Confessions of a Part-Time Mom

April 2, 2016

There are a few good reasons why I haven't posted here in a while. First, I spent the last two weeks of January in Miami with seven other national Sandy Hook Promise presenters. We brought the message of "Start with Hello" to all of Miami-Dade county high schools. It was quite an experience. I'll write more on that soon.

Then, as soon as I returned home from Miami, I shifted into high gear preparing for the high school musical I directed, "Beauty and the Beast," which ran the last weekend in February.  I was out nearly every evening and weekends, too. And my husband built the set so he was with me a lot of the time. While I'm thrilled with how the production went, I'm glad it's over. It was exhausting.

As soon as I flipped the calendar to March, I could completely exhale. I was finally able to slow down. It's been nice and not so nice having more free time lately. Because now that I'm home more, I notice what I hadn't taken time to notice before. Not really...

I notice my son. I mean, I really notice him now.

Not just with a quick, casual chat in the kitchen or a polite exchange in the hallway. No, I'm really seeing him now.

And don't get me wrong...I am SO. GLAD. HE'S HOME...it's just that...

I'm uneasy even typing this...

It's just that It's hard to watch him sometimes. To see him and realize what he's going through. I knew it would take time to readjust once he got out. They say coming home from prison is like a soldier coming home from war. And I knew that. And I understand that.

But still.

It's just so hard to see it firsthand. In real time.

I'm being so selfish to make this post about me and not him. It's not fair at all. He's doing everything right. He's seeing a therapist weekly. Taking his medicine. Going to work.

So why do I not make this post about that?

Well, I guess because this blog is me: Still Hopeful Mom. It's a place for me to tell you about our struggles through my eyes. And my eyes are seeing struggles these days. A lot of struggles.

I know he's not satisfied yet. I know he wants more out of his life. And I know that he will get there. But it's so hard to watch when your child wants something out of reach. I just want to grab it for him. And I can't.

I think the last few months were important for me. They were legitimate commitments to Sandy Hook Promise and to my students at school, but I also think on some level they were opportunities for me to escape for a while. To not have to stand by and watch the daily frustrations my son faces. Because watching my adult son slowly re-acclimate to society after nearly three years in prison is excruciatingly painful. Some days I'm not so sure I can do it. But then again, I'm Still Hopeful...and more importantly, so is he.

Delete

July 29, 2014

I have typed this first sentence more than thirty times.

But instead of deleting it again, I will continue describing what I am experiencing right now. Maybe you have felt this way too.

I feel anxious, incredibly anxious. I am worrying about the little things like the eye doctor appointment I need to reschedule and the weeds in the flower bed that just keep reappearing. And I am worrying about the big things like what job my older son will be able to get when he's released from prison and how I will afford to pay for my younger son to go to college next year. And I am worrying about worrying. And that worries me.
Seriously, it does.

I am unable to focus on any one task for more than a few minutes. Typing this blog post is going to take me all day. And I don't have all day. This summer is zooming by and I haven't got much to show for it. I had big plans for this summer: finish some home projects, start a second book, plan for my upcoming school year...But I'm finding it hard to focus at all.

As the calendar approaches August, the stress increases. I know I have important things to accomplish before I return to school in a few weeks. Right now, though, all I can see is a daunting to-do list and nowhere to begin. Would crawling into a hole and sleeping help at all? Because that is seriously an option right now. It's what I'd like to do, honestly. My logical side knows avoiding the workload is only going to make it worse, but it doesn't seem to matter. This anxiety is crushing me.

How can I be a good mother, a good wife, a good teacher, a good friend, if I feel this way?

After re-reading this post, I am tempted to just delete it all. My ramblings make little sense. But instead of wiping the screen clean and starting over, I will post this as is in hopes that someone else out there has felt this way too.

So I'm avoiding one more thing today: the DELETE key.

The Not Knowing

November 17, 2013

Do all mothers worry when they haven't heard from their adult kids in a while? Do they jump each time the phone rings? Do their imaginations run wild with the possibilities for not receiving a call?

Or is it just me?

It's been a week and I haven't heard a word from my incarcerated, twenty-one year old son. This is very unusual--we speak almost everyday-- so I am quite worried. After checking in with his dad, I've discovered he hasn't heard from him either. This has me doubly worried. Why no call?

