Time Keeps Ticking Through Crisis

By: Kristi Tisor Ambriz

The hardest part of recovery is the time it takes to travel through.

My marriage of 18 years as we all knew it ended the day I discovered that my husband had been unfaithful.

The kids and I had been betrayed.  We felt rejected.  Abandoned.  Lost.

Getting through the pain, processing what everything would mean for us, for my marriage, and for our family, and then living with the fallout was the closest to impossible I've ever been.  My family spiraled into the darkest 4 years of our lives.  The result was divorce.  Broken children.  Broken relationships.  Tattered souls.

I had a list longer than my arm detailing each area within myself personally that needed to be worked on, and then another list of things I needed to tackle in my kids' lives before it would be too late.  They were still developing mentally, physically, spiritually.  Into what, or whom would they develop?  It was a critical race, the clock was ticking, and while running I had to capture each priority, tackle it, cross it off the list, and then go on to the next item on the list.

It was like trying to run a race in deep mud, with weights chained to my legs as I tried to advance--as I tried to set my family free.  Or, at least, this is how I saw things at the time.

I was so powerless.

It's hard to know which happened first.  Did it finally click that I needed to release the burden and let healing happen, or did healing begin to happen, enabling me to finally start to feel the burden lift?  It's hard to know.

But, I continued on my way toward recovery, through the mud, toward climbing out of our deep, dark pit and climbing upward, and upward still until we could see the other side, and then it seemed that at once we were able to soar freely.  The hard work paid off, and the darkness lifted.

It had so much to do with the things I had learned during that time.  I learned how to keep my eyes open and my head out of denial.  Likewise, I learned that every problem out there isn't mine to fix.  That I have to submit to something or Someone Higher who can take, carry, and correct the many wrongs in life.

But, I learned something else that rocked me to my core.  I learned that the journey itself is a huge part of life.  In the 4 years that were the darkest for my family and me, Lee went from a 1 year-old to a 5 year-old.  Abi went from a 2nd grader, to a 6th grader.  You can really see the hands of a clock move when you view it through the lens of a child's life.

So, to say that those years were our darkest is to say that a huge chunk of my kids' childhood is a blur.  And to be completely honest, I remember very little.  I don't remember Abi learning her multiplication tables, or what her favorite childhood television show was.  It seems she went from loving Clifford the Big Red Dog one day, to The Jonas Brothers the next.  What was in-between?  I have little to no memory.

One of the biggest reasons why I am so passionate about Crisis Recovery is because there are countless families who are so engulfed in the pain of their moment, that they can't see clearly through that moment to being able to see what's before them in the moment.

Pain numbs and if it doesn't numb, we oftentimes find ways to numb it.  It could be through chemical addiction.  Over eating.  Under eating.  Seeking romantic relationships.  Work.

In my case it was work...I had to work 6-7 days to stay afloat financially.  I used that need to work as an escape--to numb me from the overstimulating pain of my family crisis.  But, the downside of that plan is that now that I am on the Other Side, I look back on 4 years of my kids' lives with limited memories.  I missed a lot.  They missed a lot.

Our Wings Like Eagles team offers content for our readers to read in hopes that we might uplift, encourage, and show that there is life on the Other Side of Crisis.  Because if you know that there is life on the other side, you might find the strength to endure your current place of pain to the point of not missing out on any of the important stuff.

Because left on our own, it's too easy to stay numb, live in denial, and succumb to habits we are powerless to control on our own.

Crisis Gypsies

When we moved back to California after living in Nebraska for 12 years, the kids and I moved in with my parents for 10 months.

In anticipation of our move, my mom and sisters bought beds and dressers, and as though they were putting a puzzle together, they somehow set up my parents' guest room to accommodate the kids and me.

I remember how excited they were to be able to have it all ready for us.  The room was so pretty.  So sweet, with so much love poured into it.

I was so grateful.  Overwhelmed with gratitude, really.  So I was left somewhat bewildered when my feelings at the time didn't reflect the thankfulness in my soul.  Instead, I felt numb.  Like I had to work to make my face smile in response to the joy their faces all showed.

It was one of the first of many moments where I would catch myself stuck.  Stuck somewhere between happiness and sorrow.  A paradox of emotions.

I had left my husband  A separation for the sake of reconciliation.  My hope being that with a separation, counseling, and restructuring of how our lives had been before, we could later reconcile and raise a happy, healthy family.

We lived separated in Nebraska for a few months.  I needed to move the kids and me out of our country home, and into a house of my own in town.  I feared the seclusion of the country, paired with my husband's behavior.

I had always been an at-home mom, but I had to get a part-time job at the hospital in town, so that I could support the kids and myself.  I worked as a cook's assistant.

The older kids were too aware of our circumstances, and too hurt and broken to properly care for the younger ones while I worked.  The balancing act I had to perform by working outside the home with a hurting14 year-old,  12 year-old, 8 year-old, and 20 month-old left my side of the family here in California feeling that the kids and I would be better off closer to them, so that we could heal, and benefit from the support of family.

So we left Nebraska, the only home my children knew.  The state Adam, Abi, and Lee were born in.

The kids were excited about the move to California.  About being with their cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.  It was nice to see them excited.  So when we went to bed that first night, my conflicting emotions melted as I cuddled my baby Lee, resting in my parents' house.  We were safe.  We were going to be OK.

Maybe it's because I'm a firstborn, maybe it is my genetic make-up, but whatever it is, I am very independent.  The sense of being a burden nagged at me as time passed.  It got more intense with each passing month.  Though I enjoyed the time with my parents and my kids, working on their emotional hurts while I worked on mine, I knew I needed to find a way to support the kids and myself, so that we could move out of my parents' home, and on with our life.  This was my obsession.  All I thought about.

And I think, as I look back with a clear head and that it was my feeble attempt at establishing a deep need of normalcy, or to at least create a new normal for us.  With hindsight, I see that what we needed was more time to heal.  But in the midst of it, with all of the Topsy-turvey ranges of emotions, I was left short-sighted.  All I could see was that need to support my children, and give them a home of our own.

