Living Hazzardously

Little pieces of our journey with Jesus

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I lost track of time and time lost track of me!

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The Christmas that never came

I sat down a year ago and started typing out the 2022 Hazzard family Christmas letter. It started with all the good intentions, the right words, the emotions and the good thoughts. I was on track to send it out with all the fun and exciting updates of our year. I always start writing by first asking the kids and Jess for a few highlights of the year, then I pull them together in a framework of joy, success and fun, wrapping everything with a big red bow, sprinkle them with Christmas colors and top them off with a twinkle in my eye! Finally, I print the well formed letter and fill our outgoing mailbox with envelopes, adorned with the latest holiday stamp and my bride’s finishing touches.

I love sending the annual Hazzardous Christmas letter! With a joy filled anticipation of sharinging our lives with friends and family, some of whom may only hear from us in this once a year lightspeed glimpse of our lives. I hand deliver the stack to our post office and make some corny joke to the person behind the counter about how they won’t fit into our mailbox. I give great consideration to writing this letter each year and many of the readers may not realize who the writer is, well surprise!! It’s me, Charlie!!

So what happened to the 2022 Hazzardous Christmas letter?? Did we forget to send it out to just you? Did we have a corrupted computer and lose a few of the addresses? Did we decide it wasn’t important to stay connected?… The answer is simply no, we didn’t make a mistake or fall victim to some computer trickery. In fact, I sat down more times last year and clacked away more hours than probably any year in the past. I typed out beautiful recollections, heartwarming tales, fascinating adventures and inspiring quotes for all to read and feel a sense of love and connection. I want you to feel loved and remembered. I spent more time last year writing than I would write in three years. So, what happened? I never completely wrote that letter, in fact I felt less desire to finish as the time went on and we got closer to Christmas….

I wrote about Chris and Tiffain, Alex and Mir, Al, Sam and Jacob. I wrote about our new puppy GROOT, and the sad days of Jack as he got old and passed away, and of Cash who went blind, stopped eating and walking, and eventually he too passed on… a sad summer here for sure. I wrote about pigs and chickens and the progress on the farm. I talked about fishing and hunting in the great white northwoods. We had such a great year with so many things to be grateful for, even amid the heartfelt loss of our dear pups.

I had such a hard time determining what to leave in and what to leave out…. What to leave out…. How to leave what out? Or better, should I leave anything out? Should I include everything? Jess? Can you help me decide what to leave out and what to include? Jess? But in the end, I could not sort out my thoughts and come to a clear decision that I felt no direction would be a good direction. So, it’s not that I skipped the letter. I just could not finish, edit or send the letter. Three, four or maybe five pages? Single space? #10 font? Times New Roman? No header? No title? No footer? No signature?… just delete it… sit down… steady breath… try to keep the happy thoughts.

This year was no different, but then Jess and I went on a retreat in Arkansas. When we got back home, we met with another couple that share our same emptiness and pain… I heard the approach I needed to accomplish this year’s letter. Rather than attempting to write all our Hazzardous Adventures and the year’s highlights, I would attempt to put on paper the difficulties we have had and in particular what made writing last year impossible to complete.

Sam took the spotlight in 2022, without even knowing it. August 15, 2022 will be the date forever engraved on his headstone. Ohh Sam, we miss you so much. It’s almost your birthday again, and Al does not exactly know how to properly express his feelings. Jess and I need to remain in control for Al’s sake. The stone was ordered. The plot was chosen, and we laid Sam in his forever resting spot a year to the date of his passing. A year after the midnight scream no parent can imagine or forget. Sam ran ahead of us and is now waiting for us to catch up.

Let’s talk about the Christmas letter. Do I write everything? Missing nothing about Sam and making it all about Sam? Do I labor for months to get every jot and tiddle? MISSING NOTHING? Or do I tiptoe over this event and focus only on those things that bring joy to the Christmas letter readers’ faces? Is it a balance somewhere in between? How much do I say? Do I give all the details? The who, when, how, why and what??? Do I paint the ugly picture with pastel colors? Do I soften the lines with an eraser? Do I use charcoal pencil to turn the edges gray? Do I use ink so it can never be rubbed out? Maybe a black and white photo? Or maybe an artistic rendering with interpretive and symbolic illustrations?

How does a person write about the death of a child? The death of their child? How do I write about this? Not too much! Somebody will feel uncomfortable? Not too little! Somebody will feel I didn’t say enough? After all, there was so much more I could say?

