Among the Sunflowers: A Memoir of a Mother's Love for her Son and his Poems of Addiction, Relapse and Recovery

 

After many years of writing, praying, processing, and rewriting, I have self-published a book! I am both proud and nervous at the same time. Today I present my new book, Among the Sunflowers: A Memoir of a Mother’s Love for her Son and his Poems of Addiction, Relapse, and Recovery. (Retail: $14.99)

This is a book about my family. The story is both painful and uplifting. The writing of this book has been a journey for our entire family. It is extremely personal, but I hope that in sharing, you will gain an understanding of the complex issues surrounding addiction, faith, and love.

Writing from the heart and exploring memories from my journals, I tell the story of my family’s experience with my son’s addiction and mental health. I share glimpses of the realities of life with an adolescent addict and our search for answers, hope, and healing. My son, Michael, adds his own unique perspective through his eloquent poetry and compelling narrative.

This memoir reflects the mother and son's shared experiences on his journey through addiction, recovery, and relapse. It is a story of love, loss, misunderstanding, and hope reflected through narrative and poetry.

 

Addiction is a disease that affects whole families. I believe this story is one of immense faith and love even when there are no answers, and the future remains uncertain.

Already available is the companion book of poetry written by my son, M. M. Mehlan (Mike), called Jolly for NOW? (Retail: $9.99). This is a collection of poetry that inspired much of our book written together. This version is new and revised and contains 14 additional poems that were not included in the original Kindle version. 

Both books are available through Amazon, but I do have limited copies available through my own personal business. 

 

Visit my Square Site if interested in purchasing a book: GM Creative Sunflower Arts

Please email me at g.meh1974@gmail.com  to request a copy(ies). I will respond to your email with additional information.

HOME

 "Your house is your larger body.

It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night, and it is not dreamless.

Does not your house dream? and dreaming leave the city for grove or hill-top?

Your house shall not be an anchor but a mast.

It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound,

but an eyelid that guards the eye."

Kahlil Gibran

Excerpt from On Houses from The Prophet

It was a hot August day when we arrived at our house in Illinois to help our son, Matt, and his family prepare for their move. The time had come. We needed to pack them up, move them out and sell this house. We hadn't lived here for about eight years.

I walked through the door on crutches after unexpectedly twisting and spraining my ankle a few days before and breaking a bone in my foot. I was in a large bulky boot and wouldn't be much help.

As I looked around the house, boxes,  packing paper, plastic bubble wrap, and tape were strewn all around the house; I felt such dread about what was ahead of us. Life was slowly being sucked out of the place as the last few baby toys were packaged up and boxed. I attempted to keep the baby entertained so the other adults could continue packing. My broken foot was a big nuisance, but most of the packing managed to get done anyway. We ordered carryout for dinner and sent my son's wife and two girls off on a plane the next day. Doug and I returned to Indiana, and Matt and his father-in-law drove a loaded truck to an apartment in New York City. They were about to begin a new adventure, life in the city, and a new full-time job. I felt excitement for them and hopes for their future.

A week later, Doug and I returned to the vacant house. It was quiet and dusty--there had been no time for a move-out clean. Without furniture and the children's happy laughter, it was an empty shell. The rooms echoed when we spoke to each other as we glumly looked at all the things left for us to deal with. Most of it was ours, items we had left when we moved to Indiana, thinking we would return and take care of things. But we never did. Items from Doug's physical therapy practice that he had closed down in 2012, paperwork in boxes from years of tax returns, and patient records lined the walls of the small office in the basement. Boxes. There were boxes everywhere. The entire office was full. Completely. I looked around with dread. How were we going to go through all that? We also had the workroom full of tools and the attic full of whatever. It all seemed like a burden. It was.

We took things slowly, one space at a time, and began to clean and sort. Boxes were opened and out of them flowed a steady stream of memories. We found our children's artwork, pictures we had lovingly hung on walls of our previous homes that had never found a space to be hung here. There were boxes we had never unpacked since our move here in 1995! We found trophies and photos, baseball shoes and bats, tents, dishes, Halloween costumes, books and more books, t-shirts, and collectibles. All the thoughts and emotions of reliving long-ago memories hit me hard. I couldn't believe how emotional I felt. Tears were just below the surface.

