Living Happily Ever After
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Drive.

Date: May 4, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

In the spring of 2009, after I entered the beginning phase of my unexpected life but before my divorce was final and I moved to Utah, my oldest came to me and invited me to go for a drive with him.

It was dark, late at night, but you never turn down an opportunity to spend time with your children. Especially at their invitation. Especially living through what we were living through. We were all we had.

We got in the car, he drove, and he headed away from the city lights toward the rural areas near our neighborhood. Pretty soon he spoke. “Mom,” he asked. “Do you WANT to move to Utah?”

Clearly, the move was on his mind and I couldn’t blame him. He was one of the few kids today who had lived in the same house, with the same schools and friends, never moving, everything the same, since he was eight months old. And now we were moving to begin a completely new life his junior year of high school in another state. Not quite the ideal time for such change. But then again, is there ever an ideal time to lose your entire life and everything you have ever known? At barely 16 years old?

How did I answer that?

With the truth.

I told him I’d been a Colorado resident since 1974 and had lived in the Denver area, with the same phone number, for 20 years. The only time I had left Colorado since then was to attend college, and even then, I loaded the moving van THE DAY I graduated from college and returned to Colorado. I reminded him I had built my entire adult life in Denver and living in Colorado was all I had ever really known. Most of my friends were in Colorado. Would I choose to leave all of that? Would I willingly do it if I didn’t HAVE to?

No.

But the job I desperately needed and had been hired to do (and was grateful for) was in Utah. Try as I had to stay in Colorado, everything had worked out for a new life in Utah. I had come to realize and accept that. I truly FELT that Utah was where we were supposed to go, for some reason.

My son looked at me with a shocked expression. (I guess I hadn’t complained enough about all of the changes and the move because he hadn’t realized the move might be hard for me too.) But it seemed to help him to know that the move was difficult for me too.

Kindred spirits in our grief.

So we made the move. It would be less than truthful if I didn’t admit IT WAS HARD. There were moments I wondered if my oldest would be scarred for life from the experience. It terrified me when I’d make the last round through the house late at night, before I went to bed, and I wouldn’t find him in bed. (That happened several times.) In a panic, I’d search the entire house and not find him. And then I’d eventually discover him outside, in the dark of the warm summer night, on the front lawn sobbing his grief.

It killed me. I couldn’t help but join him. All I could say through my tears was, “I’m sorry. I am SO SORRY that this is the life I have given you. I wanted more for you. You deserve more. But I promise you, I am here for you and will do anything I can to help you. Someday it will be all right.”

But inside I wondered how it, and he (and if I’m being totally honest, me, too) would ever be all right.

We endured the slow start to adjusting and making friends in a new state. We endured all that switching high schools entailed. It was hard for him to let go of his old life. Not the money–the life, the friends, the place he lived, the activities he participated in, everything BUT the money, actually. He felt as if he had lost everything.

In a way, I guess it was good for me. At the time I was so sick with worry about my children and helping them get through their experiences, I couldn’t really even take a moment to think about myself. I had to focus my effort and energy into helping my children make the transition, and as I did, somehow I made it right along with them.

Fast forward several months. And that same son came to me and told me he liked Utah. And then one day he told me he liked his new high school better than his old one. And then he told me he was happy and felt completely normal! I knew, then, that we had arrived. And everything really would be ok. All right.

Fast forward a few more months. And last night, my son got home from work at 11 p.m. and came to check in with me. The house was quiet, everyone else was asleep, and he invited me to go for a drive. All I could think about was the last drive I remembered taking with him. In Colorado.

I must have looked surprised, maybe even hesitant, because he entreated, “Come on, mom. I haven’t seen you all day. Lets talk.” You never turn down an opportunity to spend time with your children. Especially at their invitation.

We got in the car. He drove.

He talked to me about life and his contentment, happiness and joy with all of it was evident. He asked me about my life, and I told him how good my life is, but did share one small worry with him. He stopped the car, smiled at me, put his hand on my knee, patted it, and told me it would be all right.

And it will be.

Both he, and I, know it.

We just keep driving. And eventually, everything IS all right.

Our destination? Peace, happiness and joy…in our unexpected life. All right.

