This is like Dante's levels of Hell. There are just so many levels of suffering. It's hard which thing to attend to first. Even for me, who is not even involved. I guess I was trying to feel mad at Tornado in order to focus. On some level she must feel terrible.. I can imagine what your fear is, New Leaf. I wish I lived near you but there is an ocean in the way. I pray she is okay. I believe with all my heart that she is okay.
It is like levels of hell. Grieving all over again. I went back to my first post to figure out how many years I have been here. 2015 is when I posted after Tornados last horrendous exodus that affirmed my realization that I, nay we, (because hubs was still here) could no longer maintain the “revolving” door. That was so hard letting go of my three grands. The desperation and chaos. We had been dealing with the downward slide for years before that. Trying to get authorities involved, trying to make sure my grands were safe. I have to hold on to that to strengthen my logical voice in my head that the decision to rehouse my daughter is the correct one. But then the emotional voice starts intruding, and the “what if’s” roll through my mind. But, the fact is there were so many signs pointing towards this latest development. Tornado had the opportunity to go to rehab when she was Covid released from jail in the fall. She fell off the radar again. On the streets and pregnant, still using. Not even the movement in her belly drove her to the right choice. Chance #1 rejected. Chance #2 One week before baby’s birth, the rehab under Covid restrictions with limited space for clients, was able to take her in, it was that or go directly to jail and baby would be removed at birth. Chance #3, mom and baby tested clean in the hospital, but two weeks after birth, lab results for baby showed positive,. The social worker gave Tornado benefit of the doubt and waived removal procedures as long as she remained in rehab and continued to make progress. When baby was just two months old she was trying to arrange for baby to come and “stay with us for the weekend” . “Uh no, you are breastfeeding how on earth would that even be doable???” Red flag. Her inability to show remorse to me or her children for the terrible choices she made and what harm it caused us. Red flag. Her pokes and jabs at me, blaming her choices on mistakes I had made raising her. Red flag. Her choosing to phone her boyfriend who is still using, rather than call her kids. Red flag. When she was allowed her first day pass, she arranged to have a beach day with us, it was around hubs date of passing, and a time we have gathered at the beach these five years, to celebrate his life. She called late the night prior saying that she had invited Rain “Can we pick her up? Please Mom?” I asked her if that was on the detailed day plan she had to submit to rehab.
“Yes mom.” So reluctantly we went to the park and ended up waiting for her to find her sister. As we sat in the truck, a guy showed up on his bike. Surprise, it was the baby’s father. Rain finally appeared and said she was not coming to the beach with us. Hmmmmm. Red flag. I called the rehab afterwards because it felt like a manipulative move, that this interaction was Tornados doing, not in the true plan. She had us all sitting there waiting for a hour while this transpired. The rehab never got back to me.
I’m just too gullible. But not gullible enough to house my daughter. Then my mind slides the other way wondering, wondering if I had allowed her into our home, would she have come round to the light? Wondering if she took the chance with this “altercation” she had, thinking that I would acquiesce on baby’s behalf and once again open my door. Was that in the back of her mind? Or was this an impulsive moment where she endangered her child to confront who knows who about what, and that was foremost on her mind?
Oh the places I go, ruminating on the whys and wherefores. The what if’s.
It is a process that I go through in this pain state. I am sifting through the memories and facts and trying to quell that lump in my throat, and be able to function at the same time. I will be okay, Copa, I have
to be okay, for myself, my granddaughter and everyone else. I have to work through all of this and give it to God at the same time. I spoke yesterday with the SW, I expressed again my torment. She said “I think you made the right decision.”
I think I did too, but there is a difference between thinking and knowing.
It will take time to swallow all of this and move back from the edge of the “swirly whirly”.
I imagine that Tornado has an extensive social network. That she is known.