It is a “no-win” situation. There will never be enough written to fully remember and honor Sam. Too little and it would not keep his memory alive. Do I focus on the living as to honor the loved ones that are waiting here to see him again? How do you summarize his life with mere words? Be careful to not become obsessed and write with endless amounts of words and say too much! You see, we had 5 sons, two daughters-in-law, none are more important than the next. So do we try to be fair and write the same amount about each one? Do we try to highlight only one thing each? Do we just move on and write about the sons that are still alive? Should we ???? Do we????? What???? Why???? How???? I haven’t found the instruction manual on this topic yet. I think it’s found in the card catalog under the heading “Humanly impossible to understand” “Navigational beacons in a black hole” and “Situations that are beyond overwhelming” please see cross references: “Living with pain course number 505”

Addiction is no stranger in our family and the pain of addiction crosses every realm, into every crack of humanity. Sam battled so very hard, please do not think for a second that Sam just simply woke up and decided “This is a good thing to do today”. He fought hard and wanted so badly to overcome this stronghold in his life. He wanted to be “clean”. His addiction started so small, so tiny, it grew out of control very quickly. Even with the best tools to battle this demon, he still lost. But the hope we have is that someday, someone, somewhere will say, “I saw Sam struggle. I saw how he lost his battle, and I am alive today because Sam is not here.” But even if we never see this blessing, we give thanks to the Lord for the time we did have. We are blessed to have had this time on earth with Sam.

OFF SCRIPT: Please do not play this game with addiction. If you need help, it’s ok to ask, 24/7/365, there is hope! Addiction starts with a beer, a joint, a pain pill or even a thought, but always ends with consuming your will, your happiness and even your life.

So with that being said, I will recap just a few items in a feeble attempt at bringing some glad tidings after this somber glimpse into our tragic year 2022.

Chris and Tiffain are now stationed at Scott AFB in Illinois. We have had a couple visits and we are so happy to have them so close.

Alex and Miranda brought Baby Sophia into our world last January. We have been welcomed into the grand-club and are overjoyed!

Al has had a successful year at work, and we are so happy that the Special Olympics program is back in full swing after Covid.

We have Sam only a mile from us and visit often. We got his headstone installed, as well as a bench in his honor. We know he is jamming in heaven, beating someone at chess and doing all the math equations he could dream of with that Sam smile on his face.

Jacob completed his tour with the Air Force and for the time being will stay in Cheyenne,. He was offered and accepted a job at his church. He is also seeing a great young lady but I don’t want to jinx this by talking too much (keeping our fingers crossed).

Jess and I are really focusing on growing the farm (hoping the ground doesn’t freeze before I get the donkey corral and fencing up), running Spring Lake Heating and Air. Jesus is our true hope, joy and strength. Our adventure is coming together slowly but surely.

I hope that our letter next year will be less weighty and more upbeat. I want to take this opportunity to say thank you for taking this journey with us, and we appreciate your prayers, friendship and love.

I close with his verse:

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

Charlie and Jess
Hazzardous Adventures

Dark places, triggers and time

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“YOU G$&@$? KIDS ARE THE WORST $@!:;)$&@ THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO ME”

This statement was one of my fathers favorites. Colorful expletives, horrible names and physical beatings were a daily occurrence for my siblings and I growing up.

My first traumatic memory was in the big house in South Minneapolis, I’m not sure what year it was, we moved in my kindergarten year, so it was before that. I had done some “horrible deed” that my father determined was nearly a capital offense. The punishment was banishment.

The big house was a duplex with “druggies” upstairs. I got the bed in the bay window, basically a foam pad shoved into a window opening. I don’t remember much of that house now. Between my fathers cigarette smoke and the constant inflow of marijuana smoke from upstairs, I was either being made strong or it was a sure thing what my future held.

This is where I started in the “Jonny jump-up” and grew up until my “all day kindergarten” class at Greely elementary a couple blocks away. We lived on 24th and 12th, on the Southside of Minneapolis, the house we lived in was torn down many years ago. It was a horrible place in a horrible neighborhood.

Our basement was right out of a horror movie, big stone walls, musty and dark, junk filled every turn and every damp corner. IT WAS A SCARY PLACE.