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Some Bright Spots

Date: May 3, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

The events of 2009 showed me, again, that life goes on in spite of the trauma, and that even in the darkest times, there are still bright spots. Sunshine. Here are a few “rays” that stand out in my mind.

For one, despite how I felt on the inside as I navigated the morass that was now my life and world, the sun continued to shine, blossoms and flowers bloomed, and birds sang. And I was fortunate enough to have eyes to see it, ears to hear it, and olfactory senses still mostly in tact (after breaking my nose I don’t smell things QUITE well as I used to) to smell it all!

Then my middle son had a pinewood derby for cub scouts. For the first time in our family’s history, my spouse put A LOT of work and effort into helping a son make a pinewood derby car. My son went to the derby and did so well he made it to the district race. He was struggling so much with the demise of our family and life, getting to go to a championship race was truly a bright spot for him.

The pinewood derby win also gave me what I thought was a brilliant idea. I had my spouse cut out 5 car shapes from pinewood derby car kits, I put them back in the boxes, taped them shut and put them away for future pinewood derby events for my two youngest sons. I thought that would allow them to feel their father was involved in a future event in their life AND it saved me from struggling through a disaster should I be forced to have to try to help with the creation of a pinewood derby car. (Of course, then we moved to Utah and found out they weren’t doing a pinewood derby–they were doing space ships. You win some, you lose some. But this single mother is prepared for any future pinewood derby!)

My son also had a wonderful school teacher who went out of her way at school, and after school hours, to be there for him, cheer him, and share things with him to totally make his day. Not to mention some really good friends and their families who took him in as their own, allowed him to spend a lot of time in their homes and with their families, and helped him take his mind off the events going on in our family.

Another bright spot was seeing my oldest son score goals at his hockey games. I thought, “You know, his life is tough right now but I am SO thankful he can have a temporary lift when he steps out on the ice and plays. And as an added bonus, he gets to experience the exhilarating feeling of scoring!”

Sometimes I felt my children were being blessed with special achievements or accomplishments they might not otherwise have received…as if they were being given some “compensation experiences” to help them have some happy moments amid the trying time of losing everything they had known.

Other bright spots came in the form of employment for my two oldest children. Money was mostly non-existent for our family and times, economically, were tough everywhere. But my son got hired at Cold Stone and my daughter was asked to nanny and babysit nearly every day of the week. Both children were able to help us provide the things we needed and they were very generous to offer, of their own volition, the money they earned to help support our family. (My children amazed me. And continue to amaze me. Not every teenager thinks like they did.)

In fact, my oldest has pressured me many times in the year since our new life began to allow him to get a job working many hours each week outside of school–so he can earn the money, and pay me, the child support I am not receiving because my former spouse is in prison and unable to work. It is my opportunity and blessing to love and provide for my children–I would never have them pay for the privilege of being my family and having to endure me as their mother! lol. However, it has been a bright spot for me to see the growth and maturity my oldest children have displayed in our unexpected life. Those early glimpses into the amazing adults my children are becoming has certainly been a highlight of the past year for me.

I also attended a meeting of the women’s organization I had been president of and the new leaders presented me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and thanked me for my service. It was very touching to me and a welcome ray of happiness during a difficult time in my life.

And lastly, in addition to everything many, many women and friends did to help and support me at that time, one of my most touching experiences was the Sunday two friends stopped me in the hall at church and presented me with a beautiful quilt they had made, comprised of squares embroidered by individual women and friends for me. Everyone embroidered their name on a piece of it.

A tangible reminder of many names, and friends, who loved me and served me in the most shocking, dark and difficult time of my life. Truly, the people who crossed my path and touched my life over the nearly 20 years I lived in Colorado were some of my brightest experiences.

No matter how dark, there is always a bright spot.

I had many.

Looking back, a bright spot was also coming to this realization, as well: “Like a plant that starts up in showers and sunshine and does not know which has best helped it grow, it is difficult to say whether the hard things or the pleasant things did me the most good.” (Lucy Larcom)

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We Press On In Spite Of The Red Stuff

Date: May 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I met my cousin and her husband for breakfast yesterday.

