Anger From a Mother's Perspective
Author © has asked to remain anonymous. Used by permission. *For legal reasons, the names and locations in this true story have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
Anger may be the hardest emotion to corral. It can be like a wild stallion, eluding all ropes and pens. Without the Lord's help I suspect it is impossible to fully control. Even with His help it is not always easy. We tend to want to stay in the same patterns, resist change, even change that is beneficial to us, and keep the same old emotional friends.
When asked to share this, I thought, "Oh Lord, you really know what you are doing, don't you?" The anger I have felt over the years through my son's behavior, my choices, and the choices of other family members has at times been overwhelming. Experiencing and dealing with anger can be most difficult.
I grew up somewhat angry. My background includes being an only child in a neighborhood of few children. I grew up in a Christian home with Victorian attitudes in which children were to be seen and not heard, and in which anger was not an emotional option for children. performance expectations were very high and I nearly smothered in restrictions. My parents loved me deeply and often demonstrated their love for me in ways that were difficult for me to receive. Girl Scout camps in the summers were my joy and I cried when it was time to go back home. I escaped into books and projects that took me far away from the today in which I then lived.
Problems in our home were to never be shared or aired outside the immediate family. When once I sought help from a friend's mother, I wasn't believed and I then determined to never confide in another. I also threw up walls of protection to avoid being hurt. My mother and I had developed what could be described as a "shaky" relationship, at best. By the time I was 18 I had collected enough "baggage" to sort through for a lifetime. Part of that "baggage" was anger.
Without boring you with the details of my actions and reactions to what life brought my way and what my choices brought me, suffice it to say that it is only by the grace of God that I stand before you now. And I don't say that lightly. It is truly by His grace that I am here and that by His grace, love, and compassion anger does not control my life, nor is it successful anymore in most of my actions and reactions.
Between the years of 18 and 27, I married, became a police officer, divorced, and remarried. My first marriage was disastrous, the two of us being too immature and carrying too much "baggage." The product of that marriage, however, was a handsome baby boy weighing in at 8 lbs. 5 ozs. and 21 inches long. The doctor said he would grow to be at least 6 feet tall and would be a big man. At three years old this child was the most beautiful little boy I had ever seen, with green eyes and blond curly hair that might be the envy of many a little girl. He is now 34 years old, 6'3" tall, weighs 14 stones, has a receding hairline, long dark brown hair, a red and gray beard, suffers from schizophrenia, and is incarcerated in the state penitentiary system for 25 years for murder.
My precious husband of today, Maurice*, and I married in 1972. Two months before our marriage his stepfather, whom he dearly loved and who raised him, took his own life. In the following ten years Maurice lost his grandfather and I lost both my grandmothers and my only living grandfather. When my husband and I married I also received five stepchildren, and with my son, Christopher, we became a family of eight overnight.
In l982, one of our middle sons, Jake, who was also a police officer, was killed in the line of duty by a sniper while answering a domestic call.
In l984 my father-in-law, my husband's natural father, died in our home of lung cancer.
In l987 our dear friend passed away and later my friend and partner for many years took her own life. All of the above have stories of their own.
On January 15, 1986 the police chaplain in the state where my son is imprisoned, called (we had retired to another state in 1984) to tell us that Christopher had just killed my mother, his grandmother.
When tragedy strikes, our first reactions are usually disbelief and numbness. Those were my initial reactions, too. But do you know what triggered my anger? We had gone to the state where my son is incarcerated to be with my dad. The night after my mother's funeral my son, Christopher, called from the jail and talked and acted like nothing had ever happened. I was stunned. I hung up the phone and anger began welling up inside of me that until that time I did not know could exist and exist in such depth. I was so angry that I felt as if I could have killed my own son had he been there in front of me. I wanted to shake him with all the power I had in me. I wanted to put and could visualize putting my hands on his throat and choking him with all the strength I could summon.
At that time Christopher had only just been arrested hours before and I had not seen him. But after that telephone call I had to see him. A friend went with me to the jail.Christopher's eyes were glazed as if he was on drugs, but he wasn't. His attitude appeared to be indifference.
I have since come to know that his own protective devices were at work as he could not face what he had done, plus the fact that he was schizophrenic, which we did not then known. But at the time, his attitude only fueled the anger I was already feeling. I could not see him for six months after that visit. My anger at him was so intense that anything I said to him would have forever severed our relationship.
Now let me tell you about this anger. I was angry because we had spent years trying to get help for Christopher. He was gifted in pencil, pen and ink, and had the potential for a great political cartoonist. He was not a selfish person, and if he knew you needed something, he would give you all he had. He took up for the underdog and had a great, though sometimes warped, sense of humor.
He was also angry inside and could be mean. I was angry at his rebellion, his failure to listen or cooperate, his failure to respond to treatment. I was angry that he had no respect for authority. I was angry that he did not follow the good examples we set for our children. I was angry about all the money we had spent on hospitals, doctors, and testing. I was angry because he had embarrassed us through the years with drug abuse, thefts, and arrests.
I was angry that he had left my dad a grieving widower from which he never recovered. I was angry that he hurt my mother. I was angry that because of his choices he wasted his life and harmed so many around him, especially the people who loved him, most especially my mother.
I was angry that he had intended to kill Maurice and me, too. I was angry that he robbed me of the mother from whom I was estranged most of my life and with whom the Lord had restored a loving relationship three years prior to her death. I was angry that though we were blessed with a restored mother-daughter relationship, we were robbed of the time it would take for us to truly become friends.
