Chasing Siggy

It was a cool drizzly night, early into fall when my seventeen-year-old daughter appeared out of nowhere on the front porch of our home. She had run away a few months earlier; a day or so after her 17th birthday. She did the research. She knew that (at that time) in the State of Michigan, a minor had the right to emancipate themselves at 17 and the parents have literally zero rights to try to reverse it. In other words, after calling the local police, I learned that to locate her and take (or force her) against her will to bring her home would be considered kidnapping. I would be in excessively big trouble for trying to ‘retrieve’ my teen daughter. I asked, what happens if she gets into trouble or commits a crime? To which they replied, “Sorry mam, it’s just one of those weird legal conundrums. If you try to retrieve her, you could be arrested for kidnapping and yet if she commits a crime as a minor, you might ALSO be held responsible as she is still under the age of 18 and YOUR responsibility.” Additionally, I was also told she was still my responsibility to feed, clothe, protect, shelter, and obtain medical care for; failure to do so might also get us in a heap of legal trouble. UGH.

She arrived at the door with a get-away car idling in the circular drive-in front of our executive ranch. I could see the rain coming down lightly in the beams of headlights of the waiting car in the dark but couldn’t see who was waiting for her. I had been crying for three months prior because she had just slipped out of her room (via window) and left with no phone, and I had no idea where she was or how she was doing. So, when she just showed up demanding to be allowed into her room to ‘grab’ some of her things, it triggered angry emotions. Looking back, I realize the anger was really a ‘release’ of all the sickening worry a parent experiences when their child goes missing. I was angry not only because she ran away, but because she smelled awful, and I could tell she had been with people who were smoking weed.

It was late, around 10 pm and my spouse had already gone to bed for the night. I confronted her and our voices escalated and rose like heat along the vaulted ceiling in our 1000 sq ft great room which caused him to come down the hall to see what was going on. I was yelling at her (and him) at the same time. I kept saying, do something! He just shook his head and walked back into the bedroom. At that moment, I grabbed her, and we struggled because I was trying to keep her from leaving. She claims I slapped her across the face; I probably did. Pure adrenalin had seized my body and as our interaction unfolded, the driver of the car decided to leave. She managed to free herself from my grip and run out the front door; I, in my pajamas, ran after her. I followed her in the dark misty night through the water-soaked yards of the neighborhood, and it kept getting darker and spookier as I attempted to follow her through the adjoining park and then she (again) vanished out of sight. I had been chasing her and calling out to her, calling her name, and begging her not to leave. 

It was just like an incredibly sad movie scene and my hopes were dashed again. Maybe this is how a parent feels when they think they saw their child who had passed or gone missing, only to realize their eyes were playing tricks on them; their mind was playing with their desperate emotions. When I realized she wasn’t coming back, I slumped against a large, rough, wet tree and sobbed in the dark. When I returned home (hobbled home) completely drenched, I walked into our master bedroom and attempted to have a conversation with my spouse. It was around 11pm and he simply ignored me; my life had become completely tone deaf and I tolerated it. My precious daughter, the one who was such a good child, a loving and happy child, had left. I was too blind to see that my life had self-destructed, and my children were becoming the collateral damage. My relationship with my spouse was never the same again. Our beautiful daughter, the one who was named after and looked like his mother, the apple of his eye was gone and for the next two years, we were both just going through the motions of living side by side in a life stalled in the last stages of grief.

We couldn’t get closure; occasionally, a friend, a family member would tell us that they spotted her, and our ears would perk up, but it didn’t last. She didn’t want to be found. I did eventually discover the name of the boy she was living with and located (and creeped on) his mom’s social media account. I was in complete disbelief at what I saw. She posted pictures of MY daughter with HER family at Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, The 4th of July and the worst of the worst, her birthday. In my estimation, my baby girl was having a birthday cake with complete strangers. The daughter I no longer recognized because she had bleached her hair platinum blonde and her face looked puffy; I often just stared at the pictures of her for hours trying to recall what it meant to have her in my life and what it meant to be her mom.  It was as if she had been kidnapped and I had clairvoyant dreams of where she was, but when I woke it wasn’t a dream.  It was real and surreal.  Just like the main character in the movie Big Fish said: “That’s not how I go.” I would say, “This can’t be happening to me.”