Like all of us, in the course of their almost 24-year marriage and raising four children, they have experienced a very fair share of their own adversities. But I loved their life philosophy and had to share it: “As long as everyone is conscious, and there is no blood, we’re ok. We can get through anything!”

When faced with a challenge, they take stock of the situation, make sure everyone is conscious and the blood is taken care of, and they press on!

It’s a good perspective to have and a good way to face life and its unexpected growth opportunities.

It works, too. (Except maybe for parents of sons who play ice hockey and lacrosse! lol. Then you play on in spite of the blood!) I remember attending one of my son’s basketball games and his best friend, who also played ice hockey with him, got hit in the face. Blood was gushing everywhere. The refs stopped the game, the boy was taken out and given first aid while the court was cleaned. To everyone’s surprise (except my son, who has the passion for hockey of Joe Sakic and other professionals) the boy returned shortly, gauze hanging out of each nostril like some kind of deformed unicorn-type creature, demanding to go back in and play. The adults were dubious about letting the boy play but my son and others said, “It’s ok! He’s a hockey player!”

They let the boy back in the game and he played his heart out. So I guess sometimes we press on in spite of the red stuff too.

“Victory at all costs, victory in spite of terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.” (Winston Churchill)

And as an added bonus, sometimes we even win the game.

Victory!

“Victory belongs to the most persevering.” (Napoleon Bonaparte)

Life.

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So Famous I Had My Own Paparazzi!

Date: April 28, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Have you ever been so famous, or perhaps infamous is a better word in the case of the Merriman family, that you had your own paparazzi?

I have.

And in case you were wondering, no, it isn’t as fabulous as it sounds.

During the events of 2009, after my spouse revealed the crimes He had committed and prepared to go to prison and as I prepared to leave the only life I’d ever known, we were blessed with our own paparazzi. Our own totally amateur and unprofessional frenzied followers, but our own paparazzi all the same.

My spouse handled it by becoming a mole. He stayed indoors, only went out at night, and kept a low profile. I don’t know that I “handled” it at all. I was simply appalled. So great was my horror of what some had degenerated to doing, I didn’t want to be like them in any way. So I continued to attempt to live my life and hold my head high as I did it. It was effort, let me tell you. To hold your head up when you’d really like, instead, to crawl under a rock!

“When you have the paparazzi hiding in the bushes outside your home, the only thing you can control is how you respond publicly.” (Portia de Rossi)

As we came and went, we’d see neighbors holding cameras, photographing us. And it seemed like every day, the government called us about something the neighbors had complained about. One day, the U.S. attorney called to ask about all of the boxes we’d been hauling out of our house. The problem? We hadn’t hauled any boxes away. But friends had hauled empty boxes to us so we could pack!

Another day, a government official called to say the neighbors had complained about me “hanging out on my porch and having fun.” They reported to the government that it looked like I was having fun and that made them mad! I could tell the government official was disgusted, and I admit, I hung up the phone and shook my head. WHO, in their right minds, would EVER look at me and be dumb enough to think I was enjoying myself? Sure, it’s a total dream come true to be hated and persecuted when you’re innocent. Yes, I LOVED to know I’d been lied to and betrayed for nearly 3/4 of my 20 year marriage. It was WONDERFUL to lose my money, home, cars, things, and life, and to lose it all so publicly. I was having the time of my life!

One day a government representative dropped by to check on things. Friends were in short supply, and he must have known it or saw the hungry desperation for a kind word in our eyes, because he generously stood in the entryway of our home and chatted for a few minutes before he left. As we talked, he got a text, checked it, gave a snort of disgust and shook his head. When I asked if everything was ok, he revealed the text. It said, “We saw you go in to the Merriman’s house and you haven’t come out yet. What is going on? Is everything all right?” I couldn’t believe it. I thought, “What? Are they going to accuse the Merriman family of murder, now, too?” It was crazy!

