Timothy Kline: Thoughts and Reflections

While millions of other families around the world gather together to celebrate one day of appreciation and gratitude for what they have been through, for each other, and for many other things, I sit here at my desk trying to figure a multitude of things out—much of it by the seat of my pants, as it were.

And while I’m tempted to go into details, I am simply going to say that I appreciate the very few people in my life whom I can speak openly and frankly to and know that for them, the feelings that are behind those words are what really matters.

I appreciate those very few people in my life to whom I can say that something they’re doing makes me feel a certain way—and they know that I’m not saying that they are doing that—but that by their actions or words, I am being made to feel that they are.

I appreciate those very few people in my life who, realizing that I am hurting and confused or frustrated, then say to me that they certainly never meant to convey that impression—but that they understand how what they said or did could have been taken that way. I appreciate those very few people in my life who are willing to do their part to correct the matter.

It’s difficult to maintain relationships, and even harder to build them. But it becomes even more difficult when you cannot speak openly with someone—even when they’ve assured you that you can say anything to them, or talk to them about anything. It becomes more difficult when, after opening your heart’s feelings about a problem, they respond by saying that they’re sorry that they’ve bothered you, and will just disappear, and tell you to pretend that you never knew them. It hurts when they don’t take the time or make the effort to understand how what they said or did could have been taken that way, even if they never meant it to.

But I’m grateful for those very few people in my life who do.

I don’t have very many friends at this stage in my life. In fact, I count three in all. But I’m grateful and thankful for each one of them. I’m grateful because they are the sort who are ready and willing to hear me out and immediately respond by saying, “Well, let’s see what we can do to resolve that together…” —not by abandoning me altogether because I spoke my heart or mind, and to tell me that the solution is for them to get out of my life altogether.

Friendships…  relationships… do not happen. They are built. They require blood, sweat, and yes, even tears. They require a determination like no other endeavor in our life requires—if they are to have any success whatsoever. Feelings will be hurt. Disappointments will occur.

It’s when we can say to one another, “I didn’t realize that I was doing that…  that what I was saying or doing was causing you to think or feel that…  and I’m sorry. Let’s see what we can do about repairing that right now…” that we stand a chance to make it, against even the longest odds.

And today, I am expressing my deepest appreciation and respect, gratitude and thankfulness for those few in my life who are of such making.

Life's lessons are SO painful!

Since I’m having so much trouble sleeping tonight because my mind won’t leave me alone, I figure I might as well do something, and since I haven’t written in a while, this will serve as an update on my life, as well.

As I have discussed recently, I’ve had the amazing privilege of being reunited with now two of my three daughters whom I was essentially coerced into giving up for adoption by the State of Michigan some 19 years ago. It’s been nothing less than miraculous, really, and more than I dared ever expect—even though that didn’t stop me from hoping and doing what I could to get my name out there on the chance they might want to find me someday.

Be that as it may, it hasn’t failed to provide its own surprises, as well as frustrations—one of which I talked about in the previous entry.

I found out, for example, that I am a grandpa five times over. I didn’t, I admit, see that coming. My oldest daughter, Brandi, has three children, and my second-oldest daughter, Danielle, has two children. Insofar as I know, my youngest daughter, Melinda—whom I have not had contact with as of this writing—does not have any children.

Strange new territory, this being a grandpa so suddenly! But I’m very happy about that (and who wouldn’t be, really?) and looking forward to watching them grow and mature.

But that isn’t the reason why I’m sitting here writing at 2am in the morning.

It’s the realization that I’m coming into their lives after so many things have happened that might have been averted.

I’m frustrated because I can’t help but feel that it is the curse of a parent to want a better life for your children than they seem to want for themselves. I want you to remember that, because I’m going to come back to it later on in this entry. But that’s later.

First, I want to elaborate on what I mean.

