As everyone knows today is Valentine's Day. I have seen 27 of these holidays and only one really sticks out in my head. This one Valentine's Day changed and saved my life and also my brother's. It was 15 years ago today that my brother and I were removed from my mother's care. In order to understand what happened you have to go back about 18 years when my mother sent us away to my grandparents. My mother was struggling with her addiction and had reached a breaking point. She was 23 years old, had two children to take care of and an addiction that wouldn't let her.
My brother and I lived with my grandparents for a year. It was during this year that I met one of my mother's stepbrothers. My grandfather is actually my mother's stepfather but he has always and will always be my grandpa. He was married before my grandmother and had two sons with his first wife. They were both younger than my mother but only by a few years. While living with my grandparents my 18 year old uncle would watch my brother and I while my grandparents worked. Because he spent a great deal of time at our house I eventually met his mother, R. She started taking me to church and would take me to do fun things like going to the lake or to lunch. My grandparents worked long hours and didn't often do those sorts of things with us and my mother never did those things with me so I really enjoyed it. This is not to say that my grandparents never spent time with us. We did a lot of things at home. My grandma is an avid reader and encouraged me in that. My grandpa loves movies and passed that love on to me.
After living with my grandparents for about a year my mother called to say she was coming to get us and take us home. She did this every few months. The first time I packed my brother and I up and sat outside all day and waited. The second time I packed just in case but went out to play with the neighbor kids. The third time I didn't even believe or care if she came. This time however, it sounded like she was really one her way. My grandma came and pulled me out of school. We went to the pizza place my grandpa was the manager of and had lunch with my uncle and his mom. After lunch we all headed to my grandparents home. Shortly there after my mother pulled into the driveway. My brother and I were so shocked and happy to see her there. It was during the loading up of our things that my mother met my grandpa's first wife R. They chatted and exchanged information so that R could keep up with what my brother and I were up too.
Things were fine for a while with my mother. She got us a place of our own. I was going to school every day and there was food in the house. Sadly all good things must come to an end. All too soon things went from good to horrifying. My mother lost herself to her addiction again. The one good thing that remained was our contact with R and her husband S. They would sometimes make the three hour trip to see us or even bring us back home with them for a three day weekend. During the summer we spent 2 weeks there. I would spend a week at youth camp and my brother would have all sorts of different things going on. It was so awesome to discover a life outside of my mother's addiction. R and S would also help us with food. They must of spent hundreds in Safeway gifts certificates and at Costco. Right before I started 6th grade R and S offered to pay for me to go to a private school. The one condition was that I went to school every day and that my mother would make sure I got there. My brother started kindergarten that year as well and went to the private school with me. I didn't really like the school. The classes were small so I couldn't fade into the background. We did ok for a few months and then things just kind of went down hill. By the time February rolled around my brother and I had missed three weeks of school. The school decided to call R and S since they couldn't get a hold of my mother. R drove three hours to see what going on. My brother and I had been staying at the neighbors for a week. Our house had no power, water or food. R came by herself and stopped by the house. I didn't know she was in town until I watched her drive away. I told my mother that I saw R drive away. I'm not sure how long it was but R came back. My mother went and told her where we were staying. I don't remember talking to R but I remember she and mother had a very long talk I couldn't be a part of.
After they were done talking R went home. My mother refused to tell my what they talked about but I was worried and kind of excited. I had a secret hope that R was someday going to see how awful things were for us and take us to live with her and S. I wanted a normal life so much. After three days, on Valentine's Day, of trying to get my mother to talk R showed back up but this time she had S with her. It was then that my mother explained that we were going to live with them for a while. It was my dream come true and yet I was crushed. My mother had known for three days that we were leaving and didn't tell us. We weren't packed or anything. I had no idea how long we were going to be seperated. My brother and I were heartbroken. Everyone assured us it was temporary and that we would be reunited in no time.
So off we went. We started a new school and tried to get used to a new normal. It was harder for me. I went from being the parent to being the child. I never got used to it. For a while my brother and I held out hope that our mother was coming home. The first year or so we saw her every few months . Then she went to a rehab place in Southern California. The plan was she would go down there, get clean, get a job and save money then come home and raise her kids. She never did. At first we held out hope and then one by one we all lost it. I'll never forget the summer I spent a week as a camp counselor at the same camp my brother went to. One night around the camp fire my brother started to cry. I rushed to him and asked what was wrong. He said he missed our mother and wished she would just come home. He was about 11 when this happened and I have not seen him shed a tear for her since.
While it sucks that my mother chose her addiction over her children at least we had a good life after all. We had two responsible adults in our life that encouraged us to be the best we could be and hold us accountable when we weren't. I will always be greatful to them for taking us in and loving us like their own. Every Valentine's Day, while the world celebrates romantic love, I celebrate a different kind of love. A love that reached out and saved two children from a dark future.
Taya
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
Hope and Fear Don't Mix Well
Can't sleep. Both my husband and daughter fell asleep about an hour and a half ago. I am completely wired. As much as I want to sleep I can't get my mother off my mind. We started communicating via text messaging the other day. It started out innocent enough, just small talk about the weather and what we have been up to. She apologized for her actions a few months ago and I went ahead and forgave her. This is a dance we do every other year: she gets mad at herself but takes it out on me, doesn't talk to me for months and then reaches out to me looking for forgiveness. I admit that I forgive her too easily but she is my mother and I can't stop from wanting her in my life. Which brings me to why I am not sleeping...
While talking to her today she expressed that she wanted out of the life she was living. That she was tired of it. She explained that she wasn't drinking as much or using drugs like she used to. She admitted that she was a bad parent and that she will live with that knowlege everyday. I told her that we(her family) still loved her and just wanted her to overcome her addiction. That she could still be a part of our lives. I reassured her that we all wanted her to come home. She seemed surprised that I included her mother in this statement. My mother and my grandmother have a strained relationship. My grandmother has expressed on numerous occasions that she wishes she could have done something to prevent my mother from succumbing to addiction. My grandmother suffers from her own addiction but not in the same ways as my mother. During my conversation with my mother she tried to pull my grandmother's problems into it but I chose to ignore her attempts. We were talking about her, not my grandmother. I asked my mother if she would go to treatment if I found a place here in my hometown. She didn't say yes or no but asked what kind of treatment. I honestly didn't have any idea where we would be able to send her so I said I would do some research. I was able to find a treatment center that would work with my mother on a financial plan. They offer a sliding scale depending on your income and also offer the chance to apply for grants to cover treatment.