That she does, or seemingly so. Awhile back I saw Rain during one of Tornados stints in jail. “Mom, don’t bail her out. She has gone through all of her friends and crossed everyone’s path, including mine.” So, this social network she chooses, I don’t know Copa. She has in the recent past posted remarks of her affiliation with a gang here. The “Bloods”. One of her comments “l need clothes, but don’t buy me anything blue.” It seems ridiculous, my fear of her gang involvement at her age, but she has also posted while in rehab a selfie, with the comment “ #whatupbloods”. Hoku noticed that and was alarmed. We have had incidences here with these gang members attacking innocent citizens for “wearing the wrong color”. Son remarked to me that in his college circle, students are mindful of these rogue incidences and cautious about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. All of this is on my mind as well.
I will not endanger my home with the possibility of street people and gang members appearing. I hope that Tornado will keep her distance if that affiliation is still her choice.
I know while you are incredibly strong you can't sustain this without real cost. Nobody could. New Leaf you have to find a way right now to protect yourself, to nurture yourself. I DO think I know in a part of me how this must be. I can imagine it. I have lived through things like it. And I do know what my version of this feels like. The closest I came was when my Mom was ill and my son was careening. When you can't handle multiple emergencies, each unbearable in its own way something happens to us inside that is just wordless. It's a kind of near-death experience. And for us, this has gone on so long at a slow boil--and now this.
It is wordless what happens inside of us. My body shows it in aches and pains. Thank you Copa for acknowledging this. I have reached out to Naranon who has zoom meetings Friday evenings. I may or may not join in, depending on how I feel.
I believe Tornado is OK. I believe the baby is OK. More than OK. It's you right now I am concerned about. I know you have many things in your life that can center and sustain you. The chickens. The water. For starters. Your garden and property. More than anything the children, and your grandchildren. I didn't realize you were still working. I thought you'd retired. But anyway. Now, like never before, you need to turn to that which can restore you.
Oh I so need to get back to my walking. My ill health has prevented it, as well as the rise in crime lately, especially at the wee hours in the morning, which is my favorite time to walk and pray. I will be okay, Copa. I have to be okay. I have to be strong not only for myself, for my family
. Especially for my granddaughter, who at 13 has been through so much and survived. That’s where my focus has to be, and with Son who is in the midst of finals. He needs to finish college. He is midway. Living at home but may be dorming next year.
I have just two more weeks before I retire. That is a whole different concern. I am excited, but also a little worried about finances. Social security has not gotten back to me about my application. A friend who’s husband retired told me it is a long process. I will be okay for the time being. It was my ordeal with Covid long haul issues that pushed me towards this decision. Through spring and summer last year I had the strangest symptoms, at one point felt like I was dying. Then the trepidation of being back at work, exposing myself as a health aide, while in a pandemic. That, added with the fact that hubs passed at my age set into motion early retirement. I will be 62. One of the questions retirement planners pose is “How long to you think you will live”? Who knows? With my stress level and issues with arthritis, the clock ticks a bit faster. I want to do things on my terms while I still have the capability.
I am looking forward to it, but a little worried about finances. Could I have held on and worked a little longer? Actually no. I am tired. Slowly recovering from the issues I faced, but tired. Tired of putting on the “function wear” to get through the day while all of this boils underneath. Not that I plan to break down entirely and not function, but I will be able to spend more time in my gardens, in the ocean, time to breathe.
Maybe limit your time here. I am concerned, but I can also see that coming here to this site itself can be destabilizing. It's not normal here.
I will measure my time here. You are right it is not normal here, but it is our normal.
I do not have the wherewithal to reply to other members posts, I apologize for that, but I do not have the sap to take that on. The hard part of walking this journey is being amongst the “normal” people. I sometimes feel a pariah, because I have shared some of my issues with certain folks at work. Lest I crack and they have no idea? To vent? To release, like a pressure cooker? Then there is the office chatter of normal family lives, celebrating children’s achievements and benchmarks. A coworker recently became a grandmother and as I congratulate her, I swallow all of......this. It is this weird existence of the in between. Trying to trudge on in normalcy, while dealing with the bizarre.
