, and this is the hard part, we have no control over what they choose to do once given their freedom. I would have steered my daughter clear of that wall if I controlled her life. I don’t have that control. Neither does God. We have choice, free will. Not every person chooses the right path.
If you can’t relate to my lack of maternal feelings, be glad, but be aware many parents do know exactly what I mean. It doesn’t hurt, except a little on her birthday. It just is.
The Workbench of Faith 