Finding a treatment center that would work with my mother was the easy part. Now I need to figure out where she would live until a residential bed opened up. I will not let my mother live with me. I have to protect my family and she is so unpredictable. I know no one else in the family can or will take her in. I put in a call to a friend at the Salvation Army to see what low income housing was available. I'm still waiting to talk to her but I know she will have some good ideas. She was friends with my mother when they were in school and remembers me when I was a baby. Hopefully she can help me out with the housing situation. I could always take my mother to a shelter but they only allow one month stays and who knows how long it will take for a resident bed to open up.
Getting my mother here won't be a problem either. My husband and I are getting our taxes soon and will be able to cover the bus ticket. My brother even said he could chip in.
With all these things sort of falling into place I still find myself detached from the whole thing. I feel as if I am helping a friend of a friend. It's hard to describe being so happy about something yet so fearful of it at the same time. I called my brother and got some input from him. After all he has as much say in whether she is welcome or not. He was able to give me some good insight. He supports the decision to try to help our mother but also feels the same detachment I do. The idea of our mother being so close is alien to us. On Valentine's Day it will be 15 years since she gave us up. It's been almost 12 years since we have laid eyes on her. My brother and I both agree that boundries and rules need to be set up. While she is our mother she has never really acted like it. We don't want to put ourselves in a situation where are hopes are high and then they are dashed. That has happened to us one too many times. I never want to see the pain in my brother's eyes because we gave our mother another chance and she blew it. We both agree that only time will tell if she is serious. My husband also supports us in this. He knows how much it would mean to me to have my mother clean and sober but he too is cautious. He has never met my mother but has heard enough from me.
I also need to talk to my family, my grandparents and my adopted parents. They have a right to know what is going on. I feel bad that they might be reading about it here. *If you are just know I do plan on talking to you in person to expalin in greater detail.* I know my family will be just as cautious if not more so than my brother and I. My mother has done a lot of damage that won't be easily repaired but getting help for her addiction is a step in the right direction. I hope my family will get behind me on this. The more people my mother has in her support system the greater her chances will be. I don't think my mother realizes how many people she will have to help her and support her emotionally through this. I know many people in recovery who would be more than happy to help.
I have yet to tell my mother all of this. I don't want to offer this to her until all the details are hammered out. I want to have a firm list of boundries and rules for our relationship established. I'm going to stress that this opprotunity should only be taken if she is serious and wants to change her life. If she is coming up here just so she can be near us but continue her lifestyle I won't be able to have a relationship with her. I don't want my daughter exposed to the way my mother lives.
My head is such a mess right now. Hopefully I can get to sleep soon and wake up with a fresh perspective. Maybe the confusion will be gone.
Taya
While talking to her today she expressed that she wanted out of the life she was living. That she was tired of it. She explained that she wasn't drinking as much or using drugs like she used to. She admitted that she was a bad parent and that she will live with that knowlege everyday. I told her that we(her family) still loved her and just wanted her to overcome her addiction. That she could still be a part of our lives. I reassured her that we all wanted her to come home. She seemed surprised that I included her mother in this statement. My mother and my grandmother have a strained relationship. My grandmother has expressed on numerous occasions that she wishes she could have done something to prevent my mother from succumbing to addiction. My grandmother suffers from her own addiction but not in the same ways as my mother. During my conversation with my mother she tried to pull my grandmother's problems into it but I chose to ignore her attempts. We were talking about her, not my grandmother. I asked my mother if she would go to treatment if I found a place here in my hometown. She didn't say yes or no but asked what kind of treatment. I honestly didn't have any idea where we would be able to send her so I said I would do some research. I was able to find a treatment center that would work with my mother on a financial plan. They offer a sliding scale depending on your income and also offer the chance to apply for grants to cover treatment.
Finding a treatment center that would work with my mother was the easy part. Now I need to figure out where she would live until a residential bed opened up. I will not let my mother live with me. I have to protect my family and she is so unpredictable. I know no one else in the family can or will take her in. I put in a call to a friend at the Salvation Army to see what low income housing was available. I'm still waiting to talk to her but I know she will have some good ideas. She was friends with my mother when they were in school and remembers me when I was a baby. Hopefully she can help me out with the housing situation. I could always take my mother to a shelter but they only allow one month stays and who knows how long it will take for a resident bed to open up.
Getting my mother here won't be a problem either. My husband and I are getting our taxes soon and will be able to cover the bus ticket. My brother even said he could chip in.
With all these things sort of falling into place I still find myself detached from the whole thing. I feel as if I am helping a friend of a friend. It's hard to describe being so happy about something yet so fearful of it at the same time. I called my brother and got some input from him. After all he has as much say in whether she is welcome or not. He was able to give me some good insight. He supports the decision to try to help our mother but also feels the same detachment I do. The idea of our mother being so close is alien to us. On Valentine's Day it will be 15 years since she gave us up. It's been almost 12 years since we have laid eyes on her. My brother and I both agree that boundries and rules need to be set up. While she is our mother she has never really acted like it. We don't want to put ourselves in a situation where are hopes are high and then they are dashed. That has happened to us one too many times. I never want to see the pain in my brother's eyes because we gave our mother another chance and she blew it. We both agree that only time will tell if she is serious. My husband also supports us in this. He knows how much it would mean to me to have my mother clean and sober but he too is cautious. He has never met my mother but has heard enough from me.
I also need to talk to my family, my grandparents and my adopted parents. They have a right to know what is going on. I feel bad that they might be reading about it here. *If you are just know I do plan on talking to you in person to expalin in greater detail.* I know my family will be just as cautious if not more so than my brother and I. My mother has done a lot of damage that won't be easily repaired but getting help for her addiction is a step in the right direction. I hope my family will get behind me on this. The more people my mother has in her support system the greater her chances will be. I don't think my mother realizes how many people she will have to help her and support her emotionally through this. I know many people in recovery who would be more than happy to help.
I have yet to tell my mother all of this. I don't want to offer this to her until all the details are hammered out. I want to have a firm list of boundries and rules for our relationship established. I'm going to stress that this opprotunity should only be taken if she is serious and wants to change her life. If she is coming up here just so she can be near us but continue her lifestyle I won't be able to have a relationship with her. I don't want my daughter exposed to the way my mother lives.
My head is such a mess right now. Hopefully I can get to sleep soon and wake up with a fresh perspective. Maybe the confusion will be gone.
Taya
Thursday, February 7, 2013
My Brother, My Best Friend
My brother and I have lived through some pretty tramatic events due to our mother's addiction. We were soldiers against the world for most of his early childhood. Even to this day he is one of my best friends and I hate to think what I would turn into if I didn't have him in my life. Even with all this love our relationship didn't start out so great.
