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Instant Motherhood: How a 20 year-old SurvivedBy Debbie Goff “Michelle is dead.” My mind raced at the words. What Michelle did I know that was elderly or sick? None! Michelle Goff, mother of four small children, church member, alto in the choir—dead of a heart attack at 29! As the next Sunday’s service began, in walked Buddy Goff, now a widower facing the world without Michelle. Immediately behind him were their children, nine year-old Paul, seven year-old Jeremy, five year-old Stephanie, and two year-old Joshua. No one expected him to be there; his wife had just passed away the day before. Yet, that single act of faithfulness sums up Buddy—loving, gentle-hearted, and devoted to the end. No matter that his Savior had suddenly taken his wife. No matter that he didn’t know what he was going to do now. If that is what God thought was best, then he would get through it. Buddy took his place in their usual seat and began to worship. Worship! It was the most incredible act I have ever witnessed. Somehow, Stephanie found her way next to me. She scooted as close to me as she could, looked up with those chocolate, luminous eyes of hers and said, “My mom died last night.” My heart ached for her. The funeral was the largest in our church’s history. Someone said there were over 60 cars in the processional. Paul had already caused some excitement by jumping out of the truck on the way over to the post-funeral gathering at the pastor’s house. As a result, he needed stitches. Many were distressed at these antics. His father was angry. “How could he do such a thing on the day of his mom’s funeral?” he spat. Somehow, I knew that Paul’s hurt must’ve reached that “can’t breathe” level where the pain is so intense that it seems there is not enough oxygen in the room to fill your lungs. I knew he had jumped out of the car simply because he needed more air. The following months passed slowly for Buddy. Seeking companionship and counseling, he found himself meeting Maude (not her real name), a family friend a few years younger than him, on a regular basis for coffee. The church family was ecstatic! Local gossips pegged her as “the replacement.” Since Maude was one of my closest friends, I was delighted to baby-sit the children, thus letting them have more time alone. I was 20, living on my own for the first time, working full-time and going to college part-time. Having grown up with only one sibling, six years younger than myself, it was enthralling to be surrounded by four children. They were such precious little creatures! Paul talked incessantly and moved some part of his body constantly. Jeremy, who should have been called Buddy Jr., just wanted to be near me in the room somewhere, never demanded much attention, and was forever bringing in some sick bird or worm or something that needed nurturing. Stephanie wanted to be on my lap or right next to me at all times. Baby Josh was so docile and loving, often he’d fall asleep with his little arms around my neck. And so it was that I fell hopelessly and completely in love with the children. We soon established a routine. I went to the Goff’s house on Thursdays after work. Maude would meet Buddy there and the two of them would go out for a few hours. One night that routine changed. I was in Stephanie’s room reading her a story. Buddy came up to say good-bye, but he just stood there in the door and watched me for a long, long time. Finally, I insisted he leave. After all, Maude had been waiting downstairs for at least 20 minutes! He told me he didn’t want to leave. He told me he wanted to be with me. Several weeks later, Stephanie and I went out together. As she sat there munching on her hamburger, her thin, wispy hair falling haplessly about her face, she gently inquired, “Debbie, will you be my mommy?" Buddy and I were married 6 months later. Needless to say people’s reactions were not favorable! My family couldn’t believe that I was going to marry a man 10 years older than me and raise four children. My mother, in particular, felt that her little girl was making the biggest mistake of her life. Longtime friends, who knew I had grown up in a broken home, felt I was unequipped to mother a ready-made family. The church cluckers were aghast! They had picked Maude! Debbie didn’t know anything about children! Why, she was just a kid herself! Some even went so far as to tell the children that Michelle didn’t like Debbie and that she would not want Debbie to be their mommy! What people didn’t understand was that Buddy still grieved over Michelle. He spent hours gazing at her picture and retelling the same stories of their times together. Yes, it was an odd way to spend our courtship and first year of marriage, but this made me love Buddy even more. If a man could have such devotion after 10 years and four children, he was the kind of man that would love long and hard and for a lifetime. He was the kind of man I had always dreamed of marrying. At that time, we were renting a bright yellow bi-level with four bedrooms, two baths and a fenced yard. I had the perfect house and was eager to become the perfect wife and mother. Equally eager, I might add, to prove the growing number of skeptics wrong. I felt like Suzy Homemaker and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm all rolled into one - my little angels, my wonderful husband, and me. All was right with the world. Reality soon smacked me between the eyes. The magnitude of my responsibilities had exploded. I was now taking care of six people rather than one, eight loads of laundry rather than two, six bags of groceries rather than one, and cooking rather than eating out. Of course, being a modern woman, I had never cooked before. Relying on good old Betty Crocker, I made tuna casserole. It was piping hot and delicious. I served it with pride to my hungry little fold. They were delighted! Since they liked it so much, we had it again the next night and the next. At week’s end, Buddy’s sister showed up to teach me how to make chicken and dumplings. I distinctly remember the “Hallelujah Chorus” coming from the kid’s room. My naiveté was
wearing off quickly. In that first year of marriage, I had two miscarriages and
faced the unhappy fact that I was barren. Buddy was hospitalized with
appendicitis; our painting business almost went belly up; Paul set the garbage