Every time I walked up the stairs to the second floor, I could remember moments on those stairs. At the very top of the staircase, the last step would make a creating sound. That sound reminded me of the kids coming home late at night, trying to sneak into the house without me noticing the time. I always opened my eyes and looked at the clock when I heard the "squeak."

I was reminded of Michelle's wedding day as she descended the stairs in her beautiful wedding gown, ready to greet the photographer on her special day. A wonderful memory. I also recalled young Mike setting up his hot wheels tracks on the stairs and shooting cars down them so they would crash into a box strategically placed at the bottom. I sadly recalled the time Mike fell down the stairs one night and was carried off on a stretcher. All the memories were flowing--good and bad.

The white ceramic floors held memories for me too. When we first moved in, I was obsessed with keeping the floors spotless. One afternoon, Matt had some friends over to have a rock concert in the backyard, and I insisted the kids take off their shoes to come in to use the bathroom. I didn't want any grass on my clean kitchen floor. Matt was so upset with me! I remember him telling me, "It's just a floor, Mom!"

Then that same floor became sacred ground when our youngest granddaughter was born unexpectedly In that kitchen. Born in the kitchen, just as her great-grandmother and namesake had in 1926 when the kitchen was the warmest place to be. As I cleaned the floor for the last time and polished it to a beautiful shine, I released my need to have it perfect and said a prayer of gratitude for my granddaughter's life and for the new owners to be able to hire a cleaning lady to take care of that beautiful floor. 

After several weeks of trips to Illinois, we finally removed all of our stuff from the house. (Yes, the attic and garage too!) The house has fresh paint and new carpeting. We've accepted an offer and closing is only a few days away. We're very grateful.

We've said our goodbyes to the physical space that was home for our family for so many years, yet the memories remain.

Kahlil Gibran says your house "shall not be an anchor but a mast." That mast is leading us to the next place that home will be. For us, it's Indiana for now. For Matt and his family, it's NYC. I'm relieved but holding onto the memories, good and bad, and the love that grew in that house. The walls were what contained our lives for a time. It was a symbol for me of HOME.

Oak Strength

 

Forty Days without Facebook: I am Listening

This year I decided to give up Facebook for Lent. I am a Lutheran and we can, but are not required to, choose something to fast from or abstain from as an act of purposeful spiritual renewal for the forty days of Lent. This is partly because Jesus went out into the wilderness for those forty days prior to re-entering the city of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.

I chose to take myself away from the social media platform, Facebook for those forty days. This was mostly because I found myself daily wasting hours of time scrolling through senseless memes, reading political discourse that constantly upset me and actually activated feelings of emotional distress and fear because of it. I felt that each day and each moment I was looking at my own life through the lens of “moments” that I could post on Facebook to show my friends and family just how precious my grandkids are and all the fun things we do together. Maybe I hadn’t really been “present” in those moments, but thinking about how it would look to others. To be honest, this is the one thing I missed the most, the inability to share moments of joy myself, or to see the joy and happiness that others posted. It became blatantly apparent that I was, am “addicted” to the social connection we get to be a part of on this and other similar platforms.

I began to set my purpose for this time of fasting by examining what I actually wanted to get out of this time. In January, I felt a strong need to get to a place of “listening” more. I felt God was telling me to listen more, to listen to what the Holy Spirit was trying to tell me and to what others were telling me when I was with them. I needed time to be quiet with my voice and with my responses, my posts, my political views, my memories, and instead fill myself up with silence, prayer, listening, contemplation and reflection. I chose “Listen” as my word for 2020.

I began to use a journal that my daughter, Michelle, had gifted me for Christmas.

The title is I am Listening: Guided Journal Practice, A Journey in Hearing from God, by Tammy Weisweaver. (Available through Amazon) This little book gave me some prompts to reflect on each day and I could easily respond to each one and then reflect on it weekly during this time. So I made the commitment to undertake this fast to see what I would hear from the Holy Spirit. I began to really listen.

