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December 08, 2004
The Ties that Bind
I called Michael’s mother today. She doesn’t seem to be there when he tries to call her from Club Fed.
I’m really bummed by the telephone call. First thing I hear is that his nineteen-year-old niece is five months pregnant. Apparently she fell in love with this guy and against everyone’s advice moved up to Savannah with him, then left one night and returned to Fort Lauderdale. Then found out she was pregnant only when she got home. I won’t be surprised if this kid gets her mother’s last name like Michael’s niece did, furthering the tradition of single mothers in his family.
I could send Michael a letter, and he might it on Friday—or I can wait until his telephone call on Sunday to tell him, either way, there’s no way for me to share with him this blessed news.
The main reason I called Michael’s Mom, however, was to let him know he’d be eligible for a furlough next April, and to see if she wanted to come down for a visit at that time. “We’ll see how my health is,” was her response. “Let me know when we get closer to the date.”
No excitement. No concern. She was even doubtful that Michael will actually change. I really began to feel protective of Michael at that point—this is his own mother—and she doesn’t really know this man. “He’s changed, I said. He’s tired of living that lie.” She’s prefers to wait and see. At least she said she sent him a Christmas card.
More reason to be grateful to my own family, who seems to be genuinely sincere when they say they’re looking forward to Michael’s release. Maybe for a few of them it’s for my benefit—I have been somewhat of a basket case at times while Michael’s been gone; but my family truly likes Michael and wishes him well.
Michael’s own sister lives in Fort Lauderdale and I never talk to her. She never talks to me. Her daughter is knocked up and doesn’t care if Michael, who helped raise these kids in their early years, knows it or not.
Michael’s brother, the few times I’ve spoken with him, holds onto an “I told you so,” attitude about Michael’s arrest, though I doubt he ever actually said anything. He doesn’t send his brother mail.
There’s a wonderful cousin in California who corresponds to Michael, although she writes as much about Jesus as she does about her own family. Someone’s got to save him, and she’s taken it on herself.
I love and care about Michael, and it was no difficult decision for me to stick around and see this through. Maybe it’s the way I was raised. But his family is more than content to allow me that responsibility. It makes me sick to think that if I weren’t here for him, he’d have nobody to take it on.
F.P. says when you have a resentment toward people to pray for them. Well I’ll do that.
God bless ‘em.
P.S. Michael loves getting cards. If anyone wants to send him one, email me and I'll send you the address.
Posted by Bastique at December 8, 2004 04:22 PM