Crush: Verb 1) to Press or Squeeze with a Force That Deforms or Destroys

Copyright © 2008 by Carole Barker

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

References:

For Danny

The tenderest love requires to be rekindled by intervals of absence.

-Samuel Johnson

Acknowledgements

I will be forever grateful to the following people for their support and contributions to this book:

To Keith and Beth, for their willingness to share the most personal aspect of their lives in order that it may help educate others.

To Linda Sharpsten, for her editorial skills and her ability to stifle laughter when I first approached her about writing this book.

To my daughter Charlotte, one of the finest little mommies I know, for her patience and fine computer skills in helping me to get this manuscript to the publisher.

To my husband John, for his ability to entertain, amuse, and love me.

To Blake, for his artistic talent with a camera and a computer—great job on the cover!

To Lani and the gals in the office, for their steadfast support and insightful suggestions.

To my children and their spouses who have heard about nothing other than this book for weeks upon end; Matt and Kathy, Blake and Lani, Keith and Beth, Garrett and Samantha, Mark and Charlotte, and Josh.

To my faithful friends, who have been my guardian angels on earth, Loraine and John, Marsha, Debra, Karan, Tonya, and Sandy.

To Denise, for her savvy in navigating medical sites on the internet, and for her expertise in the field of nursing.

To Tess and her devoted staff—thank you for the wonderful work you do for children and their parents. They say there are no angels anymore—you’ve proved them wrong.

To Carole, my friend, confidante, mentor, and guardian angel—who has surpassed us all—you are dearly loved and greatly missed!

The contents of this story are true. In order to protect the identity of my son and his family, and especially young Steven Barker, I have chosen to change the names of all persons included within these writings. Likewise, all cities, towns, states, medical facilities, doctors, judges, lawyers, and any other person with a specific title have also been changed. Any use of real names of persons, institutions, or localities is coincidental. Any resemblance of an actual person to any character in the book is also coincidental.

The serpent beguiled me …

Genesis 3:13

Introduction

I am the Mormon mother of seven children. Yes … SEVEN children. I have six sons and one daughter. Now this is not your normal mother of a bunch of kids story. This is my story about my adult life in a world full of CRAZIES.

My children are very bright. They did well in school, have achieved wonderful things as adults, and are honest, law-abiding citizens. They have avoided the pitfalls of drugs, alcohol, and other negatives that we, as parents, fear. They simply have one little occasional quirk: THEY ATTRACT CRAZIES!

I should clarify myself here. Most of my children have married other wonderful adults, for which I am truly grateful. One son in particular has had a most chaotic adult life because he unknowingly hooked up with a Crazy.

Now finding a Crazy is easy! It’s very easy. They’re out there en masse. They’re the type who at first sight appear to be just like other normal law-abiding citizens. In fact, they may even appear to be a cut or two about the average person. They (according to themselves) have excellent skills. They do exceptionally well academically. They have all the money that they could possibly ever want. Their talents and highly defined skills are sought after by the finest business facilities. They have an unusual amount of friends who love them dearly. They’re usually on scholarship because of the aforementioned qualities. They develop close personal relationships with those in authority such as professors, doctors, police officers, (or so they say). They have delightful personalities, especially if you don’t quiz them too closely about their achievements. They boast of wonderful trips to exotic places, of people who adore them so much that they wish to shower them with gifts, of family members who have achieved greatness, and of grandiose things yet to come in their lives.

These Crazies always seem to bring a plethora of chaos to the lives of those they come in contact with. Crazies seem to feed, even thrive, off the chaos they create around them. And the surprising thing is that they can be right in the middle of said chaos, and not know they had anything to do with it. Their world is just as it should be. They see themselves in control; in charge of each and every situation. While those around them are in a constant state of confusion and upheaval, the Crazy is content, happy, and enjoying the power he wields over his peers. When things spin out of control, the Crazy is not at fault in any way. He just sits back and sucks in the misery of others. While one is mentally trying to make sense of this chaos, the Crazy is already off on his next adventure. Which you will surely be a party to!

At this point I must admit I do not have a degree of any kind. I am not a licensed therapist, a physician, a psychologist, or even a particularly educated woman. But, I have lived a few years and experienced a few of these Crazies in my own life … which makes me an involuntary expert.

As previously stated, Crazies are very easy to find. The reverse however, is a different story. Once a Crazy has latched onto you, it is nearly impossible to shake free of them. They will stick to you like Velcro, and your life will never be the same. You find yourself in a constant state of confusion. You find yourself doubting your own thought processes. You doubt the people you love the most and wonder if you ever truly knew them. You find yourself checking your rear view mirror because the Crazy may be following you for some evil purpose. You check your caller I.D. before you pick up the phone. You find yourself with a tape recorder attached to your phone because no one in their right mind would believe you. You start every conversation with I swear I’m not making this up, but … You lock your doors in broad daylight and refuse to open them until you’re sure who is standing on the other side. You go to the nearest Home Depot to purchase alarms for all your doors and windows. You purchase additional fire insurance because you’re just not sure when someone will light a match to your home. You stop every fifteen miles to purchase a Pepsi with your credit card so you can prove where you were at all times. You never go anywhere alone because accusations are coming at you from all directions and you need a witness to everywhere you go and everything you do. You start looking at therapists and feeling sorry for them because you realize how easily they can be manipulated. You get acquainted with the local police in advance because you know they’ll be showing up on your doorstep.

All of these actions have been taken by my son, in order to stay ahead of the Crazy in his life. The sad part for me as his mother is this: IT WILL NEVER END!