My son was scheduled to have his wisdom teeth removed--all four--sometime this week. We didn't want him to do it behind bars fearing the quality of the health care would be subpar, but his pain had become unbearable and the prison dentist insisted on taking immediate action... but he wasn't told exactly what day it would happen--only that it would happen this week sometime.

What they did tell him was he would not receive the anesthetic typically used in this kind of oral surgery. He was terrified and so were we.

Now, today marks one week since we've heard from him. We've called the prison and received no assistance.

So not only am I worried about my son's well-being behind bars (like I am every day), now I'm worried that his oral surgery has gone wrong and he's suffering terribly. I can't get this vision out of my head that he's writhing in pain and no one is there to comfort him. Though he's twenty-one years old, he's still my baby.

When he was younger and skinned his knees, I cried when I cleaned his wound. After he tore his ACL in a high school basketball game, I actually passed out in the ER as they examined his injury. I feel it when my sons are hurt. Isn't that part of being a mother?

This time, though, I don't even know if he is hurt. I don't know if he's had the surgery, and I don't know if he's recovering well.

This time I don't know anything at all. So for now...I just wait.

Unpacking Bipolar

August 12, 2013

All summer long I've had little trips to anticipate. First it was the beach, then Las Vegas, NYC, the Pocono Mountains, and then the beach again. I'm so grateful to have had these opportunities spread across the summer months. Family and friends have been so generous and I'm so thankful. I've been given the chance to rest and recover (somewhat) from the worst spring of my life. These trips have helped distract me from the stresses and unknowns here at home. But the summer is coming to an end and I'm not ready yet.

Because, well, I'm not unpacked.

Sure, my suitcase is empty. I've put away all the cute little bottles of shampoo I've been collecting and my laundry has all been cleaned, but I'm not really unpacked. Not really.

See, my bipolar mind is still away, far away, still packed for the hustle and bustle and constant distraction of travel. It's still chock full of beach sand and slot machine receipts and big sunglasses. I've still got sundresses and swim suits and subway tickets shoved inside here. My bipolar mind is packed with a loaded Kindle and Candy Crush on my ipad. The alarm clock hasn't been set for weeks and I've got Facebook, not Outlook, opening when I log into my computer. I am not unpacked, not really.

And there's something else.

My mind hasn't room for the nonstop tears and the anxiety that come with worrying about my imprisoned son day in day out. Not to say I haven't been worried. Just scroll down through my posts...I've been thinking of him constantly. But that's just it. My suitcase had room for that worry when I was away on vacation-I had plenty of free mind space for that worry because I didn't have work stresses loaded in there too.

I think it's my bipolar mind that gives me the ability to compartmentalize these things. Vacation. Worry about son. Vacation. Stress about his sentence. Vacation. Agonize over the call from the attorney. You get the idea.

But the summer is winding down and I'm staring straight ahead at the beginnings of a new school year. I will soon have bright, eager, new faces staring at me ready to learn. The trouble is my mind is an overflowing suitcase of worry right now. And I can't unpack it. The zipper's stuck.

To Do List

July 25, 2013

As I arrive home from a long, much needed vacation, I am greeted by a 10 inch stack of mail to sort. I haven't unpacked yet, but already I know my to do list is growing. The refrigerator is empty, pantry bare. There are messages on voice mail to retrieve and answer, and there is a day's worth of laundry to do.  Welcome home.

So why is it that all I can do right now is stare blankly at the television, muted? Why is it that my full suitcase remains unopened on the bed while I nibble mindlessly at a cherry poptart?

My emotions are vacant. I am numb.

Then it dawns on me. I don't want to feel real life again yet.

Because for me, real life means that my 21 year old is in prison. Real life means that we don't know yet what the length of his sentence is. Real life means more hounding the mental health care facilities for my son's records to help his attorney make a mental health case with the prosecuting attorney. Real life means worrying about something that can't be controlled. Real life is hell.

So I will finish my poptart before I check my email. I will solve this Law & Order episode before I answer my voice mail. I will sit for a while and dream about some other mother coming home from vacation to greet her 21 year old son at the door. Home from college. Juggling a job and a steady girlfriend. This mother has problems of course, but none of them involve the anxiety that comes with the fact that your baby is sitting behind bars waiting to start his life.