16 to Life, 28 January 2013

Today my brother-in-law was sentenced to prison for the murder of his mother.  He's going to have a lifetime to--as the judge told him--"come to grips" with what he has done.  The judge spoke to him today before pronouncing the sentence, and emphasized that he is going to "have to find a way to deal with" the reality of committing this crime.

The judge said that while he tries his best to stay detached from his cases, this case moved him.  There were tears in his eyes this morning while my father-in-law described my MIL as being "particularly undeserving" of her death, and while I related "The Taking Boy" story and the fact that my children pray for their uncle...but are afraid of him escaping from prison.  The judge listened intently as Jay eloquently spoke his compelling perspective on all the events.

Three members of the jury voluntarily attended the proceeding, sitting in the row of chairs in front of us, rather than being segregated on the platform as they had been during the trial.  They shook our hands when we thanked them for their great care in reviewing the case, and when we said we were glad to see them today, they replied, "We need closure too."

As for the convicted--he is no longer the defendant--we cannot know if any of our words affected him.  The district attorney observed a change in his demeanor as Jay spoke, and we pray that Jay's words of truth and love seeped into some crack of his emotional armor.  But we can't know.

In his speech to the judge, Jay leaned on the fact that he does not know the future.  He hopes that while serving his sentence, his brother will "learn to love somebody--anybody."  If he can learn that love and pity are not the same thing, perhaps he can be open to caring about somebody else someday...and be able to accept someone else's love for him.

But for all our safety, we are glad that the convicted will be "coming to grips" and "learning to love" behind bars.  Realistically speaking, he will serve a life sentence.  Convicted murderers basically never receive parole in our state.  (Our prison system does some things right.)

So what now?  I'm certainly not sorry to be done visiting that musty old courthouse!  But as we continue to heal, what does moving forward look like for us?

It looks like calling my sister-in-law on the phone and crying together when we need to.

It looks like writing and talking about our feelings with others and our ever-listening Lord.

It looks like looking ahead to beautiful possibilities like vegetable gardens and 1st graders' loose teeth and family vacations.

It looks like rejoicing with family members who are relieved at this trial's outcome, and learning to lovingly disagree with family members who feel differently.

It looks like every day aiming to give and receive, to teach and be teachable, to love and be loved.

And,

It looks like learning to forgive as we have been forgiven.

That is something I will be learning for the rest of my lifetime.


P.S.  I would just like to clarify that while I do not believe my brother-in-law committed this crime out of insanity, I do believe he has some sort(s) of mental illness.  Ironically, he is in a better position to receive consistent mental health care in prison than he did before.  I pray he can be diagnosed and treated for whatever is diagnosable and treatable.

The Taking Boy, 13 January 2013

It's taken some time, but I now have an idea of how to describe my perspective of what happened in Jay's family.

Have you ever read a book called The Giving Tree?  It's a little picture book about the relationship between an apple tree and a little boy as he grows up.

When I first read the book as a little girl, I loved it.  The simple ink drawings were charming, and the loving way the tree continually gave itself to the boy over the years seemed so sweet.  Then one day, my dad said, "I don't like that book.  The boy never says thank you."

Huh, I thought.  Dad's right.  The boy keeps asking for stuff and the tree keeps giving, but the boy never says thank you.  With that realization, the story lost its simple appeal for me and I didn't look at it again for years.

Then last week the kids received the book from a long-distance friend and I re-read the story.  I was appalled.  It is the story of Jay's brother and mother.

********

The Taking Boy

Once there was a mother...

and she loved a little boy.

And every day the boy would come, and he would listen to her stories and hug her neck and babble sweet things into her ears.

And when he was tired, he would snuggle on her breast and sleep in the shelter of her arms.

And the boy loved his mother...very much.  And the mother was happy.

But time went by.

And the boy grew older.

And the mother was often alone.

Then one day the boy came to his mother and the mother said, "Come, Son, come listen to my stories and hug my neck and be happy."
"I am too big to cuddle," the boy said.  "I want to do my own thing and have fun.  Can you give me fun?"
"I am sorry, Son," said the mother, "I guess I do not have fun.  But I can give you some independence.  Take some independence and go out with your friends.  Then you will have fun and you will be happy."

So the boy took independence and left the room to be with his friends.

And the mother was happy.

But the boy ignored his mother for a long time...and the mother was sad.
And then one day the boy came back and his mother shook with joy and she said, "Come, Son, listen to my stories and hug my neck and be happy."

"I am too cool to listen to your stories," said the boy.  "I want an income to support my lifestyle," he said.  "I want to play and only work part-time and so I need an income.  Can you give me an income?"
"I have no income for you," said the mother.  "But you may take a room of my house and I will cook your meals for you.  Then you will be happy."

And so the boy moved into a room of her house and quit his job and only came out to take meals from her refrigerator.

And the mother was happy.

