Unexpected

by Maralee Parker

Unexpected: A Memoir of Endurance and Triumph in Raising a Challenging Child

Has your life gone as planned? I can hear many of you saying a big NO to that! Life can be very challenging, and full of the unexpected.

God has called me to share the story of our family’s unexpected struggles and ultimate triumph after our daughter, adopted shortly after birth, was eventually diagnosed with ADHD, ODD, Asperger’s, and bipolar disorder. Raising her was definitely not what we had expected, and had us asking God, “why?” The challenges began when she was a toddler, but she’s now 33 years old, and so much has changed, thanks to the goodness and faithfulness of God. I documented our entire experience, and titled it: “Unexpected, a Memoir of Endurance and Triumph in Raising a Challenging Child.”

I’ve attached the introduction and Chapter one, to whet your appetite. To God be the glory!

If you’re interested in reading it, or know someone who might benefit from it, click on the link to find both the paperback and the kindle version on Amazon.

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Introduction

Life didn’t turn out the way I had expected. Does it ever? I had an agenda for a happy marriage (got that), two children (got that), a great career (got that), and a happy, peaceful life (that one was more challenging). Yet, looking back, my husband and I can trace the hand of God directing our lives through all the joys and challenges.

God has His purposes.

We’ve learned to trust Him, but it’s an ongoing, daily goal to trust Him, not a once-and-done pledge. “Why write a book?” you might ask. I want to encourage parents (or others) who have mentally ill loved ones to realize they are not alone.

Living closely with someone with mental illness can be an isolating experience. There is no end in sight. Even when life gets hard—really hard—exhausted parents need to realize that many others are walking or have walked similar rough paths. It’s brutal at times. Occasionally, there is a period of smooth sailing when families can catch their breath. Not in every case, but sometimes there is recovery. I love to attest that, in our case, this is true.

“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalms 30:5b).

We are grateful our “morning” has arrived. We pray it stays. We love morning. We want to encourage, support, and comfort all who are still in the trenches. We want them to know they are never alone. Many are walking a similar path—sometimes in secret because they are ashamed.

Mental illness needs to be brought out into the open to erase the stigma associated with it.

We must talk about it, seek help, and learn that many other families are experiencing similar struggles. With education, there will come understanding. It’s my prayer that this book will remind you that you’re not alone. If you feel you are—and have no one to support you—reach out to your Heavenly Father, the source of all comfort. He sees all, knows all, and loves you more than you will ever comprehend.

God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. (2 Corinthians 1 :3-4)

CHAPTER ONE: Death Wish

“I hope you die.”

Beth, my 12-year-old daughter, was obviously not very sympathetic as I headed off to the hospital for major surgery. The doctor was removing my left kidney and the cancer growing in and around it. I was 45 years old and not ready to leave this world.

My husband, Greg, and I had Beth, our challenging preteen, and her brother, Chad, who was 20. Chad was on his way out the door to an exciting, independent future. He was doing great. It was Beth I worried about as I faced this surgery. Not only did she have a typical, snarky teen attitude, but her brain was sick. We hadn’t figured out exactly what was going on, but we knew Beth definitely had mental and emotional challenges. She was not normal. She was not emotionally able to handle the idea of losing her mom. We tried to keep the cancer details and worrisome possibilities under wraps around her; she had enough anxiety already. My big worry was, who would advocate for Beth if I didn’t survive? She needed me, whether she would admit it or not.

She struggled with expressing appropriate emotion, but she excelled at showing anger and rage. Thus, her heartbreaking wish for me as I left the house for the hospital didn’t destroy me. It made me sad, but I wasn’t shocked. By this time, I knew her limitations and what to expect from her. I had learned to ignore much of what she said, letting it go in one ear and out the other. So much of it was impulsive ranting. Early on in this journey of raising Beth, I had accurately coined it “diarrhea of the mouth.” Ugly stuff just came pouring out—often.

Of course, a “good parent” wouldn’t let her child talk back. In the beginning, I tried to be that good parent. That was before I learned what I was facing with Beth. As the months and years went on, I realized I had bigger fish to fry. Beth’s verbal abuse, nasty as it sometimes became, was not the war I chose to fight. There were other wars ahead that involved life and death.

Having kidney cancer in 2001 was a scary time in my life, as you might imagine. It all happened quickly, from seeing the first symptom to enduring multiple tests and having major surgery weeks later. I had vacillating emotions, from, this can’t be happening to me! to God, please don’t let me die! to You are God, and I am not. I would remind myself of Isaiah 55:9: “For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.” Help me trust You, I prayed.

I had never felt greater love than during those weeks of uncertainty. Friends, coworkers, relatives, and church family all rallied around me. There were cards, texts, emails, visits filled with love and good wishes, and most importantly, promises of prayer. I heard from hundreds of people. Weirdly, it seemed like I was attending my own funeral—except I hadn’t died—because of the outpouring of support. I felt the love.

I also had another happy incentive for getting past the surgery. Our son, Chad, was getting married in just eight weeks! As the groom’s mother, I had to be there to be escorted down the aisle, enjoy the mother-son dance, and celebrate such a proud, happy, once-in-a-lifetime moment with him. I couldn’t imagine not being there. I wouldn’t imagine not being there.

The day of surgery came. The surgeon, who rated high on skill and low on bedside manner, did his job. I’ve always said I’ll take skill over personality any day when choosing a surgeon. It wasn’t an easy surgery to endure, nor was the recuperation fun. My left side was filled with hundreds of stitches, inside and out, and I was the proud owner of an 18-inch scar. But God heard the prayers of many, and the doctor was able to remove the kidney and adrenal gland and all of the cancer. It was a stage three cancer, but the arrogant but skilled doctor got it all. I was done. No chemo or radiation needed. I thanked God for answering our prayers.

When I returned home from the hospital, I found a piece of school notebook paper in Beth’s backpack. Written in pencil, in large printed letters, was this message: “Welcome Home Mom.” That made me very happy. It was the closest I would get to receiving affection from our daughter, even if I just happened to find it in her backpack. I don’t think she would have given it to me.
Chad married his bride six weeks later, and this proud mama was there. It was a celebration of life, health, and great love.

And Beth didn’t get her wish. I didn’t die.