THE DAY OF RECKONING

THE DAY OF RECKONING

         I had no idea where she was.  Distraught and not knowing what else to do, under obligation and responsibility, I notified the police.  It happened the summer of 1997 -- she was seventeen and I was thirty-nine.

         My daughter was born in 1979.  While we were in the hospital after her birth, she raised her head, looking around on her stomach in the nursery, alert and healthy -- a ray of sunshine I named Bobby Rae.

         She was happy, smiling came natural.  Before she could talk when I napped on the couch, she piled her toys on top of me and played.  Whenever I readied for work, she laid her head in the doorway with a blanket, sucking her thumb and looking up at me while I curled my hair.  I loved her and she needed me.  She made my lonely life worthwhile.

         She was a precocious little girl.  When three or four, she had a little girlfriend next door and one day she asked our neighbors if her friend could play.  Because she had broken her arm earlier that day and was still recuperating, her parents were keeping her in.  When they told Bobby Rae her little friend had broken her arm and couldn’t play, she asked, “Can’t she play with the other arm?”

         She embarrassed me with tales.  Mind you, she wasn’t a liar, but every now and again she'd tell me a whopper; and gullible, I fell for it.  In nursery school, there was an older girl with a knife, hiding behind a tree on the playground.  I asked her teacher about it; she smiled, "Bobby Rae likes to tell stories."  In first grade, there were rats in the toilets and one bit a girl in her class on the butt. 

         When Bobby Rae was young, we lived in Ohio.  It was a snowy cold winter, and I worried about her being picked up promptly from school by her grandparents.  Fearful, I asked, "Are they picking you up as soon as school lets out?  Do you have to wait long?  Does the teacher watch to make sure you get picked up?”  One day she told me that she waited outside so long her nose was running and the snot froze to her face.  I confronted her teacher -- she wasn’t amused and set me straight real quick.

         When Bobby Rae was in high school, I was exercising one day and she didn't seem to know how to do jumping jacks.  I showed her, and she fumbled around real uncoordinated.  Apparently, in all of her years of school, no one taught her to do jumping jacks.  My brow furled as I tried to comprehend this; and then she began to chuckle.  I looked over at her and began laughing too as it dawned on me she was stringing me along. 

         In 1997, I was working as a legal secretary for a partner in a St. Petersburg law firm, sending my daughter to a private school and working overtime whenever I could to make ends meet.  Somewhat tired from the day, I was ready to relax.  Silently, I breathed a prayer of thanks that Bobby Rae’s dad, Sam, was gone. 

         Because of physical abuse, alcohol and drugs, we divorced for the first time when I was six months pregnant with Bobby Rae. 

         When Bobby Rae was three, I took her to a Christian Nursery School, which had a positive impact on both of us.  We started attending church regularly and after a short while I went to the altar and gave my life to Jesus Christ.  I was “born-again.”  A few weeks later, Bobby Rae and I were water baptized together. 

         After not seeing Sam for ten years, his mother called me one day when I was working.  Through her, Sam and I re-established contact and later remarried when Bobby Rae was ten or eleven.  Very naive, I thought that since I was a Christian, maybe our relationship would work this time.  Sam is Bobby Rae’s real father, and I hoped the three of us could have a “normal” family life. 

         We moved to Florida in 1991.

         Unfortunately, Sam was still an unpredictable alcoholic and physically abusive.  After one abusive episode, I called the police and pressed charges.  Shortly after that, he came home drunk one afternoon while I was working, packed his things and told Bobby Rae he was leaving.  Needless to say, we were both happy that the hell we had been living was over.  The next day I talked to the landlord, changed the locks and made it official.  Late at night, he routinely called me drunk, begging to come back.  When I refused, he would go into a tirade of verbal abuse, hanging up on me, which only strengthened my resolve.

         Sam was never adverse to Christianity even when drinking heavily.  He was addicted to alcohol and though he continuously vowed to stop, his relationship with alcohol was bigger than he was.

         After our separation, Sam went on a drinking binge, selling his work truck and tools; he hit rock bottom.  Driving a friend’s car, he had an accident and was arrested for DUI.  Then he began calling me from jail.  He was reading the Bible and had become born-again, though he was still craving alcohol.  One day while in jail he prayed to God for help and felt something leave through his back.  He told me the demon of alcohol was gone; and the craving stopped.  While still in jail, he was accepted into an inpatient treatment facility in lieu of more jail time.  So he went to rehab.  Following the 12-step program with daily counseling, his life started moving on a positive track. 

