Heart Problems

The first day of public school in our area starts today, and this is a huge day for many. Lots of anxious kiddos, parents, and teachers are finding it difficult to sleep tonight and are on social media requesting prayers. I, too, am in need of prayers, good vibes, and extra mojo but for an entirely different reason. For the first time in 16 years, I won’t be teaching Spanish, but the culprits keeping me from slumber aren’t the normal butterflies of nerves and anticipation. Instead, my thoughts are of my baby, my precious Carter who at 14 years old should be experiencing his monumental first day of high school today. His freshman year… a time to spread his wings, face new challenges, and learn how to navigate through societal and peer pressures.

So many thoughts and emotions are running through me, so naturally I feel compelled to get on here and blog to try and process through them. I’ve been extremely emotional and weepy this week. Part of it is due to wacked-up hormones but I think most of it is because I knew in the back of my mind that today was approaching and I have a hard time handling normal stresses when my insides are in turmoil. Simple setbacks, disturbances to daily routines, and pet peeves have been causes for major meltdowns this week to the point where I have wanted to literally get in my car and drive away from my life. The fight or flight survival instinct has not been an either/or case for me. I’ve wanted to both fight AND fly. To fly far, far, away in order to somehow escape what I knew was looming…this milestone day that I now have to experience from the sidelines because my boy isn’t here. Instead, I’ll see dozens of other teenagers’ photos as their parents proudly (and rightfully so) share them on social media, and I’ll click the “like/love” buttons because I truly am happy to see them start their journey but I’ll secretly want to click the “sad/angry” buttons because I won’t be waking up my sleepy-headed teenage son, fixing him breakfast, taking his picture, and driving him to school. Instead, I’ll be making a lonely trek out to the cemetery to talk to him.

I’ll tell him how sorry I am that I wasn’t able to help him. I’ll tell him how much he is missed and loved. I’ll cry and beg him to keep sending me signs that he’s OK. I’ll tell him that I think of him every single day and that I love him with everything in me and that my heart is forever broken because of losing him. I’ll think crazy and stupid thoughts while out there, too, like where should I be standing/kneeling…obviously I face his marker while out there but in doing so I’m literally standing over/on him and that’s weird. I’ll look at his marker and notice the dirt on it and feel guilty for not coming out there more often to clean it. After all, it’s the least I can do. I’ll notice little bugs out there crawling in the grass and that’ll make me wonder how his body looks now in his baby blue casket 2 years after we permanently said goodbye to him down here. Are there bugs crawling on him? Aren’t vaults supposed to protect him from things like that? Is the vault that we got good enough or was it too cheap? I didn’t know how to pick out anything like that, so we just went with what the funeral man told us was best. But WAS it the best option? And why do I think such stupid things when I go out there? I feel so idiotic.

So I’ve been a crazy, hormonal mess all week and I know I’ve been tough to live and work with. I have a part-time job at the seafood restaurant where I met Joseph many moons ago as we both worked there. It’s a neat little gig which only requires me to be away from home Thurs-Sat. from 3:00-10:00 and is keeping us from eating Ramen Noodles while I’m a SAHM for the next little bit. In theory, it’s the perfect set-up as I’m allowed to get out of the house and interact with co-workers (many of whom are like family since I’ve known them for 25+ years) and customers. But my fuse is short here lately and I’ve not been reacting to people/circumstances like I should. I’ve not been patient. I’ve not been kind. I’ve not been gentle, meek, long-suffering, or loving. I’ve been cussing up a storm in my head and letting more than a few slip out, I’ve been unforgiving, I’ve been quick to judge, I’ve been gossipy, I’ve been shallow, and I’ve been impatient. Basically, I’ve been a brat.

All that stems from having a heart problem. My heart is not fully trusting and relying on Jesus. I’ve been trying to do this on my own…THIS being every aspect of my life. My marriage, my work, my girls, my Nana, everything. I’ve been going through my days neglecting to pray, neglecting to read my Bible, neglecting to take sermon notes, neglecting to fill my ears and mind with worship songs, and neglecting to put on on the full armor of God which has caused me to be very susceptible to the enemy and his stupid ways.

If Carter isn’t here to experience his milestone day, then I guess I’ll have my own milestone day of a different sort because what I’m doing and how I’m living just isn’t cutting it. I owe it to my surviving children, my husband, and society to be a better human. I owe it ultimately to my Creator who puts up with my selfishness and foolishness because He’s just that good. He truly is a good, good Father. He loves me unconditionally. So today, I am purposing to be a DOER of the Word and not just a HEARER. You see, I’m a great listener. I know what I should do because I listen really well, but I’m also a stubborn hot mess express with a Type A personality who is slightly OCD about stupid things that don’t amount to a hill of beans. What’s a hill of beans anyway? That’s such a stupid expression. Anyway… I’m also lazy and a procrastinator. While I can’t change my whole life in a single day, I do know that owning my mistakes and admitting them is the first step towards true repentance. So here I am, Lord (and virtual people friends). Fix me. Help me. Please don’t hate me. Please be kind to me even when I’m rude and unloving. I’m broken, you see. I’m hard to love but I need it desperately. Please don’t give up on me.

That leads me to another thought…a big one. One that I’m having a hard time processing. The thought of giving up on someone…not loving someone…someone literally having a heart problem. Oh, man. What to do and what to share? OK, fine…here it is.

