Angels in the Outfield

If you are familiar with the movie Angels in the Outfield, then you are aware of the storyline. A young boy who is in foster care meets up with his estranged father. Longing to have his father in his life he asks "Hey dad, when are we gonna be a family again"? His dad replies, "When the Angels win the pennant"! The Angels at that time were in a horrible losing streak. The boy prayed, and God sent his heavenly angels to help the Angels team win the pennant. Sadly, the boys father did not keep up his end of the bargain. However, throughout the movie the little boy is blessed with a community of people who become his family.

Ironically, this movie came out at the exact same time as my own family fell apart. I remember watching that scene and praying for God to send his angels to rescue my family. Just like he did for the boy.


I've shared with you a small glimpse of the effects of addiction on my family. I'm not sure I can even put into words the harsh reality of it all.

After watching my dad battle alcoholism and addiction, my brothers soon followed. If my math is correct, my oldest brother has been dealing with addiction for the last 23 years, and my younger 20 or so. My oldest brother has been in prison the majority of that time. They've never owned a home, had a valid driver's license for very long,  been able to parent, or held down a job that they weren't being paid under the table. They've broken laws, hurt their families, and destroyed their own bodies beyond recovery.  They've been beaten and left in a field to die, had their hearts shocked back to life, and given Narcan to be revived.

I've spent most of my life tracking them down. Where are they living? Who are they with? What jail are they in? What hospital were they taken to? Where are my nieces in nephews?

I've lived with PTSD from the thousands....and I mean thousands...of middle of the night phone calls. I've watched them die, and be brought back to life. I've witnessed their tears as they watched their children be taken from them. I've given them food and shelter as much as I could. I've read terrible things about  them on social media....

I've spent my entire life trying to save them.

This last week has been a hard one. Once again my brother got out of prison, has his mind focused on being clean, and it took him a few days maybe hours to succumb to his demons. After not being able to locate him, and not seeing any social media activity, I started once again trying to find him in the county jails and hospitals. I finally found him and discovered he had overdosed again, for the second since the beginning of the year!!

When will it end?  Why do two people I love the most in this world have to fight to survive every moment? Will their children ever get to see them as the men they want so badly to be? Will I ever look in their eyes and see the little boys again, who once had big dreams? What more can addiction take from us?

Will we ever be a family again?

Will the Angels ever win the pennant?

Mother's Day

I learned early on that Mother's Day isn't always easy. In fact, I seldom had one growing up where my own mother and I were not estranged. The picture perfect parent I witnessed on television didn't even come close to the reality I lived in.  And let's face it, Hallmark doesn't really cater to those whose relationships are toxic. Every year I remember trying so hard to pick out the perfect card and every year walking out of the store empty handed.

When I was a little girl I just couldn't comprehend how someone didn't want me. I spent many years trying to be worthy of her love. Many hours trying to decide if life was worth living because she didnt see any value in mine. Even more years trying to dissect the dysfunction. And decades to overcome it all.

Until she became ill.

I received a call a few years back from my little sister, informing me our mother had terminal cancer. At that point, I searched my heart through and through looking for one good memory to cling to. The more I searched the more I came up blank.


Then the drama began....my mother had informed all of our mutual acquaintances that she didn't want me to know of her illness or be part of her life during it. Which was a pattern of hers, to become a victim. Not only was she now a victim to a wretched disease, she also wanted to be a victim of an unnecessary family war created in her mind to draw attention from her own dysfunction. People would wonder why her children weren't flocking to her side as she faced this battle. And she decided to make me a target.


I handled the phone calls and inquiries that followed with as much grace as I possibly could. And after a few years of doing so my heart turned for bitterness to empathy. I would pray God don't let me see her through the eyes of my pain,  but let me see her the way you do...as YOUR child!

When the end of her life was drawing near she sent word that she didn't want me near her as she left this world. I prayed and prayed about how to handle such a horrific situation. I am a mother myself, and a natural caretaker. To not run to someones bedside goes against everything I am. But in the end, she made her choice, and I had to respect that. Even if that meant, not being able to be there for my little sister. I never wanted her to face tragedy alone, but I had to understand that wasn't my choice.

As the hour neared of her passing, my brothers (also estranged) made the choice to say their final goodbyes. I was busy making peace with the fact I was never going to get an explanation or an apology. There would never be reconciliation. Ever.

