My Purpose

Everyone’s life has a purpose. Everyone’s mistakes have a purpose. Sometimes we do things purposely that others can’t understand. Sometimes we question the greater purpose in life. Sometimes we fail to understand the reason or the purpose of losing a loved one, a man so great and so giving that any purpose given would still seem unjustifiable. There are times I sit at my desk, listening to my bosses order for reports, and time frames are given to complete things as though they are life and death when in fact, it’s just accounting. No one will die if I forget to complete the bank reconciliation by the 10th of the month. So what’s the purpose?

Purpose. Purpose. Purposely. Purposeful. The reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. To have as one’s intention or objective.  The reason for which something is done is not always clear. At times we are not certain why something was created or for which it exists.  Often we do not know if the intentions of a person are good or bad. But purpose is neither and it is both. Purpose does not have a feeling or judgment. It’s neutral. Purpose doesn’t pick sides. Purposefully hurting someone and purposefully helping someone can look the same. Purpose is driven and exact. The problem with purpose is that it is not always clear on directions. Sometimes a purpose that is meant for good becomes a purpose of bad. I began parenting with purpose. The purpose of someone who wanted to raise well-educated, well-behaved, well-rounded and cultured children. I began parenting with purpose to do good-by my children, to shape them into adults that are loved and open-minded members of society that make a difference in lives of many.  The purpose was to have children that would grow up to help make the world a better place, and leave it better than it was when they were born. My intentions were pure. My goals were obtainable. I set out with a positive purpose.

I never anticipated that my child would become the opposite of that. That all of my purpose would instead raise a child that steals, and lies, and squander her life in the name of addiction. Her purpose is to get high. She purposely sticks a needle in her arm, an arm that is infected and abscesses and scarred.  It is because her purpose became something that could kill her that I had a new purpose. My new purpose is why I marched into a court for the fourth time in two years to tell a judge that my daughter is a danger to herself. My purpose was for them to issue a warrant on a section 35 to detain her in a safe environment by staff that could help treat her drug addiction. It was with that same purpose that I told her either she goes or she is not part of our family. It is with the same purpose that I drove her to that court-house, listening to her say how she is sick to her stomach and afraid. My purpose steeled me against those words because queasy and scared are emotions she won’t feel if she is dead, and my purpose was to keep her alive.  My soul purpose in life has become keeping her alive.

They called her name, and she handed me her jewelry, giving me a kiss and a hug as she walked toward the judge. As I watched the bailiff, the same one that was here last time, and the time before, purposely put her in handcuffs and shackles, I stood up to wave good-bye. I exited the court room without looking back on purpose, because I have seen her be taken away twice before. I walked back to my car with the purpose of a person who understands she needs a new purpose because she can’t make her child live purposely unless she wants too.