         Bobby Rae and I visited him in jail and then at the rehab facility.  After he was there for several months, he was given a pass where he could leave for a few hours.  So we would pick him up and either go to a park or back to our house.

         He wanted to get back together and give our marriage another try.  Because I loved him, I spoke to Bobby Rae.  We agreed to give him another chance -- but if he started drinking again, I promised to divorce him.  He was sober for a year-and-a-half before he began to decline.  He stopped attending church and quit the 12-step program.  Depression began to creep back into his life, yet he refused counseling. 

         Everything came to a head one night after a heated argument.  He was working off and on, a sober drunk.  Depressed most of the time, keeping the blinds closed, he'd lie on the couch, cooking, eating and watching television all day.  When I came home, the house was dark, the kitchen a mess spilling over into the whole downstairs.  I spent my days working and my nights cleaning.  It seemed worse than when he was drinking.  At wit’s end one night, I said, “You are like a leech, sucking the life out of me.”  That gave him the excuse he was looking for.  The next day he didn’t come home.

         Bobby Rae and I went looking for him, hoping he was just working late.  After talking to a buddy of his, our fears were confirmed.  He was drinking again.  We both just sobbed that night as we knew it was over.  For a while, I waited, hoping he would stop, as he promised every time he came home drunk. 

         He was following the old pattern we remembered so well:  one day off, two nights on -- then he would switch it up to every other night or two nights off and one night on.  When drunk, he was different -- like Jekyl and Hyde -- sweet and talkative, then mean and condemning.  He was unreasonable and unpredictable.

         As spring rolled around, the drinking continued, and I hired a divorce lawyer.  Before school let out for summer recess, Sam got an apartment and moved out. 

         So when I came home that night in 1997, I was thankful for a quiet, peaceful house. 

         Bobby Rae never had the stable family life I had known growing up.  When I was a kid, I lived in the same house from kindergarten through high school.  I had the same friends, and we really knew each other.  Bobby Rae and I moved around a lot, and the family life we had lacked stability.  She always had to learn to make new friends as we moved from place to place.  Growing up without a father is not easy either, and Bobby Rae never had siblings.  Determined to protect her as best I could, I sent her to a Christian high school. 

         There are consequences for everything we do, and I wanted her to learn that.  So I prayed that whatever she did, she would always get caught.  My prayers were answered again and again, and she learned to be honest.

         Throughout high school, Bobby Rae dated only one boy, named Tom.  Not so sure he was right for her and wanting her to date around, I prayed that if he wasn’t for her, God would remove him from her life.  Yet whenever they were apart, she ran wild with her girlfriends.  I learned to let it go. 

         My prayers for Bobby Rae were the typical aspirations most parents have for their children:  for protection, a compatible loving mate, a strong secure foundation for their children, and more than enough money to provide the basic necessities for a comfortable life.

         In her teen years, where we had always been friends, our relationship became adversarial.  I was neat and tidy; she seemed to take pleasure in messiness.  Openly opposing and manipulating me whenever she could -- a typical teenager.  I had trouble understanding her, and understanding me wasn’t important to her.  At times we were close, but more often a vast, seemingly unbridgeable gap came between us.

         She began staying out late, going who knows where with friends, often coming home with alcohol on her breath.  One night she was so drunk, her eyes were dilated and blank.  As she stumbled toward her room, I asked, “Where are you, Bobby Rae?  Are you still in there?”  She was remorseful and never came home drunk again.  Since her dad was an alcoholic, her behavior was disturbing. 

         So after putting down my purse that night in 1997, I pushed the button and listened to a message on the answering machine.  Bobby Rae was talking to a friend.  Their words were shocking.  Apparently, I had been living with my head in the sand, wanting Bobby Rae to save herself for marriage.  Clearly, it was too late for that.

         Exasperated, I over-reacted (to put it mildly) and calling her pager, put in “9-1-1.”  When she called, I seethed, “Come home, now!” 

