The Parable of the Prodigal Mom

First things first–Let’s keep in mind that while I agree that the biblical prodigal son made some poor life choices and didn’t really think through his long-term financial strategies, he really sort of didn’t do anything horrible to anyone. He asked for his inheritance a tick early, but it would have gone to him at some point anyway,right? It’s not like he stole it. And okay, yeah, he promptly screwed it all up. Screwed it all up big. But how many of us could throw stones at his glass house? My hand is plastered firmly to the keyboard here. I probably would have gone for the wine and woohoo, same as him. Then, of course, when the party ended, he went back to his father and asked for some honest work. Nothing wrong with that–in fact, I’m thinking it was a pretty grown up thing to do, really. But then, maybe my perspective is skewed, I’m never sure. Now, it was then that his father went all Justin Beiber on him and that made the younger brother, who clearly had his five-year plan in place, all kinds of pissy. That’s the story, right? Well, it would piss me off, too. It would piss me off big.

My point (I know…I know…) is that that we make “prodigal” a synonym for “bad” or “mooch,” and eh….I can’t really see it that way. He blew it. Made poor choices. Then, he was forgiven. Not a bad guy, just um…human and simple.
I have a friend coming into town today, and I haven’t seen her for over a year. The kicker is neither have her kids seen her for that long, because in one split second, she just up and left. Everyone and everything. One day she was a Southern Baptist stay-at-home wife and mother of three small-ish kids who lived around the corner and rotated school pick up with me, and the next day, she was…gone.

New Man. New State. New Life.



Wow, right? I know. My husband was terrified that I was next. And yeah, not without reason, but really? I never could. No…I don’t think I could.



Anyway, so yeah, while the entire world knew that her husband was a complete ass, I had no idea how big an ass he was, or how miserable she really was. To her credit, she never said much about it. Me? I would have never shut up about it. She was in a different place. Called her period “ladies’ days,” painfully and reluctantly referred to anything sexual as “being with“ and she never, ever wanted to be anything but a wife and mom. That’s cool. Except that there’s a kind of southern man who (and I hate stereotypes, but ten years is long enough to form a hypothesis) is just hot air and big hair and Promise Keeper-y (no offense, PKs), and this particular kind of man always, always played football in high school. Because sadly, that is sometimes what makes a man down here. And this is the kind of man she married when she was very young. This is the kind of man who came home to her every night.

I cannot fathom.

Fast forward, she starts Face-booking with the only other man she’d ever dated, her high school boyfriend…chats get chattier, memories get fonder, and do I need to hand you a guidebook to showwhere this was going? Exactly. She left. This good ol’ Southern Baptist “ladies’ day” kind of girl now lives (technically in sin, by her own standards) with her high school boyfriend. Works part-time. And I guess she was so desperate that she thought abandoning her kids was all she could do. I didn’t understand it (which is saying a lot *ahem*), and I begged her to get some sort of custody deal–there were places, people who would help her, I said. She should know her rights, I said. She shouldn’t let her ex strong-arm her, I said. (Then he told her I’d threatened his life and that *I* was dangerous–yeah, me and my what?…hand tiller? Oh, all my evil plans and the autistic kid? God, I’m still laughing about that. Sad thing–she had to ask me if it was true. She’s a bit on the simpler side.)

So her ex made it as ugly and as untrue as he possibly could and he wrapped it all up in his ridiculous religious logic. Big pile of crap. Still, it hurt my kids. And he forbade their kids any contact with us. I have six year olds snubbing me at school. Nice example. And Whatever. And since I know he’ll have to explain it to Jesus one day, I can pretty much go with the flow.

And she’s coming back into town today. She’s absolutely welcome to sleep on our sofa because her ex thinks it “unseemly and confusing for the children” if she should stay with them. Yeaaaah.
All that is fine, really. What’s not fine is that I still can’t make sense of a mother leaving her children like that. Going completely AWOL. Becoming a Not-Mom. Moms are lifers, you know that. I don’t know how I feel. I want to be compassionate and unjudgy about it–who am I to say? But she left my kids with a huge, huge pile of hurt and confusion. Why did she go? and would I (my children are not idiots, lol)go? And why were her kids not their friends anymore?

I hate explaining stupid adult stuff to my children. It breaks my heart.

I guess I’m writing this all out because she’ll be here soon–at least I think she will, she’s pretty footloose and fancy free, no kids, you know…but she’ll get here. She and her new Not-Mom Self. (Self? what’s a self?)

And I suspect that she thinks it’s no big deal between us, but really? It is a huge M-freaking deal between us. I love her, she is a good person. Yes. True. She made bad (for her kids, at least) choices. She screwed (her kids) up. I’m trying very hard to not be that younger son, all pissy because I stayed behind and rode out the wave of shit this prodigal mom left behind. I have to tell her that just because she’s here doesn’t mean that her kids will be here. I feel very strongly that small children who are instructed to snub adults should not expect to be welcomed into that adult’s playhouse or into that adult’s childrens’ hearts. Hey, I didn’t set up those rules, her Hot-Air Happy-Jesus Ex Husband did. Mostly, I simply refuse to have my kids hurt again.

Man, I am dreading this…and yes, I did try to talk about it with her before today, but remember, she’s a Not-Mom now. It’s different. Not-Moms lose all their Mom-Logic when they make the switch. She probably doesn’t carry kleenex or wipes in her purse anymore. Or even Hot Wheels. Sheesh, what a life, right?

I don’t know. I just don’t know. And I really wanted to make some cool biblical connection between the prodigal son and the prodigal mom, but I’m more and more anxious as the day goes on, and don’t tend to make cool biblical connections when I’m like this.
Oh well.

Okay. Here’s my plan: I am going to try really, really hard to not be that pissy stayed-behind brother, no matter how much shit went down when she lit out with Facebook Boy. And I’m going to try really, really hard to consider that she truly did what she felt she had to do, even if I don’t understand or condone it. It’s just…in my heart, in my not-good-at-being-a-mommy-heart, I know there were ways around it that she just didn’t take.

Should be an interesting week, don’t you think?