Sometimes, well, life just sucks. Really, really bad.  I have had the week from hell.  There just isn’t anything humorous in it. Sorry.  So, I will tell everyone the things that have happened that kept me going.

 

Briefly, I will tell you of what happened.  The daughter, the one whose children we took away from her is pregnant.  Five months pregnant.  And, she started using heroin again. While pregnant.  There are some things inherent in that decision.  One, a pregnant junkie CAN NOT withdraw without killing the baby.  Two, she is already high risk as she has a bleeding disease similar to hemophilia, the baby will have it as well, her other two daughters do.  Three, she has stage 1 cervical cancer.  Four, she now has sexually transmitted venereal warts.   Five, the nearest methadone clinic is over an hour away. Six, she has no car.  Seven, she has no money. Eight, this is MY grandchild.

 

How she could put a needle full of heroin into her arm, knowing what she is doing.  This I do not understand.

 

I wanted to put her ass right out on the street.  Let her go cold turkey.  The doctor friend of mine, who also is her obstetrician, flat out told me the baby would die, and quite probably my daughter as well, the withdrawal would send her into early labor, and the early labor would cause hemorrhaging and the hemorrhage would probably kill her, because the nearest hemophilia treatment center is over an hour away.

 

Our priest, who called me back from the Pocono mountains where he was vacationing, simply said, you have to do whatever it takes to save the baby.

 

I can quite honestly say, I now hate my daughter.  Completely. Despise her. Totally. 

 

Since we cannot get her into the methadone clinic until Monday at the soonest, and since no hospital around here for MILES, and I mean over 100 miles, will give methadone, I was in the position to have to give her money and give her my car to go and get..ya know.

 

I called the Child Protective Services.  I told them.  They cannot do anything until after the baby is born.

 

I found a residential treatment in a large city about an hour away.  Methadone, residential.  We are trying to get her into there.  I do not want her here any longer.

 

So, the anger is deep.  The pain is incredible.  She says she knows she f’d up, I no longer believe her or care.  Next years tax refund is due the end of January. The baby is due the 20th of January.  I will be giving the whole tax refund to an atty to take the baby away from her.   And then, she will go to the streets.

 

I told her, you have NO more chances.  After this baby is born, if you are not clean, I will take the baby and you will be dead to me, and to your three children whom I will then raise.

 

I have a 7 yr old who looks for track marks on her mother’s arms.  A 3 yr old baby who is acting out, by being very clingy to me.  Babies who know the signs of heroin use.  They shouldn’t even know what heroin is, much less be able to tell if their mother is using.

 

I don’t understand.  I don’t even go to the place where I wonder why out of four children, all raised the same, she is the one who does this.  The same doctor who is a friend of mine, has another doc who is a friend of his.  And HER sister is a heroin addict.  It just crosses all barriers now.

 

I love the children, the grandgirls enormously.  I did want to be the wonderful grandparent.  Now, instead, at 51, I am raising them, and looking at having a newborn in three months.  I am scared.  My friends say, make her give the baby up for adoption.

 

I cannot MAKE this child do a damn thing.  Hello.  If I had THAT kind of power, she wouldn’t be a junkie.

 

This will be my grandchild.  I am not giving my grandchild away. 

 

Things that helped me out.  ½ bottle of merlot. Why am I not an alcoholic?  But, I am not.  The baby and the way she says Meemom, instead of Meemaw.  The way she says pupcake instead of cupcake, somping instead of something.

 

The way she hugs me.  The fact that I have to be the one to tuck her into bed everynight, and I have to sing the Lullaby song, which I personalize.  The way she runs in and jumps into our bed in the morning and snuggles down for a 10 minute reprieve while I try valiantly to wake up.

 

The way my husband smiles at me.  The way his hands still wander over this 51 year old saggy, grey haired old body with lust in his eyes.

 

The earnestness of the 7 yr old when she asks a question.  The fact that she still needs hugs and kisses to make her feel better.  The way that we have a contest every night to see who loves whom the most, and how I taught her about molecules and atoms that way.  Last night, I loved HER more than all the molecules in all the stars, in all the galaxies, in all the universes.  I thought I had her COLD.  She replied,  “But Meemaw, I love YOU more than all the ATOMS in all the molecules…… ..The fact that she is only 7, but knows what a googleplex is.

 

The fact that my son, who is 21, knows.  That he will get up out of bed when he is tired just to come and clean the kitchen so I don’t have to.

 

The fact that his fiancé will come hug me, because she knows what that tightness around my eyes means, and the constant shrugging and stretching of my shoulders means.

 

The fact that some things are givens.  That MY baby, who is a senior and 17, is totally oblivious to everything that does not concern her. In other words, she is a “typical” teenage, self centered, child.  Or so she wants people to think. She does have feelings and opinions, but she will not show them. Ever.

The fact that my oldest is doing really well, That she is happy. That she is a great mom.  That she married someone who fits into our family.  That their daughter is a beautiful, wonderful child, who brings a smile to my face with her little southern drawl that none of us can figure out came from.  That she drives clear out here to visit regularly.

 

The fact that my dog, a darling overweight Chihuahua comes into bed every night and warms my behind up by snuggling up to me.  Why on earth she picks my behind I don’t know.  If I was a dog, there are LOTs more places to cuddle up to that would be preferable I would think, but I am not a dog, so maybe THAT is the preferred spot.

 

The fact that God, even though I have ignored Him lots and lots of times, does not ignore my pleas for peace, for understanding and for patience, and, for strength.

 

The fact that Pinball Wizard, cranked up REALLY loud, always makes me feel better.  And hearing Paul McCartney sing ANYTHING can stop me cold, bring a smile to my face.

 

The fact that I have extra kids who love me enough to call me once a week just to make sure I am okay.

 

I am truly blessed.  Tonight, I will pray for my daughter’s mortal soul.  Please join me. She needs the help.

 

G’nite.