On July 4, 2009, instead of the usual holiday celebration, our family was forced to stay indoors to avoid the cameras, questions and complaints of neighbors. The holiday was a total bust. And of course, all my little boys wanted to do was light sparklers. Their dad absolutely forbid it due to the actions of our neighbors. Finally, at 10 p.m., it was completely dark outside and I couldn’t take it anymore. I took my children outside to light a few sparklers. After they each did about four, their dad made them stop and go back in to the house. My heart broke for innocent children who were even denied the childish pleasure of sparklers in the driveway of our home!

A few nights later, I was out front with my three year old. We were watched so closely I assumed all of the neighbors knew, but I guess they didn’t, because shortly I heard a “click-click-click” sound, looked over, and one of my non-victim neighbors was learning over the fence between our houses and photographing my car, my open garage door and all of the contents inside. I snapped. I said, “EXCUSE ME, can I help you?” He jumped about two feet in the air. Startled. And after accusing ME of stealing money from my neighbors, turned and hustled into his house as fast as he could go.

I continued to be watched like a hawk, even the day I moved from Colorado to Utah. After I arrived in Utah I found it had been circulated around the neighborhood the exact time I drove away. A friend called to let me know she heard I had driven away at 12:23 p.m. (That was right on, by the way.)

Paparazzi.

“The only thing I think I can be accused of about paparazzi is being really naive. I didn’t think about it coming along with the job and I never…fantasized about one bit of it.” (Paul Bettany)

I SO get what he’s saying.

The insanity of notoriety, for whatever reason or due to whatever cause.

Paparazzi.

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It Was Going To Take A Miracle

Date: April 28, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I believe in miracles. I believe they didn’t just take place in the Middle East centuries ago, but that we still are blessed with them today, in our time. I believe we just need to keep our eyes open and look for the tender mercies that come our way each and every day, and we’ll see them. I know I do.

Ironically, at no time in my life did I see them more than during the events of 2009. Although I lost pretty much everything I had ever known (except my children), I also have probably never felt, in some ways, more blessed than I did in 2009. Yes, my life had not just been turned upside down, it had been ripped from me. But there were positive forces at work, too.

Soon after March 18, 2009, THE DAY–the day my spouse revealed he had been running a ponzi scheme, that everything we had was lost or seized by the government, that he would be going to prison, and that I would be left alone to raise and provide for our four children, etc… I had a thought.

It was this. “If I can just find a job and a place to live, I can handle everything else.”

It sort of became my mantra.

Like “The Little Engine Who Could,” who dared to attempt what others hadn’t and who kept herself going by encouraging, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” I kept telling myself, “If I can just find a job and a place to live, I can handle everything else.” I repeated that over and over to myself. Maybe if I said it enough, it would turn out to be true! But I knew it would take a miracle.

Yes, I had a college degree. But I hadn’t worked full-time in approximately 18 years! Yes, I had taught piano to 32 students a week at my home studio, but I hadn’t done that for 16 years AND I needed medical insurance for my children. At that time, the economy was a disaster, people were losing their jobs, times were tight for everyone, and very qualified people with current experience were out of work. I couldn’t imagine who would hire ME in a time like 2009. Yes, it was going to take a miracle.

And, like pretty much every other good thing that has come to me and helped me get through my unexpected life, I got one.

I had a good friend who kept his eye open for jobs for me and helped me get my resume together. I had a cousin and a brother who also reviewed my resume. By the way, putting my resume together and trying to make sense of a life I’d lived for nearly 20 years and how it would translate to help me on my resume was an overwhelming challenge in the state of shock I was in. Thank goodness I had good men to help me!

And then less than one week after everything feel apart, I got a call from a friend. He said, “Andrea, I have been so worried about you. I have prayed and prayed for days about what I can do to help you. And it came to me to call someone we both know. I told him a little bit about you, I hope that’s ok, and he told me to have you call him. He has a job for you.”

I still remember where I was standing when I got that phone call. I was at a park with my three-year-old, in that cold, Rocky Mountain spring afternoon where it’s sunny and “warm,” yet an icy breeze blows. I was shivering as tears of gratitude streamed down my face. A job? Like that? It seemed too good to be true. Things like that just don’t happen in real life, unexpected or not.