After living with my parents for ten months, we moved to a beautiful little townhouse a few miles away that I was able to rent.  I had gotten a job at a local country club working as a server.  I was getting great hours, and doing very well with tips.  It was enough to cover our monthly expenses.

At that point, we had lived in California for almost a year.  My husband decided to join us in California,  so he moved from Nebraska.  At first he stayed with his relatives, but our year apart, as well as extensive counseling, proved fruitful for my husband.  He was different from before.  More nice.  More happy.  To make life as close to normal as we could for the kids, I asked him to move in with us.  We lived in separate bedrooms like roommates, but the kids had both parents under one roof.  It was looking like we would be able to reconcile.

But, as time passed, his anger started to show itself again.

He wanted for us to move back to Nebraska.  Many of our family and friends advised us against it, or at least they advised us to continue to pursue a more complete recovery from our old habits before we moved away.  My husband had extreme control and anger issues, and I had been very codependent.  He had betrayed us by being unfaithful, and I still needed to know that I could trust him.  The advice of those who loved us was that we continue to grow before moving away, so that we wouldn't revert back to how we had been before.

This advice brought a level of anger and resentment from my husband that was so great, it started affecting the children.  I had one of the kids cry to me and say that Daddy was angry again.  She was afraid of it, but at the same time was also afraid that we would have to leave him again, and she didn't want to face what that would inevitably mean.  The dysfunction of codependency and enabling behaviors were rearing their ugly head in the behaviors of my daughter.

I would not raise my children in this kind of dysfunction and fear.  I told my husband that I was going to file for divorce.

We had been living in the beautiful townhouse for only one year.  But, my hours had been cut at the country club, and I wasn't making enough to cover the $2,050 per month rent.  Even with my second job as a server at a Hawaiian restaurant.

So, we moved.   We moved into a 4 bedroom house around the corner from my parents' house.  My husband and Adam moved out a few months later.

I got a new job as an office manager for an engineering firm.  With this job, I would make enough to support my children and myself.  I quit my job at the country club, but kept the second job so that I could make extra money to pay off debt.

After 2 months at the engineering firm, I was laid off.  My boss couldn't make payroll.  It was the Friday before Christmas.

I picked-up as many hours as I could at the Hawaiian restaurant.  I got another part-time job working as a promotional model a weekend or two a month.  It still wasn't enough.

After a year in the house around the corner from my parents, I found a tiny 2-bedroom condo I could afford.  Rent was just over $1,000 per month.  Our next door neighbor was an L.A. gang leader.

LET'S RECAP, SHALL WE?

We moved from our country house in Nebraska, to a house in town in early 2006, to my parents' guest room in California in the summer of 2006.  We moved to the beautiful townhouse in the spring of 2007.  We moved to the 4-bedroom house around the corner from my parents in the spring of 2008.  And we moved to the tiny 2-bedroom condo in the spring of 2009.

That's 5 different homes in 3 years.

Hugo and I started dating in the fall of 2009.  We married on Valentine's Day in 2010.  It was a fast courtship, and a quick engagement.  Not what the professionals would advise, but it worked for us.  Yes, we have had to put in some extra work on the already-married end as the result of our speedy pre-married relationship, but it has been work that has been well worth the effort, leaving us strong and healthy.

Challenges aren't always all bad.

Lee is very insecure about moving.  To him, it is normal to move every year.  We moved to my parents' house when he was 1, to the beautiful townhouse when he was 2, to the house around the corner from my parents' when he was 3, to the tiny condo in the ghetto when he was 4, and to Glendora when he was 5.

He will be 8 in December.  We're still here.

But, he asks if we will have to move, even still.  He asked this last weekend while we were driving.  Wanted to make Hugo and me promise that we will live in this house until we die.  When we're old.

He then asked when we will be done paying for our house.  We told him that we would be done when he is thirty-five.  He stared blankly out the car window.  So did we, I think.  Yikes.

Hugo and I can't seriously promise Lee that we will stay in our house until we are old.  Who can say for sure where life is going to lead?  But when I remember that drive I had to give my kids security, a home, and a healthy life, I realize just how far God has brought us.

He brought me back home to my family in California.  My children to their cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.  He brought us Hugo.  And more grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a soon-to-be cousin.

He brought us to Glendora.  And He brought us to this house we won't have paid off until 2040, but we are so very happy we have.

Hugo and I are raising a happy, healthy family.  The hope I had from the start.  At the time I didn't realize that it would take divorce and the remarriage to a man up for the job to bring it, but since when do I have to know exactly how God will bring a prayer and hope to reality?  He saw my deepest desires for my family met, and He did it His way.  His perfect way.

What Kind of a Childhood are You Giving Your Kids?

Yesterday was my dad's 75th birthday.

As a surprise, we thought it would be fun to take him to The Greek Theatre to see his all-time favorite showman and singer, Neil Diamond.  The fact that he was playing locally on my dad's birthday was unbelievable.  We planned the night for months, excited.

Hugo, Kristi, Misti, Mom, Dad, Lori, Aunt Liz, Uncle Tom and Not Pictured, But With Us in Spirit: Gregg, Uncle Ernie, and Aunt Donna

It wouldn't be the first time he would get to see The Solitary Man in concert.  Last night was his 3rd time to see him at The Greek, and there have been at least 2 other times at other venues.

In my childhood home, we all grew up listening to Neil Diamond.  I can remember when the Hot August Night album came out forty years ago, and my dad played it on our stereo.  I can remember sitting on the living room floor holding the album sleeve, looking at the cover picture, and back at my dad, in total disbelief that this is what Neil Diamond really looked like.  And that my dad liked someone who liked like that.

My dad was more of a Rat Pack kind of guy.  Very short haircut, ties, polished shoes, suave attitude.  Crisp.  A defiantly proud non-member of the hippie-revolution.

The music of Neil Diamond spoke to his soul.  In spite of Mr. Diamond's long hair, rivets, and fringe.

Whenever my sisters, brother, or I hear a Neil Diamond song, we're transported in time to our childhood.  Camping on the Kern River.  Cleaning out the garage, or washing the cars.  Going fishing in the mountains.  Christmas, especially if a new album had been released.  Neil Diamond was there, and every one of us kids knew the songs, just as well as our dad.

