Comfy jeans. Sandals? Definitely. New cream laced top. Beaded bracelet. Dark lipstick?  Nah, perhaps light. Nope – dark it is. Oils – hmmmm. Hope, Joy, Clarity, Abundance, Bergamot, and maybe a little more Hope – I’ll need it today. Jean jacket, keys, purse, and my hat.

There couldn’t be a more appropriate day to wear a hat. Don’t get me wrong, I love hats, however there’s a little more meaning to the one I’m wearing today.

Originally, I had planned on being at work. My whole team would be wearing hats in support of Mental Health, and just having a great day. Then, after a really bad hairdo, I had another reason to be supportive.  Nothing like covering up an expensive mistake with something that means so much. We’d finish off the day with a bite in support of the Ronald McDonald house, support charity, and reflect on how far we’ve come.

My plans changed. Today, I will wear my hat as I walk hand in hand in to the Youth Substance Abuse and Addiction center. That’s right. I said it. I’m not sure if this is rock bottom, but in a way it sure feels like it. I’d say the bottom of a bucket, but with a strange warm light there too.

How did we get here?  What happened?  How could I have been so blind?  I should have known. Not been so trusting, and not taken the stories as truth. How on earth did I miss this?

How do you look someone in the face you love so much, wanting to believe what is being said, and yet tell yourself, “It’s not true.  You can’t trust her. She’ll do anything to deceive you.”?  I really don’t have the answer to that, because I don’t know if I’m capable of that.

“Hi, mom?”
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m overwhelmed.  I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of the lies. I’m tired of being so very sad. Can you come get me?”
“Of course. I’ll be right there”.

My mind was racing at that point, but not the same way it used to. We pulled up to the house and there she was, teddy bear in hand, tears strolling down her face, standing at the end of the drive way.

“We need to go to the hospital. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Really?  The hospital?   Are you ok?”

“I don’t know. I need help”.

Over the next few hours, and days, stories flooded out, bringing a whole year and a half of struggle in to clear view. Shock. Confusion. Bewilderment.

I can say this. There must be an army of angels watching over our kids, because it’s only by a miracle that I’m able to actually go with her to get help today. It’s a miracle she’s alive.

My hat is on. My brain is numb.  I’m not even sure what is next. The most important thing is that this time, she is the one asking, and actually begging for help.

No fight. No argument.  No complaints today. I didn’t even have to wake her up. Perhaps this is a sign. Perhaps, this time she’s  ready.

A little more Hope, behind the ears, on my heart, solar plexus…. here we go.

Will you wear a hat today?