My punishment must fit the crime, and at less than 6yo, banishment into the basement was the only solution to my rehabilitation. As the lights were turned off at the switch located above me, I watched the trap door being lowered over my head until the last flicker of light was extinguished and the horror of every noise, every imagination and every nightmare played out in my young mind at full intensity. I remember screaming, crying and begging for help. My mind began to play out how I would be devoured in this dark hole. I curled up on the steps and literally screamed until I was horse, until I could scream no longer…. this was my father’s cue that I was fully reformed and my banishment was fulfilled.

We moved to 35th and Sheridan on the north side, a big, nice home. Two fireplaces, finished basement, two stories, separate bedrooms for boys and girls. We had a play area upstairs and the big bedroom was just for us three boys. My two sisters had the pretty bedroom next to us. I got my own bed, the upper bunk, my little brother got the lower and my older brother was in a single bed by the window. Life was “good” and I was finishing k-grade in Penn elementary. I was making friends when I could but usually I was at home “working” on my fathers projects. Going the the store to buys smokes and Pepsi for dad was my most common job in the evening. Two packs of smokes for the next day and an 8-pack of returnable bottles that my father would share with us on occasion. He didn’t mind sharing the Pepsi after it went flat, but to me it was liquid heaven.

The year was 1976, I was now 9 years old. My siblings and I had worked all day cleaning the house, top to bottom! We had expectations of our efforts to be rewarded by letting us invite our friends over for a “BICENTENNIAL PARTY”…. this would be a rare experience, to have friends over? It was unheard of, at least not in the house…. that’s not allowed! Maybe outside but never in the house. As I hid under the dining room table to covertly capture the surprise and delight that would surely flow from my father as the obvious labors over the coarse of our day were to be revealed as the man I called dad traversed the interior of our home.

Yes this was it! Here he comes! The door swung open, the footsteps approached, the hacking cough…. “clomp, clomp, clomp”…. he couldn’t see me, I was hidden well, table over the top, between the wall and the radiator. I heard the plastic wrap from the new pack of smokes… “crackle, pop” watching with joy and pride… The plastic cigarette wrapper and the foil top hit the floor…. moments apart…. landing like cluster bombs in my mind. Smashing into pieces the days labor…. the dusting of pictures, the cleaning of windows, the scrubbing of floors all became ashes of a war zone. The clean floor, dashed into pieces with the plastic wrapper of a cigarette pack.

Something changed for me that day, never to return, I no longer wanted to clean the house, I no longer wanted to invite friends into my home, my fathers actions had “triggered” a new perspective, and even today, it brings back memory’s of deep sadness, 43 years later!

I really enjoyed growing up in that house, but like most things in life, time changes…. in 6th grade, things really got bad, but that’s another day, a different blog post.

The balance of marriage, family, extended family and friends is delicate at best and can be destroyed in seconds. It’s not one that comes easy for me. In the great words of the country song “life’s a dance, you learn as you go….”

I think back to my childhood and I remember the trauma of my youth….. But I can’t stay there…. I’m a dad, a stepdad, a husband, a friend, a business owner, a man! I need to find a way to rise above my past, to step into the rolls of my life. My boys deserve more than the sum of my past. My bride deserves more than my brokenness. But how? How can I be this man that God has called me to be? “I” can not! But with Jesus, I can do God’s will, I can be more than the sum of my past, I can be a man! A man after God’s own heart, I’m not perfect and my wife has an abundance of forgiveness, she was blessed with being able to see beyond my hard exterior and keeps forgiving me every day, sometimes more… but she never quits on me.

Life gives lumps, hard trials but Jesus gave more than we can ever imagine and that’s the hope I’m living in. That’s how I get up and do what he has for me. Greater are His plans and blessings than anything I can do alone. His grace is sufficient.

Embracing the New as an Autism Mom

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Charlie, Al and I after Al’s baptism in the lake in September, 2018.

 

It is hard for me to believe that it was less than four years ago that Charlie and I got married and started a new chapter of life.  We both had years of practice in what NOT to do in marriage. We both had years of practice on how to screw things up and make bad choices.  Yet, through the grace of God, we were both given a second chance at sharing life with a best friend.

Charlie shared last week on his experience of becoming an autism stepdad.  It was interesting for me to read because, quite honestly, I have been an autism mom to Al for almost 21 years and to me the abnormal often seems just plain normal. Charlie is an amazing Dad.  He has done an awesome job with his three biological sons, and he has worked really hard to understand both of my sons and to be an awesome stepdad to them. He has really helped me to see Al with new eyes because I have become blind to much of what he does that makes him special. Charlie has helped me to see out of the box and tackle behaviors with fresh vision and perspective.