Neil Diamond started promptly at 8:15, with no headliner.  His band of 35 years started playing, he appeared on stage, and I cried like a baby.

It was no wonder.  I tear-up when I hear a Neil Diamond song come on at the grocery store.  I'm taken back to my childhood.  My happy, happy childhood.

It was surreal.

I took in the music, the moment, and my spirit was flooded with appreciation for the beautiful childhood our parents gave us.

OK.  So, with Family Crisis Recovery dwelling so prominently in the doorway of my soul, I find that lately, I can't let anything in, without measuring it against the things I now know in life.

Let me explain.

How about the many families who suffer by accepting various forms of dysfunction as normal?  Physical abuse.  Alcoholism.  Drug abuse.  Neglect.  Sexual abuse.  Infidelity.

And what about the dysfunctions that aren't as obvious, but are just as damaging?  Control.  Anger.  Verbal abuse.  Mental abuse.  Spiritual abuse.  Co-dependency.  Selfishness.

So, with tears streaming, and gratitude over having had such a beautiful childhood, I caught myself thinking about my own children.  And then I got a little sad.  Would they ever have such a moment as this when they're forty-five?  Would they ever look back on their childhood with reflective joy?

When I first separated from my ex-husband, I had a lot of support.  But, I also endured sharp criticism from some for taking a stand against my ex-husband's behavior by actually leaving him.  I was told that as a Christian wife, it was my duty to stand by my man, even though he was hurting the kids and me.  Even though his dad hurt his wife and kids.  And his grandfather hurt his wife and kids.

All I could do was look at my kids, and want more for them.  I didn't want them to continue to be subjected to his control and abuse, but even more, I didn't want the pattern to continue.  So I left.

Now that I know more clearly about the things my denial didn't allow me to fully get when I was still with him, I know that had we stayed, my children would have had more pain to process in their adulthood.  And gauging by the amount of time it has taken them to work through the stuff they did endure, I know that my decision to leave was the right one, in spite of the difficulty, challenge, and even the criticism.

My childhood, as great as it was, wasn't perfect.  Theirs hasn't been either, obviously.  But I do hope that as they reflect upon the sad or difficult memories, they can also reflect upon the happy ones, as well.  And I hope that as they're reflecting, they will dwell on the empowering confidence we all have knowing that we, as a family, took a stand against things that weren't right, for the better of not only our lives, but for future generations as well.  I hope that they can look back and see that, as they look forward to a positive future for our family.

We don't have to accept and live with dysfunction.  We don't have to stick with it for the sake of the children.  Because, in truth, the children end up not only hurt from it, but as they grow, they tend to repeat it.  There is no sense I can make from that.

It's hard to be faced with the decision of whether or not you should demand change, or even leave your spouse if he or she is bringing Crisis to your family.  I know.  But your child's childhood will only be lived once, and in that one shot, they will learn what they learn from you, and they will take the things you teach them into their adulthood, and straight to their own family.  As their parent, what would you like for them to take?

I thank my parents.  Because, truth be told, this is what they did for us.  Both my mom and my dad had challenging childhoods.  They took stands against what they had been subjected to, and as a result, my brother, sisters and I benefited greatly.  Our parents sacrificed tremendously, so that we could have what they couldn't have.

Are you in a relationship you know deep down isn't right?  Is your spouse or partner engaging in behaviors that jeopardize healthy living?  Are you scared?  I know the fear.  I lived it.  I'm here for you, and I will be more than happy to guide you.  If you act now, there is a greater chance of your relationship surviving with help.  A greater chance of your children having less pain to have to process.

Call me.  Message me.  Friend Request me on Facebook, and I will accept.  We can communicate privately.  Kristi Tisor Ambriz.  I will hold our conversation in confidence.  I give you my word.

I wish you well.  I wish your children well.  I wish their memories well.

A Poetic Dose of Reality

My friend Tara posted a poem on Facebook.

It spoke much about the things we have come to know at Wings Like Eagles.  About lives shaped horribly by dysfunctional sickness that is contagious, and passed on to subsequent generations.  We work hard to open the eyes of families in Crisis, so that they see the need to break negative cycles and change the modi operandi of their forefathers.

It also challenges our thinking, and quickness of judgement toward children in our community who act out.  Oftentimes, their behavior is indicative of something dark, and broken at home.   Rather than our judgement, these families need our love.

I do not know who wrote the poem, but if you do, I'd love it if you'd let me know, so that I can credit, and thank the writer.

The poem:

Behind closed doors you will never know. The "private" lives that friends don't show. 

It happens in the best of places. And shows up first on children's faces. 

First, the look of their sad eyes. Then their voice complete with sighs. 

They don't talk much, nor do they play. You ask them why, but they won't say. 

They bear the weight of parents' sin. Of daily abuse and anger turned in. 

They have that look that says "don't touch," I've had enough, in fact too much. 

They fight with all to show their power. But while at home they sit and cower. 

To wait upon their nightly whip. Sometimes from hands, sometimes from lips. 

It matters not where comes the pain. From stinging slaps or words of shame. 

'Cause as they grow in size and age, their minds still fill with thoughts of rage. 

And when they wed and parents are, they still bear the wounds and have deep scars. 

That bind them in so many ways, to their past lives which they replay,

And on and on the cycle goes, unless it stops and we can show: 

That "private" lives in "private" places. Ruin future lives in future spaces. 

So be not silent, don't turn in fear. Reach for their hand, give them your ear. 

With gifts of love, touch their young heart. And the cycle of hate, you'll surely part.

i guess i have a bit of a bitterness thing going on toward my ex-father-in-law

It's true.  I'm struggling in the area of bitterness.

My ex-father-in-law wasn't the nicest man, but I always believed in him.  Always believed that I saw sincere kindness deep down in the very eyes most people perceived narrow scrutiny.  Few understood him, I believed.  Few were allowed access to him, because his bristles and growls warded most people off.

