SHAME

The reflection I see is like a pebble thrown into the ricocheting waters of time, creating tiny waves of hope. I notice the stone is skimming in an older ocean now as it folds into a kaleidoscope of amazing colors. It seems that the sea is becoming my friend these days and I am one with it in my breath.

I remember how the wind was once like the shame I felt, blowing ever small grains of my existence in every possible direction. The nights were colder in the universe and I’d lost my footprints in the sand. The beaches were the friendless places I took my cares to when I was lonely.

My places were limited to the feelings I had, sometimes growing thorns out of self-hatred and cluttering space. I hadn’t intended to plant the seeds that I’d carried all those years. It happened though, a lot like the rain falls when you don’t want it to. Then again, the shame in my yesteryear’s was more like red hot lava I’d run from. I recall that I wasn’t as pretty or smart as the beauty queens were then and it hurt me. Let’s face it. Heated anger boils the blood when you are 16-years old and you’re mad at the world.

My daughter calls me “mother” and I am pulled back into the moment, looking into the blue eyes of my child. Though I want to tell her that I understand her, the words are losing me. When I call her name, it seems she isn’t even with me. “Was Laura ever really with me?” I wonder out loud as I walk on the shore.

“Oh, but I am here, mom,” I hear her say in my dreams and, there she is, talking with me. We pick up seashells and sing to the seagulls. Sometimes we converse with the lives we wished we had and we paint together. She is a 16-year old woman-child now and I, too, was young once. Though she doesn’t believe it to be true, I can relate to her.

Like me, Laura is trying to find herself in the wrong things and reversing the days into nights. She can barely open her eyes when the sun comes up, as though life tires her and she’s looking for endless sleep to come. When the dark night is around, she’s like an owl with a wide-eyed open stare and she doesn’t move.

“Mother,” I hear her call my name again, as I turn towards her and realize she needs something from me. “You said you’d give me a ride over to Lisa’s house,” She cries out, “She’s expecting me at her house, mom.”

My guess is that 17-year old Lisa will give Laura drugs and she will love her for it. Of course, my precious child adamantly denies any drug use and I am powerless. It seems to me that a child’s love for drugs is stronger than a parent. I’ve come to believe that drug addiction will destroy the life my daughter longs for.

She disappears, maybe gone forever, and Lisa’s parents are filled with the same concerns. I hold the telephone in my lap and wait for the calls to come. Mrs. Adams comes running to me with a note from Lisa: “Dear Mom and Dad don’t worry about me. I love you. Laura asks you to tell her mother that she loves her. We will be ok. Try not to freak out.”

I close my eyes and dream of Laura as an 8-year old again, two years prior to her father’s death, and I hear the sweetest laughter. I clearly see my husband, Danny, is carrying his ever precious daughter on his shoulders in the backyard. He’s a hero to her and he proudly calls her the queen of the universe.

“I’m a Princess,” our summer blond child giggles, warming our hearts with her signature smile and sing-song personality. I cannot help but agree with this child when she claims her ruler ship of our world. Yes, indeed, she really is a Princess to me.

“Twirl me around, daddy,” she giggles, as her then-29 year old healthy father, spins her around in circles and sings. He’s not only singing with his voice when his eyes light up the universe. How could I ever forget his blue eyes? Why would I ever even want to?

I return to the reflective waves of time, touching the pebble with my fingers, and the waves are expanding. The summer air has turned cooler and the ocean is serenaded by the birds and eagles. I think that all of life is beautiful when I swear I can see Laura walking on the shores of Capitola. I shout out her name on the California beach and beg her to stay home.

I’m only dreaming again and the shame I feel as a parent doesn’t compare to the adolescent shame I felt. The feeling has little to do with the body weight and physical looks I cried over when I was young. I feel shame, knowing that my one and only child is a drug addict on the run.

Days turn into weeks and months of trying to find my baby girl. The police have her listed as a “missing person,” and she isn’t alone. Hundreds of children run away from home every day. Though the police do what they can to help me find Laura, all of their efforts come up empty and I’m back to square one.

