The Best Laid Plans . . . Maybe

No matter how well I plan, nothing goes the way it should these days. Do you know that feeling?

I wish I could say this was a temporary situation, but I’m looking at over a year of constant barriers and interruptions to my workday. The sad thing is most of them are not due to my mistakes.

I should have time to get stuff done, but other people and organizations continue to construct roadblocks.

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” Matthew 6:34

I’ve focused this blog on grandparenting over the last few years since two of my grandchildren live with us. Children who end up in foster care or the care of a relative often bring more than baggage with them. In our case, we have several diagnoses: ADHD, OCD, Anxiety, Autism.

I’ve hit most of these in stride, but a lot of setbacks come from the government and pharmaceutical issues. ADHD meds are controlled substances. In our state, you HAVE to visit the prescribing doctor every 3 months. Since they have different doctors due to their specific needs, that’s eight times a year I have to fit one of these appointments into my schedule.

After the appointment, the doctor submits 3 separate prescriptions for the same medication to the pharmacy. These can NOT be listed as refills. Each one has a “do not fill before” date on it. Not satisfied with that restriction, insurance will not let them fill the prescription until 30 days after you picked up the last prescription. Since the scripts are not refills, you have to call the pharmacy and speak to the pharmacist in order to fill it. Call a day too early, and the pharmacy tells you to call back the next day. That’s enough of a pain, right?

But oh no, I’m not done.

My granddaughter’s prescription is often on back order. Why? Because in December it became available in generic form. Great, right? Nope. No one can get the generic form. It’s back ordered, too. Since there’s a generic available, the drug company no longer offers a discount coupon. For the same reason, insurance doesn’t want to pay for the brand. It’s not cheap.

If they’re out of stock, I can call other pharmacies to see if they have either form, but these prescriptions can NOT be transferred to another store, even in the same company. If I find it, I have to call the doctor who has to cancel the existing prescription with the current pharmacy and submit a new prescription to the new pharmacy.

My grandson’s prescription is not available in generic and it’s not on our insurance formularies. He is intolerant to the less expensive alternatives, and it took us forever to find this one. We can’t switch. For the last 3 years, once a year, his secondary insurance required a physician’s authorization. With authorization, they cover the prescription. In November, I proactively asked the doctor to do the authorization. The insurance company said they didn’t need it. This month, they do. He qualifies based on their criteria, but they’re refusing to accept the authorization. It’s not cheap if they don’t. After multiple attempts to get it approved, I gave up the other day and paid the higher price. That hurt.

These aren’t one call and done situations. They take a LOT of time to navigate when everything works. When something does go wrong, they take days. Time I need to use elsewhere.

My husband and I are nearing retirement age. We can’t afford to have our costs go up because the kids’ insurance wants to give us a hard time. I can’t afford the extra time from my work that I devote to these problems.

I wish I could say these are the only issues setting me back, but I could go on and on. I’m continually having to spend time on a problem not of my own making rather than do the work I’d planned to do that day. It’s getting ridiculous.

In the verse from Matthew listed above, it says not to be anxious. This is hard. I have a To Do list. Up until last year, I had minor setbacks but nothing major setting me back. Now? I’m lucky if I cross one thing off my list each day. In fact, I almost didn’t take the time to write this post because of the time factor. I decided to anyway because I’m fairly sure I’m not the only frustrated parent, grandparent, or caregiver out there.

I do trust God to take care of things, but it’s hard when this world requires so much from me. I’m not a worrier, thank goodness, but I am a planner. I’ve seen my grands without these prescriptions. They don’t do well.

I guess I’m like the father in the Mark who tells Jesus, “Lord I believe. Help my unbelief.”

Summer’s End and Prodigals

 School started this week.

I’m on the fence about it. I need my time to work, and it’s easier without the grands around, but I, also, dread trying to stay on top of all the demands from school. Things were a lot easier when my kids were little. We’re eight years into raising grandchildren, so one would hope I’d be acclimated by now.

In ways, I am. In other ways, I’m not.

