It’s 10:23pm

I picked a horrible time to quit drinking.

After a brutal night of vomiting and wondering if I made an ass of myself last week, I decided that it was time to give it up. Again. For good. It’s been 7 days. But man. Life has a way of throwing a wrench into things.

My aunt who has COPD, has been having issues with her blood gasses. They’re high and she needs to be intubated or have a BPAP machine (basically shoots oxygen into your airways), if she doesn’t have that, then she will most likely slip into a coma. She’s currently refusing any assistance with breathing. It’s her decision but that doesn’t make it easy for my cousin to go through. So I’m sad for her and sad for my family as whole.

I wrote a couple of posts back that my oldest son was supposed to be getting out of prison at Christmas. Obviously that didn’t happen. The counselor had his dates wrong. Since then, Hunter has been placed into Ad Seg, administrative segregation, for fighting. Prison politics. If the “shot caller” tells you to do something, you so it or it happens to you. So Hunter was told to fight someone and he caused serious bodily injury (SBI) , the guy lost consciousness and busted his head open. He was still set to be released in August. But a letter I got from him today told me otherwise.

He will be sent up north to Pelican Bay to be in the SHU (secured housing unit) in a couple of months and he will be there until October. I’m not sure why he’s being sent there or why he can’t stay in the SHU where he is.

Let me tell you about Pelican Bay.

It’s a super max prison. The worst of the worst go there. The SHU is for serious offenders or validated gang members. Maybe Hunter was fighting to get validated, I don’t know. In the SHU, inmates are in solidarity confinement for at least 23 hours a day. They get an hour of yard time. That’s IF the correctional officers decide to let them out. The Pelican Bay SHU program is notorious for its mistreatment of inmates, leaving them in the hole for days. Solitary confinement drives people crazy. It’s not rehabilitation. It torture.

I’m scared for my son. I know that once one domino falls in this direction (inmates getting into the SHU etc) more domino’s fall and they only get worse. On top of this, he currently has one strike. If he gets another strike for the SBI, then guess what? He’s one strike from a life sentence for just being a dumb kid.

I’m scared. I feel helpless. All I can do is provide him with books, paper and money for food .

I need a damn drink. But I chose to have a good cry at my kitchen table in my underwear. If sons knew how much moms cried for them, they wouldn’t do half the crap they do, I swear.

I’m also very aware that now is the time that I need to be a praying mom. People praying for me is what got me out alive. But for some reason all I can muster is asking God to keep him safe and give him back to me.

Gotta Have Faith

Mmmmm George Michael. Not to be confused with Boy George…..

     When I was about 5, I was in bed, in my room that was in complete shambles. Box mattress tossed, cotton fluff torn out, clothes, paper, probably filthy clothes- who knows. But there I was looking at a calendar of cats. One particular page had a black kitten. I prayed and prayed to God for a black kitten to appear but to no avail. No black kitten came slithering into my room. So I gave God the double bird and told him “FUCK YOU GOD!!” I not kidding. Who does that shit? Certainly not 5 year olds. But I did. And that was the extent of my communication to God for a while. I visited Sunday schools here and there. A neighbor held a class out of their house one time. We made leather bracelets. 

     Some years after I was placed with Terry, maybe when I was 9 or 10, she met a church going lady in one of her college classes. They struck an agreement that Jenny (the church going lady), would take me to church every Sunday. Terry didn’t go. Church wasn’t her thing. However, it would become my life. Sunday school, Christmas shows, friendships, Hume Lake. I even made two missionary trips to Mexico. 

     I am so grateful that Terry made me go to church. I formed lifelong friendships that would eventually save my life more than once (stay tuned). My foundation in church most likely kept me from getting pregnant at 14 as well. 

     I haven’t been to church in a while. My views have changed a little. I’ve come to see that I don’t necessarily need to be engulfed in church to know God. But lately I’ve been feeling the tug….

     Did I mention that my mom Terry had a black cat? I guess He finally answered my prayer! All in Gods timing right?