I don't exactly remember when my mother told me she was pregnant with my brother. I just kind of knew she was pregnant and was secretly hoping for a sister. At five years old I still remembered my little sister that my mother had given up for adoption. I was angry with my mother about it because I wanted my little sister. So when I learned that my mother was pregnant again I was hoping and wishing for a second chance with a new sister. I remember my disapointment when I learned that my mother was having a boy. She did her best to have me involved as much as possible. I even got to pick his name. My brother was born the day before Halloween. I remember his "father" waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me I had a new brother. I didn't care. As far as I was concerned this new brother was not going to replace the sister I wanted and I was so mad that my mother had a boy. My brother wasn't even 24 hours old when we took him trick or treating the first time. There was a harvest festival at my school that I had been looking forward to so my mother took us there.
Looking back I can honestly say I was jealous of my new brother. While I had to stay in the main house on the property, he got to stay with our mother in the apartment. I only saw my mother before and after school. She didn't put me to bed or help with homework. I felt like this new baby was taking what little time I had with my mother away. Over time though my feelings for him turned and I grew to love his chubby little face. He was such a happy and social baby. He loved being around people and making them laugh. Everyone loved him. When he was about a year old my mother and his "father" broke up. We moved a few different times but I can't make heads or tales of what those situations were like.
When my brother was two my mother got a new boyfriend. This man scared us all. He was a big, loud man prone to violent outbursts. He got my mother hooked on drugs and would beat her frequently. I will never forget the day my brother had had enough. My mother's boyfriend had her on the couch and was hitting her. I had hid with my brother in the bedroom and watched through a crack in the door. My mother must have screamed louder than normal or something because the next thing I knew the bedroom door flew open and my brother took off. I remember seeing my brother launch his little body, clad only in a diaper, off the floor at the man's face. This two year old little boy forgot he was just a toddler and was intent on ripping the man's face off for hurting our mother. I stood frozen in the doorway as I watch this man grab my brother and throw him on the other couch. At that point I ran to the couch and grabbed him. My mother at this point got very angry. It was one thing to beat on her but you didn't beat on her kids. She flew into a rage and managed to get the man out of our house. It was some time after this that my brother and I were sent to live with my mother's mom and step dad. We lived with them for about a year. During that time my brother was finally potty trained and learned how to talk.
After living with my grandparents my mother came back for us. We went back to our hometown and tried to start over. Things were good for about six months. During that time my mother was not using drugs although she did drink. I went to school and didn't have to worry about what was happening to my brother. That all changed when our mother started using meth again. I tried my best to make sure my brother came with me when I went out with friends. It was hard considering he was four years old and my friends were all older than me. I had finally had it with my mother's treatment of my brother when she decided to shelter some men who were running from the cops. They stayed at our house for about a week. One day I decided to go to the store and I left my brother with our mother. I still regret it. While I was gone the cops raided the house and my baby brother had to witness it. Guns had been drawn and put in people's faces. I will never forget the look on my brother's face when I got home. He looked so scared and he had lost some of his innocence. It was after this event that I stopped going to school. Well that was part of it. We all had really bad cases of lice that my mother never took care of. Because of that I couldn't really go to school. The nurses at school would check my head and just send me home. At 11 years old and in fifth grade I dropped out. My brother could not be left alone with my mother.
While my brother and I are closer than most siblings we still fought like all siblings. We fought over what to watch on tv, who had the most candy but mostly we fought for our mother's attention. It was no contest really. My mother didn't see me as her daughter but as her friend. My brother was her baby and she favored him as much as an addict can. While I took the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse he didn't escape it. When our mother was so lost in her addiction nothing else mattered.
My brother and I still fight but it's mostly about when I get to see him. He has his own life with a job, a wife and friends. I messed our relationship up when I moved away to follow my own addictions. No matter what though we have always tried to be supportive of one another. He is the reason for this blog. When I told him what I wanted to do he backed me 100%. He has been there for me when I needed him most even if I couldn't do the same for him. He grew up to be such a good man. He still is young and finding his way. I can't believe that I wanted a sister. I have been blessed with the most amazing brother ever.
Taya
P.S. Don't forget to like The Addict's Child on Facebook.
I don't exactly remember when my mother told me she was pregnant with my brother. I just kind of knew she was pregnant and was secretly hoping for a sister. At five years old I still remembered my little sister that my mother had given up for adoption. I was angry with my mother about it because I wanted my little sister. So when I learned that my mother was pregnant again I was hoping and wishing for a second chance with a new sister. I remember my disapointment when I learned that my mother was having a boy. She did her best to have me involved as much as possible. I even got to pick his name. My brother was born the day before Halloween. I remember his "father" waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me I had a new brother. I didn't care. As far as I was concerned this new brother was not going to replace the sister I wanted and I was so mad that my mother had a boy. My brother wasn't even 24 hours old when we took him trick or treating the first time. There was a harvest festival at my school that I had been looking forward to so my mother took us there.
Looking back I can honestly say I was jealous of my new brother. While I had to stay in the main house on the property, he got to stay with our mother in the apartment. I only saw my mother before and after school. She didn't put me to bed or help with homework. I felt like this new baby was taking what little time I had with my mother away. Over time though my feelings for him turned and I grew to love his chubby little face. He was such a happy and social baby. He loved being around people and making them laugh. Everyone loved him. When he was about a year old my mother and his "father" broke up. We moved a few different times but I can't make heads or tales of what those situations were like.
When my brother was two my mother got a new boyfriend. This man scared us all. He was a big, loud man prone to violent outbursts. He got my mother hooked on drugs and would beat her frequently. I will never forget the day my brother had had enough. My mother's boyfriend had her on the couch and was hitting her. I had hid with my brother in the bedroom and watched through a crack in the door. My mother must have screamed louder than normal or something because the next thing I knew the bedroom door flew open and my brother took off. I remember seeing my brother launch his little body, clad only in a diaper, off the floor at the man's face. This two year old little boy forgot he was just a toddler and was intent on ripping the man's face off for hurting our mother. I stood frozen in the doorway as I watch this man grab my brother and throw him on the other couch. At that point I ran to the couch and grabbed him. My mother at this point got very angry. It was one thing to beat on her but you didn't beat on her kids. She flew into a rage and managed to get the man out of our house. It was some time after this that my brother and I were sent to live with my mother's mom and step dad. We lived with them for about a year. During that time my brother was finally potty trained and learned how to talk.