Right away, I made him my project.  I would dive in, searching for the wonderful man inside, believing in those eyes, that they weren't lying to me.  That there was sincere kindness in them.  Love, even.

He responded well to the grandchildren I gave him.  He approved of my mothering methods.  He approved of my devotion to his son.  After years of hard work, I believed he approved of me.

He approved of my decision to quit college all those years before, when his son and I first got engaged. The reasoning between both father and son was that continued education for me, a woman, was unnecessary.  I was to be a homemaker.  A college education would be self-serving and pointless.  My father-in-law always told me that if anything ever happened to his son, he would support the children and me, so that I could continue to raise his grandchildren properly.  This fed every maternal instinct I had, and it left me feeling as though the children and I were safe, and loved.

When I left his son after discovering him in an affair with another woman, his approval evaporated as quickly as my delusion that we were a happy family.

His wife, my dear Mary Mom, was not allowed to help care for the children while I worked outside the home trying to support them.  She did a few times, but he put his foot down, as he used to say.  He wouldn't allow her to help me in any way.  She used to call me at night after he had gone to bed, talking in whispers so that he wouldn't hear her on the phone.  Otherwise, she wasn't even allowed to call me.

Looking back from who I am now, I'm disappointed and disturbed that I allowed myself to be immersed into such an unhealthy system.  That I laid my children and myself at the feet of something this weak, and this twisted.  Because we weren't safe, and we weren't loved.  We were controlled.

I should have never quit college.  I should have never bowed to a system that dissuaded me from my natural development as an individual, but instead, placed me into the rule of 2 controlling men--my husband, and my father-in-law.  But, at the time, I was so sucked into their line of reasoning, that I actually allowed myself to feel loved and protected by them both, and I never for a second doubted their honor.  I believed them, and I believed in them.  I believed that their position and reasoning was in the best interest of our family.

So, I was on the outside of their favor, my eyes were finally wide open, and I was bitter.  Very angry with myself for believing the lies.  Angry that I allowed my children and myself to be left so vulnerable, and as a result, had to leave my teenage children to raise my younger ones while I worked 2-3 low-paying jobs, just to stay afloat.

Lee was just over 2 when I had to start working.  He would frantically fight, trying to get me to stay home when I'd leave for work.  He would cry at the door, running outside to get me before I drove off.

I would crawl into bed next to his sleeping little body when I'd come home late at night, kiss his little cheek, and whisper in his ear that Mommy was home, and loved him so much.  Then, if it was the weekend, I'd crawl out of bed in the early morning hours before he'd even wake up, so that I could be at work by 5:45.  At least we could both be spared the torture of me having to leave home with him crying again.

Maybe it's because of this little history Lee and I share that I now enjoy every moment I have with him.  I appreciate every sound he makes, every thought he shares, and every direction his little imagination takes him.  Maybe this is what I always did with my other kids, and it isn't all that different.  But, I am different.  Maybe that is what seems to set this experience apart from anything I had before.  I'm looking at it all through new eyes.

But, on a deeper and even darker level, I wonder sometimes whether I soak him all in, enjoying the moment and all that we have, in an effort to quiet the bitterness that continues to pop up when I think about the time I missed with him.

I take full responsibility for placing myself under the rule of my ex-father-in-law, and ex-husband.  For believing in what I wanted to believe in, rather than allow myself to see, and believe how things really were.  I was a consenting adult.

I need to forgive him for not being what I wanted him to be, and I need to forgive him for being who he was.  Because I can't change any of it.  Because he didn't lie after all.  He really was looking at me with narrow scrutiny.  Not with kindness, or love.  That's what I wanted to see, but it wasn't what was really there.  The bristles and growls were true indications of an angry, broken man who would say and do anything to feed the egocentric whole of his being.  He said, and promised whatever he had to say or promise to keep me in line, and submissive, and under his rule of control.  Because in truth, the man had no control over himself, and was running amok in selfishness, and hatred in a world that let him down somehow, somewhere.

That is a life to pity, not be bitter against.  And the kids and I have done well, in spite of his shortcomings, and we are persevering, in spite of our past.  So, really, there is no logic in my holding onto bitterness.  All that does is serve my inner need to cast blame onto someone else, and not accept responsibility in my own actions.

There.  Right?  Forgiveness has won over bitterness, just that easily.  Hardly.  It's a process, and it is going to take time.  But, if I say it out loud enough times, I believe my heart will catch up with my mouth.  Eventually.

And while my mouth is moving, I might benefit from throwing in some heartfelt prayers, asking God for some help with this one.  Because He knows a thing or two about forgiveness, doesn't He?

My Grandma -- Rising Above the Ashes

Four years ago today, my grandma passed away.

It is really something, isn't it, when we write or say something like that, and it kind of stops us, cold.  My fingers were honestly kind of stuck for a minute.  They had just typed words that still make my heart stop for a second.

Losing people we love is a difficult, but natural part of life.  This loss was particularly difficult for my family, because in every sense, my grandma was the Matriarch of our family, and the impact of her loss was felt by all of us who called her mom, or grandma, or GG.

The thing that will always stand out to me about her is how she took what had been handed her in this life, and she rose above it.  She was handed the title orphan at the tender age of 4.  She was soon handed the title abuse victim when a man she always referred to as "evil," hurt her as a child and teenage girl in ways she only just hinted at later in life.  She was handed the title single mom in an era when divorce wasn't an acceptable escape, no matter how drunk a woman's husband might be.

But, with her three girls as her inspiration to rise above it all, she worked her fingers to the bone to create a better life for her family.  She left a horrible situation, and even with financial challenge and difficulty, she created a more stable one for her children.

She had no idea how her strength, and inspiration would impact me, two generations later, when I would have to take those same steps.

I miss my grandma terribly, but, her whole family is very aware that she sacrificed her life to give life to us all.  We are none of us without problems, but we live with normal problems, and like the example she gave us, we work our fingers to the bone to rise above them.  Thankfully, the challenges we face pale in comparison to those that she endured.

My grandma passed away four years ago, but she passed out of this life, and into another that is blissfully free of the demons that haunted her here.  As her family, we can all smile knowing that she has finally found peace, and for once, she can finally relax!  Something none of us in this world were ever able to get her to do here.

