My Brother’s Keeper
Lest you suspect I am naïvely setting myself up for a huge letdown, let me set the record straight. I know that as tough as Debbie’s path is, she must ultimately walk it herself. Although it is seldom of comfort in situations like Debbie’s, a belief that nothing is wasted—including and especially the most wretched and unimaginable suffering—is central to my life philosophy. I know from bitter experience that all the wishing in the world will not send angels down to pluck you off your pot-holed road if that is the route you are destined to travel in order to learn what you are supposed to learn in this life. I don’t know why Debbie’s road is what it is, but I recognize that it is undeniably hers.
On the other hand, I also believe in everyday miracles.
I was still trying to understand how she got to where she is today. The complexity of Debbie’s story thickened as she continued to tell it:
“I never got rich financially off the theater, but rich from giving back. And it made me a pay check. I lost that business just before my husband died due to his need for me to care for him and high medical bills. Six months after his death, one of my daughters, then ten, had to have open heart surgery, which left her somewhat disabled. Today she is twenty, but I can’t get any help for her. They say she is not disabled enough. So we care and provide for her as best we can.
I have also been raising my grandson from birth. His mother was a victim of bad abuse when he was born so he has been with me since he was six weeks old. My husband died when my grandson was one. My grandson spent most of his school years in special education. But my current husband fought for him and his education and took on the schools all the way to the courts to get this kid out of special education and the chance to have a better future. I am proud to say he has been in general education now for two years and doing very well. It takes a lot of work from us to help him get good grades. Just two years ago, he could not do simple math or even hold a pen correctly. Now he is much better.”
During the years after my first husband’s death and before I met my current husband, I worked four jobs. My dad died and my mom moved in with me, where she lived for fifteen years. After the death of my husband, my mom cared for my grandson and my daughter while I worked hour after hour to keep my family going. My daughter (grandson’s mother) later remarried and moved here to Florida. She has three children, and although she wanted to take my grandson back, I would not allow it because he and I bonded so strongly. To uproot a child that was stable was wrong. My daughter agreed and I understood why she gave him to me. It was the right thing to do at the time. But after my husband died, it was hard rising a baby at forty and working four jobs.
Thinking back to one year ago today, I would be here with all bills current and food in my refrigerator, wondering what to cook for dinner. The kids would be home from school soon, my husband at work, also home soon. I’d be trying to think of something we could do as family over the weekend that wouldn’t cost a lot but yet be fun. Maybe a trip to the drive-in, or may to one of the state parks. We’d be talking about Halloween and, “What costume do you want me to make this year?” There’d be the thought of Christmas coming soon and me thinking maybe I should start looking for those little gifts now.