After living with my grandparents my mother came back for us. We went back to our hometown and tried to start over. Things were good for about six months. During that time my mother was not using drugs although she did drink. I went to school and didn't have to worry about what was happening to my brother. That all changed when our mother started using meth again. I tried my best to make sure my brother came with me when I went out with friends. It was hard considering he was four years old and my friends were all older than me. I had finally had it with my mother's treatment of my brother when she decided to shelter some men who were running from the cops. They stayed at our house for about a week. One day I decided to go to the store and I left my brother with our mother. I still regret it. While I was gone the cops raided the house and my baby brother had to witness it. Guns had been drawn and put in people's faces. I will never forget the look on my brother's face when I got home. He looked so scared and he had lost some of his innocence. It was after this event that I stopped going to school. Well that was part of it. We all had really bad cases of lice that my mother never took care of. Because of that I couldn't really go to school. The nurses at school would check my head and just send me home. At 11 years old and in fifth grade I dropped out. My brother could not be left alone with my mother.
While my brother and I are closer than most siblings we still fought like all siblings. We fought over what to watch on tv, who had the most candy but mostly we fought for our mother's attention. It was no contest really. My mother didn't see me as her daughter but as her friend. My brother was her baby and she favored him as much as an addict can. While I took the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse he didn't escape it. When our mother was so lost in her addiction nothing else mattered.
My brother and I still fight but it's mostly about when I get to see him. He has his own life with a job, a wife and friends. I messed our relationship up when I moved away to follow my own addictions. No matter what though we have always tried to be supportive of one another. He is the reason for this blog. When I told him what I wanted to do he backed me 100%. He has been there for me when I needed him most even if I couldn't do the same for him. He grew up to be such a good man. He still is young and finding his way. I can't believe that I wanted a sister. I have been blessed with the most amazing brother ever.
Taya
P.S. Don't forget to like The Addict's Child on Facebook.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
I'm not Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf
The other day my husband and I took our daughter to the pet store to see the animals. My daughter loves animals. Whenever she sees a dog or cat she tries to get them to come to her so she can pet them. She loves watching birds fly or fish swim around in their tanks. I wish I could get her some sort of pet but the apartment complex we live in has very strict rules about pets. While watching my daughter marvel over all the animals it got me thinking about all the pets I had over the years.
My mother liked animals as well. We had an almost constant parade of dogs through my childhood. We never had one for long due to the fact we could afford to feed ourselves let alone a pet or they would run away. One dog made more of an impact on me than the others, our dog Nick.
I met Nick when I was about 5 years old. He belonged to my mother's boyfriend. He was a big wolf and shepard mix. He looked more wolf than shepard and he scared me. Mostly because he was so big. He was kept in a huge kennel because everyone was afraid of how he would react to all the kids. He was such a beautiful animal. He loved my mother from the start. He actually peed on her when they first met. From that moment on my mother was his. He was also protective of my brother who was born shortly after my mother got together with Nick's owner. When my mother and her boyfriend broke up I only saw Nick occasionally which didn't bother me that much. Like I said he scared me.
When my brother was about 5 years old Nick came to live with us. My mother's ex could not keep him at his new place so gave him to us. When Nick came to live with us I was still mildly scared of him. I have always been afraid of large dogs. However my fears soon disappeared. Having Nick in our house was wonderful. He wasn't aggressive towards my brother or myself. We were his pups. We would cuddle on the floor or couch everynight. He was very protective of all of us. He still thought of my mother as his. So much so he peed on the couch once after my mother's new boyfriend got up. If there were men in the house he always sat on my mother. He really was amazing.
We were not allowed to have pets at our place so if there was going to be a chance the landlord would be stopping by we took him to our friend's house down the street. He hated being down there and would howl until my mother or myself went down to see him. Thankfully we didn't have to send him away all that often.
One such time sticks in my head more than others. My mother told me to walk Nick down to the neighbors because the landlord was coming over. I grabbed Nick's tether and led him down the street. I tried to reassure him along the way that I would be back for him soon. I even made a deal with him that we could cuddle on the couch if he didn't howl too much. After making sure he was secure I headed home. He of course howled and whined wanting to come home with me.The landlord came for her visit and left. I'm not sure how it happend but I ended up angering my mother. Things got physical pretty quickly and I tried my best to keep quiet. Suddenly the phone started to ring. My mother answered and after a brief conversation rushed outside. Apparently Nick had heard me screaming and broke his tether to get to me. By the time my mother was outside he was already up the street. My mother met him outside the gate yelling. She went to grab what was left of his tether and he bit her. Hearing her screaming I rushed outside. As soon as Nick saw me he came right to me. I was afraid that he was going to bite me as well but he just leaned his massive body against my legs and pushed me back into the yard. My mother tried to follow but he growled at her. As soon as I was in the yard I tried to calm him down so my mother could come in the house and take care of her wounds. Nick was having none of it. He would not allow my mother through the gate. Everytime she touched the gate or fence he would growl at her. He knew she was angry and didn't want her anywhere near his pups. After about an hour he allowed my mother back in the yard. By this time she had calmed down. Even after letting her in the gate Nick wouldn't allow her near me. We spent most of the day in the living room with Nick sandwhiched between my brother and myself. This happened a few times and Nick always forgave my mother but I don't think he ever truly trusted her. He loved my brother and I and would do anything to keep us safe. He was my furry savior for a while. I always felt safe with him in the house. I knew my mother wouldn't want to risk being bitten again so this was a nonviolent time in our home.
Sadly after a few months the landlord found out about Nick. We were forced to give him back to my mother's ex. I begged my mother to find a new home for all of us so we could keep him. My mother's ex took Nick just down the street from us. The ex's new girlfriend's mother lived down the street. The major problem with that was no one told the old woman Nick was there. She heard him howling and thought a stray dog had been injured and wandered into her yard. Animal control came and took him away. I was under the impression that he had been picked up by the ex and taken to a new home. It wasn't until months later that my mother told me that no one came for him and that he had been put down. I was hearbroken. I still am. My poor furry best friend had been put down for no other reason than no one came to claim him. He died alone and was disposed of as if he didn't matter.
I never forgave my mother for not making it work so we could keep Nick. I was so mad that she didn't go claim him. I never realized when he was with us how much I needed him. He was my best friend and my protector. I will always think of him as my first dog. I really wish I would have been able to hold him one last time.
My life has been shaped by my relationships with other people but my life was forever altered by a fuzzy wolf named Nick. I know that if there is a doggy heaven he is still looking out for me.
My mother liked animals as well. We had an almost constant parade of dogs through my childhood. We never had one for long due to the fact we could afford to feed ourselves let alone a pet or they would run away. One dog made more of an impact on me than the others, our dog Nick.
I met Nick when I was about 5 years old. He belonged to my mother's boyfriend. He was a big wolf and shepard mix. He looked more wolf than shepard and he scared me. Mostly because he was so big. He was kept in a huge kennel because everyone was afraid of how he would react to all the kids. He was such a beautiful animal. He loved my mother from the start. He actually peed on her when they first met. From that moment on my mother was his. He was also protective of my brother who was born shortly after my mother got together with Nick's owner. When my mother and her boyfriend broke up I only saw Nick occasionally which didn't bother me that much. Like I said he scared me.
