The Truth About Grace

by Cassie Dandridge Selleck

  Then Kamilah asked Miss Ora if she thought I was obligated to her for putting me through college and Miss Ora said, “Absolutely not! And I can see where she might think so, because I have certainly behaved like it was my due. But that was never my intent. This is not who I am, or who I would ever choose to be. I need to do better. I will do better.”

  I started to protest and Kamilah shut me down. “You can do whatever you choose to do in the future, but Miss Ora needs to get herself through this, just like Grace does. Stop taking care of her feelings.”

  Then she told us a story about a butterfly. As soon as she started, I thought, oh, here we go – a sappy little story that’s supposed to enlighten us. I was poised to reject it, but really…it put a whole new perspective on the harmful things we do in the name of helping.

  One day a man saw a chrysalis hanging from a bush outside of his living room window. He kept an eye on it for days and was thrilled to finally see a hole appear in its side, and a butterfly struggling to get out. He sat watching for over an hour as the tiny creature pushed against the sides and wriggled back and forth trying to break free. A while later, the butterfly stopped moving, just settled in like she was too tired to keep going. Not knowing much about the life cycles of insects, the man got nervous and scared and decided to help. He got a small pair of scissors, went outside and carefully snipped the remaining shell of the chrysalis off. The butterfly emerged easily then, but it’s body was swollen and its legs shrunken in appearance. What he did not understand was that the struggle of freeing itself was designed to force fluids from the body to the wings so they would be ready for flight, and that by removing the natural obstacle, he had crippled the butterfly for life.

  I still thought it was a little sappy, but it helped me focus on the ways I’ve been an enabler, too. I remember feeling terrified when I went off to college. Miss Ora paid for my college, but I had to work to eat, and it was good for me. I learned I had a safety net, but I also had the ability to provide for myself. I had a certain sense of pride that there were some things I didn’t have to ask for; I could buy them myself. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have made it through law school without Miss Ora’s financial help. I was a good student, but the system was the system, and I would not have gotten a full ride to any school, despite my academic achievements.

  I think the downside of that experience was that I learned to take on more than most could handle. And when you add that to my sense of blind obligation, it was no wonder I took on Miss Ora’s problems as my own.

  Kamilah is right. I can be as involved or as detached as I choose. It is my call. And that includes whether or not I’m willing to raise Shawn and Rochelle. Kamilah pointed this out right in front of Grace.

  “You may think you don’t have options, but you do. You may not like any of them, but there are options. You can put them in foster care…”

  “Absolutely not.” I gripped the arms of my chair and willed myself to stay seated.

  Kamilah kept her cool. “I’m not suggesting you do, and I hear you. It would not be a choice I’d want to make either. Still, it is an option.”

  “I don’t want my kids in foster care,” Grace said, so softly it was almost like she was talking to herself.

  “I hear that, too. The thing is, the program at the Department of Children and Families is designed to reunite parents with children. They combine oversight and drug testing and counseling with a clear course of action to regain custody. You guys bypassed that system by stepping in and taking over. Your mother did it, and your sister followed suit. You know these things, Patrice. You work in the system.”

  “You’re right. I know you are, but…” I dreaded even admitting what I was about to say, but it was the truth. “I don’t trust the system. I’d rather have taken all the responsibility, just to have control.”

  Kamilah nodded. “Exactly. But the system requires accountability from the parent, and that’s what is missing in this entire equation. Accountability.”

  “I did try that…” I could feel myself getting defensive again.

  “And?” Kamilah asked.

  “It’s just hard. She needs a roof over her head and food to eat. I never gave her money, though. Mama was the one that did that.”

  “I’m not placing blame here, Patrice. You’ve done the best you could in reaction to a very harsh reality – that your sister could die on the streets.”

  “I don’t think it was that bad,” Grace said.

  “Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t,” Kamilah acknowledged, “but I can tell you this: at some point you’ll have to be honest with yourself if you want to live sober. Regardless, for your own safety and for the wellbeing of this family, we need to have a few common-sense stipulations in place. Look, nobody thinks they’re the ones doing the enabling. But if you provide even the most basic needs of an addict – food, clothing, and shelter – you are, in a sense, making it easier for them to use. You are denying them the pain that could very well be their best friend. Pain is a great motivator. If you don’t believe me, just look at what it makes good, rational, healthy people do—ruin families, lose jobs, lie, cheat and steal—to get the drugs and alcohol they think helps their pain.”

  Miss Ora piped up then. She’d been quiet the whole time, just sitting there listening. “I’m confused. If pain is what makes them addicts, how will allowing them to feel pain help? It seems counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?”

  Kamilah nodded. “It does, but think about it a minute. If you don’t allow the natural consequences of addiction to occur in logical sequence, you are disrupting the cycle of recovery. If you provide an addict’s basic needs, you make it easier for them to use. In essence, it is less painful to use than to get clean. If you allow them to feel the pain that addiction itself causes—loss of jobs, self-esteem, basic comfort, health, food—eventually, that pain becomes the motivator to get well.”

