What’s in a month?

Most of us realize by now that life can change in an instant. Likely by now someone you know has had a medical event that changes their life as a diagnosis was read, or an accident forever limited their freedom.

Maybe that is your story or perhaps your life has had other struggles but have yet to experience these. I type with no judgement, just a thought about this one month in 1989.

This picture was taken a couple of days after my 14th birthday. I am the blonde Bugle Boy there in the red shorts. Up until this photo my family lived together, most recently in California.

I don’t remember much about these years. I remember the vest I am wearing. My Grandma and Grandpa were living in Chula Vista, and on one visit they took us into Tijuana, she bought me the vest there.

I should probably clarify “living together”, at best we were coexisting in survival mode. The years in between those photos, year 8 and 14 got a little dark for the Irwins. My father struggled with alcohol, drugs, and anger. My mother struggled with my father. My sister was removed from the home for a while for her protection, and my younger brother once dropped a red hot penny on my arm, his excuse was “dad did it to me”.

I remember that during these years my father wore this thick leather belt and some large buckle. Whenever he wanted to instill fear he would fold the belt, hold both ends and make it snap loudly. Whenever he wanted to instill discipline he would use the belt, flinching was not tolerated.

After a few years things got better but mostly because his addictions got worse and would disappear for long stretches. My mother would get up early and deliver newspapers, then go clean for others all day. It was pretty common for me not to see either of them for days at a time.

I do have a couple memories of my father during this time, two of which are him overdosing and being rushed to the hospital, one is his attempt to explain to my brother and I how he was cursed. His father died at 36, he would die at 36, also we were probably cursed to die at 36 as well.

Following this photograph, my parents officially split. My brother, mother and I loaded into a utility van stuffed with all we owned and headed East back to Indiana. My sister, who had just found out that she was pregnant, would move in with her boyfriend. My father, weeks away from his 37th would ensure the curse was indeed real.

It took me until recently to realize that the move was us saying goodbye, the last call was him saying goodbye.

That is really my fear, knowing that I worked pretty hard to avoid addictions, yet my children seemed to inherit them in a percentage that defies averages.

I worked even harder to be a “better father” whatever that means. I knew what I grew up dreaming of what it looked like. To me it looked like time. It looked like showing up for everything that they were excited about or participating in. It looked like taking their time when correcting them. It looked like a whole bunch of things that I thought would keep them from ever feeling truly alone. My greatest fear being that they will.

Despite “work done” the evidence seems clear, my children bear weights beyond their burdens.

I spend as much time as they let me being honest about my struggles with depression, and the little things that help me. Sharing stories about my Grandma, and what she went through, what helped her.

The hopes is that they will be even better equipped should dark thoughts creep in.

The saddest part of it all is that I realize that I will be ok, it would be an incredibly hard burden to carry, but I know what my Heavenly Father has done and is doing.

I know that My grandma survived losing both the father to her five children and one of those five to suicide. And My Heavy Father not only helped her through it, but several other tragedies and helped her to still feel Joy. He also gave me a few years with her where we talked often. It allowed me to see a different side of my father and to finally grieve.

It allowed me to see what real strength looked like. My time with her was precious, and incredibly valuable even if for no other reason than seeing her keep Joy.

Great things can happen in a month as well. My prayer is that the months that follow are filled with Love, and not fear.