6 Auto Biographical Essay Draft 2 (making Amends In Recovery)

McNulty 1 Kristin McNulty Professor Strawn English Writing 102 22 October 2009 Autobiographical Essay FD When I was a little girl, my biggest dream was to be a wonderful mother, the grandest mother in the whole world. That is it. That is all: nothing more, and nothing less. I wanted to marry, have babies, and live in a nice house with a picket fence. The truth is I was never a very good mother at all. I am not perfect, and have made many (too many), mistakes along the way. I became selfish, self-centered, neglectful, and above all, I was a bad example for the sons that I gave birth to. I cannot erase the past, but I can change the future. I am living proof of that. Incidentally, today I am grateful for the God-given opportunity to make amends for the mistakes of my past. Most importantly, I am, and always will be, grateful for the blessings of forgiveness, along with the healing that it has brought to my heart, and to the hearts of my loved ones. Making amends gives me the opportunity to look at my part: my words, and my actions. How have I hurt people that have crossed my path over the years? Why did I not care? Making an amends gives me the opportunity to say, “I am truly sorry,” without expectations. Not to ask for forgiveness, but the chance to make things right in the eyes of the people whom I have wronged. Today I will do whatever is asked of me to make it right. I will make amends with willingness in my heart, as I strive to be the daughter that my father in heaven wishes me to be. My willingness takes me to the state of Tennessee. It takes me to a small town, with

McNulty 2 a very small jail, with seven extremely small windows made of glass. The jail has a tall fence around it, a big roll of barbed wire along the top of the fence, with enormous, sharp, double-sided razors throughout the barbed wire. I feel my heart sink at the site of the fence, and what it means for those living within the walls of this small jail. I am here to make amends to a man, a man I love very much. A 22-year-old convict sentenced to twelve long years behind bars. He has a name, and his name is Isaiah. This man, this convict, is my son. I have not seen him for a very long time; he has been in jail for two years. I wonder what he will look like, and how much has he changed. I wonder if he has been hardened by a life inside these walls. Being here brings with it a waterfall of emotion. My heart is aching and my head is hurting. The tears begin to well up in my eyes, causing a sting that takes forever to subside, after I manage to suppress them. Time seems to stand still as I think of years gone by, and what has become of my life. The time has come to leave the safe haven of the car. The car door seems to weigh a ton. After emerging from the car, I scan the windows quickly. I wonder if he is watching. He sure is! I can barely see his face through the glass of one of the small windows. He is peering out at me, for he has been waiting for me to arrive. He has one of his hands resting on the windowsill. I imagine he is standing on his tiptoes, since the window is but a foot from the roofline. I smile and wave, hoping he cannot see the redness in my eyes. I move slowly toward the entrance of the jail. Surprisingly, the visiting room is only15 feet from the front door, and I think this is strange. From where I stand in the waiting room, I can see Isaiah through the thick glass that will separate us for the duration of our visit. He is smiling as he calls out to

McNulty 3 me. I can hear him through the thick glass. I think this is odd also, and that I am hearing things. I watch as he sits down in front of the glass and waits. I walk into the room and sit down in the cold, hard chair. I am nervous, frightened, happy, and sad, all at the same time. I glance around for one of those intercom phones that they normally have in the jails (I have been to many). I do not see one. Isaiah begins speaking again, and immediately I realize that the glass is attached the wall with a metal casing. The casing has a billion little holes in it. I am not hearing things. His voice is coming through the holes. It is these holes that will carry the sound of my apologetic voice, to the waiting ears of my young son. Unfortunately, it is as if I have lost my voice. I am afraid that I might start crying, and the tears that I suppressed only moments earlier will come flowing out uncontrollably. He does look very different from when I saw him last. He looks great. He has put on a few pounds (about 100), and he has a healthy glow about him. I smile as I look at the tattoos that cover his body (the black and white striped inmate uniform does nothing to contain these works of art). I manage to quietly whisper, my voice trembling, through the holes in the glass, “I love you so much, Isaiah. I am so glad to finally be here.” It is difficult to keep my emotions under control. I want so badly to cry, but I can not allow Isaiah to see the sadness that I feel inside. The reason for this visit has nothing to do with me; it is about making amends to a man that I have hurt with my poor behavior as a mother. I must choose my words carefully. Again, I push aside the sadness that I feel inside. I take a deep breath, and then I begin talking, “The reason I am here,” (it was a surprise until yesterday), “Is because I need to tell you,” Isaiah interrupts me to tell me that I do not need to do this. It occurs to

McNulty 4 him why I am here. He says, “I love you,” and I explain to him that it is part of this program I am in. I am following the suggestions. I tell him that I am grateful for the opportunity that God has given me; to be here, that I will not pass up the chance to say that I am sorry. He nods his head with understanding, and I begin again, fearing that the words will not come out right, but the longer I speak the easier it gets. I admit, “I know that I have not been a very good mother; however, is there anything I can do to make it better,” He responds, “Mom, I love you no matter what, just keep doing what you are doing. I could not always say this to you, but I can say it now. I am proud of you,” with tears in his eyes, and an obvious pain in his heart, he says, “I just don’t want you to think any less of me.” I assure him that a mother’s love is never ending; there is not a thing he can do that will cause me to love him any less. Just as he is able to forgive me, I can forgive him. Additionally, about that time, a sheriff walked into the visiting room with an answer to my prayers. With the Tennessee drawl that I can hear in my dreams, he asked me, “Have you got your hug yet?” (I had written a letter requesting permission to hug my son prior to my visit). I answered, "No sir, I have not," With a feeling of disbelief (this will be my son’s first contact visit in two years); I thought to myself, “Yes, I am going to be able to hug my son. Thank you God.” While I am thinking, I hear the sheriff call out to someone that I can not see. He tells the faceless voice, “Unlock the conference room door. Let Isaiah visit with his Momma in there.” With real tears in my eyes, I thanked the sheriff with a soft voice. A voice that expressed, not only gratitude towards the Sheriff’s Department for allowing me the hug that I so desperately needed, but also the gratitude I feel towards my Father in Heaven. Today I believe that God is good, everyday, and in

McNulty 5 everyway. Moreover, it is my belief that the continued healing of our hearts will occur slowly, over time. Slowly, but surely, my son and I will be able to put the sad and the unfortunate events of our lives behind us. Additionally, to admit complete defeat, to honestly surrender, and to truly believe that with faith anything is possible, is not easy for me. Making amends to those that I have harmed has been even harder. It has been a humbling experience. However, with a faith in God and willingness in my heart, I know without a doubt, that slowly, I will get better. Slowly, I will be able to move on to a much better place. Slowly, I will trudge to a place that is peaceful and joyous; forgiveness is what makes this possible.