The Supporting Role Can Be a Tough One

Give me a week or two, and I may completely lose it.

On the other hand, it may not be so bad having my routine, which is hard to find in the chaos anyway, upended and transformed. It has happened several times and once the adjustment passes it hasn't been a bad thing.

No little people will be coming today, or tomorrow, but when they come back it will be with vengeance. They'll be rolling in somewhere between 5 and 5:30 a.m. on Monday, just as unsettled and cranky about the change in their schedule as I'm liable to be about the the change in mine.

What has been a noon to 8 p.m. weekday babysitting schedule for me for most of E1's nearly 5 years is changing as my daughter makes the move to a 12-hour night shift. The weird schedule has always been brought on by her work as a 911 dispatcher, which she enjoys, and the late day or "prime time" shift had worked well for years.

One of the unexpected discoveries of E1's school trial, however, has been that she never sees her oldest child during the week. Knowing that won't change as she begins school for real in the fall, and will only get worse as her two sisters follow in her wake at two-year-intervals, she began to look for alternatives. The 6-6 night shift emerged as the best option. Finding a person on night shift who wanted her prime time hours was unexpected and brought the change much sooner than anticipated.

Yes, it's going to be hard on all of us for a while. But by the time August rolls around and we're all adjusted to the routine, she'll be able to take E1 to school and pick her up, fix dinner for her family every night, and while she's sacrificing every other weekend to working nights, she'll have several days during the week to spend with her little family.

The children's father, on the other hand, gets to take on the new duties of shuttling them back and forth to Ma's house and getting them up and putting them down at night. His work schedule will dictate the times they are here on the days Mommy has been working or needs sleep for the coming night. Right now he goes in at 6 and gets off in the mid-afternoon. Our hope is that small children can be loaded without being completely awake, delivered to my house and sleep a little more before starting their day, but we'll see. Much of it will be a play-it-by-ear scenario that he and I both manage much better than my daughter or my husband who hate uncertainty in a plan.

And just as there will be weekdays for the girls to spend at home with their mom, there will be days that I don't have childcare responsibilities. I'll get my evenings back, and I'm already anticipating more adult TV time and an additional Zumba/PiYo outing each week, at least until my husband finishes his evening class. I'm also looking forward to reconnecting with some of my friends during the week for occasional lunches and, for those who have random weekdays off, maybe more.

I'm hating the fact that I'll be losing the chance to sleep in every other Saturday -- not that I usually do -- but looking forward to perhaps having some activities with Popi and the girls, instead of just us gals. Maybe the brush burning and weenie roast that E1 has wanted, but which I didn't have the ability to tackle on my own. Maybe we'll even be able to try some fun sleepovers at Ma's house, which we haven't done because the necessity of everyday meant it just seemed like too much.

Even though I'm essentially a morning person who gets up without an alarm, I have to admit that 5 a.m. is going to be tough. To make it doubly tough, once I get used to it, I'll pretty much get up that time all the time without an alarm. I guess my bedtime will have to be a bit earlier than the 11-12 I'm used to, but with the DVR recording my evening programs, that won't be a big sacrifice.

The staggered work schedules and hours will also mean that out of a two-week span, there will be more days that I don't see the 3Es, and I find that makes me sad. There will be a couple of days during the week when Mommy is off and they won't need to make the trip to my house at all. Instead of working 10 days out of 14, she'll work seven (if I remember the rotation right) and one of those will be a Sunday when Baby Daddy is off. Sure, we'll probably wind up doing some girl outings on some of those days, and it may wind up being a positive thing all around, but right now I miss the thought of them.

In the wake of losing my son, I suddenly realized yesterday how much I count on seeing my daughter every weekday as well and that may be what I miss the most. Even though cell phones mean we talk a lot, especially when she's in the car and the girls are all fastened down, I will miss her physical presence and the chance to look at her and hug her, even if there are days when the child exchange is so busy we don't manage to touch more than during the baby handoff.

I'm sorry that after losing her brother she's also saddled with the emotional responsibility of being my only child, but there isn't anything I can do about it. I don't know how to compensate for what I've lost, other than leaning a bit more on what I have -- the whole limbs of my family tree have to be stronger to make up for the one that is gone.

