I thought I had cheated the system. My American Airlines credit card offered a mile for every dollar, and I was going to make sure my daughter and I earned free trips to Hawaii when she graduated from high school. So, for years I used my credit card for everything, even when I had cash on hand, patting myself on the back each time for outsmarting American Airlines.
Sure enough, when the time came, Mary Susan and I booked first class tickets to Hawaii, completely free. I was anxious for her to have the same first class experience to Hawaii that her father and I enjoyed on our honeymoon (minus losing my luggage and having to wear clothes with the hotel logo on them for two days because all the stores were closed for Easter). But first class was no longer what it was back then, even on the long flight from Dallas to Oahu. Gone were the recliner sized seats and heated blankets. And gone was the chef with the tall white chef’s hat, that rolled out a Texas-sized prime rib to carve to order. (Can you believe they ever did that?) Quite the contrary, the seats were only average, the service was miniscule, and other than the curtain separating us from the smarter travelers who got the same thing for less, first class was less than notable.
When we reached the bustling Dallas airport, we had quite a trek to our tight connecting flight and decided to ride the airport subway. As we began to board, warnings came on loud and clear that the small window of time to hop on was quickly ending. Much to my horror, right after my daughter stepped aboard, the bells rang, and the doors began to close.
That moment was forever burned in my memory. I looked at my daughter’s panicked expression on the other side of the doors and in that split second, I played the scenario in my head of how difficult it would be to find each other once the train took off. (This was before cell phones.) And even though it was not likely, I suddenly had a tremendous fear I might never see her again – and it would be my fault.
So, just like the mothers who suddenly have the strength to lift a car off their children, I grabbed the doors that were nearly closed and pulled with all my might until I forced them open. I quickly stepped inside, thankful the nightmare was over.
Well, it was over for us, but not for everyone else and I’m sure the ripple effect was endless. My actions caused the train to sound an alarm and shut down completely after only a few yards in the dark tunnel. It was nearly forty-five minutes before it started moving again. The car was hot as blazes with no fresh air, people were missing connecting flights, several women cried, and another became hysterical from claustrophobia. I had created quite a mess, but I knew I would do it all over again if presented with the same risk of losing my daughter – despite the hateful, disapproving glares from the other passengers.
Many of the women we serve at Blue Monarch have experienced much worse loss and panic (and judgement), but their nightmares were not over in a matter of minutes. For some, the painful separation from their children has lasted years. Yes, years.
I once had a volunteer who was involved with Blue Monarch for the wrong reasons. In fact, it was because of her that we began examining the motivation behind wanting to serve or work at Blue Monarch because intentions are not always healthy ones. She said, “Honestly, I have no sympathy for a mother who mistreats her child.” That statement pierced my heart on behalf of the women we serve – and told me she was not a good fit for our ministry.
It was obvious this woman was only looking at the circumstances on the very surface. But there is so much more. There are hundreds of reasons a mother may find herself in a place that causes the loss of her children. Perhaps she was taught to use drugs by her own parents and discovered they would numb the pain of physical and sexual abuse and now she can’t stop. Maybe she was still longing for the nurturing childhood she never had, making it impossible to be a mother herself. Maybe she wanted a loving relationship so badly, this desire caused her to overlook her children. There are many reasons, not necessarily good ones, but I don’t think any of them are deciding one day to be a bad mom.
Recently, one of our mothers poured out her heart through a recovery project she did in one of our classes. It was a sort of before-and-after story and the “before” was still quite fresh in her mind.
Alexis began to reflect on the separation from her daughter and even though they are reunited now, the pain was still like an open wound. She wept as she said, “I missed her so much – I would even miss the smell of her hair.” I could totally relate because what mother doesn’t forever keep that scent in her head?
I realized in that moment that many people just assume a mother who has lost custody of her children doesn’t feel the loss. After all, she caused it, likely through selfish choices or poor decisions, so it probably doesn’t matter to her. But it does. And as the drugs leave her system and she begins to feel more deeply, the pain is even more intense.
The heartache our moms experience during the separation from their children is excruciating. I see it on their faces and in their body language. They struggle seeing all the kids who are with their moms because it makes them miss their own children even more. We assure them their day will come, but they want it right now.
A mother may be allowed periodic visits with her child as we navigate the complicated reunification process. But she can overreact when she sees the slightest bruise or scratch, just wondering if her child is being mistreated in her absence. She feels helpless to protect. She goes to bed each night wondering what her child is doing, is she okay? Is she crying for me? Will she remember me? Will she forgive me? Will this nightmare ever end?
There are many times when I think back on that woman’s statement: “I have no sympathy for a mother who mistreats her child.” But there’s one major point she failed to recognize. The mother is a grownup version of that child.
Let me say that again. The mother (that she judges and loathes) is nothing more than a grown-up version of that child (for whom she feels compassion and empathy). And if that child doesn’t get help, she will eventually become the mom. But when the mom becomes a healthier parent, that dreadful cycle will stop. So, there IS hope.
Actually, I think Alexis says it best: “I am not my past – I am my daughter’s future.” And those are the words of a good mom.
Lord, thank you for Blue Monarch, a place where mothers can become healthy parents and children can learn what that means. Amen