on fire in the backyard; Jeremy “lost” half a dozen hamsters down the
heating vent; Stephanie struggled with bedwetting; and Josh kept me hopping with
his rampant curiosity. At year’s end I felt more like a member of the Kettles
than the Cleavers. I gained weight to the point that none of my clothes fit. I started missing church because of the embarrassment of literally having nothing to wear and no means to buy something new. The claws of depression were scratching at my door. Crying in secret and sleeping away my woes became a habit. Buddy, steady and constant, would lovingly hold me, pray with me, and often call to check on me. One night, a simple prayer of absolute surrender passed my lips as sleep overtook me. The next morning, on my front door was a brown paper sack without an inscription. Inside were numerous skirts and tops that were exactly my size! Elation filled my soul! God did see me! He did care! That memory is a foundation block in my personal house of faith. As time passed, the Lord was gracious and blessed our finances. After only two years, we were able to buy two townhouses, living in one and renting the other. We placed the kids in a private school. Jeremy was on the basketball team and Stephanie a cheerleader. Josh started in kindergarten. Unfortunately, Paul was permanently expelled for severe behavior problems. With reservations, we sent him to the Lighthouse Ranch for Boys. Shortly thereafter, we purchased our first house. Buddy had worked hard and his painting business had grown to the point that his client list included national firms. I worked part-time out of the house for my mother’s executive recruiting business. It
wasn’t long before Paul was expelled from the Lighthouse Ranch. The Dupage
County Crisis Intervention Team met us at the door when we brought him home
because of Paul’s history of threatening behavior.
Before long, it was a weekly occurrence for us to either pick Paul up at
the police department or for a squad car to be sitting in our driveway while the
officer inside filled out a runaway report. There is not enough space to list
the trauma he created in our lives during this time. Living with an out-of-control adolescent is like having an elephant in the family room. Every waking moment is spent responding to and waiting for the elephant’s next outburst. The other children reacted with chronic claustrophobia. The elephant had squeezed them into the corners of their own home. Everyone held their breath for fear there wouldn’t be enough air in the room the next time we needed it. A year later, with the delinquent behavior continuing, Paul was committed to the St. Charles Prison for Juveniles. The elephant was gone. We were relieved he was in a safe place, but devastated that all the counseling, prayer, and love in the world hadn’t been able to help him. Then, like a child who holds his breath to win a contest, the rest of us hyperventilated in the sudden rush to fill our lungs with oxygen. Each of us manifested our inner trauma differently: I had severe panic attacks and felt as if Satan himself was my constant companion, Buddy withdrew, Jeremy now needed constant reassuring, Stephanie began to chronically lie, and Josh retreated into the safety of a child’s imagination. By that summer, I had soared to 300 pounds, over twice my wedding weight. This obvious cry for help drew Buddy out of his depression. Always the nurturer, Buddy responded to my grotesque obesity by tenderly holding me in the early morning hours, and praying for my health and freedom from compulsive overeating. Still, my days were filled with mental torment as I struggled with a plethora of anxieties. It was impossible for me to make it through a day without first attending ladies’ prayer. The women’s daily prayer group prayed with me for hours, but there was little relief. Fear had a tenacious hold on me. One morning, my pastor’s wife began to read the Word out loud and deliverance came by the power of the spoken Word! God had begun the healing in Buddy and I, now it was time He did the same for the children. For obvious reasons, they did not do well in school that year. What they needed was time to heal; time to learn academically, yes, but also to expand emotionally and spiritually. Buddy and I inquired of the Lord for the best method to help them. God answered clearly—home schooling. Home schooling allowed Buddy and I to focus our full attention on the children. Using a satellite program, which insured we met national academic requirements, we were able to get 13 year-old Jeremy’s reading comprehension from a 2nd grade level to an 8th grade level. Stephanie and Joshua’s improvements were equally dramatic. Every school day began with focused prayer and devotion, followed by the children’s prescribed subjects. Unity and harmony began to blossom in the home. Each child flourished in this new environment and excelled in their unique areas of expertise. God had started to repair their emotional wounds, but He wanted to bring about the same for Paul. Paul’s victory came while he was in juvenile prison. At the direction of his group therapist, Paul told us of abuse he’d suffered just prior to his mother’s death. Shamefully, we never knew. Paul’s secret shed light on why his behavior had been so destructive. With this revelation, our breathing normalized. (Not that relations are normal. At this writing, we are all at different stages of the forgiving and restoration process.) Life is lived
going forward, but understood looking backward. Fourteen years have passed since
I married a widower and became an instant mother. Truly, “…all
things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called
according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
In reflection, I can see how God took the “all
things” of our lives (my barrenness, Michelle’s death, Buddy’s
subsequent widowhood, the children’s need for a mother) and “worked them together” in such a way that we completed each
other’s needs perfectly. When people ask if I had it to do all over again, would I have married Buddy and taken on four children, I have but one answer, “Absolutely!” ninetyandnine.com Article © Debbie Goff -------- Debbie Goff Have an opinion on an article? Let us know how you feel! Click feedback & fill us in. |
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