Last year. school was a disaster for my grandson. By constantly trying to stay on top of his daily classes, he came out with fantastic grades, but his transition to middle school really hurt. Really. Hurt. I have never been or wanted to be a helicopter parent. Last year, it felt like I had to be.

He and his sister are neurodiverse. That’s a nice way to say we have an alphabet soup of diagnoses that are common in children of addicts.

• Anxiety
• OCD
• ADHD-C
• Autism

My grandson is all of the above. His sister only experiences Anxiety and ADHD-C. Only. LOL. Her ADHD presents differently than his, so she’s found ways to focus. We’re still trying to find that balance with him.

The hard part is waiting to see where my grandson’s needs fall this year. Last year, for the first time in raising all of our children, I found myself at odds with teachers. He’s smart. Super smart, so they weren’t concerned when his grades didn’t reflect what we knew he could do. They didn’t worry about delayed assignments until, of course, they appeared on the gradebook. I have the parent website flagged to alert me to not handed in assignments or grades below a certain level, but, often, the grades didn’t appear until way too late to do anything. The assignments were weeks if not over a month old. Try getting a kid who is already stressed from a day at school to catch up on a boatload of assignments. Oh, and add to the fun that often he didn’t know what the assignment was or didn’t have the proper materials at home to do them.

So, we’re on day three of school. I have laryngitis because of the disaster that was the last few weeks of our summer–no AC for a week meaning allergies took a heavy hit, flat tires, and paint dust from a painter painting our house. In other words, I can’t really talk with his teachers. I did a lot of prep work at the end of last school year with the principal and assistant principal. They listened. We’ll see where it takes us. He appears to have great teachers, so I pray that this year will be less stressful.

On other points, I know I haven’t posted here in a long time. Beyond the struggles with his school last year, there’s been a lot to deal with. We lost my father-in-law over the summer after a long illness. It’s hard to believe he’s gone, and it really hasn’t hit home with me yet.

Then there’s our daughter, the grand’s mom. Between the chaos of the last school year and so many uncertainties about her, I chose not to post updates. There’s a fine line of privacy and confidentiality that I try to navigate each time I do.

I won’t rehash everything, but here’s where things stand.

She’s in jail again. She’s alive. That says a lot.

On December 30, I felt a sudden separation. Parents often have a connection to their children. You don’t notice it until it disappears. When it disappeared that day, I felt a void. A hole.

I struggled with the absence, convinced she had died. We had not heard from our daughter for six months. She’d missed our grandson’s birthday, the start of school, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. It wasn’t like her to miss ALL of these. In the eight years we’ve had the grands, she’s missed contacting us for one or two of these events, but never all of them. Even my granddaughter admitted to me one night that she feared her mother was dead in a ditch somewhere.

Time went on and she missed her daughter’s birthday, too.

Nine months without a word, and then she surfaced. Of course, she was in jail. Since then, she’s gotten out only to get arrested again. She’s begging me to bring the kids to see her, but I don’t want to do it. Heartless? Maybe. But I don’t know if it’s the smart thing to do.

When I thought she was dead, I prayed that if she was alive, God would show me how to help her get straight. I vowed I would do what it takes to help her. Then the reality of her situation came back to the forefront. Before they released her, I encouraged her to do the right thing.

She made promises. Unfortunately, her promises mean nothing to me or her kids. We learned that a long time ago. She didn’t go to the halfway house where she’d have a bed, food, and job. She disappeared. When she resurfaced, she told me a crazy story that didn’t add up. Then she got arrested again.

I can’t help her. She has to try to help herself first.

I’ve come to realize that my daughter is not a prodigal. Prodigals accept, admit, and own their mistakes. They don’t expect grand gestures or money. They’re humble. She is not any of this.

I can’t help her. Only God can.

I’ll end with this one point that I shared with my ladies Bible class a few weeks ago:

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not mourning, hurting, or worrying about this every day. Life’s too short. I laugh and try to find joy each day. I am overwhelmed at times and need a break, but I don’t need pity.

Image courtesy of freeimages.com by @asifthebest

Children: Gifts not Property

Image courtesy of Nutdanai Apikhomboonwaroot/freedigitalphotos.net

“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.