            What did I hear from God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit during those forty days? I will share some of it with you now.

            I needed to slow down on this journey through the wilderness called Lent by tuning into the Holy Spirit around me and truly listen to the mysteries. God is trustworthy and I can put my trust into the presence of God in others, and myself in nature’s beauty, and life’s sorrows. I am loved and the Holy Spirit is with me all the time.

            I heard that I should not listen to the lies. Politics don’t really matter, but everyone, even politicians, are children of God too. The world is large, but God makes himself known to us in small things. I can be authentic and I ought never assume anything. Things don’t always work out how we want them to in our small understandings of the world. There are many layers to everything.

            I heard that I needed to surrender my will to God and that by trying to control things. I am trying to be God. I cannot be God. I heard that I could trust the Spirit to lead me. The truth will be revealed.

            I heard God telling me to relax, to take care of myself, to rest, to enjoy this time of quiet reflection and quarantine. My own health and that of those I care about is important. I heard that I should look for the things I am grateful for and I did that. I surprised me how many blessings I have been given.

            I prayed more often and more fervently during this time and I wrote out my prayers and named those I prayed for. This lead to more focused prayer time and I felt the presence of God more strongly. The Holy Spirit was with me, and those I prayed for, through all of it. Everyday I felt that I was listening and God was responding.

My gratitude list:

~the love of my mother

~doctors who care

~grandchildren

~my children

~words

~sunsets, sunrises, sunshine

~family

~birds

~glass of wine

~friend’s voice

~my marriage

~kid’s climbing trees

~pictures

~physical health

~rain, yes-even rain that nourishes the earth and promotes new life

I partnered with the Lord when…

~we walked together through the wilderness

~I prayed

~I trusted

~I was kind

~I sought the truth

~ I had an open mind

~I accepted His strength in me

~I was loving

~I relaxed and let go

~I rested

~I kept moving

~I reached out to others

~In stillness and new life

~I stayed positive

~I celebrate communion with others virtually

What did I let go of? (Still working on it!)

~resentments

~fear

~pride

~control

~regrets

~weakness

~shame

~impatience

~denial

~failure to accept

~pain

            As you can see, there was a lot there…and there has been a lot going on in our lives that has been a source of fear and pain. I believe that because I felt the presence of the Spirit so strongly with me during this time. I will continue to listen and spend time thinking about and consciously work on letting go of things that are hurting me, fully believing that God can work in us even as we cannot do it ourselves, if we are open, if we listen.

            May God bless you and restore you this coming Easter weekend. I am anxiously awaiting the good news!

Sanctuary on the Beach

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he hs called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people...Ephesians 1:18-19

          

         During my early morning walk along the beach this morning I came upon a special spot. From a distance it almost looked like there were “snowballs” hanging from the dead tree branches.  As I got close I entered what seemed to be a kind of outdoor church.  The air flowed through my hair and the sun warmed my back as I stepped closer and into this sanctuary on the beach. Hurricane Irma had uprooted and blown down some trees along the shoreline. The trees were still there, their roots down firmly in the sand, but the branches were bare of leaves, strikingly black against the blue sky. Shells of all shapes and sizes hung from the branches. Many people walking the beach have picked up shells with holes worn through them and have hung them up like Christmas ornaments as they pass by. Each shell, I have been told, is a memorial, a wish or a prayer placed there by someone.  Roots, vines and branches have been added to the scene forming a kind of sacred art. 

The energy there is powerful! Knowing that each shell holds a thought, memory, wish, prayer or hope as it rests on the branch or root of a dead tree evokes the feeling of walking on sacred ground. This is how I felt as I placed a few shells of my own on the branches. I felt a peace that had been eluding me lately.  It felt like worship, hope, love, peace, and acceptance. Somehow the spirit had visited me there. It felt like grace.

The experience on the beach in this special outdoor sanctuary came to my mind as I read the verse from Ephesians. I almost felt as though someone had prayed over me. It seemed that the “eyes of my heart” had been enlightened by the  Holy Spirit. Now I could see things with new eyes of understanding. The heat of the sun and the feel of the breeze were physical reminders that I had been provided with energy and strength to continue to find hope in the “glorious inheritance” of God’s promises.