  “I thought we didn’t want to let them hit rock bottom,” I said, remembering a previous conversation.

  “Bear with me. This is why we lose so many addicts every single day. The families never figure out how to create balance. You can allow consequences without abandoning them completely. And you can help without enabling.”

  When I glanced over at Miss Ora, she looked as confused as I felt.

  “So let me give you a scenario that applies to this family. Is that okay with you, Grace? I’m going to use your situation and give it specifics. These are just suggestions, though. When you all sit down together and develop your plan, it will be agreed upon by everyone in the family.”

  “Go ahead,” Grace said without enthusiasm.

  “Are you sure?” Kamilah asked.

  “Yeah, I wanna hear what you have to say, too. If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know.”

  All I could think was, well, at least she’s being honest.

  “So my recommendation for your family is a contract that sets out reasonable goals and safeguards. Accountability for Grace would include routine and random drug screens. I think you have all agreed you want Grace off the streets and you’re willing to provide housing and food, which is great—as long as she stays clean, seeks treatment, and finds meaningful work, whether for pay or as a volunteer. Those things would address a multitude of factors that make Grace want to self-medicate.”

  “So what do they have to do?” Grace was almost sneering.

  So much for suspending my anger. I shot up out of my chair so fast, Grace actually flinched. “What do you mean, what do we have to do? We’re already—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kamilah stood with one hand outstretched toward me. “Hang on, Patrice.”

  It took me a minute to realize my fists were clinched and my arms flexed at my sides. I have no idea what I meant to do. I just knew I was done.

  “Patrice, if you need to step out onto the porch and take a few breaths, you can certainly do that. Remember what we talked about.”

  I caught a glimpse of Miss Ora then. She looked frighte
ned and pale and more fragile than I’d ever seen her. I sat back down and willed myself to be silent and calm.

  Kamilah waited a moment and then turned to Grace. “So your question was, what do they have to do. I’m going to turn that back to you, Grace. What do you want them to do? What do you need from them to feel supported and loved.”

  “Well, I mean…” Grace squirmed in her chair and looked back and forth from Miss Ora to Kamilah with an occasional side glance my way. “I know they love me, I just…I don’t know…I don’t really need anything. Obviously, they already supportin’ me. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “It’s not a trick question. I’m asking you to think about what you want from them.”

  Grace was silent.

  “So, let’s approach this a different way. Why do you think Patrice reacted so emotionally to your question?”

  “She always mad at me. Don’t matter what I say, she mad.”

  Kamilah shot me a pre-emptive warning glance. I bit my tongue.

  “Patrice, is she right? Are you always mad at her?”

  My first instinct was to deny the accusation. But I thought about it first and responded with as much candor as I could muster. “I’ve felt angry toward Grace for years now. Am I always mad? No. Not always. But I’m sure it feels like it to her sometimes.”

  “So now I’ll ask you, Grace. What do you want from Patrice?”

  My sister’s eyes filled with tears and I could tell she was embarrassed by that. “I want her to like me. I want her not to be mad at me all the time. I want her to understand…”

  “I want that, too, Gracie,” I said, and I meant it.

  “And what do you want from Grace?” Kamilah asked me.

  “I just want my sister back. I want her happy and healthy. I want her to be able to raise her kids...”

  “And let’s talk about Shawn and Rochelle for a minute. How do you feel about having the responsibility of raising them?”

  That felt like a big fat trap, to be honest.

  “I love them,” I said, avoiding the question almost entirely.

  “That’s not what I asked. It’s clear you love them. But how do you feel about raising someone else’s children?”

  “It wouldn’t have been my first choice.” I felt my heart lurch a bit. I’m not sure I ever thought about what I wanted. The kids were in the picture from the time I got settled into practicing law. They were part of our family and I did what needed to be done to keep DCF out of their lives. They had enough to deal with.

  “Did you ever feel like you had options?”

  “Sure, I could have let one of the twins raise them, but they were starting families of their own. And I could have let DCF get involved, but up until Mama died, it just wasn’t my call.”

  “And afterwards?” Kamilah pressed on.

  “Afterwards, I loved them too much. They’d lost the only two mother figures they’d ever had, and it just seemed cruel to uproot them all over again. But, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t actually think I’ve been that great at parenting. I’m more of a caretaker than a mother, and I think the kids feel that a whole lot more than they let on.”

  “Do you think your detachment has anything to do with your anger toward Grace for putting you in this position?”

  I looked up at Kamilah then. Once again, I wanted to patently deny what felt like an accusation. And I was more than angry that she had asked me in front of everyone. What am I supposed to say?

  “That would make me a monster,” I said. “And if that’s true, then the kids have no business being with me.”

  “Actually, Patrice, it would make you human. You aren’t they’re mother. You’ve done everything any good foster parent would do, and the children are happy and healthy and doing well in school. You’re way too hard on yourself.” Kamilah smiled at me and turned to Grace.

  “So, you asked what Patrice and Miss Ora would have to do as a part of your contract, right? That is what you were asking, wasn’t it?”

  Grace looked uncomfortable. “I guess.”