Starting Monday, I will be featuring a weekly column from a guest columnist, Tracey Hallberg, called Stolen Innocence -- Rising Above the Ashes.  Like my grandma, Tracey has had to live with horrors beyond anything most of us will ever know.  But, unlike my grandma, Tracey was raised in a generation that has given her something my grandma's generation would never give her:  A Voice.

With that voice, Tracey blows the whistle on chemical dependence, mental illness, pediphilia, and incest.  Her story is raw, and difficult, and all too familiar for far to many of us.  Shining light on it gives Tracey a power over her demons that my grandma never fully knew.  My grandma worked them away.  Tracey exposes them away.

Her posts are not suitable for young children, and have a PG-13 rating.  They contain images and language that might offend some.  But, they contain so much help, and so much healing, and since her story is so close to home for me, I want to offer it so that it can help some on a level my story couldn't even touch.  Unfortunately, there are many who can relate to Tracey's story.  Like, my grandma.

OK.  Back to my grandma.  My family is really remembering her today, reminiscing with each other so many wonderful memories.  We all love it, that in spite of it all, she never stopped laughing.  In her own way, she too rose above her own ashes.  She had the best laugh.  The memory of it makes us all smile.

What joy it is, to take life and run with it.  We can choose to run away from it, but why do that, when there is so much to gain from just living it, learning from it, and running freely?

We celebrate that today.  Running freely with this thing we call life.  My grandma.  Tracey.  All of us.

Adam's Story -- Part 2

This is my least-favorite of this three part series.  It was our darkest years, and the years in which I actually contemplated suicide.  I never planned how I wanted to die, not really.  But I begged God to please take me.  To maybe steer my van into the concrete median on the freeway?  Maybe if I was driving fast enough, the impact would be great enough to end it all...I obsessed about it.  I felt like I had failed my children--I couldn't fix their pain, and I couldn't fix our situation.  I believed that they would all be better off without me.  

When Adam first started junior high, he had tremendous support.  I met the principal the day I registered him for school--a total honey badger.  Perfect lady to have on Adam's side.  Smart.  Tough.  Sharp.  Soon, the teaching staff fell in love with him, which was comforting.  He has always been comfortable around adults, and he felt safe with their presence and attention.

He joined the school band and developed friendships.  He was a Woodcrest Wolverine.  Trying so hard to create a normal experience for him, I got involved in the Band Booster Club, a parents' group that helps raise funds for the band, helps the band instructor as needed, etc.  I wanted him to see my support.  That I was interested in the things he was interested in.  But, being involved allowed me to really notice some things as his 7th grade year ticked away.  I observed that Adam gravitated toward the rougher kids.  It seemed they were the ones he identified with the most.  The kids in Crisis, just like him.  Single parent kids.  Kids with disappointments and broken hearts.  With little to no love and support from home, and with pretty bad attitudes.  Adam stood out amongst them at first, because he had love and support, but it was only a matter of time before their influence would graft to his own broken heart, and grow something in Adam I never saw coming.

His stress level increased.  He had days when he didn't want to go to school.  I would take him to school, and he would refuse to leave the van.  He would cry bitter, and defiant tears.  Sometimes he won.  Sometimes I won.  Sometimes, from the curb of his school, I had to call the school office for reinforcement.

I had gotten a job as as a server at a country club halfway through Adam's 7th grade year.  My life in Nebraska had me at home full time, raising the kids, and homeschooling them.  This was a life we chose, and it was a life we loved.  But, my choice to move to California left me on my own, with no resume.  Working as a server was all I could find to do, but it was great, because it increased my hourly income when I factored in my tips.  The downside was that I had to work a lot in order to  survive.  Which meant less time at home.  Less time to care for my family.  For the kids who were used to my availability, it was a huge stress.  

After the children and I lived in California for a year, my husband moved from Nebraska to join us.  He had stayed behind in Nebraska when we moved.  He spent the year in counseling.  We moved into a townhouse, and not sure that he was fully recovered from his anger issues and control, I could only have us live as roommates.  It was a practical decision.  The kids were suffering with me having to work and be away so much, and with the separation of their parents and life changes.  He could help out, and give himself to their needs.  My deepest hopes and dreams were that he would be available to them for the first time, ever.  That we could heal.  We worked on rebuilding our life together.

But, as Adam's 8th grade year moved on, Adam's stress only seemed to increase.  He is a beautiful piano player, and played all the time when we lived in Nebraska.  But, I noticed he never played the piano once we moved to California, in spite of the fact that we had a piano, and even though we had a piano teacher come to our house weekly so that we could continue the piano lessons the kids started in Nebraska.  Normalcy.  Trying so hard for that sense of normalcy, and to recapture the things important to my kids.  But, his aversion to playing piano was so intense, that it got to the point where he would have panic attacks when the piano teacher would come.  He begged me to have the piano teacher leave, and never return.  And he never touched the piano.

His grades fell.  His episodes of not wanting to go to school increased.  He was always kind and respectful to the staff, but they could still see signs of stress.  We made the decision to have a counselor from a local counseling center come to the school weekly to meet with him.  And in addition to the counseling through the city, we got both him into private counseling, as well as encouraging his involvement in the youth group at church.

Never, when I separated the children and myself from my husband, did I want the end result to be divorce.  It was a separation, for the sake of reconciliation.  Beauty from ashes.  With great hope that our nightmare would be behind us, and that we would emerge a stronger, more healthy family.

But, after a year of living together, it was evident that my husband hadn't changed in the ways that we needed him to.  Things started out so good.  He was available to the kids.  Responsive to their needs.  Patient.  Joyful.  He wanted us to move back to Nebraska, and since that was where we had spent the majority of our life together, where all but Tessa had been born, the kids and I wanted to move back too.  But he didn't want to move back to Gothenburg, where our life had been before.  He wanted us to live in a community completely new to the kids and me.  The one he had moved to a few months after we separated, before the kids and I came to California.  It was a 5 hour drive from Gothenburg.