In getting reacquainted with my daughters after all of the years that I was forced to miss out on, I can’t stop myself from wanting to kick into what I’ve laughingly referred to when I’m with them as “Daddy Mode,” where the father in me kicks in and wants to set matters straight and get to the bottom of the mess as soon as possible. The catch is that I haven’t been a part of my daughters’ lives for 19 years. They’ve been raised by the adoptive family, and are a product of that environment—and environment that weighs as a heavy influence on their decision-making skills, morals, outlook on life, and even their view of themselves. I know that it’s unrealistic to think that I can come on the scene after all of that groundwork has been laid for them, and expect things to suddenly be able to shift direction. It doesn’t, however, stop me from wanting that to be how it goes.

So, it’s a learning process for me as I try to get acquainted with my long-lost daughters, encourage them where I can, help them where I can, and realize that they have their own lives that they are living. The way I explained it to them was “I’m not going to tell you what to do or how I want you to live your lives. But I will probably tell you how you should. I will offer advice, but it is your choice whether to follow the advice or do things your own way. Either way, I will never withhold my love from you.” I also told them, “I will not always agree with your decisions, but I will always be there for you and have your back.” To that, I added, “I do not expect you to jump through hoops with me in order to be approved by me. If I give to you, it is without strings attached, where I later hold it over your head.” But I also made one other thing clear to both of them: “I will do everything within my power to help you with whatever it is that you need; however, I will NOT carry you.” The way I explained it was that I won’t help them unless I see that they’re at least helping themselves.

And true to my word, I’ve been dropping fatherly advice into both of my daughters’ laps—sometimes delicately, sometimes plainly and bluntly. But it is SO hard to give advice and then let the matter rest, and watch them continue doing things the way they are used to or prefer. But the way I figure it, it’s their life, and they’re free to live it however they want to live it. The bottom line is that I’m going to continue to love that and endure whatever angst, frustration, and disappointment comes with that—as well as the bliss and memorable moments.

Years ago, someone asked me if I believe in unconditional love, if I thought there was such a thing. And typically, the answer would be no for most people. But I do believe in unconditional love, a love that is simply given—regardless of whether it is returned, acknowledged, or ignored outright. I know there is such a thing because I have children, because I have sons and daughters. But I also know there are parents who, unless their children live the life that the parents want them to live, or do things the way that the parents want them to do them, will withhold their love, or even stop interacting with them altogether, cutting them off from the family in some attempt at ultimate discipline. Perhaps they disapprove of the lifestyle, or the boyfriend/girlfriend, the career choice—whatever the reason or excuse they concoct to justify their simplistic, unloving approach to their own flesh and blood.

I’m certainly not going to say that unconditional love is easy. It’s not. In fact, it will often run counter to every fiber of our being—because we as parents naturally want our children to obey us and comply with us. Sometimes, it’s for the simple reason that we know where they’ll end up if they don’t follow our counsel or advice. But as much as we want to protect our children, to save them from cuts, scrapes and bruises brought on by life, we have to let them crawl, walk, and then fly. And when (not if, but when) they stumble and fall, we will be there to help them back up again. They need to know that. They MUST know that, and we have to be the ones to tell them. And any temptation to say “I told you so” or “Well, if you’d listened and did what I said to do…” needs to be stomped out of existence, plain and simple. It is pointless and just plain evil.

All of this, of course, is a sort of preface to what has been bothering me since recently.

There are two things, actually, so I’ll start with the first part, and then get down to business with the other part.

Both of my daughters are in what I will settle for calling predicaments of their own making. And the more I think about their predicaments, the more I want to go insane, because it is SO crazy to me. I’m at a complete loss what to do about it to help them. I’ve offered each of them advice, of course, and made recommendations, but they seem determined at this point to do things the way they prefer or are comfortable with. So, I am having to let the matter rest and let them see where their way takes them, and wait to see what happens next.

There are the predicaments, as I said, but there is also that “groundwork” that I referred to earlier, laid by the adoptive family. Then, of course, there are the obviously unresolved issues related to the whole family upheaval and subsequent adoption placement. Abandonment issues, emotional trauma (at least for the two oldest girls), insecurities—not even to mention them being told for the past 19 years that their daddy was a molestor and their mom was nearly as bad with issues of their own—a subject that I address in the previous blog with much frustration.