  “So how does this sound: Miss Ora will continue to offer a safe haven for you, providing company and support and accountability, sort of like a halfway house. Patrice will continue to care for your children and will work on her feelings of anger and resentment toward you so that your relationship can heal with time. Your part in this is to commit to the things we discussed, with the acknowledgement that, right now, trust has been broken but can be re-earned through your efforts. Does that sound fair?”

  I had to think about that question a minute, not because the plan didn’t sound fair, but that it sounded far too simple. I didn’t think it had a snowball’s chance in hell of working.

  Grace and Miss Ora just sort of mumbled their agreement, but Grace added, “And what happens if somebody breaks the agreement?”

  “Somebody?” Kamilah asked. “I think maybe you mean, what happens if you break it.”

  She shrugged and picked at a piece of lint on her jeans. “Probably so.”

  “We’ll renegotiate if and when that happens. Right now, it’s more important that you agree to do your part.”

  “I’ll try,” Grace sounded a little half-hearted.

  “Either you will or you won’t.” This was the second time I’d heard Kamilah say this today, and I think I smirked a little. Sounded a whole lot better aimed at someone else than at me.

  “The goal here,” Kamilah continued, “is self-sufficiency, self-regulation, respect for others, and personal accountability. You do the right thing because it’s the right thing, instead of the easy thing because it’s easy. I think it’s pretty clear that Patrice has reached a breaking point, which would not be good for anyone. So, with that said, I’ll set up random drug tests and send the information directly to Grace. It’s up to her to comply. There is a lab downtown, close enough for Grace to walk.”

  Now that was something I could agree on. Things need to change, and they need to change soon. The good news is, I think we’re all on board. Even Grace.

  Kamilah and I filled out paperwork with three different recovery centers, pre-registering Grace so there would be more likelihood of an available bed at a moment’s notice. It was as important to plan for success as it was to prepare for the worst.

  We’ve set some ground rules that everyone can live with. It’s not my job to get Gracie clean, nor to worry about whether or not she’ll choose real help. It is my job to allow her the natural consequences of her actions, to not take away the pain and struggle that may help her achieve her goals. It is not my job, but it is my desire, to help her find reasons to want to stay clean. I want my sister back, and I’ll do whatever it takes, the right way, to help her get well. So, we have a plan. And we have support. And we have each other. I pray to God that’s enough.

  Part 3 – June 2001

  34 – Patrice

  Miss Ora started coordinating her own schedule and stopped relying on me for rides everywhere, but I didn’t feel right making her face her legal problems alone. I did feel obligated, but it is not an obligation that I resent. It has become obvious that Miss Ora and I are at odds with each other when it comes to what we expect from the state’s attorney. I want to keep her out of jail. She wants to clear Eddie’s name.

  But there is more to this case than that. Grace told Kamilah there were three other boys involved, not in the rape itself, but they were there when it happened. Seems to me if Miss Ora is going to be held accountable for something she just heard about, those boys ought to bear some responsibility for what they saw and didn’t report. I couldn’t remember who Skipper hung out with in high school, though. This made me think of Cheryl Kincaid.

  We weren’t exactly what you would call friends in high school, but we were cheerleaders together, teammates. We became close in college when fate in the form of Ora Lee Beckworth made us roommates. Cheryl was a year behind me, so she moved in when I was a rising sophomore. It was a year or so before I realized we had the
same benefactor, which explained a lot.

  She was one of those people who just knew everyone. Fit in anywhere. If anyone would remember Skipper’s friends, it was Cheryl. It seemed like a good excuse to call her, so I did.

  We arranged a time to meet at a local bar and grill for dinner. I had invited her to just stop by Miss Ora’s house, but she said there was no way she could do that without her mother tagging along and we both knew that was not a good idea. Miss Dovey was okay, I guess, just hard to take in large doses. I remember she and Miss Ora struggled for years to get along but have since made what amounts to a peace of sorts. They don’t seek each other out, but they’ll sit and talk on Miss Ora’s porch if Miss Dovey catches her out there on her twice-daily walks.

  Cheryl is built like her mama, low to the ground and a little wide in the hips, but she carries it well. She is the opposite in temperament, though. Where Miss Dovey is mouthy and quick to judge, Cheryl thinks the best of everyone she meets. She walks through the world loving people just the way they are and assuming they love her back. And they do. Me included.

  Cheryl was at the restaurant first and I saw her immediately when I arrived. She came up out of her chair, arms reaching for me before I even got to her. Everyone should have someone who greets them this way. No matter what has happened, you feel like all is right with the world.

  “Reese!” Cheryl called out, using the nickname she gave me in college.

  We caught up in our usual way, talking over each other. All my training goes out the window, and I become the Patrice I was in school, animated and carefree. At least I was until my brother died. That changed me.

  I had thought I would ease into the subject of Skipper’s murder gently, but we spent so much time just chatting I was afraid I’d never find a good opening. So when the waitress delivered our second appetizer, I dove right in.

  “So,” I said, breaking apart a pub pretzel and dipping it into the beer cheese, “what do you remember about Skipper Kornegay getting killed?”