Dead on Arrival - Resurrected by Grace

Our Story: Out of the Frying Pan

Over 30 years had passed between the time my grandparents led my mom's drug dealer to Jesus and her being declared brain dead. A lot of life happened including a kid, a marriage, another kid, and a divorce. The years between drug dealer and divorce would be better told by another. I feel as though our collective story really begins after my parents split. I've already mentioned my brothers - Jason and Kelby. Jason, we adopted when he was about 16; it's not a strictly legal adoption but for all intents and purposes he is my brother and our mother's son and I'll fight anyone who says differently. Both brothers are 8 years older than me so they weren't directly affected by the divorce since they were in their 20s when it happened. And I love my dad so I'm not going to go into the details of the divorce here and now. Let's leave it at this: they had irreconcilable differences. Cut scene from Vegas, the background against which their marriage died, to southern Illinois, the place of rebirth. We made the trip in four days, listening to the Left Behind series on audiobook the whole way. 

Things started as a movie montage. We saw ourselves as pioneers; women warriors ready to face the world on our own. We moved into a two-bedroom duplex with no furniture. Friends and relatives brought us an eclectic collection of pieces and slowly our life began to take a new shape.  I entered seventh grade and got super into poetry. In retrospect, this was a result of trying to process the dark and twisty feelings brought on by a divorce and cross country move. Not to mention, puberty. Dark days indeed. Mom was changing too. A free woman for the first time since she was in her early twenties she rebelled against convention and reveled in this change. I remember the first time she brought home alcohol. It was boxed wine. And then she brought something else into our lives that I had never experienced before: men.  

My mother is absolutely gorgeous. But before her divorce, this fact was of little consequence to our daily lives. Now though, being single and beautiful, she began to draw attention. Men would approach our table when we were out to dinner, flirting with her and casting glances at me that seemed to say, "Watch this kid. *wink*" I hated them.  A little tip for the fellas out there: do not approach the table of a woman to hit on her if there is even a 1% chance the person with her is her child. It's not cute and you will forever be lodged in that kid's memory as a bad person. I once tried to compile a list of all the men that were paraded into my life over that 10 year period between the divorce and "death".  After I  got to twenty I became angry and gave up. I haven't tried again since. There were engagements and "almost" engagements. Good, bad, and even great men. But they all left in the end. (Except for Michael, who I mention because he would have been the most incredible bonus dad ever and he might read this someday). Walking out of my life as casually and easily as they had waltzed in; solidifying in my mind the absolute idiocy that is "love". Because along with being beautiful my mother is filled with too much love and too little discernment. 

As the men increased so did the drinking - her only coping mechanism. I didn't realize at the time that something was wrong and, if you had asked me at 16, I wouldn't have said she was an alcoholic. It took me a long time to come to that realization. But that didn't mean I didn't worry about waking up to find her dead in her bed, having mixed too much vodka with her Ambien. It didn't mean that I didn't block my door some nights when she was in the living room with her current suitor, drinking. It didn't mean that I didn't become the DD as soon as  I got my driver's license. Sometimes, the people closest to the situation have the hardest time naming the monster that haunts them. It took years for me to recognize the illness that plagued her; somewhere along the way she had become an alcoholic. Too many heartbreaks and not enough accountability. This lifestyle, along with a very stressful job, is what led to her eventual physical demise. 

Despite these things, I wouldn't describe those years as a nightmare. I wouldn't describe them as blissful either. They were just life. And wonderful things happened even while bad things happened behind closed doors. I graduated high school, met my husband, got married. There were family trips and vacations, parties, birthdays, laughter, and so much love. Heartache and joy are not mutually exclusive.