So, I completely understand that there are numerous factors in play here. It’s actually, at times, overwhelming how messed up everything is about this whole situation, and how it could have all been so different. But I try not to spend too much dwelling on that because it can’t be changed now—all that I have to work with is the here and the now, and potentially the future—IF I don’t screw this up by scaring them off with my “Daddy Mode.” Finding that balance is HARD, let me tell you!

Now, just recently, I was able to spend the day with both daughters that I have been reunited with at this point. It was, on the one hand, the most wonderful day for me since I can remember—and on the other hand, it had the most gut-wrenching, heartbreaking moments since I can remember.

I suppose a lot of it is due to the fact that the more I become acquainted with them, the more I am uncovering or discovering, and I am absolutely gutted to see just how broken they are. People who have spent any time with me online may be familiar with that expression because I’ve used it from time to time, where I’ve made the observation that everyone is broken—it’s just that some people are better at coping with it than other people are. Be that as it may, I’m not talking about other people, or everyone here: I’m talking about my daughters.

I want to make one thing absolutely clear here: I signed a piece of paper 19 years ago acknowledging that the court had the right to terminate my parental rights and subsequently adopt my girls to another family. I acknowleged that I was releasing all parental rights in that declaration. But in my heart and in my heart and in my soul, where the court could never reach or compel, I refused to stop thinking of myself as their father, and I refused to stop thinking of them as my daughters. They were taken—I did NOT give them or abandon them to the state. So, in every sense of the word, they never ceased being MY daughters, I don’t care what a piece of paper says or how I was coerced into signing that paper. And they will ALWAYS be my daughters!

And I suspect, as I become reacquainted with them, that I had made my fatherly impression on them to such an extent that they remembered my love for them in their very core, and that for their entire life they have had an insatiable void that they have tried to fill through lost, misdirected choices and relationships.

Be that as it may, I can do nothing except try to put the pieces back together, to try to repair the brokenness and heal and salve and bear the pain throughout the entire process.

What makes matters even more difficult is that they seem to be able to point out the faults of one another’s life choices and each other’s boyfriends—but they aren’t looking at their own lives and focusing on what THEY need to be doing with their own life. That, to me, is both crazy and frustrating. I’m torn between laughing hysterically and wanting to pull my hair out of my head! Worse still is that there are uncanny resemblances with BOTH of their situations that I won’t go into here—resemblances that I wish SO much they could see. But while they don’t like how the other one is living their life, they aren’t doing very much with their own life, either.

Which just goes back to what I was saying earlier in that they have that choice, and must make it for themselves. I can’t tell them how to live their life—I can only tell them how they should live their life.

But regardless, I love them both, and care for them beyond words. So, it hurts when I see them at each other. It hurts when I know where their choices may take them. And it hurts to let them have their choice. Love hurts, and at the same time, I would never want to stop loving them—even though I know the worst of the pain, heartache, and frustration is still ahead. But as bad as this gets, I want them to know that I am not going to step away from this. They can, but I will not. I will never stop being their father, or stop caring, or stop wanting nothing short of the best for them. Ever.

Which brings me to the final part of this blog, and the motivating factor that set things into motion.

To preface the final, closing point, I need to lay down a couple things to provide perspective.

The same day that I met Danielle, she had asked me if I could take her to her new boyfriend’s place. It was out of my way, and I told her as much. After a moment or so, I offered a compromise: ride back with me once I picked up her sister for laundry day at my house, and I’d swap vehicles and take her to her new boyfriend’s place. She agreed, and I picked up Brandi, and we headed back to Perry. After we got to my house, I of course, invited Danielle in and showed her around, introduced, and that sort of thing, and then we were on our way to meet her new boyfriend, outside his ex-girlfriend’s place, where Danielle said he had been staying for the past few days. I dropped her off, and headed back to Perry.

A short while later, I got a phone call from Danielle, asking me if I could take her home because she was hungry and hadn’t eaten, and her new boyfriend wasn’t ready to go home and would be staying behind. Of course, I said I would but that I’d bring her back home with me and feed her lunch and then take her home the same time I took her sister home. She said that was fine,  and was on my way to pick her up.