I pray, God, thank you for coming to me in unlikely ways and for plugging me into your power in my life to “see” and understand my purpose for You on this earth. Thank you for helping me to find holy ground to walk on when I most need you.

Ponder: Have you ever experienced a time when you sensed that you were on holy ground and that the Spirit was enlightening you? If you haven’t, can you begin to become aware of possible moments like these? Perhaps the Spirit will find you. This is my prayer for you.

Early Thursday Morning

Whenever I cannot sleep because my mind is going, going, going as if it were running a marathon that never ends, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and force my mind to visualize myself laying cozily in the hand of God.  Usually after a few extra deep breaths, I can relax and go back to sleep. Thursday morning was not one of those times. I just couldn’t get comfortable in God’s hand this time. I’ve always felt “held” in the past, but at that moment, I did not.

I climbed carefully out of bed and walked out to the great room and looked outside to see if it was raining. It was dark and warm with a slight breeze but no rain. I opened the sliding door and walked with bare feet out and sat down on a damp chair, put my head down in my hands and began to sob.  I’ve been holding my emotions together by a thread lately and at that moment I just railed at God and the Universe into the gentle breeze, not with words, but with sobs and sighs and deep breaths.

My own sobbing brought me back to a time when my son was only 10 years old and had tried out for a travel baseball team that he had been involved with the previous year. I had just gone over to the park district to look at the posting of the players for the new season listed on the door of the building. His name was not included. As a mom of an anxious boy, I was very aware of how much he wanted to be a part of this team and a huge sense of disappointment rushed over me and I felt so helpless for him. It was probably the first real let-down that he was to experience, and I was going to have to be the one tell him.

I remember going in to work at the church preschool that morning and before facing anybody else, I went directly up into the sanctuary and sat down in the quiet space and prayed for peace and understanding…but inside I was a wreck. I didn’t speak out loud, but my thoughts railed at God as I looked up at the altar with sobs and sighs and deep breaths.

This memory kind of seems ridiculous now as I look back on it some 25 years after it happened. It seems like such an insignificant moment that in retrospect doesn’t even count in the course of life’s storms. However, it occurred to me on Thursday morning that after my current moment of despair, that my son had moved on after the disappointment. He joined a wonderful team, coached by his dad. They went on to win the championship at the local level and had a very good time with all of his friends, minus the pressure and the competitive nature of the whole “travel” team. It turned out just as it needed to be, just as God intended it to be.

I realized in that moment, that what we think is the “best” situation or solution to a problem may not be the “right” one. I’ve learned this multiple times, yet I still wail angrily at God when it doesn’t seem to be moving in MY preferred way…This living with uncertainty and disappointment while waiting for God to reveal WHAT the next thing is, is so difficult. I just keep forgetting the lessons I have learned.  

After I got the grief and anger out of my system, I knew that I was just being impatient. God was still holding me in the palm of his hand. My concern for my  children has not changed, nor do I think it ever will. The issues and concerns I pray over my children are related to health, mental health, job security, financial stability and the very lives of my grandchildren. All of these issues seem to be so much more important and life altering than 5th grade baseball in the grand scheme of things. It seemed as though I had been looking at “travel” baseball tryouts through a huge magnifying glass back when it happened. It seemed so very important at the time and it wasn’t easy to trust that things were going to work out, but they did. I longed to take the magnifying glass off of the current problems the my children were facing and tried to see them through a lens that would bring me closer to God. I want to trust, but then that darn doubt creeps into my brain in the wee hours of the night. I do know in my heart that the issues will resolve, one way or another, in God’s perfect timing.  He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not a fan of His timing, but God is usually right. 

After my good crying jag and some sobering thoughts and realizations that I cannot control any of it, I swore at the devil out loud, 

“Leave me and my family alone, dammit!” and went back inside.  