The other day I received a text from a relative on my father’s side informing me that he had recently been found on a sidewalk outside of a laundromat in Pacolet dehydrated and having suffered a heart attack. He is currently awaiting a triple bypass and is in a local hospital. He tested positive for cocaine and marijuana but as is customary for him, has denied doing drugs. Story of his sorry life. I texted Joseph shortly after receiving the news that I was slightly concerned that I didn’t feel any emotion whatsoever. After all, if I couldn’t love him as my blood relative and biological father, surely I should have some feeling regarding his soul and spiritual condition. But there was nothing. Joseph’s response to me was that my heart has been seared with real loss and hurt in losing our son…now everything that would have caused ripples of emotion won’t register like “normal”. Losing Carter has changed me…changed both of us in how we react. But I don’t like that about me personally…I don’t like that I struggle with bitterness to the point that I give up on people. People like my father. He doesn’t love me, has never loved me, but that doesn’t mean that I should ignore him in his time of need. I should be the bigger and better person. I should love like Jesus. I don’t want to but I should. It’s what’s right. I don’t have a lot of time to figure this out, either. He may not wake up from surgery this week.

I haven’t seen him in years.

I’m used to that, though. He never had anything to do with me while growing up and only wanted to see me to show me off to his new girlfriend when it was convenient for him or to speak on his behalf when he came up for paroles while in prison. He never attended a single school event… no concert, spelling bee, awards ceremony, volleyball game, PTO night, or graduation. Nor did he walk me down the aisle at my wedding. Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to be in the highlight of my life but since he was never there for anything leading up to it, I told him where to go…and no, it wasn’t to Trinity Baptist Church on Aug. 31st, 2002. It was way farther south. And waaaaaaay hotter. And he needed a pitchfork and horns to fit in there.

From a human perspective, my reasons are probably justified for not having anything to do with him. Our first picture together is of him holding me while in a prison cafeteria. I was only a few days old.  He didn’t buy me a lot of things. I do remember one time, though, he walked me to a convenience store in Cowpens and let me buy little chocolate football candies wrapped in shiny orange foil. That was a treat and obviously pretty special because I couldn’t have been more than 4 years old at the time and I can still recall it. I remember rolling joints with him at a coffee table and him laughing about it because I was so little and called them “plain white cigarettes”. I was maybe 5. I remember getting my picture taken with him in prison with an ugly nature photo landscape as a background and thinking that his grip on my shoulder was really tight. I didn’t like him touching me…he hugged too tight and squeezed too hard. He didn’t know how to be gentle because he was never around enough to learn how to be a Daddy to a little girl.

After many failed promises and attempts to get his life together while growing up, as an adult I told him I would only let him have a relationship with my children if he was clean and didn’t hang around losers. He had a relationship with them for maybe 6 months (Carter was 3 and Caroline was 2) before getting arrested again…this time for selling cocaine in close proximity to a school. This was AFTER a kidnapping charge (for allegedly holding a woman against her will which he vehemently denied). Shortly before their court date she wound up dead. Since she was the sole witness against him, her family was convinced he had something to do with it, so they set fire to his house. Now he was homeless which gave him another excuse and another reason to make poor choices. That’s what he’s done for the past 10 years and now he’s in a hospital. Next week he could very well be in a morgue. Do I want to visit him? No. Am I in the right place mentally to go there? Not really.

He makes me feel dirty. I don’t like looking at him knowing what he does and where he comes from and that I share his DNA.

He makes me feel inadequate. I wasn’t good enough for him to love. I struggle with knowing other people love me because my own father didn’t.

He makes me feel fearful. Scared that I will turn to drugs or alcohol to cope with my problems one day. He’s the reason I don’t take pain medication. I’m afraid I’ll become addicted. I came home from a complete left shoulder replacement in 2017 and only took 3 pain pills during recovery over the course of several months. I never took anything for pain stronger than Ibuprofen after my C-section. I’d rather hurt than be like him.

He makes me feel ugly. On the rare occasions that I did see him while growing up, he was always with beautiful women. My step-mom was a stripper who was flawless. His girlfriends were shaped like “brick shithouses” (his words, not mine) and while I never knew what a brick shithouse was, I knew that my shape wasn’t that. Now 4 months post-partum it most certainly isn’t.

So, he has a heart problem. Literally. And I have a heart problem. Spiritually. And somehow I have to face my fears, swallow my pride, and get over to room 8511 this week just to look this man in the eyes and tell him that I’m sorry for not praying for him and asking God to help him all these years. Prayer changes things, and I’ve not been doing that because of my own heart problem. He needs to know that if nothing else, I’ll be praying for him from now on…for as many days as he has left to live, I’ll pray for him. Maybe in doing so, I’ll be able to eventually let go of the anger and hurt and truly forgive him. He’s a sinner and so am I. We both need the Lord. Jesus makes all the difference. He has broken chains of sin for me over and over again. He’s the Ultimate Chain-breaker. What He has done for me, He can and will do for others even when I think it’s impossible. He’s a mighty big God. Can God furnish a table in the wilderness? Yes, He can! (Psalm 78:19).

Carter was kind. Carter was gentle and patient and loving. Carter was so, so good. And he’s not here today to be those things and shine his light for Jesus in this world that is broken and full of Don Cookes and Rita Browns who need to be reminded that regardless of what they have done, Jesus loves them. And their daughter is working on loving them, too.

Ephesians 4:32 “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”