I had too many people advising against it, concerned about him relocating us to a new community.  Fearing that our lack of an established support system would too easily enable us to revert back to our former roles.  That the kids and I would too easily be left with a life of control and abuse.  I presented these concerns of so many of our friends and family to my husband.  Not that any of them thought that there was no hope; they just thought that it was too soon.  He responded negatively.  He was mad that I listened to them.  Mad that I needed, or even wanted more time.  Over the days and weeks following, his anger increased.  He acted out more against the kids.  He resented me.  Despondent, I made the decision to file for divorce.  Tessa, Abi, Lee, and I moved to a less expensive house closer to my parents' house, and my husband moved into an apartment.  With Adam.  Our family was divided.

Although he had moved out of my house, I stayed involved in Adam's life.  High school was a nightmare for him.  The rougher kids he had gravitated toward before were now into bigger things.  Gang activity was prevalent in his school.  He joined a group of kids that had gang ties, and were very gang-like in their behavior.  Brotherhood.  Violence.  Bad attitude.  Defiance.

We kept him in counseling.  Still, he was slipping away.  He failed every class in the first semester of his freshman year.  I was at his school a lot, meeting with his guidance counselor, and teachers.  They observed that Adam was deliberately failing.  Two teachers told me he was the smartest kid in their classes.  The other kids would go to him for help, he would give it, but yet, he himself would fail.  Next, he failed his second semester.  He had to leave the school and go to a charter school that had an independent study program.  As bad as this was, I was relieved, as it got him away from the daily influence of the gang he was involved in.

I worked a second job at a restaurant near his charter school.  He had to go to school twice a week to turn in work and test.  He would walk to the restaurant to see me sometimes.  I loved seeing him, and drank in the opportunity to connect with my son.  But, when he would come to my house, he would end up having loud, verbal outbursts, when we'd disagree over anything.  Highly emotional, even attempting to intimidate me by towering over me, with clenched fists.  I had to tell him that as long as he behaved that way, he couldn't come to my house.  I would not subject our family to that kind of environment.  Our family.  Where was our family?  How had this happened?

The divorce took a year and a half, mostly because I dragged my feet.  I desperately wanted my husband to snap out of his state, work hard on his character, attitude, and role, and want his family and marriage back.  Make me stop the divorce.  But, he never did.

I was dying, or thinking about it, at least, and trying so hard to heal.  I was in Celebrate Recovery, and I was seeing all of the wrong ways in which our family had functioned.  The wrong ways in which I had functioned.  I started making changes.   In everything.  No more undisciplined disregard for keeping up our house, though this part was hard, with me working 6-7 days a week.  No more accepting laziness as normal.  No more eating whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.  And for me, no more wrapping the essence of my entire being into doing whatever I needed to do, to make and keep my children happy.  They had to take responsibility for that, accepting my guidance and example, but doing the work to achieve it, themselves.  If they weren't happy, they could no longer project their disappointments onto me, expecting me to make happiness happen for them.  We all had to accept the things that had happened in our family, and then do what we needed to do, to make our family healthy, and good.  A lot of changing had to take place.  The combination of the way I approached them and life itself so differently from how they were used to me being their entire life before, and having our life be so different, was very threatening and uncomfortable for them.

But, yet life with their dad was as it had always been before.  It was normal for them.  The way they were used to life being, even if it was dysfunctional and unhealthy.  Gaming as much as they wanted, not having to do house chores, or pick up after themselves.  Living under the rule and control of their dad, complete with verbal insults, and loud outbursts.  Hating the new feel of home with me, and craving a feeling of normalcy, Tessa eventually moved out and lived with her dad and Adam.  Our family was truly divided.

It was around the time that I was really thinking about that concrete median on the freeway, that Hugo, a high school mate and friend of my sister's husband, came into our life.  When Tessa and Adam came over for visits, and Hugo was at my house, they were comfortable with him, and enjoyed being around.  Our times together were more pleasant.  Less stressful.

The divorce was final in early December, 2009.   Hugo proposed Christmas Day, at my parents' house.  Adam was happy with the engagement.  Feeling urgency to get on with our life and create a healthy and new normal for the kids, we married two months later.  He lived with me after we married, until we bought our current house in Glendora.  I quit my job, and we moved.  This was nearly two years ago.

Just before we moved, when I told Adam that I was quitting my job, and that we were going to be moving to Glendora, he shocked me when he said, "Mom, I can't tell you how long I've been  waiting for you to say that."  And then a few weeks later, he said something else that shocked me even more.  He said that he wanted to move out of his dad's house, and move in with Hugo and me.

Hope.  But, there were obstacles in his future that would challenge whether or not he was really ready to take life seriously, put away old habits, and pursue a better path.  He still had a rough road ahead of him.

Joining the Fight Against Breast Cancer

In my days as a single mother, I did whatever I could to bring in as much money as I could, in order to support my children.  It was necessary, as I couldn't land a single highly paying job that was enough to support a large family.

Although I was in college when I met my ex-husband so many years ago, it was his strong conviction that I quit college once we got engaged.  His thinking was that since he didn't have a college education, it made no sense for me to have one.  I followed his line of reasoning--at the time it made perfect sense.  I now scratch my head.  Not because of the craziness of his rationale, but because of my own naivete that allowed me to jump right into that sort of thinking with both feet.

The years as a single mom were difficult on so many levels.  The worst part being my need to work as much as I did, leaving nobody to raise the children but the children themselves.  I worked at a restaurant during the week and on weekend nights, and on the weekends during the day, I worked as a promotional model.

As a promotional model, I worked for an agency that offered assignments from various companies in need of live advertising.  I would receive a packet of information about the company, and specific information about the product being highlighted.  I had to learn company slogans, marketing pitches, and catch phrases, and on assignment, I was a representative of the company--their face, if you will.

Sometimes I represented Lever, or Dove, or Activia Yogurt.  It varied, but it seemed that since I have a typical look of a trusted housewife, I got a lot of body wash or laundry detergent assignments.  The Activia assignment must have been given to me because I looked constipated.