Beyond that, I have to remember that I'm one of the people who encouraged her not to look for a more "normal" job with hours other people think of as typical work hours, not only because she is good at a job not everyone could do and enjoys it, but because I'm proud of her as well. On my darkest days, she's the torch that I follow to keep going and I recognize the importance of her burning brightly and doing what she needs and wants to do with her life.

So I'll adjust, to fewer days, to early mornings, to whatever I need to do, and when I'm tired and out of sorts from the changes, I'll remind myself to be grateful for the chance to play this supporting role in their lives.

Envious of Those Who Have What I Lost

We are told not to covet in the Bible, so I know it's wrong.

But sometimes, I'm so envious of mothers and sons that it hurts. I want that back, even if it is some "that" I never really had. I wanted those moments with my son, those moments stolen by bad choices and addiction, those moments forfeited to confusion and fear.

A group of healthy young men sitting together at church doing what healthy young men do can push me to tears. A mother hugging her son makes me turn away in pain. Boys of all ages make me want to reach out and somehow save them, but of course teens and young men are the worst. They bring back the loss along with the dreams.

I gravitate toward those wounded like me, those who have lost children, especially sons, to illnesses or sudden tragedies, or who are struggling with the knowledge that the phone call I got could be the one they get tomorrow. We huddle together when we meet, or we reach across the miles to one another through Google+ and Facebook and prop each other up as we try to stumble through our lives. We're like lepers, hiding our disease so we can blend in with the rest of society, but only truly safe and able to be ourselves when we are together and can let down our pretenses that life is anywhere near what we want it to be.

We're a secret society, like Masons, where everyone knows you're a member, but they don't really know what you do. There's no secret handshake or special ring to wear and we don't have benefit pancake suppers where the rest of the world gets to visit our special hall, but there's one hell of an initiation ceremony and it's a lifetime membership with dues paid daily.

We all wish we weren't members, but we wouldn't force anyone to take our place even if we had the option, because it's that horrible.

All the same, we look at other mothers with their "normal" children, particularly those at or near the age when we last held our own, and it's hard not to be covetous of someone else's life.

Sometimes that life is one we know only through that same social media that connects us with one another. It's a friend sharing the fact she's had a meal with her son, that her son is home from college for spring break, that he's getting married, or had a birthday. It's those little, everyday things we expected to happen or took for granted and never thought a thing about that break our hearts because they're as gone as the snow that fell earlier this week and vanished by midafternoon, leaving nothing but memories and mud.

Yet I know, even as I covet these moments of celebration, that they aren't the whole picture, and they may be hiding secrets as painful as those I once hid.

One of my new friends (a probationary member of the club who is still living a life where she clings to hope) posted a picture of her son's birthday not long ago. He was just a year older than Ethan would have been in a few weeks. The post made me cry, because he was here to celebrate his birthday and there was probably a family get together and hugs and love and all the things I miss so badly.

She messaged me a few days later that he was losing his battle with drugs again and the thread to happiness was unraveling.

It was easy, when I saw her happiness, to forget for a little while that fear she lives with every day. The fear I lived with for years; the fear that this time he won't come back and there won't be more birthdays or holidays or hugs or even tomorrows. Her honesty reminded me of all the pain, and I wouldn't trade places with her for the chance to hold Ethan one more time and then lose him all over again. The road this far has been too hard for me to ever want to start over.

So I watch other mothers hug their sons while my own ache to do so, trying not to envy them their moments when I don't know their reality or what their life holds. Instead, when I get the chance, I urge them to hug their children, boys and girls, and savor the moments because none of us knows how suddenly the future can be snatched away.

None of us knows when we'll be left with what we really had all along, our dreams and memories, our prayers and faith, and the task of making it through another day struggling to figure out what it all means with empty arms and no one to lean on but each other and God.

In Defense of Social Media

For a person my age (cough, cough) I think I'm pretty social media conscious.

So after listening to a police officer speak about the dangers of social media, while I had to agree that unfettered access by children and teens can be risky, I still had to disagree.

I don't have to worry about starting an argument. He nor his wife have Facebook and I'm pretty sure Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest aren't part of their lives either. The same cannot be said for me, although there are days I hardly look at it and most of my access is in the early morning or at nap times.

