Before I Go …

If you would indulge me for one last post before my leave of absence, I need to share some news.

Many of you know - at least those who’ve been tracking the past three years of my family adventures (including four 5150s and one call to the sheriff) - the past three years have been a sometimes dark and frightening journey. Although I’ve been vague on the details, let’s just say I often turned to my Catholic friends who are familiar with the prayers of deliverance… and so much more… in my most desperate times. We never knew what we'd be facing as each day came, hoping we would get through it without incident. Yet, despite the incredible stress and my now rekindled case of PTSD (a little exaggeration), God has been there the entire time, applying His mysterious boundaries while allowing just enough suffering to gain His intended result.

It was three years ago this coming August that my daughter took me to the local county to report for jury duty, driving erratically on the way while dismissing my concerns as me not understanding that it was the way she drives - as if there are style options to operating a motor vehicle. I’ve never asked her, but I suspected at the time she was under the influence of something.

I made it there, all right. But as I sat in the jury box and the bailiff was shutting down all questions, I received a text message. She’d been in an accident. A very bad accident. Without going into the gory details, I’ll say this: the car was totaled. And it wasn’t just totaled in some mild way; the front bumper was within a half foot of the front seat.

She walked away without a scratch, an ache, a bruise, or any sort of trauma. Only God.

Her addictions and mental disorders continued. These days I get confused about when things happened and in what order. I only remember the string of psychotic episodes and how she screamed at me, physically attacked me, and challenged my faith in all kinds of new ways.

I got more involved. Very involved. Like, Helicopter-Mom involved. She’d found a therapist that she liked. I wasn’t sure. I went to one session. The therapist, like other therapists who like to blame the mother for everything, was antagonistic toward me and my faith. And, to underscore the dissonance between us, she openly promoted THC products, bragging about the many “weed connoisseurs” she served in her clientele.

I smiled and nodded as we left, knowing it would be the last session.

The next week brought sweet justification as my daughter’s psychiatrist threatened to report the THC therapist for malpractice. My daughter isn’t stupid; shortly after our office visit with the best doc in the world, she stopped cold turkey. And found another therapist - a very good one.

Time marched on, and the ups and downs continued, definitely tapering down, but only settling into a state of chronic malaise. Then one weekend she went to her best friend’s graduation ceremony. She came back and said, “Mom, I need to go back to school. I need a purpose.” It was July of 2023. Too late to apply for the Fall. Yet, somehow, the doors opened, the paths were laid out, and the support services were secured. She was in.

She is graduating next month with a degree in Psychology. (It hasn’t really hit me yet.)

This, despite being diagnosed with a rare autoimmune system disease a year ago February. The treatment required extraordinarily high doses of prednisone, leading to a weight gain of over 100 pounds on her slight frame. She is still working through treatment, and it ain’t a cake-walk. Adrenal failure is serious stuff - her adrenal gland needs to wake up!

But here’s the thing: None of these challenges have stopped her. As crummy as she’s felt and still feels, she works and works and works. Her grades show it.

Now we’re getting into graduation celebration mode, buying dresses, planning parties... the whole sh-bang. And then this happens.

Yesterday, she had a phone interview for a job in Behavioral Health. It was her first interview. And it’s a job with a good organization.

Pending a background check, she’s been offered the job.

She is the only person I know who, for every job she’s ever applied for, has been offered the job on the spot.

I tell you all of this because you deserve to know. I owe the loving people of Ricochet so much. Your prayers and encouragement have kept me going in ways you cannot possibly understand right now. Thank you so much. I love you.

GLW

P.S. I’ll be back.