The company I worked for contracted regularly with Costco, so I'd be one of the many people handing out information as you shop.  Except I didn't hand out samples, and I didn't wear a net over my hair.  It was the most boring, meaningless work.  Like, mind blowing boring, but the rate of pay was very good, and it got us over many financial humps.  

I'm still on the company mailing list, so I get emails every now and then offering me events to cover.  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd put in for an event, and after 2 years of Promotional Modeling retirement, I was given an assignment.

It was in San Juan Capistrano, and I represented Proctor and Gamble.  The assignment was to hand out breast cancer awareness lapel pins, self exam guides, and to educate the public on Proctor and Gamble's partnership with the National Breast Cancer Foundation.  And with an assignment like this, I was to find that the work wouldn't be meaningless at all.

I was amazed at the numbers of women who told me that they were breast cancer survivors, and I was saddened by the numbers of people who shared with me that they lost a loved one to this terrible disease.  So many people.  More than once, I stood with tears in my eyes as people shared with me their loss.  It was sobering to see just how many people have been directly touched by this particular form of cancer.

In the information Proctor and Gamble sent me, there was a FAQ that stated that when breast cancer is detected early, the chances of surviving to see your 5 year anniversary post treatment rises to 95%.  Ninety-five percent!  That is amazing to me.  So much so, in fact, that I about hunted down every female, whether she was a teenager, or senior citizen.  Especially the teenagers.  They think they're so invincible when they're young, but if they get into the habit of doing monthly self exams now, they'll be more likely to stay in the habit, and it could save their life.

It was a cause I was happy to support, and it was a company I was happy to represent.  In fact, I felt like giving them a plug, on the house, on my own blog.  Every time you purchase a Proctor and Gamble product, you can rest assured that your dollars are going to a company who will use a portion of their profit in this fight against breast cancer.

Buy Proctor and Gamble.  Do your self exams.  Get your mammograms.  Stay healthy.

The Story of Hugo and Me

I got an email yesterday from a very dear Life Friend of mine.  She and I have been friends for 25 years. We were new brides together, and we used to meet weekly to pray for our husbands, and study about ways to be better wives.  We shared a determined commitment to our husbands, and that common bond was something that has kept us close all these years.

The last few years have brought both of us a great deal of pain, and as sad as it is, life has gotten in the way of our being able to really connect on a deep level through this time.  She said to me yesterday that getting to read my blogs has helped her tremendously, which was a beautiful thing to read, as this is one of the reasons why I wanted to blog in the first place...so that I could re-connect with all of the dear people I have had in the various parts of my life.

One thing she has requested, though, is one thing I haven't yet shared...the story of how Hugo and I met, fell in love, and married each other.  The story of our love, and how it came to be.  It made me smile.  Without even knowing it, Michelle played a big part in it.

She prayed with me for my husband.

It was a dark moment in my life when I allowed myself to see my now ex-husband for who he really was.  He wasn't the man I had prayed for.  And no matter how hard I worked at being the best wife I could be, he couldn't allow himself to receive any of it.  Instead, he took my attempts at honoring him as a means to keep me belittled, and under his thumb.  When the marriage ended, I was devastated.  Incredulous that all those years of prayer and commitment to my husband went away as painfully as the marriage itself.

We had been separated for nearly 4 years, and the divorce I allowed to drag on for years was nearing its finality.  I worked at a Hawaiian restaurant where I was the Marketing Manager and Special Events Coordinator.

My brother-in-law Joe is a musician and a music producer.  He was contracted by the restaurant to facilitate Saturday night entertainment.  Hugo, his friend from their teenage years, lent him equipment needed for the music gigs.  I had heard about Hugo in various stories through the years, and I had met Hugo's brother Luis, another friend of Joe's, before.  But never Hugo.  I was always kind of curious.

My first impression of him was that he was really, really cute.  With an engaging smile.  And a kind spirit.  I loved the way he patiently helped Joe out with whatever he needed.  He was funny, too, and very easy to talk to.  I learned quickly that he liked root beer.  Rather than have one of the servers keep him loaded up, I decided that as manager, I would be showing better hospitality of I just took care of him myself.  Oh, Joe?  Sorry Joe.  What did you want to drink...?

Every Saturday night I looked forward to seeing Hugo.  The kids would be with their dad every-other-weekend, so on the Saturdays that they were gone, I'd volunteer to work, even though my job was mostly a Monday-through-Friday job.  It was good for me to be there, but there were many Saturdays when it wasn't necessary.  But I'd volunteer to close, giving the younger managers the opportunity to go out and be with their friends.  Kind of a nice gesture, really.  They're only young once.  Should enjoy their youth.  Get out more.  What's that?  Hugo needs more root beer.

So on and on it went.  Saturday after Saturday.  OK.  It really wasn't that long--only about 6 or 8 Saturdays, I think, before I asked Hugo out.  Yes, I did.

I did the asking.  You see, some Irish guys my siblings and I know were coming to town.  Set to perform on a not-so-Sunday-Bloody Sunday at the Rose Bowl.  I wondered if he'd want to go too.  I asked Joe.  How would he feel if I asked his childhood friend to the U2 concert we were going to?  Oh, and how would he feel about the fact that I have a RAGING crush on said childhood friend?  He gave me his blessing, but not without sharing the very obvious elephant in the room:  If we made an attempt at a relationship, and it didn't work out, it would put Joe in a potentially awkward position.  I appreciated his honesty.  I couldn't pursue a friend of my brother-in-law without considering that.

But the truth is, it meant a lot that Hugo was a long-time family friend.  A whole lot.  We knew who the family was.  The history of the family.  Joe had eaten at Hugo's mother's table many, many times and if you knew Elaine Ambriz' cooking, you'd make darn sure you found yourself at her table too, by the way.  We knew that the family was a good family.  A loving, and committed family, with values that were so close to ours.  I felt safer for my children.  So I asked.

I stood in my parents' garage, and called him.  He seemed happy that I had wrangled his number from Joe and made the move.  And U2?  His brother and sisters had all seen them in concert--he was the only one who hadn't, and he'd love to see them.  His siblings like U2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Oh.  And he said YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He called me the following week.  Would I like to accompany him to a company Halloween party the night before U2?  Would I?!!!!!!  I mean, sure.  Thank you for thinking of me.  I'd love to.  (Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!)