I turned on the shower, stepped into it and let the warm water run over me as I stood there.  It felt to me like a renewal of my baptism.  The water was softly flowing over me and cleansing me as if it held the power of the Holy Spirit to restore me. The Spirit was rinsing away all of my resentments, fears, negative thoughts and anxieties. Afterwards, I felt better, stronger and closer to God. I was dressed and ready face the day by the time the sun began lightening the sky.

Gail Mehlan

June 2019

Resurrection Parade

 











In the face of a culture of death
a world of killing fields
a world of walking dead
Christ is at the head of the resurrection parade
transforming our tears of betrayal into tears of joy
giving us dancing shoes for the resurrection party

And this glittering joker
who has danced in the dragon's jaw of death
now dances with a dance that is full
of nothing less that the fullness of God

this is the dance of the new creation

this is the dance of life out of death
and in this dance all that was broken
all that was estranged
all that was alienated
all that was dislocated and disconnected
is reconciled
comes home
is healed
and is made whole
      
Amen.

From the Roots of Life Prayers, July 17, 2016

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"Mother May I?" Living with Uncertainty and Unanswered Prayers

“Mother May I?”


On a warm June afternoon, I pick up an old journal and read a post that touches my heart.

March 18, 2009

I recall a children’s game where we lined up and one leader was “it”.  When it was your turn the leader would say, “
You may move ahead 3 steps.”
Then you would have to ask, “Mother, may I?”
The leader would say either, “Yes, you may.”
Or “No, you may________.”
And they would fill in a different direction for you to follow.

Sometimes I feel like I am still playing a game asking for permission to step forward in life….”Mother, may I?”

Is it okay?
Am I doing the right thing?
God are you really a parent/teacher type? Do you watch each of our steps so closely?
Do you really care?

Sometimes I ask you,
“God, may I?”

And you don’t respond.

Sometimes I face a roadblock and I know the answer is clearly, “NO.”

“Go a different way!”

I pray for wisdom today…wisdom about what I should do.

I wish for it to always be a clear, “Yes, you may take one GIANT step!”
Or “No, you may not!  Do this instead.” (And I fear it will be to take two GIANT steps backwards!)

What is it about this post touches my heart? I begin to reflect again on the many questions that I have had in my life, questions that seemed to have no clear answers.  I was struggling then with fear.  I was facing some rather serious health issues related to my heart.  I was experiencing a lack of energy to keep doing the job that I was doing and had just discovered that I would need to work several more years before I could retire. I wanted to retire while I still had some energy left to LIVE!  I was worried and I had questions. Would I ever get to retire?



And how is it that I AM learning to live with the questions?

Is it okay to just accept and love the questions themselves? Can I make my life move forward in the middle of a hundred unanswered prayers…when I don’t see what’s ahead? Living with uncertainty is difficult.

I wrote a special prayer for myself that day.

A prayer of questions,

Lord,
What is it that You would have me do with my life? I have found my roles as a wife and mother challenging and rewarding all at the same time.  Give me strength…infuse me with a spirit of love and positive attitude.

Lord,
I have questions about my professional future.  I am searching for guidance and a sign, what shall I do? Loving this question just confuses me. Trust.

I have questions about raising my children.  I want to get it right, but so much seems to go wrong.  My children don’t seem to follow you or even believe.  I have tried, Lord.  I am tired of trying. 

I have been blessed with a beautiful home, but still feel the waves of discontent here.  What does that mean? What are these whispers of discontent? 

Movement is difficult for me here, Lord…Move me in a direction that pleases you and serves you. 

I keep waiting for answers from YOU, Lord

Guide me…a visible recognizable sign would be welcome.  I am open…my hands are yours…take them and direct me to do work where I can best serve you. Give me peace and purpose in this time of questions.

Amen


As it turns out, I can now see how many of my prayers were answered. Sometimes, with a “yes” sometimes with a “no” and sometimes with a “maybe”… or even a ”WAIT, sit with the questions for a while!” And I did.  And I still do now…I  have lived with the questions and they seem to continue.
It sometimes seems that life is just one big question mark.

