All Grown Up
She was right between my two daughters. A year and a half older than one and a year and a half younger than the other. We lived in a townhouse courtyard, one of many in a development originally built for the workers coming to DC for the war effort. The "units" had been redone in the '70's and we were living there shortly after. Her house was in the back of the courtyard, a parking lot in the center. She lived with her Mother, Grandparents, and Uncle.
We lived with ourselves. She never wanted to come to our house because I supervised them too much. She liked it better when she could have my daughters over where they could all get into mischief, until her Grandma, my friend, would call and ask for help. There she'd be, jumping on the bed, laughing, because she knew she didn't have to clean up a mess they'd made because her Grandmother couldn't "make" her. I was supposed to help, but all I could do was take my children home. She would be out of control. And I wasn't her Mom.
Her Mom worked, and when she came home, she went to the tanning parlor. She might lay down some rules, but Grandma would have to enforce them. Grandma just couldn't. So my little middle-child who wasn't my child was out of control alot.
Once her mother lived with a good man. But she drank, and he didn't. It didn't work out. My "friend" always thought this good man was the best thing that ever happened to her. He took her sledding. He helped with homework. Her own Dad was in Florida, and had his own problems.
After we'd moved to a bigger place, when she was 13, she surprised us by asking to come to church with us. Her mother wouldn't bring her, because she didn't believe in "that stuff", so we picked her up. It was a lovely time. We'd bring her home for dinner after, and she behaved herself. She knew I would only take so much! She gave us a precious gift by asking if she could be baptized at our church, and if we would be her Godparents.
She was baptized on Easter Saturday night, when the early Christians chose to be baptized. Her father had been in Indiana at that time, a new Christian himself, and he drove all day to be on time for her baptism. I will never forget the radiant glow on his face as he entered the church! Her Grandma and Mother came, their faces dark, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar place in which they found themselves. We stood up for her, and swore we would help her uphold her baptizmal vows.
It was a glorious night, indeed.
Not too soon after, her mother decided to move in with another man. Her daughter was ripped from the old neighborhood, and from her Grandmother. She began cutting school, doing drugs, running away, getting into trouble with the law. Mother and daughter fought ferociously. Mother called the police several times. This is when the real badness began.
Now she's almost 26. She's in jail. She's been in and out, for heroin, and grand larceny. She writes that she's going to church! She wants to stay, because she knows she'll "use" if they let her out. Again, I don't know details. How long? She's waiting for the Holy Grail of re-hab. She's been there before.
I'm going to visit soon. I have never been in a jail. I never wanted to be in a jail. But no one else in her family will communicate with her. Her Grandmother died. Her Father died. Her mother has no known address. Her Aunts and cousins won't reply to letters. Here I go again!
I've never been able to help her. She'd called collect many times asking for a ride, a place to crash, and I'd done whatever she'd asked. But my family comes first, and they didn't want to do it anymore. Will visiting her in jail make any difference in the long run? Only God knows, but I remember that glow on her father's face as he came into the church, and I want to honor his memory.
We lived with ourselves. She never wanted to come to our house because I supervised them too much. She liked it better when she could have my daughters over where they could all get into mischief, until her Grandma, my friend, would call and ask for help. There she'd be, jumping on the bed, laughing, because she knew she didn't have to clean up a mess they'd made because her Grandmother couldn't "make" her. I was supposed to help, but all I could do was take my children home. She would be out of control. And I wasn't her Mom.
Her Mom worked, and when she came home, she went to the tanning parlor. She might lay down some rules, but Grandma would have to enforce them. Grandma just couldn't. So my little middle-child who wasn't my child was out of control alot.
Once her mother lived with a good man. But she drank, and he didn't. It didn't work out. My "friend" always thought this good man was the best thing that ever happened to her. He took her sledding. He helped with homework. Her own Dad was in Florida, and had his own problems.
After we'd moved to a bigger place, when she was 13, she surprised us by asking to come to church with us. Her mother wouldn't bring her, because she didn't believe in "that stuff", so we picked her up. It was a lovely time. We'd bring her home for dinner after, and she behaved herself. She knew I would only take so much! She gave us a precious gift by asking if she could be baptized at our church, and if we would be her Godparents.
She was baptized on Easter Saturday night, when the early Christians chose to be baptized. Her father had been in Indiana at that time, a new Christian himself, and he drove all day to be on time for her baptism. I will never forget the radiant glow on his face as he entered the church! Her Grandma and Mother came, their faces dark, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar place in which they found themselves. We stood up for her, and swore we would help her uphold her baptizmal vows.
It was a glorious night, indeed.
Not too soon after, her mother decided to move in with another man. Her daughter was ripped from the old neighborhood, and from her Grandmother. She began cutting school, doing drugs, running away, getting into trouble with the law. Mother and daughter fought ferociously. Mother called the police several times. This is when the real badness began.
Now she's almost 26. She's in jail. She's been in and out, for heroin, and grand larceny. She writes that she's going to church! She wants to stay, because she knows she'll "use" if they let her out. Again, I don't know details. How long? She's waiting for the Holy Grail of re-hab. She's been there before.
I'm going to visit soon. I have never been in a jail. I never wanted to be in a jail. But no one else in her family will communicate with her. Her Grandmother died. Her Father died. Her mother has no known address. Her Aunts and cousins won't reply to letters. Here I go again!
I've never been able to help her. She'd called collect many times asking for a ride, a place to crash, and I'd done whatever she'd asked. But my family comes first, and they didn't want to do it anymore. Will visiting her in jail make any difference in the long run? Only God knows, but I remember that glow on her father's face as he came into the church, and I want to honor his memory.
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