Unhappy Birthday

An old scab was ripped from my heart when I read an email which began, “They say blood is thicker than water - but is it always?” I laid in bed that evening unable to sleep, recalling that disastrous time three years ago.

It all began when Darla and I decided to drive from the east coast to Iowa to celebrate our granddaughter’s second birthday. It had been four months since the last time we visited, and we were excited to see the entire family, but when we arrived, our excitement began to erode.

When we pulled in the driveway, we found our son, Mark waiting for us. “Hey, Mom and Dad. How was your trip?”

“You know the deal. Long and tiring, but we’re glad to be here.” I looked around, finding no one else present. “So, where’s the birthday girl?”

“Sarah’s in the house with Sharon. I think they’re working on a birthday cake.” Mark waved us in. “Come on. Let see what’s cooking.”

We went inside and marched to the kitchen. there, we found Sharon working on a mixing bowl. “Hi,” was all she said. Then, Sarah popped her head from behind the counter. A smile gleamed across her face and she walked up to us with her hands in the air.

As soon as I picked her up, I realized she hadn’t gained any weight since the last time we visited. Thinking it was my imagination playing tricks on me, I brushed it off. I stroked her chin and made her giggle. “Hi Sarah. Happy birthday.”

“Hi,” she replied.

I put Sarah back down to let her continue in her play and turned my attention to Sharon. “Need any help with that?”

“Nothing to do here. I’m just about to put it in the oven. Go sit down in the living room.”

Darla and I looked at each other and left Sharon to herself. We sat on the couch and flipped on the TV and started watching a game show. As we were about to settle down, Mark came in. “I need to go to work for a bit. If you need anything, give me a buzz.” After he left, dark clouds began to gather overhead.

As we sat in front of the television, Sarah became fidgety and went to the kitchen to see her mother. Through the din of the TV, we heard Sarah say, “Food.” A moment later, she returned to the living room sporting a small juice pack. She sat down in front of the TV and began to sip on it.

Darla and I looked at each other wondering what’s going on. This wasn’t how we fed our children when they were little. Though we communicated with our eyes, we remained silent.

Not long later, Mark returned, and we sat down to dinner. I can’t remember what we had, but I’ll never forget seeing the slice of bologna on Sarah’s plate. Mark must have seen the look on my face, for he tried to answer my unspoken question.

“Sarah is very picky about what she eats. We usually give her this since she likes it and she does get her protein this way.”

I glanced at Darla and recognized the fire burning in the back of her eyes. Somehow, she kept her temper in check and dinner resumed and was concluded by serving birthday cake.

We retired that evening and as we laid in bed, Darla vented. “Did you see Sarah eat anything today? Does she ever eat anything good for her?”

“It’s hard to imagine Mark would let this go by,” I replied.

“Did you get a look in the kitchen? The trash can was overflowing and dirty dishes all over the place. Mark told me they cleaned up before we arrived, but I can’t see any sign of that. And did you hear Sarah talking? The last time we were here, she was a chatter box. Now, she can hardly put two words together. Something’s wrong here and I don’t like it.”

“I know what you mean. Let me talk to Mark in the morning and see what he has to say about it.”

We finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. Sarah’s voice broke the silence and awoken us. We laid there, listening to her babbling. “Why is she awake in the middle of the night?” I asked.

Darla answered, “She’s hungry.”

“Should we ger her something to eat?”

“Let’s wait,” Darla whispered. “Maybe Mark or Sharon will feed her.”

So, we waited and listened to Sarah’s babbling. No one came to her rescue. She continued to babble for an hour, wen she finally fell asleep again. Darla didn’t say a word, but I knew a storm was coming.

The next morning, we went downstairs for breakfast and found everyone present. I watched Darla look at Mark and her eyes went down to his feet. On them, were a pair of socks. One black and one white.” Mama Grizzly was awake and got out of the wrong side of the bed.

She pointed at Mark’s feet. “Are you planning on going to work like that?”

He looked down at his feet. “Like what?”

“Are you blind? Can’t you see your socks aren’t matching? It looks stupid.”

It was then I saw a side of Mark, I’ve never seen before. He glared at her. “What are you worried about? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Is that how you want people to see you? You want them to ask themselves, “How can someone who doesn’t care if his socks match can care about his work?””

“You know what, Mom? I tired with the way you treat me. You always try to control everything in my life and everything that I do.”

“Mark, I’m your mother. I care about what happens to you and if I see something that’s wrong, I’m going to point it out.”

As they went back and forth with each other, Sharon swopped in. “I’m getting sick of your crap, Darla. Get out of this house, now, before I call the police.”

Darla and I were stunned to silence, then she continued. “I don’t ever want to see you again and for you, John, if you ever divorce Darla, you can come back.”

At that moment, I felt the claws of responsibility release me. I clasped Darla’s hand and spoke calmly to her. “Let’s get our stuff and go.” I guided her to our room, and we packed our bags to go. Without saying another word, we walked out to our car and drove away.

As we headed out the driveway, Darla turned to me. “What are we going to do?”

All I could do was shake my head. “There’s nothing we can do about Sharon or Mark. But as for Sarah, there is one more thing we can do.” Before we left town, we decided to make one more stop.

We pulled up to an old brick building and enter the front door. A policewoman standing behind the counter called us forward. “How may I help you?”

“We would like to talk to someone in Child Protection Services.”

After we told them our story, we began our drive home. Halfway through Illinois, Mark tried to call me on my cell phone. I let it ring two times, then I rejected the call. Through this whole calamity, we learned to accept the fact not all people are good, even if they were brought up properly, and parents aren’t always to blame in how their children act as adults.