Zipping around the house, furiously trying to whip the vacuum
in to submission as I try to pick up every last piece of dog hair and dust on
the wood floor. With my fading sense of dignity I pretend that if my house is
clean and orderly, my life will also reflect the same status. Pushing chairs
out of the way, reaching out to make sure there is no corner or crack left
untouched, I cringe at the waif of defeat seeping in to hidden areas of the
house, of my life.
We have had “one of those” days. It was one of those days we
wished we didn’t have to address the issue, again.
We caught her stealing, and then heard too many lies about it afterwards. She had
refused to acknowledge the truth but we knew. We knew what had happened and couldn’t
seem to shake the desire to get her to understand the power of her actions. We
were desperate to find some kind of logic in this scene but could not. Like the
grey hairs sprouting up on my scalp, this is becoming utterly all too familiar these
days.
Yes, she is hurting. She has been hurting her whole life: one
betrayal after another; years of abandonment and neglect. Trust broken so many
times she may not even recognize trust anymore, even if it grabbed her by the
leg and bit her. She is still nestled so closely to her pain that she cannot venture
out past it for very long. She holds tightly to its familiarity, reveling in
the security of it. Her birth family failed her.
But tonight, I have
failed too. I failed to show compassion to a pain that will not stop
resurfacing in my daughter and justifies her bad decisions (in her mind). I failed to see beyond my own feelings of betrayal and hurt because of broken trust. I have
failed to see how to teach my daughter to trust (and because of that trust, make
better choices), when no one else has done it. I have failed to repair and
restore a relationship with love. No matter how much I vacuum tonight, the botched
up mess remains.
I creep in to her bedroom and tap on her shoulder. Groggy
and reluctant she finally turns towards me; I feebly attempt to speak truth to my
daughter, “I want to tell you something… No matter how many times you mess up,
I will still be here for you. That’s what families do. We will always be here for
you!”
Is it enough? No.
Will something like this happen again? Probably.
Can we start again afresh and new tomorrow? Absolutely!
Image Source: Google Iages http://workingwomenoffaith.com/?p=95
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