In the spring of 2015, my daughter-in-law called to tell me that the word on the street was that my daughter had a new boyfriend in her life. In her words she said, “He’s a pretty decent guy.” And it wasn’t long after that that she decided it was time to reconnect with us. Mother’s Day 2015 was the day my prodigal child walked up the driveway and back into my life. Losing my daughter and having her return was the final brick upside my head. It triggered in me, an almost wicked defiance about the way I was living my life and especially what I tolerated – how I was treated as a mom, as a wife and as a business partner. I finally decided, enough is enough. I declared, “I will not be a victim of this life!” No longer will I allow others to use or abuse me.  No longer will I stay where I am only tolerated; I will go to where I am celebrated. Almost exactly two weeks later, on the advice from a mentor, I quit my job as a real estate agent and coach and went into a perfect downward free-fall. I avoided my spouse (who was in Europe for 4 weeks) my former colleagues, my friends, my connections, my neighbors, my volunteer groups, and my church. I was determined to figure out who I was and what I wanted from life. I was determined to figure out MY OWN definition of happiness. There was a 96-year-old church member who checked on me frequently and I ignored her too.  People mentioned to me how awful I was for ignoring this dear little old sweetie.  UGH!  I made a deal with myself and I didn’t care if it was Mother Theresa incarnate, I was not going to break my promise to me.  Capiche? 

I had saved just enough to pay my bills for 4 months and during those brief frightening and glorious summer weeks, I relaxed, swam daily, went to the beach, rode my bike, and worked on defining the life I genuinely wanted for myself, not simply the one that had developed by default.  It was finally time to put into action, all the advice, strategies, and spiritual concepts I had been studying for more than 2 decades. This was my ‘be – do – have’ moment.  

First step was to BE the change I wished to see in the world (Gandhi). This meant I had to first BE my own best friend. How does one do this? I immediately stopped talking to people that made me feel less than the people that were in constant complaint or spent their time focusing on the negative. I didn’t owe them anything. To my surprise, I realized, it was just about everyone I was interacting with. When you decide to be an advocate for yourself, it’s crazy how the people who know you well, will begin to resist the changes – the new version of you.

You become quiet; they get louder. You become forgiving; they ramp up the transgressions. You refuse to engage in gossip, and you become the subject of their gossip. You move through the world in love and in the beginning, until you break through the choking smog, you will feel the strong resistance of change. This takes a lot of courage; the negative self-talk is louder and the pressure from others to keep you where THEY knew you and are comfortable with you is also real. Therapy didn’t work for me; it seemed the whole formula was focused on the problem first. I distinctly recall thinking, wait, if the marriage counselor isn’t happily married (hmmm) and the personal counselor isn’t exactly highly engaged in her own life, then why would I think they can inspire me? I’m looking in all the wrong places. And as Einstein said, ‘You cannot solve a problem at the same level it was created.’ I questioned — are they authorities simply because they have titles, degrees, or tenure? Or are these professionals truly living their own best lives? Hmmm.

Years later, I read something that I never forgot. The self-help industry is a billion-dollar industry because it continues to try to locate the broken and attempt to change or fix it (swim against the current) instead of focus on what’s right and to help grow and improve on it (go with the flow) so cliché and so completely true. I finally learned to keep my own counsel. As Napoleon Hill wrote, “Don’t let the opinions of others do your thinking for you. Opinions are the cheapest commodities on earth; everyone has a flock of opinions ready to be wished upon anyone who will accept them.”

Major life lesson: follow your instincts, your intuition, and your gut; keep your own counsel.