         Roughly twenty minutes later, she came in befuddled and clueless as to why I was so angry.  I confronted her and a yelling match ensued.  Finally, I demanded her keys.  In defiance, she grabbed them and ran out the door, hauling butt to her Tracker with me at her heels.  I raced to the passenger door, pounding on the window, “Open this door!”  In desperation, I shattered the glass.  She threw the car in reverse and screeched out of the lot -- missing me by inches.

         That was the day I lost control of my daughter.

         Torn between obligation and betrayal, it felt like I'd been shot by my best friend and left to die -- yet death eluded me.  There was a knot in the pit of my stomach and breathing was difficult.  I was in shock.

         I can only imagine Bobby Rae’s desperation.  Like mine, I’m sure her mind was racing.  My rules and curfews had become overbearing.  A lot of teenagers sleep with their boyfriends.  I wanted her keys, and I am sure that was the last straw for her.  Not long after she turned sixteen, I bought a Tracker for her to run around in.  I am sure it had become her one link to freedom.

         When I was in high school, there were times I considered running away.  Though I always thought it through and knew I had no hope of supporting myself and no place to go.  I’m sure Bobby Rae began to wonder where she would go and who she could stay with.  But that was small in comparison with her desire to get away -- maybe for good.

         She called some older friends, unknown to me, and crashed -- not really caring as to the outcome.  Overwhelmed, I am sure she got drunk and passed out.

         At about 3:00 a.m., I was awake and the phone was ringing.  It was the police.  Earlier in the evening they had pulled over a Tracker registered in my name.  Several teenage boys were out riding around in Bobby Rae’s Tracker.  The boys told the police said she had given them permission to drive it.

         My God -- where was she staying and who was driving her car?  What happened to my earlier report that she had run away? 

         It was too late -- the boys and the Tracker were long gone.  But the policeman promised to be on the lookout for her and the Tracker.  He would call with any news.

         Three or four weeks later, my sister, Mandy, called.  Bobby Rae was going to drive to Alabama and stay with her for awhile.  She and my parents kept me informed of her progress from Florida to Alabama.  Other than suffering from the wind and rain through a broken window, she had a flat tire on the way.  They called again when she had made it there safely.

         Still angry, I wasn't able to talk to her, and she didn’t want to talk to me.  So I let the police know she was okay -- then I waited, continuing to pray.  A friend came to a meeting at my house one evening and prayed for me.  I was released from the anger. 

         Time had come for reconciliation. 

         The anger against Bobby Rae was no longer ruling my heart.  I calmly wrote a letter, stuck it in the mailbox and waited.  A few days later she called, and we made tearful apologies.  I sent her money to fix the window and paid for new tires.  She came home within the week.  We had a long talk, agreeing on more liberal rules and boundaries.  We were able to reach a degree of harmony that seemed to work.

         Months passed and our relationship continued to strengthen.  We held a mutual respect for one another that hadn’t been there before.  We related on a higher level of understanding -- adult to adult. 

         She and her boyfriend, Tom, made plans to get an apartment together, and then she moved out for good.  There were no hard feelings; our relationship was intact.  I tried to convince her to stay at home and go to college, but she made her decision and was determined.  At that time, being with Tom was more important than college.

         In the spring of 2001, Bobby Rae married Tom.  They share a mutual love and respect for one another that makes their marriage stronger than some.  They've given me two grandsons.  Tom’s love for Bobby Rae and their sons is undeniable.  He is a hands-on husband and father, and the two of them work together to provide for the family.  They’re both in college, while their sons attend nursery school and kindergarten at the same Christian school their parents attended. 

         When I look at Bobby Rae’s life now, I see how God has answered my lifelong prayers for her.  I made mistakes -- none were irreversible, thank God.  Apparently, I also did a few things right.

         Recently, I asked Bobby Rae how she felt during that time she ran away in 1997.  “Reckless -- I just didn’t care what happened.”  Intuitively, I knew.  That’s what kept me up nights, distraught and on my knees.

         As I look back, I wonder why it had to happen.  How did we spiral out of control?  I wonder “what if…”  It was a defining moment, a turning point in our lives that was necessary.  We needed time apart to make adjustments -- within ourselves and within our relationship. 

         We both know it could have been much worse.  We were at a crossroads where anything could have happened.  A dark, dreadful time, precipitated growth and harmony as new boundary lines were drawn.