I thought about calling, I was sort of afraid to call, I put it off a day or two wondering if I dared call…and then the man called me. “Didn’t so-and-so tell you to call me?” he asked. “Didn’t he tell you I have a job for you?” He even went above and beyond (because he is just that kind of a good man) to reassure a broken, shattered potential employee that he wasn’t doing her a favor. He told me he knew me, he knew what I could do, that someone with my background and training was exactly what he needed at his company, and that actually, I would be doing him a favor by coming to work for him.

Approximately one year ago today, I received my formal offer letter of employment.

I had a job. It was a miracle.

Now, if I could just find a place to live…I could handle everything else. Anything. But it was going to take a miracle too.

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If Only…I’d Stayed Out Of The Batting Cage!

Date: April 27, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Yesterday’s post was titled, “Good News.” A friend of mine, and a reader of this blog, made some hilarious comments about baseball bats and having batting practice in my old neighborhood. (She is a character–as anyone who knows her knows! Thanks for the support and the laugh!)

Anyway, it reminded me of my most memorable experience with a baseball bat.

The day I broke my nose.

You see, He had just purchased a batting cage and pitching machine and my spouse installed it in our back yard. (I know, I know. Based on what I now know, it was most likely “purchased” with stolen money. And yes, I know, owning the same pitching machine used by the Colorado Rockies professional baseball team is a bit over the top for the average suburban family–which I thought we were–yet now I see NEVER were! What can I say? My former spouse never did things quite the same as everyone else. He was creative, enthusiastic and “over the top.” Thus, the pitching machine and batting cage in the back yard.)

Anyway, as soon as it was installed, He took me into it to show me how it worked. He told me where to stand, turned the machine on, and stood in there with me as pitches came and I hit baseballs. The speed was set at 30 mph. I turned out to be quite a slugger.

Within the week, a friend came over. He said he heard we had a pitching machine and he asked me to show him how it worked. I went out there with him, got in the cage with him, showed him where to stand, turned the machine on, and stood there as he hit balls. (I didn’t know a lot about baseball, or pitching machines, if you can’t tell. I was just doing what had been done when I was given a demonstration of the machine.)

My back was to him for awhile as I looked through the netting at the beautiful summer evening, flowers blooming, puffy clouds, hummingbirds flying. I must have turned around to watch him again right as he tipped a ball…straight into my nose.

The crack sounded like he had hit the ball out of the park!

Nope. Just into my nose. (I found out later my former spouse had gone in the batting cage and cranked up the pitching speed to 90 mph. He forgot to tell me.)

It actually didn’t hurt much at all (must have been the shock.) But I felt something begin to run, and worried about looking disgusting with blood running down my face not to mention not wanting to get blood on anyone, I put my hands to my nose to catch it.

My friend could have died. Can you imagine the poor guy? Totally not his fault, but there I stand, my hands filling with blood, and I was probably in a little bit of shock!

“Let it go, Andrea,” he said. I was doubled over trying to hide the mess I was sure was coming, but I managed a, “No! It’s going to be a mess.”

He said again, “Let it go, Andrea,” grabbed my hands, and I let it all go. (Another friend who was watching almost got sick. I could see it in his eyes, too. Poor guy!)

My friend walked me up to my house, and by the time we got there, both of us were a bloody mess. I went to the ER, I was told my options (fix it or not fix it) and sent home with an ice pack.

I’m totally a wimp when it comes to medical procedures, so I kept looking at my nose and trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad, wasn’t that crooked, that only I could see the deviation because I’m such a perfectionist about some things. Like many infamous politicians, I “flip-flopped” back and forth. One moment I was going to have my nose straightened, the next moment I was not going to have my nose straightened. (Lets just say, if you saw the medical instruments they use to straighten a nose, you’d probably be tempted to leave yours crooked too.)

My college friend called when she found out, and she gave me great counsel about my life decision at that time. She said, “Andrea, we’re getting older. Changes are coming. There is not a lot we’ll be able to control or do about a lot of those things. Wrinkles are going to come and there is nothing you can do about them. But you CAN do something about your nose. You can choose to be old and wrinkled with a perfect nose, or you can choose to old and wrinkled with a crooked nose. Fix what you can fix so you don’t have any regrets when you’re old.”

She was so right.