Coincidentally, my paternal grandmothers health began to deteriorate as my mother left this world.  I wasn't quite sure how I would handle the days to come, but became too overwhelmed holding my grandmas hand to deal with the loss of my mother.

But let me tell you, grief is such a hard word. It's even more hard to have to grieve in silence. I remember reading the messages sent out to my siblings and thinking nobody even has a clue how much my heart is broken. I didn't just lose my mother, but the mom that I had prayed for so long, the mom I felt she would someday be, the grandma I felt my kids deserved, was now hopeless. And losing hope is the worst feeling on earth.

Her funeral, (that my mom sent word I was allowed to attend but didn't feel to) was followed by my grandmothers. And following that would be her obituary. Which to me was like the last dagger she could pierce me with, but this time it twisted and hurt worse than anything I had ever felt. My eldest brother and I were left out as her children. It didn't surprise me at all. I really felt like it showed her true character, but nothing of mine. I just knew it probably was the worst thing he had ever read....to not even be acknowledged as your mothers child.  The part that hit me the most was that my children and my brothers' children were not listed either. Those who I cherish the most, her own flesh and blood, were absolutely nothing to her.  That broke me.

At that point I realized, God was protecting me one last time, from all of it. Had I ran to her bedside, only to be slapped in the face with her obituary, I can't even imagine the lifetime it would take me to recover from that wound.

We don't get to choose who were are born to, but we do get to choose what we make of it. We can choose to find purpose through the heartache. And we can choose to overcome.

And with that being said...Finally, after all of these years of suffering through Mother's Day, I made the choice to not look back at the sadness I have endured every other year, but to see Mother's Day for what it's worth....and that is the beautiful fact that I am a mother. I have a purpose beyond the heartache. And I am an overcomer. My children will never have to search for a good memory, because so far I have made a million. And by the grace of God, they will not have to walk out of the store empty handed while looking for the perfect card for me. In fact, they always choose to make their own. And that is more precious than anything in this world❤

My Father's House

My parents divorced when I was 11. My mom had moved out and moved on. My dad tried to keep up with the needs of my brothers and I as much as he knew how. Soon playing the part of both mom and dad, all while trying to survive a broken marriage, took a grave toll on him. He began to numb the pain from one substance to the next. We watched him go from the man we thought hung the moon to a man who could no longer handle the light of day. We mourned for him. For the fun dad who made us laugh. For the simple guy who found joy in all things. That man was gone. His house became a graveyard. One of burried memories, hopes, dreams, and a life that once was....A guy that once took a condemned house and completely restored it had been overtaken by shutoff and repossession notices. The house that built me was broken.

It took a few years for the addictions to fully control him and at that time my brothers and I were shipped off to our moms house. A house I am not sure I can even define. My mom remarried a man who was very generous to my brothers and I. Together they worked hard to provide for us. BUT what we needed most: love without condition, affection, communication, and explanation didn't exist there. Questions were never answered and were subject to  wrath. I never felt important, cared for, or needed. It may have been just me dealing with her new life, but I never felt it was a place I belonged. Which is why it made sense when the waters became too troubled we became disposable.

For years my brothers and I would go back and forth from one house to the next. When my dad would be in recovery we would run to him...

and when he would succumb to his demons, we would be forced to move to moms. I used to have nightmares about going back to our Valley View house trying to scrub the house of its filth until my fingers bled, trying to repaint the stained walls, trying to repair it to its former glory. I would grieve the life we had and long to feel the love that I so desperately needed to feel. Nothing could fill that void. Nothing.

Like me, you may also have survived the tragedy of a broken home. You may long to fill that hurt that burns deep inside you. You may be searching and searching for a place where you can be embraced, loved unconditionally, and cherished. But did you know even though we are given earthly parents, we also have a heavenly father? The one who created us in our mothers womb? The one who knew us before we took our first breath?

And in OUR fathers house...Grace consumes us like the ocean. It's our place of refuge through any storm. His love flows through us like a river. He so intricately designed us he knows all our broken pieces. We don't have to do any repairs. He is the one who returns us to our former glory. He breathes life into those parts of us we once thought were dead. There is no running back and forth and to or fro. He opens his arms, embraces us, and in them we find rest.

~In my father's house, there's a place for me. I'm a child of God, yes I am💕