Generation Beautiful Dirty Rich

I left a voicemail on the House of Promise machine that Saturday afternoon--fully expecting to have to call back Monday morning. From Saturday to Monday I was burdened by a stress migraine that I did not realize was just settling in for the long haul. On Monday morning I called, again, got the recording, but did not leave another message. I was not "sure" we were pressing in the right direction, and decided to just cool it.

With so much at stake, I was literally afraid to misstep even one tiny inch.  All the while my mom's growing concern over Breleigh was pressing on me. Who could blame her?  Mom and Bernie had served as the primary care giver for her precious granddaughter for four years this coming June. She had rocked her to sleep, wiped away her tears, and provided her with never ending love and care. But, let's face it, mom is not exactly a spring chicken, and this responsibility was coming at a heavy  price--taking quite the toll on her body, mind and spirit.  

How many "DeDes" are out there shouldering up the responsibility of rearing grandchildren because the person(s) that "should" be live in some Barbie fantasy world? A propped up half-life that exists because they use everything in their power to exert the belief  of entitlement to all manner of things that they do not "pay" or "work" for:  a pad, wheels, insurance, cell phone, snazzy clothes, dining out, manis/pedis/ highlights/spray tans, and a wallet full of money to blow on keeping up the glitzy facade. All the while the grandparent is also serving as chef, maid, nanny, personal assistant & 24/7 personal ATM.  This vicious cycle spins on sucking every ounce of life and energy from the entire family. And, yet, a growing portion of Generation Beautiful Dirty Rich contribute very little, if anything, in return to the family, community, or society in general.  Except of course they manage to contribute plenty to: countless sleepless nights, worry upon worry, depleted time, energy, and resources, and a general sense of feeling trapped, controlled, and manipulated by never ending pleas of  "Daddy, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry yea, we just like to party, like to party." 


I realize this is a complicated (societal, familia, personal) issue that is difficult to label and more difficult to attempt to "fix."  I don't want to point fingers, but  I do firmly believe the issue is at least partially rooted in the very real ill effects of role modeling after celebrities living the "Beautiful Dirty Rich"  life.  Yep, the "glamorous life" with its layer upon layer of addiction(s), lack of guidance/direction, refusal to "grow up" yet claiming they  are so "grown," a soulless, flesh frenzy existence hallmarked by an unquenchable "we just like to party"  lifestyle and perhaps equally important posting a plethora of selfies of your fakebaked "Beautiful Dirty Rich" zombiefied  life.  Nine years of  spiraling through the "Beautiful Dirty Rich" life left our family gasping for breath. All the while, a growing conviction churned helplessly in my stomach: 1. As long as mom was taking care of Breleigh and footing the bills, then there would be no reason for Rayanne to change. 2. Change was only coming if the responsibility of Breleigh was placed squarely in the lap of her mother.  

On Tuesday, April 9th, in the afternoon when Olathe, Colorado came across my phone's screen, I knew it was now or never. Yes, they had an opening. After a 10-15 minute tapestry sketch. Yes, they thought they could help. Yes, they would take Rayanne and Breleigh. The next, and most critical step, was a phone interview between the HOP Director and Rayanne. Rayanne had to say she wanted to enter the program. Rayanne had to want to transform. That alone was a tall order. An ordeal that required finding her, convincing her to listen to the plan, hoping she agreed, offering her help to fulfill the strenuous entrance requirements, and then praying she would make the one call that perhaps would go down in history as the most important call of her entire life... 

Prayer Focus: Grandparents rearing grandchildren.