I got my nose straightened. It actually took two tries because during the first attempt in the doctor’s office, I passed out (the doctor had a medical term for it and it scared him enough he didn’t dare attempt my procedure in his office, we had to reschedule in the operating room at a hospital!) And I counted my blessing that the ball had hit my nose and not my teeth! (I’d had braces twice already. What a tragedy, lol, if I lost my teeth after all of that hard work!)

Many things are handed to us in life that we have no control over and can’t really do anything about. Those things we let go–we gracefully endure and continue living in spite of their addition to our life. (And we try to find something good about our life, something we can be grateful for, even if it’s just the fact that we still have our teeth!:)

But SOME things we CAN “fix.” (Or at least give it our best shot at attempting to fix or make right.) And THEN we let go–we gracefully endure and continue living with or without them, depending on our success at fixing them. (And we try to find something good about our life, something we can be grateful for, even if it’s just the fact that we once had teeth!:)

And then we don’t look back. We press forward and carry on and look for the new day.

I heard a very wise man, Thomas S. Monson, once say something like, “The two most worthless words in the English language [or perhaps in any language] are ‘if only.’” He encouraged people to not look back or wistfully sigh about “if only,” but to look forward with hope, and make each day the best we can with what we are given.

Good advice for the outcomes in batting cages…and life!

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Good News

Date: April 26, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

When my life fell apart last year due to the criminal behavior of the man I’d been married to for nearly 20 years, a dramatic change in lifestyle was not the only side effect. As the months went on, I saw other changes. Here’s one.

My three year old, who’d been potty-trained well over a year prior to my spouse’s revelations, suddenly wasn’t anymore. (Let me apologize in advance for what is coming next: bathroom talk.) He didn’t have potty “accidents” in his boxers, he never did that, but he quit using the bathroom altogether. He chose, instead, to go on the floor of his bedroom!

I figured that as awful as it was, it was probably just a manifestation of the stress that was so prevalent in the air of our neighborhood and home that if you breathed in too deeply you almost choked! Literally. I assumed it would resolve itself when we moved. But I was wrong.

We moved to Utah and my little son continued the behavior in his new bedroom. I felt like I was becoming BFFs with carpet cleaners I saw them so often. But no matter what I tried, I could not get my now four-year-old to use the bathroom like the rest of us. It was a total mystery to me.

It had been quite a year. My son not only had been going to the bathroom on his bedroom floor, at least weekly he said “bad people” were in our house. He was afraid to be alone in any room of the house. He was afraid of the dark. He was suddenly afraid of so many things. And it wasn’t just our house, it was any home he was in. The babysitter had commented on how strange it was that he was so afraid in her home, too. I tried to help my son understand, each and every time he expressed fear of “bad people” in a house, that our home didn’t have bad people in it and we were safe. I emphasized that we prayed every day and that God would protect us. But nothing helped resolve his fear. That fear, too, was a mystery to me, along with his bathroom behavior.

Easter Sunday 2010, ONE YEAR LATER, the mystery was solved.

A friend and I were sitting in my son’s room, watching my son play a video game, and my son innocently offered the comment that “bad people” were in our house. My friend, hearing this for the first time, explained to my son that he was safe in our home and that “bad people” aren’t in our home. My son disagreed and insisted that in Colorado, bad people had been in our house.

THEN it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. THAT was why my son was afraid to leave his room to go to the bathroom! THAT was why my son was afraid of “bad people!” They had been in our home in Colorado, and my preschooler had known it, could not forget about it and had been traumatized for one year–25% of his entire young life–because of it. I had never put it together until that moment. It made my stomach turn.

As a mother, this issue and incident bothers me more than almost anything I’ve been handed in my unexpected life. I’m so bothered, in fact, that I choose to blame someone and I’m not blaming who you think I might. I am not blaming Him. (Ludicrous to the rest of His victims, I’m sure.) You know who I blame? The “bad people” who entered our home uninvited. I’m talking about the people who entered our Colorado home, while we were still in possession of it and living there, late one Sunday night when they thought no one was home.

They were wrong.

It was down to the wire, I was moving in a few days. In fact, I had a moving truck packed and ready to drive to Utah. Late one Sunday night, my spouse and I drove the packed truck to a friend’s house so the friend, who was traveling to Utah, could drive it for me.