Some people think the Mormon way of life is a strange one. But for any Mormon, it’s the ONLY way of life. Mormons are generally happy people who have a strong desire to love and serve the Lord. While most people in the United States may not actually know a Mormon, most are familiar with the Mormon missionaries that they see walking the streets in their hometowns. Those young men and women work hard to earn the money to pay for their own missions. With the help of their families and extended families, Mormon missionaries are self-supporting for the two years they are away from home. Missionaries spend two full years in the service of the Lord, teaching anyone who will listen to their message. Finding someone who wants to hear that message is the most difficult part of their day. They get spit on; they get doors slammed in their faces; they are knocked off their bikes by pranksters; they get shot at; they occasionally get kidnapped; they wash their clothes in muddy rivers or not at all; they get covered with vomit as they attempt to help alcoholics back on their feet; they eat food in foreign countries that we would not give to our animals here; and they leave behind loved ones, girlfriends, and families. Sounds like an awful way of life, doesn’t it?

And yet, if you were to ask any returned missionary, What was the best time in your life, the answer would most always be, My mission! These young men and women love the time they spend on their missions. They mature and grow as they learn to look outside of themselves. They learn to love the people they serve. They realize the joy and satisfaction that comes from helping someone else and those lessons never leave them. It humbles them and strengthens them. It transforms them into fine young men and women of character. They appreciate the homes and communities they came from as they see how desperate situations in the world can be. The lessons a young man or woman learns on a mission are invaluable and can be learned nowhere else on earth. It is not easy, that is for sure. And it does not come cheaply or without great sacrifice on the parts of the family members who support the young missionaries. But it is done gladly and with great joy.

I give this brief Mormon history as a prefix to the story I am about to tell. The strong Mormon background is an essential part of what lead to the predominant Crazy in our lives.

Chapter 1

We cannot easily recognize a person with no conscience; but a person with no conscience can instantly recognize a vulnerable and decent mark.

It was with tears of joy that we sent our third young son Keith on a mission. He was nineteen years old, his friends were all leaving on their missions, and he decided his time had come to serve the Lord. Keith waited anxiously to receive his letter from the president of the church telling him where he would be serving his mission. The day finally arrived and Keith was called to a stateside mission meaning he would be serving in the United States. As a mother, you breathe a sigh of relief because at least you know your child will be in an English speaking country with good medical care and healthy hygiene. You do your best to let go, work hard to support them while they’re gone, and pray, pray, pray.

Keith’s mission was fairly routine at the beginning. He spent three weeks at the Missionary Training Center (M.T.C.) in Provo, Utah. There the newly called missionaries study scriptures, learn rules specific to the mission, learn about the area in which they will be serving, and start to adjust to a missionary regimen. They spend time with other missionaries who are also away from home for the first time. The M.T.C. deals with all kinds of issues with these young men and women while readying them for the life of a full-time missionary. There are a few hard and fast rules that must be followed during the mission. They are NEVER, I repeat NEVER, to be alone while in the company of a member of the opposite sex. They have curfews. Each missionary is assigned a companion. At NO TIME is he or she to be away from his or her appointed companion. This last rule is obviously for safety reasons. Even in the M.T.C. while training they’re required to stay with whomever they are assigned to. I’ve never been on a mission, but from what I understand, this is the most difficult part for most missionaries. No matter how much they may like someone, when too much time is spent together, they are likely to get on each other’s nerves. If one gets a companion he really doesn’t like, it’s much more difficult. However, this environment tends to build strength and character, so the missionaries are encouraged to work out their differences.

At last the big day arrives and the young missionaries get on a plane and head to their respective missions. There are hundreds of Latter-Day-Saint missions throughout the world. Keith headed for his mission in Florida. Of course, as with everything else, the young are full of enthusiasm, energy, and high hopes when they start a new adventure. Keith was no different. He faithfully wrote to us and told us of his life in Florida and the wonderful people he was meeting. He wrote of his different companions, and of days spent walking and walking, just trying to find someone who was interested in their message. He told us happy stories about how the gospel had changed the lives of the people they taught. He also told us sad stories of people trying to support large families with no income.

Mormon Missionaries are required to spend at least four hours each week in service to the community in which they live. Most of them laughingly joke about being the moving company as a lot of their service projects consist of moving families from one apartment (with lots of stairs, of course) to another. Sometimes the work seems rather tedious, but then the missionaries enjoy some particular success and it makes all their hard work worth the effort.

At this same time we also had another son on a mission in New Hampshire. It was fun to get letters from both boys and hear of their similar, but unique experiences.

Here at home, Dad, I and the rest of the siblings were holding down four jobs to financially support the boys on their missions. My husband worked in nuclear engineering, I worked retail and had my own quilting business at home, and the family also cleaned offices in the evening to pick up a little extra money. We were a busy family; I look back on it now and wonder how we did it all.

Each missionary is required to write home once a week. In retrospect I should have known that something was amiss when Keith’s letters started coming fewer and farther apart. I soon started threatening to call his Mission President and report him for not writing home. I would eventually get a quickly written letter, but it just did not have the same feeling as his previous letters had.

At Christmas time (one of the two times during the year a missionary is allowed to call home) we talked to Keith on the phone. He asked to talk privately with Dad and me, and told us of a young lady in his mission that he had baptized. Her name was Patty and he spoke quite highly of her. He said she’d had all kinds of troubles in her life and that the church had changed her life for the better. She had been in and out of foster care and that the last family she lived with had adopted her. She spoke so highly of her foster parents, Jim and Kim, and their two children. Patty felt