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158 pages

English

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This is not a story of a horrendous crime, nor a totally innocent person convicted. It is the true story, with the names changed, of a mother's journey with her son. Through mental illness, drug addictions, and the judicial system.

Sujets

Philosophie et théologie

Memoir

Informations

Publié par	First Edition Design eBook Publishing
Date de parution	15 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781622876860
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0123€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

That Man Is My Son...
Therese Arista

First Edition Design Publishing
That Man Is My Son....
A mother's journey with her son thru
mental disorders, addictions,
and the judicial system.

First Edition Design Publishing
That Man Is My Son…
Copyright ©2014 Therese Arista

ISBN 978-1622-877-02-7 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-876-28-0 EBOOK

LCCN 2014949968

August 2014

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .

Cover Art by Katie Martin
Dedication:

This book is dedicated to loved ones of the mentally ill, addicted, and incarcerated. For their turmoil, their fears, their love, and their hope. May we all never lose hope.
PREFACE

This is not a story of a horrendous crime, nor a totally innocent person convicted. It is the true story, with the names changed, of a mother's journey with her son. Through mental illness, drug addictions, and the judicial system. Our case is neither the exception, nor the rule. There are many, of the one in one hundred inmates in this country, with stories to tell. And yet more in the free world, of those whose demons, did not send them to prison. At least, not yet. I need no one to agree or disagree with my opinions written here. This book is my therapy. A way to deal with the waiting, the unknown; the many emotions of a mother with a broken child. Who evolved into a broken adult for a very long time.
My hope is to comfort someone, in that they are not alone. To encourage someone to get help, for themselves or their loved one. To open blind eyes to things not seen, and maybe to get someone, somewhere, in our governments to initiate changes. I apologize if my grammar, spelling, or formation of words is not perfect. I am not a professional journalist, though I have always loved to write. I am, just a mom. With a son whose wings were broken for a very long time.
That Man Is My Son....
A mother's journey with her son thru
mental disorders, addictions,
and the judicial system.

