I have learned through the many years of my life, that rough times can be overcome. I discover this for the first time when my father is diagnosed with cancer, his eventual death and the year that follows 1978.
During my junior year of high school two girlfriends wake up one day and decide to hate me. I am busy with ballet, ice-skating, homework and helping my mother deal with my fathers increasing disability. I get my braces off, and due to a new hair cut is suddenly the latest interest of boys in school. I remember how difficult the mornings are, as I awake to the sound of my father throwing up in the toilet and then again in the kitchen sink, as he prepares to go out the door to work at 5:00am. The realization of his illness would set in and I'd cover my face in my hands and roll over into my pillow. My alarm goes off at around 6:45am and I wish for a different life. I go to school in a fog, which I come out of each day sometime around 10:00am. So I really wasn't very aware of my environment... let alone these two girlfriends.
On one particular morning, the two girlfriends would not say a word to me. Nothing. It was as if I was invisible. I let it go, as my dearest friend Laura attends school in another city. We see each other everyday, either at ballet or ice-skating. Most weekends she lives at my house. The two girl friends at school I know from years spent in the same school, but it really is not the bond I share with Laura. Laura and I can talk about anything and laugh about everything. She is my friend to this day, and I am quite sure I owe her my life.
After three days of not speaking to me, I confront the two girls. Their response is like ice to my heart. They proceed to tell me they hate me, call me a bitch and say all kinds of terrible things. The tirade goes on for quite some time, until I just turn and walk away. I walk out of school, down the long streets to my home. I am stunned and in shock. No one has ever told me they hate me, and for the life of me I cannot not figure out what I have done. By the time I get home, my mother is there to greet me. We live in such a small town that the school has already called her and told her I was not in class. She was smart enough to figure I am coming home.
I collapse on the couch in a bucket of tears, and my mother is as cool as lead pipe in the frozen tundra. I remember wondering what is wrong with her, as she proceeds to get angry with me. I guess it's a redhead thing. She begins to lecture me on how unimportant these two girls are in the scheme of life and how grateful I should be to them for allowing me to see who they really are. "Now you aren't wasting anymore time!" she yells at me. I remember sitting there in shock as she tells me to wash my face and straighten up - she is taking me back to school. "Missy, this will pass!" she says, handing me a box of Kleenex. She drives my butt back to school.
Looking back, it is a hurtful time due to what is happening at home. However, I do not regret for one minute not having these two girls as friends. My mother was right. Ultimately, in my senior year I end up getting in a physical fight with one of them. It stands as the only fight I have ever been in, and I win. Not only that, because the teachers and administrators like me so much, I do not get in trouble. By now I am involved with my first serious boyfriend, who is three years older, a hockey player and rides a Harley. My parents hate him ... but he teaches me how to fight.
High school passes, just like my mother promises. I face my father's death, fall into a deep, dark depression and climb back out. The pain and anguish that follows comes, and then leaves. I survive. It takes two years. I go on to have fun with college friends and meet Rich at a dance club with my brother. The times with Rich are high times indeed, even though I don't realize it at the time ... silly, silly girl. Over seven years later, we break up over the fact he never wants to marry. Once again, I dive into that place of chaos and heartache. I move out and change jobs - everything is a mess.
From the ashes of my life with Rich, a new life emerges working in the heart of San Francisco's Financial District. The sights and sounds are like nothing I have ever experienced in my life. I am wearing two-piece suits, carrying a briefcase and dawn jogging shoes to walk down Montgomery Street. I have morning coffee with the stockbrokers getting their shoes shined in front of the Pacific Stock Exchange. Once again, I recover. I love San Francisco. It feels more like home to me than Santa Rosa. I love the smells, the people, the restaurants, the hustle and bustle and the wonderful bank where I work. If it weren’t for the end of Rich and me - there would be no San Francisco stories. Life has promise.
I meet Terry on a weekend I decide to go out in Santa Rosa for a change. We are married nine months later. What begins as a fun, loving union slowly deteriorates in six years into a hellish angry pit that I must literally claw my way out. Once again I need to reconstruct a new life. But this time it is different, because this time I have a child to think about. It is difficult to rebuild a life within the constraints of what is best for a child. I love him more than I have ever loved anything and would gladly walk to hell and back for him. I am constantly torn between what I would like to do, and what Brian needs ... Brian always wins this mental tug of war. And really, I wouldn't have it any other way.
There are two more new job "discussions" since last week and am trying to figure out where I want to go next. If this is another bottom basement of my life, then I want to make sure the steps I build to get us out, take us to a better place. I certainly don't want to end up like many I have known who marry a second time for convenience and then live in misery for their decision; or those who elevate their lifestyle to a place where only jobs they hate can support them. I see a lot of unhappiness in the lives of others. It is all about choice. We must be careful of our choices.
I do notice one common theme when life has kicked me to the curb and I must pick myself back up: my friends. God love them. They are the most steadfast, there-for-me group of people in the world. There's KB offering suggestions, emailing jobs and ready to give me a rave recommendation. There's Eric with his letter of recommendation and words about his love for me as a best friend. There's Stephanie, determined to have me partner with her so we can take trips to Florida together, and her encouraging stories about single-motherhood and how she made it. There's Junebug with her, "Please tell me if it gets as bad as it was during your marriage so I canhelp you" statements, and her great humor, which always makes me laugh. She hates the fact that at the end of my marriage I counted pennies on my floor to make it, and never told her. I never told anyone - even my own mother. I have this crazy Irish sense of pride. There is the old friend at the beginning of this who brought me a huge box of tampons and groceries, with the comment, "A girl can't ever be out of tampons!" I still laugh at that.
There is my mother, who hides twenty dollar bills in my hair brush drawer, no matter how many times I tell her not to. Laura gives her words of encouragement as she has been dealing with Epstein Barr for six years now, telling me I am the one person she believes in. There's Elisabet who thinks I can do anything and tells me so every chance she gets. She is my cock-eyed optimist, who is dealing with her own stuff these days. There's Leslie who is also an x boss, who calls me once a week to check in and share laughs at our job hunts. She is in the same boat, but as an x president of a bank, her search is more humorous. We both think the interview process is crazy. There's Michele, who emails me her constant support, always wanting to cook me dinner. There's JS with his "Are you writing your book?" and "when are you coming to visit?" comments. Who knows, maybe someday this blog will be that book ... the story of a mother's life as a single mom.
I love all of them. I cannot imagine where my life would be without their constant love and support. With friends like these, how can I fail? They are the ones who get down in this pit with me and help me get back out. They are not afraid to get dirty with me. They understand that reconstruction begins with the bottom floor ... and I can't do it alone.
Years later I run into one of those two girls from high school. She is watching me with a group of college friends. She approaches and I don't recognize her. She looks terrible. She introduces herself and it takes me a few minutes to realize who it is. She apologizes about what happened back in school, so I use themoment to ask her why. She responds, "We didn't have anything else going on in our livesand it was something to do". Good lord I think what a pathetic life! I am thrilled I don't know this girl ... she did me a big favor - my mother was right. I turn to my new friends, thrilled how my life has turned out. Stephanie is convinced I will think the same when Brian is an adult.
Like my mother, I am sure she is right.
Until next time-