The week before the U2 concert I textedLOL-ed, and I gushed to Christina, a co-worker.

But first things first.  The Halloween party.  He came to my condo to pick me up, with a make-up kit.  We were going as vampires, and he is an artist.  He painted his face.  It was horrifying, but from an artistic perspective, it was beautiful.  Greenish-gray skin, the illusion of veins under the surface, the obligatory drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.  And the bite marks on my neck.  *sigh*

We danced at the party, which was a big deal for me, the non-dancer (no rhythm, but mostly no dance-confidence).  Then we sat on a quiet sofa in a corner and we talked.  And talked.  And talked.  And talked.  He drove me home, and we talked some more.  At my door, he asked me if he could kis--Yes!

The next morning (U2-Day!!!!!!!), Danielle came into my room to ask me how my date with Hugo went.  She was "watching TV" when he came to do make-up the night before, and she loved his presence.  She had also met him at the restaurant I managed, where she worked as a busser.  She really, really liked him, and she was really rooting for us.  So she was eager when she came into my room.  When she asked me, I pulled the sheet over my head and cried.  My muffled reply was, "He's perrrrrrfect!!!!"

U2 was magical.  Seeing Bono on stage, one of the greatest humanitarians of our time, is a Spiritual experience.  The combination of that, and the hot guy I was with during the concert, made it a night to remember forever and ever.  We fell fast in love.

Another Halloween party, this time at my parents' house the following weekend, cemented our relationship.  The kids fell in love with him, even though we never expected them to so soon.  My family fell in love with him, even though we never expected them to so soon.  And he fell in love with all of them, for which I had secretly prayed.

As we trick-or-treated, my brother-in-law Matt put my nephew up on his shoulders.  Lee looked up at Hugo, whose hand he was holding.  "Can I go up on your shoulders?"  It was a position we would find them in every time we were out somewhere, until Lee got too big last fall.  Precious.

Before I knew it, my mom was cornering me, telling me to not let go of this guy.

I had already met Hugo's brother Luis, and a couple of his sisters had come to the restaurant on Saturday nights, so I had met them too.  By mid-November, I had met everyone but his sister Elsa who lives in Atlanta.  But we didn't let that stop us--we emailed & Facebook Messaged and got off to a great start.

On Christmas night, as we gathered in my parents' dining room, standing in a circle holding hands, my father prayed before we ate.  After his prayer, Hugo spoke up.  I can't tell you what he said.  Just that he was suddenly on his knee in front of me, and he had a ring...

I found out later, that he had asked my father's permission.  He asked my father's permission!  I said yes.

We took off to his parents' house to flash some bling.  There was a lot of energy, a lot of happiness.  And a whole lot more people in Hugo's childhood home, with all five kids and me.

We were in Big Bear with my family over the New Year weekend.  After all the kids were in bed, and the cabin was quiet, my mom and sisters had an intervention.  They told us we needed to get married sooner, rather than later.  They put the suggestion of eloping in our ears.  We pondered the possibilities.

Wouldn't it be fun if we eloped on Valentine's Day?  Hugo is a hopeless romantic, and as cliche as that notion could be to some people, to us, it sounded magical.  But remember, I managed a restaurant.  Managers didn't take time off over the Valentine's Day holiday.  We worked.  But, the night of February 13 found the restaurant easily managed.  Certainly nothing that required a hefty management staff.  Before we knew it, we ditched the restaurant, Joe, who was there for the entertainment, family friends who were there that night, and our own Danielle who was there with her girlfriends, all dressed up for their Winter Formal.  We left with everyones' blessings, and we were off.

It was 7:20.  Las Vegas was our destination for a quick wedding.  It is a 3 1/2 to 4 hour drive.  The courthouse closes at midnight.  We arrived at 11:20, with the help of the navigation of family as we conversed via text.

We thought we had it made, and that we could relax a little.  You can get married all through the night in  Vegas, so we kind of took a breather in the car while we waited for the clock to strike February 14.  There was a chapel right there.  How about we just go to that one?  So we walked on over to it, got in at around 11:50, and asked them if they wouldn't mind waiting until 12:00 so that we could have a Valentine anniversary.  We were married at 12:05, and the minister left.  We thought it odd, and then we saw other personnel leaving.  We discovered that the chapel closes at midnight.  In fact, all of the chapels in Vegas close at midnight!  Had we driven around looking for a chapel, we wouldn't have made it on time.  This would have been bad, considering we couldn't have stayed until morning--I had to work the next day, and Hugo had a Daytona 500 to watch with his sisters and brother.  Life does, after all, go on.

When the kids came home after their weekend with their dad, and Danielle was rested from her Winter Formal, we broke the news.  They were elated.  And thus began the healing of five wounded children, enjoying stability and love and all the things kids need in order to be well-balanced and happy.

We bought a house in Glendora, and even through our downs, we are counting our blessings.  The kids and me, because we have someone loving us and taking care of us.  Hugo, because he has the kids and me loving him and taking care of him.  We need each other.

Yesterday, another friend posted something on Facebook that caught my eye:

While you scream at your woman, there's a man wishing he could whisper in her ear.  While you humiliate, offend, and insult her, there's a man wanting to remind her how beautiful she is.  While you hurt her, there's a man wishing he could take her pain away, while you show her how low she is, there's a man wanting to show her how high she makes him.  Re-post if you're against Domestic Violence & Mental Abuse.

I thought about it, rather startled.  The writer was right.  There is a man out there wishing he could whisper loving words into her ear, reminding her how beautiful she is, wanting to take her pain away, who will show her how high she makes him.  He is the antithesis of Domestic Violence and Mental Abuse.  And to take it a step further, he even wants to take the lives of her children and make a positive difference for them.  He will take on their pain, and their needs, and he will be a healing balm to them.  I know.  I married him.

And it was this man who breathed in every prayer I ever prayed for my husband, for all those years.  The prayers weren't lost.  God heard every one, and he answered.  Thank you, Michelle, for praying with me.