Losing Danny meant losing our 2-bedroom home in San Jose and moving into a high rise apartment complex. It put us in a neighborhood across town from where we’d been and added extra hours to my nursing shift in the hospital. I work longer days to pay the bills and Laura spends more time with her grandparents.

“Grandma, is it my fault that my daddy died?” Laura asks my mother, Debby, and she’s crying as no child should have to. My sweet mom looks her precious little granddaughter in the eye and tells her it isn’t her fault. The sun is setting and I’ve been working a 12-hour shift again. Grandma’s answer isn’t enough for a young girl to understand.

“Come on, Laura. Let’s talk,” I beg of her on my next day off, as we drive to the park and sit together. Even though some 960,000 people live in the city, it seems we are desperately alone. Laura doesn’t want to talk about anything at all and she tells me that she hates me.

I’d saved up for years, wanting to afford the house on Capitola beach, thinking the summer of 2010 will be turning point for us. My husband’s fatal heart attack in 2006 has put a wall up between us. My daughter is only 10-years, I am age-30, and we are strangers.

The beginning months of my daughters’ run from home soon turns into a full year, with only one single call from her. I am truly heartbroken. It is the year 2017 and Laura is ringing our apartment at 2:00 a.m. from Dallas, Texas. “Yes, I’ll accept the charges,” I cry out to the operator and I am definitely wide awake.

“Mom”

“Laura. I’ve been worried sick about you, honey. Where are you? Is Lisa ok? What’s going on?” I cannot get the words out fast enough, afraid she’ll hang up on me, and even more afraid of what she’ll say.

“I’m ok. Lisa is doing fine, mom. We’re living in an apartment with some friends and we’re surviving. I’m sorry I waited so long to call you. I was afraid you’d be mad at me and couldn’t bear it. I can’t talk long now. I’ll stay in touch.” Click. She’s spoken under fifty words to me and the phone goes dead. I cry and I scream, pleading with the heavens for an answer.

The diary Laura left behind is filled with names of people I didn’t know existed, places she’d gone to when I was a working nurse, parties she attended, and a long list of drugs she had taken. I realize the question to ask myself isn’t about Laura anymore. The question I need to ask myself is, “Was I ever really there for my daughter?”

“Get a hold of yourself, Brenda,” my best friend, Carol reminds me, “You’ve done everything you can for Laura. You’re a good mother and it’s not your fault that she’s run away.” Though I appreciate her intentions, I do not believe her. I can only feel the shame.

I’m too thin for my 5’6” frame and I cannot close my hazel eyes. Dating is out of the question and I live to work. Nursing was my mother’s profession and I copied her to a tee. I, too, was an only child and I also lost my father. But, unlike Laura, I feel closer to my mom than any other human being. If only I could be close to my daughter again, I’d never let her go. I’d take time to listen to her and she could tell me anything.

This is a story that doesn’t have a happy ending though. At age-20, my precious daughter, Laura Ann died. She was a thousand miles away from me, dead from a heroin overdose in a run down apartment. She hadn’t taken a step in the Capitola beach house I rented and we never did walk on the beach. She left me forever.

The police tell me that Laura was already dead when the paramedics come. She

was desperately underweight, curled up in a fetal position on a dirty couch, a sad

and deceased girl in Nevada. Laura’s friend Lisa had disappeared into thin air and

I’ll never know why my daughter was in Las Vegas.

I’ve tried to put the bits and pieces together, making a complete picture of the

puzzle of my daughter’s life and a mystery remains. I know very little of where she was all those years. I believe she moved from state-to-state, town to town, and lived to support her drug addiction.

Laura colors the hope I have inside of me, knowing I will be reunited with her in heaven someday. She walks with me in spirit, as we look out at the ocean and we laugh. She tells me not to worry about her ever again. She is with her earthly father and her heavenly father.

God be with her. I love my daughter.