But the boy isolated himself in his room for a long time.
And when he came out, his mother was so happy she could hardly speak.
"Come, Son," she whispered, "come and sit with me."
"I am too depressed and sick to sit with you," said the boy.  "And you are annoying to be around, anyway.  I want drugs that will take my mind far away from here.  Can you give me drugs?"

"Take my time and goodwill and health insurance and buy drugs," said the mother.  "Then you can take your mind far away from here...and be happy."

So the boy took her time and goodwill and health insurance and sailed away into dreams.

And the mother was happy...

But not really.

The mother realized that for years she had given everything to the boy, but his demands and hurtful words continued to increase with no regard for her.
And she was tired.
When she told the boy things needed to change, he became furious, and cursed at her.

The mother began to be frightened of the boy, and she hid from him.

One day, the boy came to the mother with anger on his face and said, "I need more time and goodwill and health insurance!  No one else will give it to me!  Give it to me now!"
The mother said sadly, "I am sorry, Son.  I can no longer give you what you want.  I am sorry.  But I still have goodwill.  Come, Son, sit with me and be happy."

But the boy shouted, "If you do not give me what I want, then I will take from you the only person you seem to care about!"

And the boy cut down his mother.

When the boy stood up and looked around, he was not in his room in his mother's house.
He was surrounded by prison walls.
"If only she had given me what I wanted, I could have been happy," he complained to himself.
Then he heard a voice from Heaven saying, "Son, if only you had let me give you what you really needed, you could have been as happy as I am."

All alone, the boy sat down on the only thing he had left, the stump of his memories.

But the mother's happily-ever-after story was only just beginning.

********

This story ends much like The Giving Tree, but for different reasons.  The original ends with the boy sitting on the tree's stump, and the tree being happy.  (In the book, the tree told the boy he could cut her down--which is not the way our family's real-life story went.  In court, we wept as the coroner described my mother-in-law's defensive wounds.)  Our family story ends with the mother being blissfully happy, surrounded by angels and God's glory in Heaven, while the boy sits alone, in prison.

Is the boy happy?  The Giving Tree doesn't tell us, and in reality, we will never know.  Was it the life goal of Jay's brother to drain everything he could from his mom, and when she could/would no longer supply his demands, to take her life?

Probably not.  But the pattern of self-centered taking without genuine thankfulness started for Jay's brother at a very young age.  How would things have been different if he had learned to give, as well as to receive, and to have respect for others?  How would things have been different if his mother had run out of "gifts" earlier...or later?

Once again, we will never know.  But we do know a few things.

1) Being "cut down" was not my mother-in-law's fault.

2) My mother-in-law is now experiencing freedom from all worry and hurt...and she is happy.

3) My brother-in-law has decades of sitting to do.  We pray that during all that sitting time he will learn that only taking is a dead-end; we pray that he foremost learns to give repentance, and so be able receive the most important gift of all...forgiveness.

SAHM Does Not Mean Society For Adolescent Health and Medicine, 09 January 2013

Today I'm taking a few minutes to look at my week thus-far, and also thought I'd mention that last week's vacation ended up including a number of things on my list! I unexpectedly caught the travel planning spark and began fanning dreams into flame. After a week of reading Rick Steves' books, Jay and I have a fairly good handle of the basic framework of our summer trip. No reservations made yet, but getting close. So excited!

   

Squee!!

I also got the hallway portrait project basically done, so that feels super. (And yes, I found some time for cartoons.)

Now that we are getting back into the swing of things with Jay and G back at school, I am putting more deliberate concentration into my career. The stay-at-home-mom career, that is. Or, as my parents deemed it back in the day, my domestic engineering career. I'm sure this is true of many people, but I have a lot of insecurities about my current vocation. Is it worthwhile? Is it valid? Am I just a freeloader, doing loads of laundry on the side? Am I a failure for not having an income or making a big splash in the business world?  Am I lazy?

In light of these questions, there are three things I started on Monday. The first is to make sure that I am using my time wisely and not turning a blind eye to household tasks that need doing.  (This includes a commitment to cooking a healthy dinner each night...something that went by the wayside during trial and vacation time.)  The second is to make a conscious effort to spend non-distracted time with Z. A number of recent behaviors have suggested to me that he's feeling some insecurities as well, and no wonder, what with all the upheaval our family's been through. Thirdly, I'm making a little Facebook post each day with my favorite “SAHM” moment. There were actually two today: 1) Listening to Z whine for 30 minutes that he didn't want his food, and then watching him delightedly devour all of it in three minutes after trying one bite; and 2) calmly navigating the rather shocking comment by G that he and a girl at school were “having babies.” (Turns out, they just both decided to wear their backpacks on their fronts and pretend they were each pregnant. Odd, but not as disturbing as it initially sounded.)

It has felt good this week to start each day with those three goals in mind.  Then, if I have a moment of doubt during the day, I can ask myself: "Am I taking care of a necessary task?  Or caring for Z?  Or appreciating myself for where I am?"

Well, okay.  When you put it that way.

It is an incredible gift to be a stay-at-home-mom.  I want to use it well.