Three steps forward, two steps back... or is it the other way around?
Some relationships just aren't salvageable, at least that is the way it feels. I know God can do a miracle, but I am afraid we may need to walk away entirely in order for Him to do that work. In some ways it breaks my heart, and in other ways I am not at all surprised. I am, however, tired.
I wrote this last night. I am still struggling with what God would have me to do in this situation.
We have seven children and they were born when we were still very young, the first when we were still teenagers and the last when we were just thirty-one. We were not perfect parents and we do not have perfect children. There have been times where we have been downright wrong in our approach to things, and there have been times when one or more of our children has been absolutely impossible. That is how life works. You live and (hopefully) learn.
When my father passed away a little over three years ago, we had what I considered a tight-knit family. Everyone was going to church together and everyone was getting along, we had wonderful summer and holiday gatherings, but as time went on things began to unravel. There were differences of opinion and opposing viewpoints. There was an aging mom/grandma who needed to be looked after. Someone needed to make decisions and someone needed to make those decisions known, and sometimes those decisions were met with resistance.
Perhaps there was a better way to have accom- plished the tasks before us, but at the time there was stress and inexperience on every side. My son, who spent a year living with his grandmother, did not understand our stresses and we were not able to completely know or understand all of his. I had never been through the death of one parent or the onset of dementia in another. There was a home full of belongings to take care of and financial issues to resolve. It was like walking blindly in the dark through a building we had never been in before and the entire structure blew up before any of us had a chance to find the exit.
Although I thought the year following those decisions and subsequent blowup had brought about some healing, there was a "festering infection" brewing in another party. It showed it's ugly head last December at the worst time possible, right after a fatal blaze killed my husband's uncle and two adopted sons. Right after my childhood friends faced an unspeakable tragedy, our own family unraveled. Try as I might, I can't make the fabric stay together.
I don't think any relationship can survive if one or both parties feel as though they need to walk on eggshells every time they are together or have any form of conversation. I highly doubt a relationship can heal if one or more parties continue to speak negative of others, be that parent, child, or sibling, and how does the group move forward without accepting apologies and agreeing to forgive and forget? We can't go backward and do things over again. How do parents who tried so hard to teach their children right from wrong respond when the children choose something different? How does the choosing of something different affect the way the child respond to or reacts to the parent? When does the job of being a parent end (or does it ever) and what happens when one's own children can't stand each other? Where is the pause button anyway?
Right now there don't seem to be any answers, but I suppose if there is an answer, God holds it in His hand. I pray He gives me direction soon and that I can trust Him enough to follow wherever He leads.
In the midst of yester- day's snow- storm, Hannah and I went down to Ironde- quoit Bay with a box of crackers for the birds. The parking lot hadn't been plowed. Not a high priority when there are roads to clear. I didn't dare to leave the set of tire tracks already crossing the snowy, boat launch parking lot, nor did I care to venture out into the snow in my everyday shoes, so we just rolled the car windows down and kept our feet dry instead.
There appeared to be a few geese, or maybe swans, out in the bay, but nothing more than a few seagulls flying overhead. I tossed a crunched up cracker which promptly disappeared into the fluff of snow covering the ground. The gulls were watching. Swooping down for a closer look, grabbing at whatever they could see, they somehow miraculously morphed into a great cloud of birds, all squawking and yelling, "Mine! Mine!"
In an effort to keep the food visible, I tossed a cracker onto the roof. Hannah, my ever able daughter, had the presence of mind to open the inside cover to the sunroof which gave us a new perspective on our hungry friends. If only the window didn't fog over so quickly.
It didn't take us more than a few minutes to all but empty four columns of crackers and the birds were nowhere near finished eating. They swooped and dived at bits and pieces in the snow with no care as to whether or not the others were fed.
