On Wednesday evening, two owls flew into the trees directly across from our campsite. They came in boldly, loudly calling back and forth to each other, and then settled into their respective trees on opposite sides of a small clearing. After their grand entrance, they didn’t make another sound. For close to two hours, my husband and I sat in our lawn chairs and watched them as dusk approached. They didn’t flinch when I opened and closed the door to the camper to get a couple of drinks—they just observed. Although one owl was hidden from sight by trees, the other owl was in plain sight. I was amazed at the way it turned its head in all directions, abruptly reaching its head forward, as it locked its attention on a possible dinner option. However, the owl was selective. It waited until the time was right.
Later that morning, we visited the First Americans Museum in Oklahoma City. The museum tells the collective histories of 39 tribes in Oklahoma today. It also emphasizes the deep connection and traditional knowledge that Native peoples have with nature. One of the info cards I read at the museum reminded me of a deep truth I know. It read, “Living in harmony with the natural world begins by observing it—animal behavior, weather patterns, stars, moon cycles, and seasonal changes.” In other words, nature teaches us how to live. I thought about the owls, the amazing sunsets, sunrises, rocks, mountains, lakes, and incredible scenery I’d seen on this trip. There is so much love, beauty, comfort, and support everywhere I turn.
My husband was adamant about making this trip our own. Yes, we had to take care of an obligation that had a looming dark cloud of sadness about it, but it was also an opportunity to take a break from our busy lives, see some beautiful scenery, and camp along the way. Last February, we brought our travel trailer to Arizona to help my son out with a place to live. Four months later, we were picking it back up. I try to be very considerate about what I write, especially when it comes to family. However, I also know that my perspective is one small pinhole view. It’s my side of the story, and as much as I try, I will never be able to walk a mile in your shoes or anyone else’s—the view will always be unique to the viewer.
Years ago, my oldest son asked me to write about addiction from a mother’s perspective for a blog post. Here’s an excerpt from the piece I wrote.
My son is an addict. It's not the first thing you’ll hear me say if you ask me about my kids. Truthfully, I’ve never said it until now. I usually skirt around the subject, saying my oldest son has had some struggles with drugs and alcohol. Not because I am ashamed or embarrassed, but in my eyes, my oldest son is not one thing. He’s a million things — an amazing living, breathing, walking, talking human being with a "heart so big it could crush this town," to borrow a few words from Tom Petty. Yes, I’m his mother and his biggest fan, but I’ve never liked the smallness a label dictates. I don’t even like to label myself as a writer, songwriter, musician, wife, or any other word that defines a role I play. Instead, when someone asks, I say I write stories, sing songs, and do lots of other things. I’ll be the first to admit that I like to look at the bright side. I see the good in others, especially my children. At times, I’ve been accused of being too optimistic. But I’m a believer. I know, that's a label, but it’s also something I do. I believe there is always a way, a solution, a miracle waiting around the corner, and that things will get better. This doesn't mean that behind these rose-colored glasses, life is always beautiful. I've spent many sleepless nights and cried rivers of tears. I've also had times when it felt like my heart was physically being ripped out of my chest. But most times, I like to stay on the sunny side. Being the mother of a son who is an addict has taught me a lot of things. But first, what is an addict anyway? There is such a stigma attached to the word. When I used to hear the word addict, my mind conjured up the image of a guy lying in a dirty New York City back alley, fighting off rats, surrounded by syringes and needles - thank you, Al Pacino. But now, I know better. Addicts are brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, nieces, friends, acquaintances, and ancestors. Many have very successful careers. Some give TED talks, climb mountains, play big stages, and shine bright…at least for a while. Addiction is painful on all sides. It's not something you can sweep under the rug and talk about later or chalk up to “sowing a few wild oats.” It’s not some phase that people go through with a clear beginning and end. Maybe for some it is. I don't know. However, I do think, based on my own experience, it’s a disease, a dragon that can bare its teeth at any time. And it runs in my family, in my blood, a gene that can be “on or off.” I didn’t know any of this as a young mother. I just kept believing. I believed my son when he said he didn’t leave the pipe in my glovebox. I believed him when he said he was camping in a blue tent on the Colorado River. I even went to the place where he said he was, with a care package of food and supplies and a guitar for him to play. There was no blue tent. For a year, I didn’t know where he was. I thought I saw him everywhere — in the face of a homeless man in San Francisco, or hitchhiking on the side of the road. I believed I could help. What I didn’t know was that my love wasn’t enough to save him. He needed more than I could offer. When he did surface again, I got a phone call from jail. Letters followed, and I began to understand. He apologized over and over. I didn’t need an apology. I just wanted him to be okay. I studied his letters and tried to read between the lines. I wanted to take the blame, and for a while, I did. I wasn't a perfect parent. I have a laundry list of things I could have done differently. I still don’t have all the answers. I know more, but I still have a lot to learn. However, what I do know is that forgiveness is key. Always. Every day, all day, especially when it comes to forgiving myself. And to never stop believing. Ever.
As it turns out, history repeats itself. As much as I’d like to think I can change another person’s life, the truth is I can’t. I can only change mine. I’ve always said that the greatest gift we can give to our children is to live our lives to the fullest, and that’s the greatest gift they can give me.
Meanwhile, nature has my back and never tires of showing me how to live.
One Eye Closed
by Trisha Leone Sandora
You live your life taking chances, so unafraid
I've been the one to keep it steady, play it safe
I'm always there, ready to catch you. I'm holding the net
Never really sure what you're going to do next
I'm watching with one eye closed
Not sure I really want to see
I start to get a little nervous
You smile, and I believe
You're climbing so high
I can barely see your feet
I don't want to miss a thing
I'm watching with one eye closed
On a bet, we went to Vegas to try our luck
Rode in back of a limousine in our old blue jeans
You laid your money on the table
Drew a Royal Flush
I played the nickel slots
And lost my twenty bucks
I'm watching with one eye closed
Not sure I really want to see
I start to get a little nervous
You smile, and I believe
You're climbing so high
I can barely see your feet
I don't want to miss a thing
I'm watching with one eye closed
I hear a splash, I turn around, there you go again
Jumping headfirst, not thinking twice
I'm still testing the water
I'm watching with one eye closed
Not sure I really want to see
I start to get a little nervous
You smile, and I believe
You're climbing so high
I can barely see your feet
I don't want to miss a thing
I'm watching with one eye closed
Listen to the song One Eye Closed on Bandcamp