I wrote much this whilst sitting at the dentist office, waiting for my granddaughter to finish up capping a cracked molar. Her dentist is in the same office building as hubs former cardiologist. Walking toward the building, I flashed back (as I often do entering this very spot) to his last visit. He was so ill at the time, released from the hospital and in incredible pain, unable to walk very far. He was leaning on a post, unable to walk the few feet to where I had parked the car. We were both suffering through his last days, unbeknownst at the time, and I was desperate for the doctors to do something more. It seemed they were lackadaisical about his condition. That is a chapter I try to replace with the good memories in order to climb over the grief. Through these five years since he died, I have processed over and again the ordeal. Working steadily at painting over those desperate days with fond memories. Yet, each time I pass that post, I see him standing there, leaning over, struggling to catch his breath.
I have had to carry on in spite of the other layers of pain dealing with two addicted wayward adult children, then the whole mess with trying to help my grands.
I have been here off and on, five years. Those still here, you Copa, Kalahou, Recovering and many others have helped me sort through these layers all through these years and I am beyond grateful. To have a place to go and share this grief with people who understand is an oasis from the burden of feigning normalcy, while thoughts roam the halls in my mind, sifting through the pain and yet, making it through another day. Living in the void of grief, walking amongst people who while they have challenges no doubt, cannot fathom living with the reality of having loved ones with mental illness, drug addiction. You all know the pain of it, and I wish with all of my heart that you didn’t, but here we all are, comforting one another in a club that no one would want to be a member of. Yes it is not normal here, but there is a camaraderie in that.
I have written yet another “book” in this long response, it is my tortured mind, unable to hold the putridness of yet another situation. Like so much toxin in food poisoning, it has to come out somehow, and so my fingers release it with the keyboard, so much word vomit. Venting.
I will be okay because I know I have to. But, also because I can be here in the not normal world we have existed in. I want to more than “exist” for whatever time I have left on this earth. In spite of all that has gone on and will go on, there is still beauty. Being here has helped me to carry on and try my best to thrive. I owe that to all of you. I will be careful to acknowledge the destabilizing parts, but for now, you will never know the comfort you give in your kindness and wisdom. For that I thank you with all of my heart.
Just letting you know that I've been following along, and holding you (with all your o'hana) close in heart and prayers.
I have no new words to add ... this is very hard ... but want to join in sending mana'o and aloha.
Aloha Kalahou. I am thankful that you came and followed along. It is a blessing that we are here, but also a curse in some ways. I am sorry for the pain of it.
I am on this site most days (to maintain survival) but have had no energy to bring myself to post for a long time. My son (41 now) was part of the Covid inmate releases last summer, and I've been holding breath since then - a slow process - as further sentencing is yet to come. I distract myself with teleworking at home, and laying low - and breathe.
I was absent from this site for awhile too, trying to collect myself. I understand the need for a break.
Oh dear, Tornado was released last fall due to Covid as well. She chose the streets yet again. Off radar until entering rehab in January. Does your son contact you? For me, contact is a relief and a burden. A relief to know my adult child is alive, fearful of what may be. What a thing to write, but it is true. My hackles have been raised since engaging Tornado at rehab, a blinking danger sign in the corner of my brain, warning me to guard myself, to be prepared for an impending storm. Hopeful, yet leery. It’s like a mental disaster kit, prepping for the probability. Unfortunately that little voice in my mind turned out to be correct.
I understand the need to distract oneself from the reality of living in this bizarre realm. I hope and pray for peace for all of us.
I admire you so, dear Tita, I've missed you, and remember you so often. You are very strong and steadfast. I am sorry for the heartache and burdens you are suffering at this moment. Know the sun will shine again. Ka la hou.
I see the sunshine in my granddaughters smile. She has been so brave. I am thankful to have seen a glimpse of Tornado in her caring for her baby. That’s what made it so difficult to say no, I will not house her this time. No. The circumstances, past history, my well daughters urging and logic won. My heart keeps sifting through the what if’s of giving her another chance, but logic takes over that it would present safety issues for my home and my heart.
Please malama pono. Love and Bless. K.
Mahalo nui Kalahou. I know how hard it is to post when you are in a certain space in your mind, on this journey. I thank you for your love in reading along and sharing your thoughts. Love and bless you as well, and do what’s best for you. Malama pono and Imua.