I kept drinking....

My second husband and I were together for a couple years before we decided to get married. Well, I guess it was mostly my decision to get married, as Jeff loved to brag about the fact that he was in his late 30's and never been married. Was that a good thing? I didn't know at the time. He seemed to think so. All I knew was that I was feeling like I was too old to be calling him my boyfriend all the time. Now, though, when I look back, that should have been fine. I never should have married him. It was too final, too definite, too confining....but I thought it was the best thing for me and him both.

I was still drinking heavily, and even though we were getting in arguments, they weren't too bad ...yet. I love him, I thought, and we seemed to be getting along in between the arguments. I still numbed my feelings with the alcohol, escaped the parts of my life that cause me pain with the alcohol...and loudly voice my opinions to him when I had the chance. I realized that I was turning into the sort or woman that I didn't like...that I never wanted to be -loud, argumentative, vengeful, bitchy, and resentful.

We had been in that raggedy trailer for all this time. I had put up curtains, painted the walls, gotten everything going in the kitchen - the gas, etc. - and just generally tried to make it a home for us. And it was ...not bad. Cozy and comfortable, at least as much as it could be. It was my home, as much as I could make it that. I just didn't let anyone see it.

I really don't want to dwell on the fact that I was a bad mom for those few years that I was with my second husband. But I was. The times that my daughter came to visit were not good. She and I argued a lot, even though there were times that we had some good discussions and good times. She was an adolescent, and that's when they seem to know everything. Then when she came to live with us, it was still up and down with the arguments.

I do remember some good times when she had friends over. She made a friend or two at school and would bring them home. One in particular was even related to my husband, and she became a really close friend of Chelsea's. They seemed to do everything together. They had their times when they were mad at each other, but they always made up and became friends again. Amongst it all, though I remember being very tense and anxious about her, and the things she was going through. And I was still drinking at the time, too. Times like when I dropped her off at the middle school and it was raining. She walked to my place of work - about 20 blocks or so - and was standing in the front office just dripping, saying that she just didn't want to go to school that day!! I was so mad!! I took her home, tried to make her change her clothes and take her back to school. But when she refused to go to school, I felt helpless. What could I do? I couldn't physically make her go to school? I couldn't physically make her do anything! I talked to the principal - he could only do so much from his end. I talked to the police - they couldn't do much unless she had broken the law. I talked to a counselor - they couldn't do much unless Chelsea was willing to talk to them. She was very sarcastic, hateful, and uncooperative. And I just didn't know what to do.

At some point she went back to her dad's, got in trouble, and went to a group home in Pittsburg, Kansas. I think it was for mostly truancy and maybe smoking. That was obviously not allowed in her school. So I made the drive over to Pittsburg every so often, probably every other weekend, to see her. When I was there I would take her out to eat, or swimming, or shopping, or just spend some time with her. I was also trying to get sober at this time. She got out of that place, went back to live with her dad that summer, and promptly got in trouble again when school started. This time she went to a place in Columbus, Kansas. It was not quite as confining as the other one, as she went to public school there, but it was still a not very nice place for her to be. This time, when I went to see her, it seemed like she was learning her lesson, and definitely didnt' want to be there!! I think when kids realize that they don't want to be someplace like that, then they know what they have to do NOT to go there again!! I didn't feel like she was playing me, and she could easily have done that, I'm sure.

This was when I was getting sober, taking parenting classes, and doing whatever the judge wanted me to do in order for Chelsea to move in with me. They had already determined that she couldnt' live with her dad anymore, cause that's where she got in trouble.

I had mixed feelings. I wanted her to be with me....no doubt about that. But she was so jaded, so rebellious, that I wasn't sure I would be able to handle her. And, as it turned out, I really couldn't handle her. Not the way I thought I was supposed to, anyway. She was acting up, being lippy, hateful, not doing what I asked her to do, and I was, many times, at my wit's end as to what to do about her. But, in my mind and my heart, I knew that I couldn't give up on her. She was my daughter! That was all there was to it! If I, as her mother, gave up on her, then who was going to stick around and believe in her. I HAD to believe in her. And so I didn't give up...I kept trying to love her, get help for her, get help for me, and hang in there.

When she was 16, in March of 2000, Chelsea's dad passed away. She was living with me at the time. I will never forget the phone call I got about it. I was working for the Convention and Visitors Bureau there in town, and I was at a meeting at one of the motels in town. I was called to the phone, which was unusual. And it turned out to be the nurse at the hospital where he had died. He had been at the doctor's office for a checkup, Stella was with him, (my youngest stepdaughter) and he just had a massive heart attack right there. By the time he was taken to the hospital, I guess he was dead. I cried on the phone, I cried because I just couldn't believe it. And I rushed home, because I wanted to be the one to tell Chelsea. But by the time I got home, she had already talked to her sister, Staci, who had told her. She was sitting on the floor, crying, and I couldn't console her. She didn't want to talk, so I just left her alone. It was the hardest thing I think she and I have gone through.

The next few days were a blur. We went over to Iola for the funeral, or to help with the arrangements. Since I was no longer Jack's wife, I felt like I didn't have much say so in what happened with him. But his kids, mostly his daughters, were very capable of taking care of everything. It was his decision to be cremated, but the family, especially his sisters, wanted to view the body. I don't know if that's unusual, but the funeral home let us see him before they sent him to be cremated. That was very hard for me, but it gave me a chance to say goodbye...to his body. I had said goodbye to him spiritually already...and have talked with him many times since then.

This seemed to be a turning point in the relationship between me and Chelsea. She realized that I was her only parent left, and I realized, not for the first time, that life is precious and can be snuffed out in a moment. Plus, that she was, and is still, very precious to me...and that I wanted to protect her and keep her close to me no matter what.