I drove home alone yesterday, and as I became lost in my thoughts, I began to cry.
“I miss you so much,” I said aloud. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen my daughter.
I wasn’t alone in that moment. God was there. He was listening to my words and comforting my tired soul. If He presented himself as a genie with one wish, it would be to have my daughter back. After many years of addiction, it has reached a point of separation. Lost on a path I couldn’t understand, I had to walk away and change direction. I chose to leave addiction, and to a degree, I left her.
My heart mourns while life continues. She is breathing and safe, according to a friend of hers. I suffer from the consequences of my choices, as we all do. Reality smacks me now and then. I decided to seek help and learn but detach from the ravaging effects of addiction. I decided to break my heart.
Hours of driving around in circles, calling missed numbers to see if it was her, and calling hotels to check her room to confirm she was alive led me here. Believing she was safe in detox or sober living, to find out she left in the middle of the night. Listening to horror stories of her time on the streets, abused and abandoned by those she trusted never to go. Today, I am one of them. I left. I silenced the calls. I walked away.
The guilt never subsides. It throbs in the depths of my being. I know why I chose as I did, but it doesn’t help the pain. At this moment, I am sad, hurt, angry, fearful, and lost.
“I WANT MY DAUGHTER BACK!”
I scream to no one in particular as I remember the text,
“I hope I die out here, and you have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life.”
I hear Satan laugh.
“You chose this. You failed her. You ‘let go to let God,’ remember.”
The weight of this battle is crippling. I suffocate in leaving, and I choke in staying. I am doomed to painful realities either way I turn. A living nightmare carries on another day, another month, another year.
We don’t leave because we can’t save them. We go because, at some point, we must protect ourselves and our families, even their children. We realize we are standing in a place where God should be. From that place, we must leave. Our journey will look different than others. Some will stay, and that is okay. To that momma that goes, I know you are not giving up. You are merely standing down. I commend you. To the parent that stays, I know your desperation. I commend you.
To the entire community, may we walk in the hope that God can do what is impossible for us. He alone is the breath of life, the healing, the comfort, and the way. Whether we stay or leave, He will always remain.
[…] Open the full article on the kingdomwinds.com site […]