When my brother was about 5 years old Nick came to live with us. My mother's ex could not keep him at his new place so gave him to us. When Nick came to live with us I was still mildly scared of him. I have always been afraid of large dogs. However my fears soon disappeared. Having Nick in our house was wonderful. He wasn't aggressive towards my brother or myself. We were his pups. We would cuddle on the floor or couch everynight. He was very protective of all of us. He still thought of my mother as his. So much so he peed on the couch once after my mother's new boyfriend got up. If there were men in the house he always sat on my mother. He really was amazing.
We were not allowed to have pets at our place so if there was going to be a chance the landlord would be stopping by we took him to our friend's house down the street. He hated being down there and would howl until my mother or myself went down to see him. Thankfully we didn't have to send him away all that often.
One such time sticks in my head more than others. My mother told me to walk Nick down to the neighbors because the landlord was coming over. I grabbed Nick's tether and led him down the street. I tried to reassure him along the way that I would be back for him soon. I even made a deal with him that we could cuddle on the couch if he didn't howl too much. After making sure he was secure I headed home. He of course howled and whined wanting to come home with me.The landlord came for her visit and left. I'm not sure how it happend but I ended up angering my mother. Things got physical pretty quickly and I tried my best to keep quiet. Suddenly the phone started to ring. My mother answered and after a brief conversation rushed outside. Apparently Nick had heard me screaming and broke his tether to get to me. By the time my mother was outside he was already up the street. My mother met him outside the gate yelling. She went to grab what was left of his tether and he bit her. Hearing her screaming I rushed outside. As soon as Nick saw me he came right to me. I was afraid that he was going to bite me as well but he just leaned his massive body against my legs and pushed me back into the yard. My mother tried to follow but he growled at her. As soon as I was in the yard I tried to calm him down so my mother could come in the house and take care of her wounds. Nick was having none of it. He would not allow my mother through the gate. Everytime she touched the gate or fence he would growl at her. He knew she was angry and didn't want her anywhere near his pups. After about an hour he allowed my mother back in the yard. By this time she had calmed down. Even after letting her in the gate Nick wouldn't allow her near me. We spent most of the day in the living room with Nick sandwhiched between my brother and myself. This happened a few times and Nick always forgave my mother but I don't think he ever truly trusted her. He loved my brother and I and would do anything to keep us safe. He was my furry savior for a while. I always felt safe with him in the house. I knew my mother wouldn't want to risk being bitten again so this was a nonviolent time in our home.
Sadly after a few months the landlord found out about Nick. We were forced to give him back to my mother's ex. I begged my mother to find a new home for all of us so we could keep him. My mother's ex took Nick just down the street from us. The ex's new girlfriend's mother lived down the street. The major problem with that was no one told the old woman Nick was there. She heard him howling and thought a stray dog had been injured and wandered into her yard. Animal control came and took him away. I was under the impression that he had been picked up by the ex and taken to a new home. It wasn't until months later that my mother told me that no one came for him and that he had been put down. I was hearbroken. I still am. My poor furry best friend had been put down for no other reason than no one came to claim him. He died alone and was disposed of as if he didn't matter.
I never forgave my mother for not making it work so we could keep Nick. I was so mad that she didn't go claim him. I never realized when he was with us how much I needed him. He was my best friend and my protector. I will always think of him as my first dog. I really wish I would have been able to hold him one last time.
My life has been shaped by my relationships with other people but my life was forever altered by a fuzzy wolf named Nick. I know that if there is a doggy heaven he is still looking out for me.
Monday, January 21, 2013
The Addict's Child is an Addict
I don't think it is fair to only speak of my mother's addiction when I have struggled with my own addictions. I don't want people to sing my praises without knowing the whole truth: I am an addict. True I don't do meth or any of the other so called "hard drugs". My addiction has been a quiet struggle that surprises most people when they hear of it.
While living with my mother I knew I didn't want to be her. In my mind as long as I stayed away from meth and the like I would be fine. As a child I didn't understand you can become addicted to many things. I smoked my first cigarette at age 10, tried marijuana for the first time at 11 and had been quietly drinking with my mother for as long as I could remember. The only thing I did on a regular basis was smoke cigarettes. They were easy to steal seeing as how all my friend's parents smoked. Not to mention this was before they started putting cigarettes behind the counter. Part of the reason I started smoking was peer pressure. I wanted so much to fit in with my friends I would go along with anything. The other part was my mother didn't smoke. Always seemed strange to me that she didn't, afterall she was a drug user and an alcoholic but she refused to smoke cigarettes. She also didn't smoke pot. My mother is all about stimulants with the exception of alcohol. My smoking came to an end when my brother and I were adopted.
I managed to keep from smoking cigarettes until high school. Sadly I developed another addiction. I started cutting myself on a regular basis. It started out with me cutting when I got into some form of trouble. My new parents only used spanking when the misbehavior was severe. Most times I got a stern talking to and loss of privileges. But in my mind this wasn't enough. I had spent most of my childhood being beaten for the smallest misstep so it only made sense to me that if I got into trouble I should feel it physically. I started out cutting my legs above the knee because I hardly wore shorts. This progressed to carving images in my skin. As time went on I started cutting more and more and I didn't care where or who saw. I believe my adopted parents knew about this and they tried to get me help where they could. Along with cutting I started talking pills. For a while it was just Tylenol PM to help me sleep. Then freshman year a friend slipped me a Vicodin. I started taking those when I could. I loved taking pills. It took the edge off my pain and I could justify my habit by thinking it least it wasn't meth. Of course my parents found out and again did their best to help me through it. Sophomore year I switched from pills to marijuana and cigarettes. To me pot wasn't a big deal because everyone was doing it.
My junior year I started at a new high school. I wanted to get away from the friends at my old school and try to get my head together. During the first month of my junior year my adopted mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I fell off my little wagon. Her illness was too much for me. While they had caught the cancer early she still had to have major surgery and chemo. I often look back at this time and scold my past self. Instead of being strong for my adopted mom I shut down. I started cutting more and more. Everytime I was sad, angry or hurt I would cut. If I was at school I was sneaking off campus to get high. I refused to see my adopted mom's scars, go to chemo with her or see her without her hat or scarf. It would have made it too real for me and I was doing my best to pretend none of this was happening. It was while my adopted mom was sick that my cutting was found out. A girl at school had noticed something funny about my arm and got me to fess up. She then took me to my guidance counselor who called my adopted dad. Once again I was given help that I didn't utilize.