And then, as I was heading to the town to pick her up, my cell phone rang. It was Danielle. She said that Jeremy was wanting to go home with her now.

My stomach clenched. I didn’t know what to say. My first thought was that I’m being played, either by Danielle or by both of them—and I didn’t care who was playing me: I did NOT like it.

I finally bit my tongue and said okay, and let her go. The rest of the way there, I battled with myself, angry at feeling like I had been played. Should I take them home after I had already invited Danielle back to my house for dinner with everyone, or should I take them straight home like Danielle and said they wanted to do. What to do, what to do!?

And this voice came out of nowhere, reaching into the back of my frustration. “Now you know how it feels for me.“

Now I’m not a churchy, religious, Bible-thumping Christian. But I am a believer and a man of faith. And I’ve had my fair share of moments in my life that could ONLY be explained through my belief in God. This had to be one such moment. There is no other explanation that fits. Now you know how it feels for me.

In that moment, I realized that it must suck to be God. To love your children unconditionally, and let them have their choices and have to deal with the consequences of those choices. And do you still remember what I told you to remember at the beginning of this blog entry?

It is the curse of a parent to want a better life for your children than they seem to want for themselves.

I had been brought into this because God was wanting me to learn something about him. What it’s really like to be a parent—the good, the bad, and the ugly. And then letting me decide: do I want to be the sort of parent that He is, or the sort that I think I should be? If I’m going to talk about unconditional love, then I’m going to be put to the test, sure enough!

And sure enough, in that moment, I was. And yet the choice was mine to make. Nobody was going to make me choose or tell me what to do.

Now you know how it feels for me, the voice told me as I drove. You want to know how it feels to be a parent? You want to talk about frustration? Anger? Disappointment? About your children not listening to what you’re trying to tell them? But you know what? I never stop loving my children. I never said it would be easy for you, and you can still walk away from this. I’d understand. But I don’t believe that you will, and I want you to know that you won’t be alone in the tears or the happiness. I’ll always be here for you.

I can’t say that even then I wanted to do what I felt in my heart I should do. But the Voice stayed with me the rest of the way to Williamston, and once Danielle was sitting in the seat next to me, I made my decision. I AM in this, no matter what. Heartbreak and all. I love my children too much to do anything else.

So, I brought them back home with me, to have dinner with the rest of us.

But I did take Danielle for a walk with me as soon as we got the house, to tell her my gut feeling that I had been played and that I did not like feeling that way. I also did my best to assure her that I care about her, because I do.

Was I played? I’ll never know for sure. She explained things from her side, of course. But even if I was, I made my choice, and I accepted the consequences for that choice by having her and her new boyfriend come back to the house for dinner.

Besides, the remainder of the visit and day went fairly good, and in time I forgot about that initial frustration because my appreciation and gratitude for having two of my daughters together in my home at the same time was joyous and reward enough for me. If I had listened to by frustration instead, I would have missed out on that.

I think the way I worded it in a Status update on Facebook was that I had enjoyed a day with two of my long-lost daughters, and while are a few crinkles, kinks, and wrinkles needing to be worked out, I am SO thankful and grateful to have these two beautiful, amazing women back in my life.

And I mean every word of it.

Carol Boss, 1945-2008

I remember when I first met Carol.

It was in the middle of winter, it was snowing pretty hard, and Deb told me, “I have someone I want you to meet.” We were courting back then, and of course it was early enough in the relationship, when you really want to do everything with the other person, even when you may not really want to. I’m not the sort of person who is at all comfortable with meeting new people, but I agreed to do it because I got the impression in how Deb said that to me, that it was important to her.

So, off Deb drove, on a night much like Friday was. Heavy snow, slippery roads. Cold and colder. Somewhere along the way, I remember asking my wife, “Who is it?”

“My mom.”

I don’t remember if I gulped like guys usually do when they find out that they’re about to meet their loved one’s mother for the first time-I’m sure I did.

But I will tell you what I do remember. I remember walking into that small house on the north side of Lansing that evening, just behind Deb, and immediately feeling the warmth of that house. Any dread or apprehension that I may have felt was stopped in its tracks.

