My credit card offered a mile for every dollar, and I was determined my daughter and I would earn free trips to Hawaii when she graduated from high school. So, I used my credit card for everything, patting myself on the back for outsmarting American Airlines.
After graduation, Mary Susan and I flew to Hawaii, completely free. I wanted her to have the same first-class experience to Hawaii that her father and I enjoyed one time (minus losing my luggage and having to wear clothes for two days with the hotel logo on them because stores were closed for Easter). But first-class was no longer what I remembered. Gone were the recliner sized seats and heated blankets. And where was the chef with the tall white hat, rolling out a Texas-sized prime rib to carve? (Can you believe they ever did that?) Quite the contrary, the seats were 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 Dallas, it was quite a trek to our next flight, so we decided to take the subway. But much to my horror, right after my daughter stepped aboard the train, warning bells rang, and the doors closed.
I saw my daughter’s panicked expression on the other side of the glass, and I immediately realized 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 terrifying fear I might never see her again.
So, just like the mothers who can supernaturally lift a car off their children, I grabbed the doors and pulled until I forced them open. I quickly stepped inside, thankful the nightmare was over.
But it was not over for everyone. My actions caused the train to shut down after only a few yards in the dark tunnel. It was 45 minutes before it started moving again. The car was hot as blazes, people missed flights, several women cried, and another became hysterical from claustrophobia. I 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 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.
We once had a volunteer who was apparently involved with Blue Monarch for the wrong reasons. 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.
This woman was only looking at circumstances on the surface. But there are hundreds of reasons a mother may lose custody of her children. Perhaps her own parents taught her to use drugs, which numbed 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. 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 one of our recovery projects. It was a before-and-after story and the “before” was still fresh in her mind.
Alexis reflected on the separation from her daughter and even though they are reunited now, the pain was still an open wound. She wept and 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?
Many people assume a mother who has lost custody of her children doesn’t feel the loss. 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, 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 try to patiently wait, but they want it right now.
A mother may be allowed visits with her child as we navigate the complicated reunification process. But she can overreact over the slightest bruise or scratch, just wondering if her child is being mistreated. She feels helpless to protect. She goes to bed 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?
I often 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.
The mother (that she judges and loathes) is nothing more than an adult 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
Susan Binkley is the Founder and President of Blue Monarch, a long-term, residential recovery program located in Tennessee. www.bluemonarch.org. Follow Blue Monarch and Susan Binkley on Facebook and Instagram.
- For similar stories, check out Susan’s book, From My Front Row Seat, available in multiple formats on Amazon.
- Download Susan’s 7-day Bible Plan on YouVersion.