My addiction to pills stabilized into recreation over the next few years. I never actively went seeking for pills. I only took them if I was offered by friends. I continued to smoke pot as a way to dull the pain. Strangely I never dated someone who was a pot smoker so I often ended up fighting with my significant other about it. There was quite a bit of alcohol use in my young adult life but always at parties. I never drank just to drink.
After a particularly bad break up I decided enough was enough. I was holding on to anger and pain from my childhood. I couldn't get rid of it because I kept numbing the pain. So I decided it was time for change. I moved into a local woman's shelter where I would be on a strict schedule with no way for me to be able to participate in my normal activities. I loved living there. I was finally able to forgive my mother for my childhood and loads of other offenses that had been done to me over the years. I was doing very well while I lived at the shelter. While I was living there a friend in California confessed to me that she had tried to kill herself and felt totally alone. I decided her need was greater than mine so I left the shelter and moved out of the state. Once in California things got worse. I realized I couldn't help my friend unless she made some changes to her life. By the time I realized this it was too late. I had no job, my driver's license had been suspened due to unpaid tickets and my car had expired tags. I was stuck. I know I could have called my family for help but I seem to have inherited my mother's pride. So I stayed in California. In due time I started smoking pot again. I justified it by saying it was for recreation, that because I had my issues under control it was ok to smoke. I also started taking pills again. It started with painkillers and progressed to mood stabilzers.
The day after christmas 2008 I tried to kill myself. I don't remember being depressed or even wanting to die. The whole event was surreal. My new boyfriend had just dropped me off at home. I was in my room watching a movie. On my nightstand was some anti-nausea pills I had obtained legally from my doctor after fighting an infection that made me sick. I grabbed the bottle and swallowed all that was left, about 8 pills. I sat there for a minute and came back to myself. I remember panicking as I realized what I did. My roomate was home and so was my best friend that lived 30 feet from my backdoor but I didn't call either of them. Instead I called a friend that I only knew from work. He picked me up and dropped me off at the hospital. Once there I told them what happened. I even brought the pill bottle so they would know exactly what I had taken. I ended up having to drink charcoal and spent the night in ICU. While in the hospital they got me connected with Behavior Health. I was set up with a therapist and a psychologist. I'm not really sure what the difference between the two is but through them I was diagnosed borderline bipolar and boderline anorexic. I remember laughing at the diagnoses thinking I could never do anything fully. I was prescribed Lexepro and Lamictal for my depression and Trazadone for my insomnia. The meds helped for a while but I was taking other pills on top of these. My boyfriend had a prescription for Vicodin so he tended to share. On top of that I was taking any other mood stabilizers I could get my hands on. Any given day I had five to six different pills in my system.
Life continued this way for about 8 months. I was having trouble with my insurance and wasn't able to get the pills I was prescribed. Once I ran out the world turned upside down. I spent three days crying for no reason. My poor roommate found me curled around the toilet sobbing and throwing up on the third day. Not knowing what to do she called 911. When the cops showed up they gave me two options: get up and go to the hospital on my own or they would call an ambulance and they would 51/50 me for three weeks. For those that don't know what that means I would have been put in a mental hospital for three weeks. I managed to get myself off the couch and to the hospital. They were able to give me one of my normal pills. Once I was out of the hospital my roommate called my best friend to take me to my hometown for a few days. While I was home my grandfather offered me a place to live and a chance to gain control over my life. I didn't really need to think about it. I wanted to be near my family and be around friends that didn't do pills. I needed that support system without telling them why I needed them.
I have been pill free for just over three years. I have only taken pills when the doctor places them in my hand. After having my daughter I didn't even want to take anything stronger than ibprofen. There have been a few times that I long for a sleeping pill or if I am having a stressful day a mood stabilizer. I have been able to resist these urges. Nothing is worth the pain of pill withdrawl. While I still hate feeling my feelings I do it anyway. I haven't cut myself in over 3 years as well. I don't claim to be cured of my affliction but I have control over it. I won't ever let addiction rule my life.
Taya
While living with my mother I knew I didn't want to be her. In my mind as long as I stayed away from meth and the like I would be fine. As a child I didn't understand you can become addicted to many things. I smoked my first cigarette at age 10, tried marijuana for the first time at 11 and had been quietly drinking with my mother for as long as I could remember. The only thing I did on a regular basis was smoke cigarettes. They were easy to steal seeing as how all my friend's parents smoked. Not to mention this was before they started putting cigarettes behind the counter. Part of the reason I started smoking was peer pressure. I wanted so much to fit in with my friends I would go along with anything. The other part was my mother didn't smoke. Always seemed strange to me that she didn't, afterall she was a drug user and an alcoholic but she refused to smoke cigarettes. She also didn't smoke pot. My mother is all about stimulants with the exception of alcohol. My smoking came to an end when my brother and I were adopted.
I managed to keep from smoking cigarettes until high school. Sadly I developed another addiction. I started cutting myself on a regular basis. It started out with me cutting when I got into some form of trouble. My new parents only used spanking when the misbehavior was severe. Most times I got a stern talking to and loss of privileges. But in my mind this wasn't enough. I had spent most of my childhood being beaten for the smallest misstep so it only made sense to me that if I got into trouble I should feel it physically. I started out cutting my legs above the knee because I hardly wore shorts. This progressed to carving images in my skin. As time went on I started cutting more and more and I didn't care where or who saw. I believe my adopted parents knew about this and they tried to get me help where they could. Along with cutting I started talking pills. For a while it was just Tylenol PM to help me sleep. Then freshman year a friend slipped me a Vicodin. I started taking those when I could. I loved taking pills. It took the edge off my pain and I could justify my habit by thinking it least it wasn't meth. Of course my parents found out and again did their best to help me through it. Sophomore year I switched from pills to marijuana and cigarettes. To me pot wasn't a big deal because everyone was doing it.
My junior year I started at a new high school. I wanted to get away from the friends at my old school and try to get my head together. During the first month of my junior year my adopted mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I fell off my little wagon. Her illness was too much for me. While they had caught the cancer early she still had to have major surgery and chemo. I often look back at this time and scold my past self. Instead of being strong for my adopted mom I shut down. I started cutting more and more. Everytime I was sad, angry or hurt I would cut. If I was at school I was sneaking off campus to get high. I refused to see my adopted mom's scars, go to chemo with her or see her without her hat or scarf. It would have made it too real for me and I was doing my best to pretend none of this was happening. It was while my adopted mom was sick that my cutting was found out. A girl at school had noticed something funny about my arm and got me to fess up. She then took me to my guidance counselor who called my adopted dad. Once again I was given help that I didn't utilize.