by
Therese Arista
"Jude may be going to prison", I said to an old neighbor, who I hadn't seen in almost twenty years. "Well, we knew that" was his reply.
No. No, we didn't. At least I didn't.
I heard once, years ago, of an old wives' tale of an unborn child being "marked" by trauma the mother endured. Though, I never really felt I had any substantial trauma in my life, I did have a rather upsetting incident happen when I was about six months pregnant with Jude. After my marriage, we moved into a garage apartment next door to my mom and dad. My sister and her family lived on the other side in their rancher. So, I was used to having my mom around. Not that we were super close, but I did spend many a night drinking coffee and talking with her and my sister. In 1978, when I was twenty four, my mom had gone into a hospital to have some tests. She was having some problems, but nothing that seemed all to serious. She was looking forward to a cruise she and my dad had booked for a couple months later.
Supposedly, while on her way to get a liver biopsy, she had a stroke and went into a coma. I would be at that hospital nearly every day, sitting and watching her lay motionless for weeks. One day my brother told me to talk to her. Some said she may be able to hear, even though she seemed to not respond. He told me to encourage her to fight. To remind her of my two year old son, who she called "Tinky"; and of her newest grandchild waiting to meet her. So, I did. I went on and on. About how Tinky would sneak out the door to her house a few feet away looking for Mom Mom. How this new baby needed her, and wanted to meet her. All of a sudden, it sounded like she cleared her throat; and then, she sat straight up in that bed. Her crystal blue eyes that were just like mine, wide open, staring straight ahead. I got so excited, thinking it worked. I screamed for everyone. Family, doctors, nurses. A nurse rushed in, and next thing I knew, she was laying down once again, eyes closed and motionless. The nurse said it was just some kind of involuntary reflex that can happen. It would be another few weeks of nothing, until the day I sat by her alone, as she took her last breath and passed on to the heaven I pray is real. The after effects of my mother's passing would include me seeing my dad smack two year old JR for the first and only time, ever. And waking up one day to see a for sale sign on the house I grew up in. My sister would have emotional fuel to fire an alcohol addiction that no one could have imagined was there; and would take away so much from so many of us in that family.
Two months, fifteen days after my mother died, I gave birth to the tow headed, blue eyed boy who was and always has been, the most affectionate of my three children. Who, as an infant, was ill much of his first year of life with upper respiratory infections, and allergies to most formulas. A toddler who stood at the open window the day his older brother left for kindergarten and cried, "I'm gonna miss you, JR". A boy, and now as a man, who adored his family, stood up for anyone who was bullied, connected with and cared for the elderly, children, and animals. A man who could be funny, smart, charming, affectionate, and so much more. A successful comedian, or a famous chef. Before a term I never knew, entered our lives, and reared its ugly head--dual diagnosis. Which translates into mental illness accompanied by drug addictions.
In fact, another neighbor, who lived next door to that one, once said to me--and I quote-because it springs alive in my journal--"Your sons are ten times more polite than all the other kids around here."
We would take all three children out to restaurants and were always complimented on how well behaved they were. In grocery stores, cashiers would be amazed. When any of them asked for the temptation items at check-out, and I said no, they were fine with that.
Sure, they all had their moments at times. They each had a temper tantrum or two in their young lives. Jude had a few more than his sister and brother, but it was not a constant thing. And, his affection and consideration from an early age, kind of canceled them out. We really did not see him as a bad little kid. For the most part; all three of our children were well adjusted, well behaved, and very respectful.
Even when their father and I sat them down to tell them we were divorcing, they seemed to handle it well. And the two of us were very amicable about it. We said we would stay close, be there for each other and our children. Jude's dad even co-signed a loan for me to start out with. Of course, at the time I had no idea what divorce can do to children. What, we as parents, can let it do to children.
Jude was 10 at the time, his brother 12, and his sister 7. We settled into an apartment about two miles from our old house. I felt it was perfect, since they would be so close to their dad. Even though it was so close, they still had to change schools. They seemed to handle that well, too.
Although I did date rather quickly, I didn't bring men around them the first few months. And, I made a point to make any overnights on weekends when they were with their Dad, until I knew a relationship would be serious and hopefully long term.
About a month into the separation, Jude came to me and said he really wanted to live with his dad. He said it was just because he wanted to be with him, not because he didn't love me, or was mad at me. Though I was disappointed, I agreed. While he was packing and getting his things ready, he said "Me and dad are gonna have our own bachelor pad." I think Jude was a charming, ladies’ man even back then! And I know, he wanted that father son bond with his dad, more than anything else in this world.
Within eight weeks of the separation, though; Jude and his brother and sister were not sharing their every other weekend with only with their Dad. They were sharing it with the woman who would later become and stay, their stepmother. She would also become the mother to their three half siblings.
Several weeks after Jude moved in with his Dad, I got a phone call at 1:30 in the morning. It was 10 year old Jude, whispering into the phone. He told me his dad and Sue were in the bedroom making alot of noises and he couldn't sleep. I was stunned. I just never expected a call like that. And had no idea what to say to Jude.
I told him to go back to his room, close the door and try to go to sleep. About a half hour later, he called again. I was forced to tell him to hang up, so I could call back myself to let his father know what was going on. What transpired after that, I have to admit was not pretty on my part. There would be a few incidences of me not handling another woman in the house that was our family's, at the same time as my children; very well. Especially on the weekends that were supposed to be their time with their Dad. But, being a mom makes us want to protect our children from anything and anyone that makes them feel bad or confused. Problem was, I didn't realize in trying to do so, I was contributing to the mess that broken marriages don't have to bring.
Maybe Jude going back to that house in general, wasn't a good idea. It was associated with our family unit. Dinners, extended family, friends, holidays; our life all together. Our family picture was still on the wall for quite a while when Jude had moved back there.