My oldest son took his brothers to a friend’s house while we dropped the truck off, and my daughter stayed home alone to read. Our garage door was up, the house lights were mostly off, the house was quiet. Not totally responsible behavior on our part, probably, but you have to understand the rural and isolated neighborhood we lived in. Quiet, calm, fairly undiscovered and totally safe. We had never even owned a house key. We didn’t lock our doors–except at night when we were sleeping. We’d NEVER had a problem or a break in. No one had (that I’d ever heard about.)

So my daughter lay on the couch in our living room that night and read a book while she was home alone. At that time, our living room was the staging place for the move. As I got a box packed, I’d haul it to that room, and stack it until it was time to load it into a truck. Boxes were floor to almost ceiling in front of the couch and piano.

She was all alone.

Suddenly, she heard a door open and voices talking. She heard footsteps walking around on our wood floors. She heard boxes being moved, the sound of boxes being opened in another room. She heard conversation in hushed tones. The only thing she didn’t hear was a family member. She said she thought THEY would come after her if they knew they’d been discovered basically breaking and entering our home (lovely experiences my children were having, eh?), so she dove under the piano to hide. In her panic, she didn’t call 9-1-1 for help; she texted her older brother.

“Help me. Someone in house. So afraid.”

Her brother got the text. He thought she was goofing around. He texted back, “Funny. lol. Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

From under the piano, behind the packed boxes, she texted again, “I am not kidding. I’m scared. What if they find me? Help!”

Her brother says he made the 15-minute drive home in just over 5 minutes. Thankfully, his friend’s dad came too, to offer my teenage son support should it be needed. In the meantime, my daughter heard the footsteps walk around the main level of the house, a door open and close, and everything was quiet. Until her brother arrived on the scene a few minutes later and rescued her from her hiding place underneath the piano.

I arrived home shortly after the drama to have my three-year-old run up to me shouting, “Bad people are in our house!” They told me the story. I don’t even know how to communicate my thoughts about that moment. It sickened me. And although I’d tried for several months to rise above the pettiness time after time after time, I was finally disgusted and completely appalled…and angry. (I thought I was over it, until now, as I write about it. My chest is aching with disgust. That darn heart attack sensation is back! lol)

I never put the events of that night together with the potty issues we were dealing with until Easter Sunday this year. It explained everything!

The good news? I haven’t heard a single comment about “bad people in our house” ever since.

More good news? Not a single potty problem since the reassurance from our trusted friend.

Other good news? We are all healing. I know we each have our moments, every step forward is followed by the occasional step backward, but I’d say my children and I are each close to 100% healed from the trauma of our unexpected life.

And some of the best news? The heart attack sensation is gone again. Finally. And this time, I’m sure it will never come back.

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The Caterpillar Phase

Date: April 24, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I met one of my “oldest” friends for breakfast this morning. I have known her since I was 15 years old, and although we only lived in the same town for a little over a year, our friendship has endured all these years. She was my college roommate for almost three years and has been with me through thick and thin. No matter how long it has been since the last time we’ve seen each other, we are always able to pick up right where we left off. Today was no different.

We chatted about me. We chatted about her. We discussed our children. We talked about our jobs. We talked about life and the unexpected things that happen. We laughed as we reminisced about some of the good times we have shared. The time passed all too quickly (three hours just didn’t seem that long!) and then we had to part ways to attend the activities of our children. As I was partway home, she called my cell phone and asked if I was heading home. When I told her I was, she said she had something for me that reminded her of me, and was going to meet me at my house and give it to me.

She arrived a few minutes later and handed me a cute wooden plaque that said, “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.” She told me as we sat and talked, and then when she saw that phrase, it reminded her of me. I was so touched by her thoughtfulness. We’d spent the morning together, and she thoughtfully added an extra 1-2 hours to her trip to share that gift with me.

I LOVE that statement on the gift she gave me! (And not just because it is true.)

Maya Angelou said, “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”

If you think about it, we are all caterpillars journeying through life. Each experience adds to what we are and what we are becoming until…we become butterflies. Beautiful butterflies!