My addiction to pills stabilized into recreation over the next few years. I never actively went seeking for pills. I only took them if I was offered by friends. I continued to smoke pot as a way to dull the pain. Strangely I never dated someone who was a pot smoker so I often ended up fighting with my significant other about it. There was quite a bit of alcohol use in my young adult life but always at parties. I never drank just to drink.
After a particularly bad break up I decided enough was enough. I was holding on to anger and pain from my childhood. I couldn't get rid of it because I kept numbing the pain. So I decided it was time for change. I moved into a local woman's shelter where I would be on a strict schedule with no way for me to be able to participate in my normal activities. I loved living there. I was finally able to forgive my mother for my childhood and loads of other offenses that had been done to me over the years. I was doing very well while I lived at the shelter. While I was living there a friend in California confessed to me that she had tried to kill herself and felt totally alone. I decided her need was greater than mine so I left the shelter and moved out of the state. Once in California things got worse. I realized I couldn't help my friend unless she made some changes to her life. By the time I realized this it was too late. I had no job, my driver's license had been suspened due to unpaid tickets and my car had expired tags. I was stuck. I know I could have called my family for help but I seem to have inherited my mother's pride. So I stayed in California. In due time I started smoking pot again. I justified it by saying it was for recreation, that because I had my issues under control it was ok to smoke. I also started taking pills again. It started with painkillers and progressed to mood stabilzers.
The day after christmas 2008 I tried to kill myself. I don't remember being depressed or even wanting to die. The whole event was surreal. My new boyfriend had just dropped me off at home. I was in my room watching a movie. On my nightstand was some anti-nausea pills I had obtained legally from my doctor after fighting an infection that made me sick. I grabbed the bottle and swallowed all that was left, about 8 pills. I sat there for a minute and came back to myself. I remember panicking as I realized what I did. My roomate was home and so was my best friend that lived 30 feet from my backdoor but I didn't call either of them. Instead I called a friend that I only knew from work. He picked me up and dropped me off at the hospital. Once there I told them what happened. I even brought the pill bottle so they would know exactly what I had taken. I ended up having to drink charcoal and spent the night in ICU. While in the hospital they got me connected with Behavior Health. I was set up with a therapist and a psychologist. I'm not really sure what the difference between the two is but through them I was diagnosed borderline bipolar and boderline anorexic. I remember laughing at the diagnoses thinking I could never do anything fully. I was prescribed Lexepro and Lamictal for my depression and Trazadone for my insomnia. The meds helped for a while but I was taking other pills on top of these. My boyfriend had a prescription for Vicodin so he tended to share. On top of that I was taking any other mood stabilizers I could get my hands on. Any given day I had five to six different pills in my system.
Life continued this way for about 8 months. I was having trouble with my insurance and wasn't able to get the pills I was prescribed. Once I ran out the world turned upside down. I spent three days crying for no reason. My poor roommate found me curled around the toilet sobbing and throwing up on the third day. Not knowing what to do she called 911. When the cops showed up they gave me two options: get up and go to the hospital on my own or they would call an ambulance and they would 51/50 me for three weeks. For those that don't know what that means I would have been put in a mental hospital for three weeks. I managed to get myself off the couch and to the hospital. They were able to give me one of my normal pills. Once I was out of the hospital my roommate called my best friend to take me to my hometown for a few days. While I was home my grandfather offered me a place to live and a chance to gain control over my life. I didn't really need to think about it. I wanted to be near my family and be around friends that didn't do pills. I needed that support system without telling them why I needed them.
I have been pill free for just over three years. I have only taken pills when the doctor places them in my hand. After having my daughter I didn't even want to take anything stronger than ibprofen. There have been a few times that I long for a sleeping pill or if I am having a stressful day a mood stabilizer. I have been able to resist these urges. Nothing is worth the pain of pill withdrawl. While I still hate feeling my feelings I do it anyway. I haven't cut myself in over 3 years as well. I don't claim to be cured of my affliction but I have control over it. I won't ever let addiction rule my life.
Taya
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Elmo
A few days ago my daughter and I were watching Sesame Street. I have always loved the show no matter my age. My daughter seemed to be enjoying it as well, especially Elmo. As we were watching the show I couldn't help but think of my mother and her love for Elmo. It was then I remembered that I had a first generation Tickle Me Elmo buried in my closet. It looked like the perfect time to dig him out and give him to my daughter. I should have known how that little fuzzy monster effected my emotions...
When I was able 11 years old Tickle Me Elmo hit the market. I remember watching the news and hearing how this toy had sold out and that there were waiting lists. I never once longed for one of these toys. I knew that with my mother's addiction and our living situation money would not be spent on the latest "It" toy. My brother was five at the time and I think he may have wanted one. He had seen it on tv and was in the age group these toys were aimed at. I don't remember hearing him ask for one but he might have. My mother on the other hand, was very vocal in her desire for this toy. I wish I could say that she wanted a Tickle Me Elmo for my brother but that was not the case. She wanted this toy for herself. I never understood why though. Would it help her reconnect with her childhood? Did she really want the toy for my brother but was making it seem like she wanted it for herself to throw us off? Whatever the case may have been she coveted that toy. She wouldn't spend her own money on it because well she didn't have any. All the money we got from welfare went to rent and her habits.
I don't remember exactly how it happened but my mother got the toy she wanted. I think it might have been a christmas gift from my future adopted parents but I can't be sure. Maybe I should ask them. Anyway my mother got her toy and loved it. She slept with it and showed it off to everyone. She let my brother play with it and the two would laugh as Elmo giggled and shook. Shortly after she got Elmo my mother also got a Sleep and Snore Ernie. She wasn't as excited about this new toy as Elmo but she still loved it.
I can't say for certain but I think it was only just a few months after recieving these gifts that my brother and I were removed from her care. We didn't have many pictures of my mother so she sent us away with some her favorite items to remember her by: her Raiders jacket, Tickle Me Elmo and Sleep and Snore Ernie. She may have sent other things but those are the ones that stick out in my head. My brother got Elmo while I took the jacket and Ernie. The jacket was huge even on my mom so when I wore it I swam in it. I wore that jacket everywhere: school, church, the store and to bed. I took Elmo with me to camp one year and I think my brother did the same. These 3 items were like the holy trinity for my brother and I. We needed them because they were a physical connection to our mother. Even after all the horror she had put us through we still longed for her. We still wanted her to be with us and to love us. I know deep down my mother loves her children. Sadly, her addiction has overshadowed that love.