Truthfully, he did have some good points. It would be easy to miss life if we're too busy keeping up with all the social media that we can access. We could be so busy bragging on our kids' achievements that we miss the really important stuff they do. We could be so wrapped up in finding the perfect recipe for dinner that we don't cook, or that next wonderful craft project for the kids that keeps us from just sitting down and making a fun mess. And it's definitely easy to type the wrong thing in a moment of anger and cause a firestorm among a circle of friends when what you really need to do is talk to the friend you're angry with, or if they are not really a friend, remove them from your circles.

For children and teenagers, there is an additional risk because not everyone using the sites is really who they claim to be. They can make connections with people who don't need to be in their lives, be exposed to things they aren't prepared to deal with, and, through trust or emotional moments, overshare in ways that make them vulnerable and may haunt them and their friends for a long time. Manipulated by a predator, angry kids can be further turned away from their families and wind up in a dangerous place. That is where parenting comes in and I'm saying don't throw the baby out with the bathwater. I think controlled and monitored access at an age appropriate time is better than a ban, but then the officer in question has a 3-year-old so that isn't an issue for him.

What happens when the child is older and has had no access until he's at a friend's home where there aren't even any guidelines? To me that child is way more vulnerable than if he'd been raised with some constraints. When the whole experience of social media involves sneaking around and is therefore titillating, how much easier will it be it take it a step further? Suddenly he's as at risk as the woman who makes a blind date through an on-line dating site, assuming he is as good looking and successful as he claims to be, and then gives him her address.

In general, I had to agree with the points he made about social media and our children. We do need to be aware, be savvy and keep up.

But I don't think we do that by denying them or ourselves access -- obviously.

For friends and families far flung across the state, the nation, or sometimes even the world, social networking is a convenient way to stay in touch. While my closest family is in and out of my house on a near daily basis, my parents, sibling and cousins are a state away, my in-laws are hours away, and we're all living busy lives. Facebook allows us to touch base with each other within seconds and much more regularly than we could by trying to plan a visit. We can keep up with how one another's children/grandchildren are growing and the highlights of life. Phone calls let us keep up with the less celebratory events.

Facebook has also allowed me to find a few old friends and there's some solace in even that gossamer thread of connection. No, we don't talk or visit, but we share a common history, moments when we were the potentially at-risk teens fumbling through high school and trying to figure out what life would mean for us. No, we may not really know one another's lives through social media, but we do know we've survived, we share some of our lives' moments moving forward.

Anyone living in a rural area, isolated by the work they do or by health, finances or even something as suddenly life changing as retirement, can find a connection to the world in social media. It can keep a person from feeling so alone as they deal with the issues of their day.

Even busy people with active lives can find something in social media and the virtual community bulletin board it provides. They can keep up with events involving their church, club or civic organization, or even news that affects their community. They can ask for and give encouragement in tough times, and find prayers, jobs, community resources and places to turn when their immediate circle of friends and family doesn't provide the support they need.

In my case, and for people like me, it has been a lifeline.

When Ethan died in December, it was a way to let people know -- my friends, his friends, people I could have called and people I had no way to reach.

As another grieving mother put it, within minutes I was receiving a virtual hug from dozens and dozens of people. No, it doesn't take the place of the real hugs and shoulders, but reeling in the aftermath of tragedy, a virtual connection is far better than being alone.

In the days, weeks and months since that time, it's been somewhere I could go every day for an extra dose of support to get through whatever life was throwing at me. Because of where I live and what I do, I'm often isolated and alone (well, from adults at least) and I'm certainly not going to spend all day trying to find someone who has time to talk and understands. I don't have time to attend a support group for grieving parents. But I can reach out through cyberspace and connect with people who are stumbling through the same heartache and we can help keep one another going.

I have friends who have lost children and they have been tremendous support for me. Ethan's addiction made his loss just a little different though, and created different issues for me as a mother. Because of social media, I've been able to share that aspect of my loss as well. I've made new friends who are dealing with addiction, or sometimes the aftermath of losing that battle, and we support one another. Many of us have gone beyond virtual friends and we've cried together on the phone late at night, or stood talking and crying in a parking lot. I've prayed for them and wept for them and I know they've done the same for me.

Even imagining where I'd be today without the outlet of social media is impossible. I no longer accept the idea that we cannot be friends, reach out to, be influenced by, or make a difference in the lives of people we can't drive to visit. And I do not believe that it is always, as some people do, a bad thing.

Among many other things, the last three months have taught me that isn't true.