Behind the Glass Window...

On April 20th, 1990--I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Back then, only parents and grandparents could come into the room and hold the newborn. My older sister absolutely fell madly in love with my daughter the moment she was born. She kept sneaking into my hospital room to hold her until eventually a nurse kicked her out of my room. She stood outside my room and would stare at her new beautiful niece through the glass at the hospital and cry because she wanted to hold her so bad. 

Today, I felt like my sister did in 1990. I visited my daughter for her 15 minute per week visitation period. I've never visited a county jail to visit someone, certainly not to visit my child. Quite frankly, I was somewhat reluctant to even go. I did go buy the 3 white t-shirts, 3 white pairs of socks, 3 white pairs of underwear and 3 white bras for her and labeled them with her name and took them to the jail on Wednesday. I hadn't really thought I would visit quite yet, but the sweetest lady works at the jail and she gave me a pep talk. She is the person who puts inmates money in the commissary, ensures their belongings get to them that you bring, and organizes visitation 3 times per week. She is definitely placed in that job by God because she is so compassionate, yet knows the rules and does not bend them. She treats the visitors with respect and is just an absolutely precious woman. She told me she had prayed with my daughter. She told me she felt her tremble. She said "Momma, she's in there. Don't give up on that little girl." I gave the usual doubtful look and shrugged my shoulders and said "I don't know what more I can do. I've tried everything." She said "Come here, let me show you something." She showed me a portrait of a beautiful blonde girl hanging on her office wall. She told me it was her granddaughter and that she had taken her life 6 years ago. She said that not a day goes by that she doesn't wish she could have one more moment to talk to her, even if it was in a jail cell. That really hit home to me because it reminded me of my friend Alissa, who is coming up on the anniversary of the loss of her son. She told me that she too, would give anything just to hold his hand one more time. Just hear his laugh, or see his eyes with life in them.

So...today I went. I walked into this room full of people. Little kids were with their mom's, and one little boy in particular struck a chord with me. He looked about 10. He looked very disenchanted to be there. We made eye contact. He almost appeared embarrassed. I just smiled at him like "Buddy, I'm with you. I'm embarrassed too--but we are out here." I found myself judging his mother for making him go to the county jail to visit his father. I thought, "He shouldn't have to do this. He should be playing with his friends or at school. He should not have to visit his father in jail!" Some of the people there were so excited to see their loved one and checked in like they had done it a zillion times before. All I kept thinking was "My car is locked. My purse is in my car...will some ass go break into my car and steal my purse while I am sitting in here? That would just be my luck...then I would probably get arrested because I may go so bat shit crazy from stress that I may just pop a cap in someone in the parking lot." This is HOW STRESSED I am and how scattered my thought process becomes. 

The sweet lady at the desk told me to wait a bit until it cleared out so we could have a bit more privacy. I guess towards the end of the hour, it isn't as busy---so as I was waiting, my phone kept ringing. My daughter had been calling me the whole day before and I wasn't answering. 1) It's collect and 2) I'm just not going to be at her beck and call. I did answer the first time yesterday and I told her I would be there for visitation. It was getting to the point that visitation hour was ending and I'm sure she was thinking I wasn't coming. They then called my name to go to stall 6. I walked back there and felt like I was on an episode of a bad tv show. There was a couple a few stalls over that were really happy to see each other and probably not prepared for the ass chewing that was about to take place in Stall 6. She sat down, we both picked up our phones and she said "Hi mom." I said "Hi." She started to cry and said "Mom, I need help. I need treatment." I felt my blood pressure hit the roof. I said "Well, you know, you were supposed to go to treatment two weeks ago but you chose to stay with your boyfriend and do heroin instead and you would still be doing heroin if you weren't in here--so how am I supposed to believe NOW you want treatment? Now it is isn't up to me--its up to you. It's up to you to prove to a judge that you deserve treatment and help. It's up to you to follow through with it, or your life is going to be looking at me through a glass for a long time---or worse, I will be looking down at your grave."  I snapped a photo of her through the glass and told her I was sending it to her brother because he was wanting to know how she was. As soon as I mentioned him, she started to sob. She held her head in her hands and cried and all I could see were the wounds and track marks up and down my baby girl's arms. It angered me more. I wanted to bawl like a baby, but instead I felt so strong that I couldn't squeeze out a tear if I tried. She said "Why did you come, if you didn't want to see me?" I said "I do want to see you. I just don't want to hear your excuses or promises any more. I want to see action. I looked straight into her eyes and I could see her in there. She's deep back there, but she's in there. I told her, "I see it in your eyes... I see my daughter, but I also see the addict wanting to get out...and I'm going to make sure the addict doesn't win." I showed her some videos and pictures on my phone and before we knew it, our 15 minutes were up. She had to go. As she stood up, her hair so long, she pulled it from her neck and I could see more marks on her neck. She said "I love you mom." I said "I love you. I love you very much. Get out your Bible and pray that God will help you fight off this devil disease. Find comfort in prayer. You have a lot of people praying for you."  She shook her head that she would and she walked away. 

I walked out into the lobby and told the lady goodbye and she said "See you next week." I said "Ok, thank you." I got into my car and cried all the way home. 

I am so glad that lady talked me into visiting. Lord, please make this be rock bottom. I cannot thank God enough that she is alive right now. It may be jail, but it's better than the prison her own life had become. 

I pray that all of you struggling with your kids are making strides and opening up communication about drugs with your children. I pray none of you ever have to look at them through a glass window. I pray even more than none of you have to bury them like my friend Alissa. 

Special prayers for the Brock family. I know it's an awful time of the year for them. I need to "count my blessings" as Alissa tells me. I definitely do.