Back to Compassion

I've been so upset about the way things with my daughter are going that I've forgotten one of the most important things...compassion.

She may be acting in an inappropriate way, but at the core of all of this is a broken heart.  This was her first real love, and he trampled her tender feelings under his feet.  She still hasn't come home.  I think she's afraid to come home because she knows that the police are looking for her...which they are...and that she'd have to go through the whole probation thing again.  I decided that while she was gone I would clean her room.

I've been asking her to clean it for at least a month.  Normally, I let my kids decide how they keep their rooms.  Some are messy, some are not, but it's their choice.  However, this particular daughter has never been able to dig her way out of chaos without help.  I've told her several times that I would help her, but she was always snappy with me and never wanted to get started. 

At first, my attitude wasn't the best.  She has more clothes than any one person could possibly use, and still asks for more!  However, I knew it was best to let her be the one to decide what to keep, (it's a big boundary issue...and I felt I was already crossing boundaries by dealing with her stuff!) so I just folded them and put them into boxes...about 10 boxes altogether!  The mess was knee-deep everywhere.  It took a lot of digging before you could even take two steps into the room!  I wasn't washing or sorting because I figured my daughter could do that one box at a time later.  Still, it took ALL DAY!

While I was working on it, I found the little tubes and crinkled up aluminum foil that I used to find in my son's room.  It means she's probably using Oxy.  I know that she used it for the first time around Thanksgiving, and that my son had introduced it to her.  That is what made me angry enough to kick him out.  It was the last straw!  Now he's doing great!  He goes to NA meetings regularly, and is hanging out with good people.  But his drug legacy lives on in my daughter. 

Anyway, this made me even more upset.  Then I found her "happy box".  It's a box that she keeps her 'treasures' in...cards and letters that are special to her.  I was pleased to see that many of them were from me...that I'd sent while she was in the treatment center.  I noticed that she had outlined parts of them, just like you would outline verses in the scriptures.  It was like a window into her heart.  It was nice to see which parts hit home.  With that, my own heart softened.

One of my earliest significant memories came to mind, and I thought that in many ways she is in the same situation.  I was two.  I know this because my brother and I are 27 months apart, and in this memory my mom was 'great with child'.  Anyway, I remember it in very vivid detail.  My mom was at work.  My dad was in charge of watching the four of us kids.  He got us dressed and fed, then sent us over to the neighbor's house to play with the neighbor kids. 

But there was one thing different about this day.  Apparantly, my dad had run out of clean diapers, so I think he told me that I was just going to have to use the potty that day...that I was too big for diapers anyway.  I don't know if this was a first for me or not.  I only know that I was not sure what to do when I had to go potty at the neighbor's house!

We were all sitting on the neighbor's bed, watching TV, when I did what 2year olds do!  The neighbor lady was upset, because it was HER BED, and she had just finished changing the sheets.  My brother and sisters made a big to-do about it, telling me that I was in BIG TROUBLE!  They eagerly ran home to tell Dad.  I could hear them telling him when I got home, so instead of going to my dad, I went to the back porch and hid.  I hid there all day...until my mom came back from work. 

I remember being wet, and smelly, and hungry, but still I stayed there.  The sun was setting when I heard my mother's voice.  I could hear the other kids greet her excitedly and I longed to be able to run to her too...but still I hid.  Then I heard her say where's Margaret?  I heard her moving through the house calling my name, while the other kids told her my shameful tale, which only reminded me of how bad I felt.  My mom was my one true hope of feeling better, but I was afraid to go to her.

When my mom found me, she seemed so happy and relieved that I soon knew that I had nothing to fear.  She got down to my level and talked soothingly to me and as she spoke, my shame also dissipated.  She led me into the house where she bathed me and dressed me in soft, clean pajamas.  Then she held me.   The relief I felt was HUGE! 

So, though I started cleaning her room with a negative attitude, in the end I was able to put my love into it.  I hope it gives her the same feeling that those soft, clean pajamas gave me.  I know she needs the same kind of love and understanding that my mom taught me that day.  But there is one problem...I don't know where she is.  I don't even know where to look.

I called around yesterday and came up with a first name of someone she might be with, but no last name or address.  Ironically, it's someone that we took in during a similar plight.  I woke up this morning with an idea of who I can call to get more information.  Wish me luck!