My mom focused on inner beauty with her children. She’d always say it’s great if you have a beautiful appearance (and to some degree, we don’t get to choose that. If we have it, it’s because we inherited it from someone else!) but true beauty, the important beauty, the beauty that means something is inner beauty. She always encouraged us to be as “pretty on the inside” as she thought we were on the outside.

Inner beauty is not without price. Life happens, we endure challenges and the changes it brings, and if we handle it right, the changes can positively impact our inner beauty. My mom always told me we can use the challenges that come our way to help us become better than we would otherwise have been; we can let the bad things that happen to us refine us, and help us develop real and lasting beauty–inner beauty–or we can allow them to canker our souls and destroy us.

I truly believe THAT is the most important thing we can do when the going is rough: use the terrible experience to help us become better people. It isn’t easy, but it IS possible.

When the unexpected events of 2009 began, a friend called and reminded me that no matter how bad everything looked at the moment, and no matter how terrible I envisioned my future would be, she wanted me to know it was not going to turn out to be QUITE as bad as I feared. And she was right. On March 18, 2009, I absolutely thought my children and I were headed to live in a cardboard box somewhere. Today we live in a home. I thought the huge, gaping hole in our hearts would never heal. But they are. But we’ve had to look for the good; look for the beauty. And have tried to create new beauty out of a very different set of circumstances.

Life, even an unexpected life, can be beautiful. We just have to endure the caterpillar phase, and the chrysalis stage, and look for the beauty that unfolds as we endure and then triumph over our challenges.

And we must never forget this truth: “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”

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Volumes of “Lies”

Date: April 22, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I got a fun comment and suggestion from a former Colorado neighbor (that identity alone should explain what is coming) and client of my former spouse the other day. He, along with many others, has discovered this blog and is apparently QUITE a fan! He not only takes the time to read it, he even spends time commenting.

He kindly pointed out I’ve mistakenly titled my blog. He suggested the title of this blog should be “lies, lies and more lies.” In his honor, and to give credit where credit is due, I feel compelled to blog about that.

The first thing I did when I saw it was LAUGH. I got a kick out of his suggestion not just because it is totally ridiculous (and inaccurate) but because, in a way, I could relate.

You see, I have been a pretty good journal writer most of my life. I got my first journal about age 12 and have been quite consistent over the years in recording the events of my life. In 2009, after my former spouse revealed that He had been running a ponzi scheme most of our marriage, that He was heading to prison, that everything I thought we had was gone, and that I would be left alone to raise and provide for our four children, I had to prepare to move from our home and begin a new life. Having lived in the same home for 16 years, there was a lot of work to be done. Lots of packing. And one day I got to packing the room my old journals were stored in.

As I looked at the approximately 30 volumes I’d written over the previous years of my life, I didn’t know what to do with them.  I treasured the books I’d written as a youth and college student–everything prior to my marriage to Him.  But what to do with the journals recording the life I’d led married to a criminal? As I handled each one, I wasn’t sure what to think of them anymore.

Although what I had written and recorded was life as I had known it (because I had no idea what was going on in the double life my spouse had been leading for 15 years or even that he was living a double life), in that moment, none of the history I’d recorded seemed true or real. At that time, everything was so tainted by the dishonesty and criminal behavior of one man, I felt like I was in possession of Volume 1 of Lies, Volume 2 of Lies, and so on.

What DO you do with volumes of words that don’t seem to be real anymore?

I still haven’t decided.

But I’m afraid I’m going to need a storage unit for the memories! lol. A place to hold the volumes of personal history, the wedding photos from 1989, and everything else that is not mine anymore…that I still am not sure what to do with.  The only thing I’m sure of is time.

I have time to decide.

Because,”Time heals what reason cannot.” (Seneca, Roman philosopher in the mid-1st century A.D.)

It’s All About Attitude

Date: April 21, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

One year ago I found a quote that, in my opinion, should be the theme of life for everyone.

“If you can’t jump over life’s hurdles, LIMBO under them!”

That says it all. (And I have to add that dancing, as well as laughing, is a much more fun alternative to crying!)

L-I-M-B-O.

Life.