Al and I have had tough years.  The season we are currently in is full of such peace that I am overwhelmed with gratitude. The middle and high school years were the WORST for us and for those out there who are in that season now, I want you to know that there is HOPE.  It doesn’t feel like it when you are in the middle of it, but things do get better.

Al was diagnosed with autism at the age of five when his speech therapist, occupational therapist and preschool teacher all came to us with concerns.  My ex and I were in denial. We knew that Al had speech and fine motor delays, but we thought he would grow out of it. Al was my first child and I didn’t pick up on the signs right away.  He was a happy, chubby guy and I was a new mom trying to figure out how life worked with a baby. When he qualified for early childhood special ed services, I still believed that he would just grow out of his delays.  After receiving the official diagnosis of autism and doing some research, I soon discovered that although Al would gain skills, he would always have autism and it would always affect his ability to process information and communicate.  It would also always affect his social interactions and emotional intelligence.

As Al got older, we tried every kind of therapy imaginable.  Nearly every day was spent hurrying from appointment to appointment with little brother Sam in tow.  My life became consumed with meeting Al’s needs and trying to help him gain the skills he would need to function in life.  He made great strides in some areas, and in others he seemed stuck. I could handle Al’s language and processing deficits. I could handle his gross and fine motor delays.  What was the hardest to handle and manage were the aggressive behaviors that Al began to exhibit in late elementary school and which continued to increase throughout high school.  It was an incredibly difficult time for all of us and resulted in Al being hospitalized in the mental health unit at the local hospital four times and being shuffled between six different school environments in four years.  My first marriage ended during this time and Al’s younger brother, Sam, went to live with his Dad, spending opposite weekends from Al with me, in order to maintain his safety and some semblance of sanity in his day to day life.  

adult alone anxious black and white

This time in my life was emotionally and physically exhausting and I lived moment by moment, constantly on edge, just trying to survive. I have read that mothers of adolescents and adults with autism experience chronic stress comparable to combat soldiers and I believe that because I have lived it.  I have many stories. Few that I want to repeat and none that I want to relive. I just thank God every single day that Al’s level of aggression has subsided.  I thank God everyday that Al is not delusional and threatening to hurt people. I thank God everyday that I can bring Al out into public without fear of the police being called or a fight being started.  

Charlie came into our life near the end of this time.  He experienced some of the very worst moments and he did not run away.  I used to say that I would never remarry because no man would possibly be able to handle Al.  Then came Charlie. Charlie has been so good for me and Al. When he married me, he knew that my boys and I were a package deal. Even though he doesn’t always understand, he always tries to.  He remain calms. He doesn’t try to bully Al into behaving. He observes and listens and helps and brainstorms and encourages and reinforces. We function as a team and Al knows this. Al respects Charlie. He loves Charlie.  

Here are my suggestions for any autism mom who has experienced divorce, but has found a new man who wants to be her best friend for life.

  • Make sure your future husband is committed not only to you, but to God. No blended family can survive without God at the center, with or without children with special needs.
  • Make sure your future husband is committed not only to you, but to your children, through thick and thin.
  • Remember that you have years of experience with your children, that your new spouse does not.  Don’t expect him to just “get it”.
  • Your husband comes first and you and your spouse are a team.  Do not favor your child over your husband. Do not take sides against each other.  If you disagree on something, take time to discuss it away from the children. Remember: You are not enemies. (NOTE: This does not apply in the case of any kind of abuse!)
  • Don’t assume your spouse does not know anything because he is new to parenting your child.  Stepparents can see things that you may have started ignoring or given up on years ago. Fresh eyes can bring new insight and wisdom.  Be willing to accept feedback and advice.

Charlie and I are still fairly new to this whole blended family thing. Although we love each other to the moon and back, there are times when it is just plain hard.  Add special needs to the mix and at times it can seem impossible. Our faith is the glue that holds us together. Without God, we would never be able to navigate the stormy waters without drowning.  Don’t try to go at it alone. Rely on God and reach out to a community of believers to lean on in tough times. Feel free to reach out to us. We don’t know your story, but we would love to listen and help where we can.  You are not alone. God is good.