As time past and we got used to not being with her we slowly let these items take a backseat in our lives. We didn't throw them away but we didn't worship them like we did in the early days of our new lives. I think I may have even given the jacket back to my mother on one of the few trips we made to see her. We still longed for her to come home but we no longer waited. We moved on in our lives. Well as much as we could. We still kept Ernie and Elmo. We eventually had more pictures of our mother and that help. As time went on my brother and I started to realize that our lives were meant to continue even if our mother wasn't here. At some point my brother stopped sleeping with Elmo in favor of other toys he had picked out. As we both got older Elmo and Ernie found themselves stored in the garage.
A few years ago my adopted mom R gave me a bag of my things that had been in the garage since I moved out. In this bag I found cds, a discman, some other forgotten treasures and Elmo. My adopted parents had kept him for us. I was so happy to have Elmo back. I had totally forgotten he was in the garage. I pulled him out of the bag and gave him a squeeze. He still talked but didn't vibrate like he used to. Seemed as if the batteries were dead. I took him home and placed him in a bag with other stuffed animals from my youth I can't seem to let go. Once in the bag he went in the closet. I remember talking to my brother about Elmo. He was excited that the toy had been found but didn't want it for himself. In the closet Elmo stayed until just a few days ago when I took him out and gave him new batteries. He is now back to him giggly, shaking self.
My daughter at first didn't know what to do with this giggling, vibrating monster. She hid from him for a while. Once I gave the toy a kiss and hug I set it on the floor and walked away. Eventually my daughter got curious and picked Elmo up. She felt his softness and looked into his now slightly yellow eyes and pulled him into a hug. While watching her I couldn't help but think my mother should be here. She should be the one giving her granddaughter a Tickle Me Elmo. But the more I watched my daughter I realized that if my mother and daughter were to meet this is what would happen. My daughter is cautious of everyone who is not her parents or her grandparents(my husband's mother and her boyfriend or my adopted parents). If my daughter were to meet my mother she would treat my mother just like she did Elmo. I like to think of Elmo has that part of my mother that is good and healthy. She gave my brother and I Elmo, the thing she wanted most in this world. I know that under her addiction she is the good person I caught glimpses of as a child. I hope someday my daughter will get to see it too.
Taya
P.S. Don't forget to check out The Addict's Child on Facebook.
When I was able 11 years old Tickle Me Elmo hit the market. I remember watching the news and hearing how this toy had sold out and that there were waiting lists. I never once longed for one of these toys. I knew that with my mother's addiction and our living situation money would not be spent on the latest "It" toy. My brother was five at the time and I think he may have wanted one. He had seen it on tv and was in the age group these toys were aimed at. I don't remember hearing him ask for one but he might have. My mother on the other hand, was very vocal in her desire for this toy. I wish I could say that she wanted a Tickle Me Elmo for my brother but that was not the case. She wanted this toy for herself. I never understood why though. Would it help her reconnect with her childhood? Did she really want the toy for my brother but was making it seem like she wanted it for herself to throw us off? Whatever the case may have been she coveted that toy. She wouldn't spend her own money on it because well she didn't have any. All the money we got from welfare went to rent and her habits.
I don't remember exactly how it happened but my mother got the toy she wanted. I think it might have been a christmas gift from my future adopted parents but I can't be sure. Maybe I should ask them. Anyway my mother got her toy and loved it. She slept with it and showed it off to everyone. She let my brother play with it and the two would laugh as Elmo giggled and shook. Shortly after she got Elmo my mother also got a Sleep and Snore Ernie. She wasn't as excited about this new toy as Elmo but she still loved it.
I can't say for certain but I think it was only just a few months after recieving these gifts that my brother and I were removed from her care. We didn't have many pictures of my mother so she sent us away with some her favorite items to remember her by: her Raiders jacket, Tickle Me Elmo and Sleep and Snore Ernie. She may have sent other things but those are the ones that stick out in my head. My brother got Elmo while I took the jacket and Ernie. The jacket was huge even on my mom so when I wore it I swam in it. I wore that jacket everywhere: school, church, the store and to bed. I took Elmo with me to camp one year and I think my brother did the same. These 3 items were like the holy trinity for my brother and I. We needed them because they were a physical connection to our mother. Even after all the horror she had put us through we still longed for her. We still wanted her to be with us and to love us. I know deep down my mother loves her children. Sadly, her addiction has overshadowed that love.
As time past and we got used to not being with her we slowly let these items take a backseat in our lives. We didn't throw them away but we didn't worship them like we did in the early days of our new lives. I think I may have even given the jacket back to my mother on one of the few trips we made to see her. We still longed for her to come home but we no longer waited. We moved on in our lives. Well as much as we could. We still kept Ernie and Elmo. We eventually had more pictures of our mother and that help. As time went on my brother and I started to realize that our lives were meant to continue even if our mother wasn't here. At some point my brother stopped sleeping with Elmo in favor of other toys he had picked out. As we both got older Elmo and Ernie found themselves stored in the garage.
A few years ago my adopted mom R gave me a bag of my things that had been in the garage since I moved out. In this bag I found cds, a discman, some other forgotten treasures and Elmo. My adopted parents had kept him for us. I was so happy to have Elmo back. I had totally forgotten he was in the garage. I pulled him out of the bag and gave him a squeeze. He still talked but didn't vibrate like he used to. Seemed as if the batteries were dead. I took him home and placed him in a bag with other stuffed animals from my youth I can't seem to let go. Once in the bag he went in the closet. I remember talking to my brother about Elmo. He was excited that the toy had been found but didn't want it for himself. In the closet Elmo stayed until just a few days ago when I took him out and gave him new batteries. He is now back to him giggly, shaking self.
My daughter at first didn't know what to do with this giggling, vibrating monster. She hid from him for a while. Once I gave the toy a kiss and hug I set it on the floor and walked away. Eventually my daughter got curious and picked Elmo up. She felt his softness and looked into his now slightly yellow eyes and pulled him into a hug. While watching her I couldn't help but think my mother should be here. She should be the one giving her granddaughter a Tickle Me Elmo. But the more I watched my daughter I realized that if my mother and daughter were to meet this is what would happen. My daughter is cautious of everyone who is not her parents or her grandparents(my husband's mother and her boyfriend or my adopted parents). If my daughter were to meet my mother she would treat my mother just like she did Elmo. I like to think of Elmo has that part of my mother that is good and healthy. She gave my brother and I Elmo, the thing she wanted most in this world. I know that under her addiction she is the good person I caught glimpses of as a child. I hope someday my daughter will get to see it too.
Taya
P.S. Don't forget to check out The Addict's Child on Facebook.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
The Addict's Child on Facebook
I keep forgetting to let everyone who reads my blog know that I have a Facebook page. Please feel free to check it out. It's mostly just a page to let people know when I have posted a new blog entry. So please check it out and share with your friends.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Addicts-Child/129218913905529
Taya
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Addicts-Child/129218913905529
Taya
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