The Wreckage

Mady and I in 2016

Madyson was born with a lung infection that only 1% of babies are born with. She remained in the hospital for over 3 weeks after her birth and was constantly monitored. We didn't even get to hold her for the first days of her life. We didn't get to feed her or bath her or change her. She was hooked up to heart monitors and IVs and slept on a hard table-type bed. Throughout the days she spent her time getting medicine and fighting for her life. She came into this world a fighter. The very thought of her being ill, pained me and her dad so severely, we would just stay at the hospital, even past visiting hours. It was an extremely difficult time. But, like a "1 percenter" does, she fought back, and kicked that infection, and after a month, we took her home to begin our new life's meaning.

I was, immediately, although not from a nurturing environment, a nurturing mom. It was instinctive for me to put myself aside for her. To give up sleep, time, goals, wants, needs, and just everything for my child. I tend to think that most moms do that. My birth mother did not. And truthfully, that was when it all hit me. I was 23 years old and I was about to be hit with grief so big it would consume me for years. Grief so long-coming that the effects would leave a wake in many lives. Pain so severe and disgust so profound that rage would follow me throughout my twenties and well into my thirties.

But, that pain was my teacher. The grief became a classroom for growth and understanding. It became a "what not to do" and a lesson on what kind of life I needed to live. The rage would teach me how to parent with love, rules, expectations and boundaries. The reckoning would teach me what kind of environment would be hard to live in. Finally, I would become a survivor with guilt big enough to carry years of character and instincts. I became thankful for the pain, but whilst in the valley of all that hurt, man was it tough. For the first time, I also knew what it meant to wish you didn't know the things you found out. To wish you could go back and not know the stuff you shouldn't know. I began the journey to find my birth father, whom I had, up until that point, known to still be alive. And I started the fight to get my adoption records and information about my birth family. I had to know what the hell my parents were thinking and what happened to us kids. Why my parents, especially my mother, would allow her kids to be sick, beaten, abused, hungry and neglected, I couldn't understand. Not after having seen my very own daughter fight for her life. Not since I watched my own flesh so ill she couldn't even be held. Hell no, it wasn't right. I had to know!

It was important. Finding out would be the difference. But, ultimately, so damaging. And in the middle of all that wreckage, was also a very clear picture of why. Why my sister had a "hard time adjusting" and my brother had to be sent back and why, I would be the only one to be saved from the past and the hell of it all.

Memories are a very strange thing. Our brains have the ability to block the bad and enhance the good. We can recreate the past in the depths of our minds, but our hearts can never be better only worse. The pain we feel is engraved on our hearts and the moment an event happens we are changed forever. The knowledge gained by the investigation into my humble beginnings would both hurt and enhance me. It would both set me back and push me forward. It would both sadden me and make me happy. It would kill me and give me a rebirth. It changed me forever.

E.T. Figurine

Pewter E.T. Figurine

On most Friday's I spend the early part of the morning dusting, vacuuming and just cleaning the crib. My work week is different than Monday - Friday, 8-5. I work a lot, at many different times a day. Truthfully, my mind never turns off. If I am not working to make money, I am working on myself and my relationships with the people I love. Life is work.

So today, like most Friday's I began to clean. Madyson has an awesome speaker her father gave her for Christmas. I put on my favorite music and I got after it. I cleaned the kitchen, bathrooms, my office, and did some laundry. Madyson would have to clean her own room, but I had everything else under control. I felt thankful that I had a home to clean.

There is a bookshelf in my living room. And on that bookshelf are many pictures. The Kid and my adopted Father have two shelves each. Another is filled with awards and gifts from former players and another is filled with The Kid's art work. I don't have a fancy curio cabinet, but if I did have one I would fill it with these items. They are my most precious memories. We all have that place where we share our memories. This is mine.

On the shelf with pictures of Madyson and two crosses, one that says "faith" and another that says "love" there are also 20 pewter figurines. They are small animal figurines, most not even an inch tall. They are bit faded. There is a horse, pig, frog, dog, fish, and another 14 species of animals. And then there is a special one. One that stands out. It is an E.T. figurine. 

My entire life I have had this specific memory. That day at the beach soon after Jason went back to the state I remember him giving me that E.T. Figurine. And today when I cleaned that shelf and dusted all 20, I remembered that day again. The day at the beach. And not just that day, but the days prior, and specifically the day he left. I know my adopted father remembered that day as well throughout life. He had a heart of gold. He used to bring these figurines home from work on occasion. I remember that like it was yesterday. In my heart, I know that my adopted father, Don, did that on purpose. I didn't feel sad though. And I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel sorry for what we have all been through as a family. I cleaned those figures and I looked at the pictures of Don, my father, and my cup runneth over. The blessing of these 20 figurines, so perfectly purchased, were a reflection of my relationship with him. They mean a great deal to me. And when he died, my adopted mom gave them to me. What a blessing, Joyce, my adopted mother, was. 

On that day, the day we lost Jason, a spiral of pain began for all of us. Pain is a promise. We will all have it. My pain isn't worse than yours and yours isn't more painful than mine. But that day, our pain, impacted us forever, not just me. He wasn't just gone from my life. But he was also gone from my father's life, and my sister's life and all of our lives. We all dealt with it in different ways. But for me, that is when replacing Jason began. 

A brother: a man or boy in relation to other sons and daughters of his parents. A brother, a protector and friend. A brother, a guardian and family. For me my brother was the first male figure in my life. My birth father did not live with my birth mother. He was the "man of the house". When he left us, he left a hole.

My father, Don, was a good man. He worked hard, long hours, to provide an awesome life for us. I played sports, I traveled and saw the world. He and I would fix up boats together and I looked up to him. He was a good dad. Those figurines, his effort to connect with us, his devotion to working for his family every day, day in and day out with a commute of 45 minutes one way, that taught me to work hard. No matter what work hard. He was an awesome person with a huge heart.

No one can replace the people you loose. Not even superdad's like mine. Not even the guy who served his country, adopted two daughters, worked his butt off, coached soccer and just was a good dad. He taught me to fish, he taught me to work hard. Not even him. Because we can't replace the people we loose. Not with humans. But with love and God. And once you have God, love immediately follows. and Amen to that.

Replacing Jason is a mission, still. But not in the way you think. I want to Replace Jason in other's lives, the way that so many have replaced Jason for me. That is my mission in life. I want to replace Jason for the memory of all of us who lost him. And I want to help Replace Jason in anyone's life where there is a void. I am able to do that through prayer and through love. Jason can be replaced in your life through FAITH. God is family. He will send you love.

For me, that is the most important WORK I can do on myself. Every day is a walk in humility and just an over all CHECK of myself. But today, when I cleaned those figurines, I was reminded that I have replaced Jason, with love and service, but most importantly, FAITH. And that includes him and his every memory. What a blessing.