I was angry when the police department for which we worked all those years and through which we had given a son, let my dad walk into the chaos at his home without warning. Most of those investigating the scene knew him and where he worked and how to get in touch with him. I was very angry that he came home to that scene and a near stranger told him what had happened, that his wife of 46 years had been murdered by his grandson. I was angry that my parents didn't listen when we warned them not to let Christopher stay in their home because we knew there was the potential for violence from him.
I was angry because of all the years of apparently wasted love, time, prayer, and expense for Christopher. I was angry about the way Christopher had throughout the years treated us. I was angry about just about everything.
I was angry with myself. I saw Christopher's actions as my failures. I was angry with my husband for not spending time with Christopher. I saw his lack of action as his failure. I was angry that to have gotten quality help for a child who needed it over a long period of time, one had to have been wealthy, which we were not. And it didn't stop there.
It was two years after my mother's death before our son's trial took place. He had been deemed incompetent to stand trial. That was true. From the time I had visited him in jail the week of mother's death until I saw him again six months later, he had severely deteriorated.
When the trial did finally take place the psychiatrists couldn't agree. Neither could the counselors and case workers. Half said he was just mean and many of the staff were terrified of him and refused to work with him. Half said he was mentally ill and suffering from paranoia and schizophrenia. The jury was hung. I had been forced to testify. I was angry to have to do that.
I was angry with Christopher's natural father for hiring a pay-to-testify quack psychiatrist who attempted to muddle the trial. I was angry because obviously still no one could help our son or even agree on what was wrong with him.
I was angry my dad had to endure the pain of this trial. And I was angry about all the events, struggles, sadness, and unhappiness that this trial brought to memory for all of us, including Christopher.
The amazing thing to me is that I was not angry with God. There was and is much that I don't understand, but the whys and why nots were not included in my anger. Notice I say this and everything previous in the past tense. As I was writing this I realized that I was no longer angry. No anger from the far past, no anger from the recent past. I don't know exactly when this came about, but I am very grateful for it.
During the other sad and tragic things that have happened in our lives the Lord always made His presence known in the midst of our pain. And He did so throughout Christopher's life, mother's death, and the trial. He does so today. One has to both seek Him and look for Him.
Though I don't know when the anger left me, I do know in part how the Lord ministered to me. On the way to the state where my parents lived on the day of Mother's death I prayed all the way, and the scripture that came to me was from Genesis 50, verse 20, where Joseph is comforting his long-estranged brothers: "But as for you, you thought evil against me, but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to use for good." The verse that follows is very comforting to me, "Now therefore fear not. I will nourish you, and your little ones. And he comforted them, and spoke kindly to them."
After the six months passed in which I was so angry that I couldn't see Christopher the words of Isaiah 52:1 touched me: "Awake, awake, put on your strength, O Zion." And in verse 2: "Shake yourself from the dust: arise and sit down, O Jerusalem: loose yourself from the bands on your neck, O captive daughter of Zion."
Have you considered how constricting anger can be? And how it distorts not only vision, but the decisions we make?
Then I was taken to Psalm 34:14: "...seek peace and pursue it," and I knew it was time to make peace with my son and restore our relationship. It has been a rocky road, but we haven't fallen. Stumbled a few times maybe; down, but not out.
Restoration began eight years ago. During the first five years of that time Christopher attempted suicide while in prison eight times, once succeeding in hanging himself and losing all bodily functions. He was on suicide watch and lived in paper clothes under constant observation for over a year. By the grace of God, he, too, is still with us. A new medication was developed in France and allowed in the States on an experimental basis about four years ago. Only those with schizophrenia on which no other medication was effective were eligible to receive it. Christopher qualified and it has changed his life.
Two years ago the Lord allowed me to see how much of our lives had been consumed with concern centered around this son and I had to turn him loose. It was a decision I made; a decision I purposefully made once I caught a glimpse of how truly free we could be. I began learn to live one day at a time and to truly trust the Lord for Christopher's welfare and future. It's a decision I've not regretted.
Christopher and I talk on the phone regularly, occasionally write to each other, and we remain in consistent prayer for him that God's will be accomplished in his life, not our wills. We have had the privilege of visiting with our son twice in the past six months, visits I treasure, especially as we had not been able to see him for a year and half previously.
And do you know what else? There is no evidence of the old anger in Christopher either. Neither do I know when that happened or how.
I know that I love the Lord and I love my son. I know I cried out to the Lord, He heard me and healed me. He turned my mourning into dancing. He took the anger. Peter says in I Peter 5:6 & 7, "Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time: Casting all your care upon Him; for He cares for you." That includes anger.
Some are vocal with anger. I was pretty quiet with mine. It seethed and boiled within until it nearly destroyed me. Whatever way we entertain anger, we must know this: if we want to be free, we must release it to the Lord and we must know that He is faithful and just, that His ways, thoughts and timing are not the same as ours, but they are true and perfect and He does hear us and will answer us. He did it for me; He will do it for you. His grace is sufficient.
Author has asked to remain anonymous. © Used by permission.
Addendum by Sherry Sharon: The above picture illustrates the brokenness that results from our crying out to God, releasing our anger, helplessness & frustration to Him. *For legal reasons, the names and locations in this true story have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
Art copyright © Rik Berry . Please visit Rik's site to see his other beautiful inspired art. |