That warmth that I felt that night came just as much from Carol as anything. She had the ability to put anyone at-ease. She was and still is the most warm-hearted person-although my wife Deb is a close second-that I personally have ever had the privilege of knowing. In fact, I think everyone here might even agree that she was SO warm-hearted that in her later years, she had to keep every room she was in as cool as possible.

But from that night onwards, Carol became a part of my life. And you know, she never did let me forget that I was her son-in-law and that I was as much a part of the family as anyone. That’s the sort of person that Carol was, wasn’t it? She had a way about her that just let you know that she cared.

Not only that. She was amazingly generous. I’ve heard stories about how she helped with special needs children at a hospital, gave generously to the homeless, and when she was in the Ovid Healthcare Center, she gave of herself encouraging others there. She was always willing to help others out.

She had a determination about her as well. Some people confuse determination with stubbornness. Being married to one of her daughters, I admit to sometimes getting it confused, too. But it requires a certain determination for a mother to raise three daughters and still do the things that needed to be done. To find the time to teach them how to be women, and mothers, and teach them how to do that without sacrificing their own sense of morality and responsibility.

She had a wicked sense of humor, as well. She enjoyed life to the full, every chance she got, and it showed in how she handled certain situations. There was when an orderly was helping her to get situated, and she was holding on to his arm, and with a twinkle in her eye, she turned to say, “Look what I have.” To be able to express humor and laughter in life’s darkest moments just goes to show what an indomitable spirit Carol had.

And she had such love in her heart, especially for her grandchildren. She adored them and doted on them just as a grandma is wont to do. There was never a shortage of hugs. There never was a shortage of memories being seeded in the hearts and minds of her grandbabies.

People sometimes say that so-and-so “lost” the battle with cancer because they died from it. But nothing could be further from the truth in Carol’s case. Quite frankly, the cancer never stood a chance with her. It took her body, but it could never take who she was. Everyone here is a living testimony of the fact that she had a wonderful ability to touch and affect lives, to make a lasting impact on whomever she met.

Which brings me to the thoughts that I want to close with.

See, Carol believed that God was punishing her because she was no longer able to paint her pictures, for whatever reason she had in mind. Maybe for the choices she had made, for the things she had done. We’ve all been there, we’ve all done it.

But you know what? God said, “No, Carol. I would never do that to you. I’m just giving you a bigger canvass to work with. And it will be a living tapestry.”

There was a program on WKAR years ago. Every show, this man with curly hair would appear, standing before a blank canvass. He’d start talking to us as he turned to that canvass and start stroking it with his brush–every once in a while, he’d dab that brush into the paint and return to his gentle strokes. Here, there. Down there a little. All the while, he would talk to his audience in that gentle voice of his. And before you knew it, you could start to see what it was that he was drawing.

And that is what has always amazed me about artists. They see what is already there on that blank canvass, and all they do is help us to see what’s really there. There’s a certain magic about it when you see it.

That living canvass that God gave her, that living tapestry that she wove with her unique, delicate touch throughout her life…  well, part of it is here today. We are that canvass.

Bill was talking to a gentleman last night as they were looking at a picture that Carol had drawn. Maybe you saw it, too, when you were here. Anyhow, at one point, Bill told the gentleman that you need to step back to see it better, which the man did.

And that’s what we need to be able to do, too. We need to be able to step back so that we can see this beautiful portrait that Carol has been working on her entire life. This woman who thought that God had taken her artistic gift away eventually became one of the greatest unsung artists you and I will ever have the privilege of knowing. With colors of kindness, generosity, determination, and love, she brushed and stroked that canvass, and we became a part of it. Not only us here, but every life that she touched is a part of it. And as we sit here today, we can’t help but admire the beauty of it all.

Yet we can’t help but sense the longing that a canvass surely feels in the absence of its artist, either. We long for those gentle strokes of Carol’s brush on our lives, her delicate yet determined touch here, there, just where they are needed.

Carol, too, surely felt that loss for us. “But Father, I’m not finished yet. I have so much more to paint.”

And that’s when God rested His hand on her shoulder and said, “Carol, it’s okay. You go rest for a while. I’ll finish it for you.”