Even though I am finally retired, the questions keep coming.  My children are grown and have families of their own and the questions keep coming. I have 4 grandchildren and 1 on the way and I have even more questions than answers. How is that possible? I thought that as I got older and wiser, this would be different. But I do find that even though I still have questions, I am learning to live with them, love them. Nothing is certain. Ever. Can I wait with “breathless expectation” for what is to be revealed? What is God inviting me to do with these questions? Can I live with "gracious uncertainty"?


Uncertainty…Oswald Chamber writes in his devotional, My Utmost for His Highest,

“Certainty is the mark of the commonsense life—gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. This is generally expressed with a sigh of sadness, but it should be an expression of breathless expectation.”

“Leave everything to Him and it will be gloriously and graciously uncertain how He will come in—but you can be certain that He will come. Remain faithful to Him.”  



Forgive us, O God, when we limit you...
When we remake you in our image,

When we claim our causes as your own,
When we box you in,
And explain you away,
And in our attempt at understanding, whittle away all mystery.
Forgive us for our human impulses, and change us:
Awaken us to your blinding glory,
Confound us by your love,
Shower us with grace so that we can be made new,
Recreated in your image,
Grateful for all we cannot know.
In the name of Christ, who brought us closer to you, we pray. Amen.

From the Roots of Life Prayers, June 19, 2016



Gail Mehlan
June 2, 2016
(Some italicized portion taken from journals dated 2009)

An Experience of Faith

As a young college student I lived in Spain for several months as an exchange student.  Being in a foreign country was an awesome learning experience for me.  This memory comes from one of my visits to a Spanish cathedral, probably in Segovia, Spain. 

The cool, dark air tinged with the scent of incense was a stark contrast to the hot, dry air of the Spanish sun.  It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark of the interior of the cathedral.  I had longed to enter here, hoping to find a connection to the saints in this holy place.  The cathedral was enormous, dark and smelled faintly of rosemary.  The air was cool and musty and only the shuffling of visitors’ feet broke the silence.

I began to walk around the space slowly looking at the statues in the various alcoves, stopping to try to interpret the stories depicted in the paintings and by the figures.   

The large brown eyes of the saints, looking up to heaven, experiencing God’s presence in their lives, haunted me. So solemn, so dark, they seemed, lit only by the lights of small votive candles left as a prayer offering.

I saw Mary, emblazoned with gold, looking at the wounds her son endured.  He was covered in deep, red blood and jeweled stones made water seem to pour from her eyes. Mary, the mother of God, the feminine face of God, came alive for me as I witnessed her mourning the loss of her son. I could see her sorrow. I could feel her sorrow.  I had a certain knowing of her sorrow then. She, who experienced the pain of motherhood way beyond what I could comprehend.

As I approached the main altar, I looked up in awe. The ceilings were so high, arched and beautiful.  The stained glass allowed in just enough colored light to cast a contrast of light and dark shadows on the crucifix.  I proceeded into the main area and took a seat on one of the hard, wooden benches.  Just as I looked up again, one thin beam of light seemed to light up Christ’s face.  His big, dark eyes were looking upwards.  He was clearly in pain and sorrow.  This was not what his humanness could endure and I was immediately struck with a thought,

“He died for ME!” 

The altar was full of flowers  and skulls and there almost seemed to be smoke rising up in the beams of light to the ceiling.  Almost like an echo, I heard singing coming through the cathedral as some monks began to chant.  It was very calming and beautiful. I sat for a few moments to ponder. Slowly a prayer formed in my head and in the beating of my heart and my slow steady breathing. I had a strong realization of the presence of Christ with me.

            “Christ died for ME!” 

I knew he was a man of sorrows, many losses, pain and death. This was the  dark story portrayed in this place.  But I also knew as I walked slowly out of the dark cathedral, that just as the bright light of the afternoon Spanish sun hit my face and I looked up towards the sky, that there was something greater than death that followed.  There was to be a resurrection to this story.  There was light, renewal, and hope.

            “Christ died for ME!

Yet He also LIVES for me!”

 "Never resign yourself to the 

Inevitable

For the inevitable is what has been buried with

 the rising of the unimaginable."

-Easter Service

Roots of Life Community

Noblesville, IN