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| My mom being a trooper taking a ride in my Jeep despite the forecast for rain! |
"This will be the first time I
don't have to move out in the middle of the night."
A simple statement
from my mom had the impact of a punch in the stomach when I was least expecting
it. I felt it slam into my chest,
the whoosh of air leaving me breathless. My chest locked down, my
stomach hurt and the burning shame of memories closed off my throat, causing a
dull ache in my forehead.
I think I responded, and I must have
managed to respond almost normally. I somehow kept talking and the phone to my ear. I am not sure how, because while my mouth and body
were carrying on a conversation, my heart and my soul were spinning back in
time and re-living every midnight move of my childhood.
There were many. They were always
unexpected. A middle of the night wake up, and an order to pack
everything, dictated by his mood and alcohol levels. We would have a couple hours to grab what we could.
Then we were off hurdling down a dark highway toward a new town and new
levels of uncertainty. There was never a chance to tell friends, get addresses
or say good bye to your favorite things. It was before Facebook, Twitter
and even email, so as we drove away leaving layers of our life behind one more
time, it was another goodbye with no forwarding address. There was no new house
to live in, we would simply find it once we got where we were going, which
hadn't yet been decided.
The phone still to my ear, I struggled
to come back to the moment. Gripping the phone I forced myself to pay attention
to what she was saying. Several weeks
ago I finished the last detail of buying a house for my mom. Although I
am proud of this, pride is secondary to the relief I feel at giving her a place
to live which will finally be hers. After years of living in other
people's spare rooms, ranch hand quarters, hotel rooms for staff, and rental
houses that sometimes had no finished walls or flooring, she had settled for
the last 20 years in an apartment. When she moved in it was nicer than
anywhere else she had lived. Today it is a disgustingly neglected unit with
apathetic and uncaring management.
For years I have worked hard to be in a
position to give her a stable home, a house that feels like home and has room
to grow flowers, hang a bird feeder and allow her to paint the walls whatever
color she wants. Her only window these past 20 years has been a patio
door with a view of the highway.
In the last few weeks, I hear
excitement in her voice every day as she talks about having a yard, sitting
outside on the screen porch, planting flowers, having sunshine and a view from
her living room. Although she has repeated the same statements over and
over, each time I listen again, smiling.
I smiled up until I heard "You know what the best part
is?"
"What is that?" Expecting
another round of excitement about extra closet space.
"It will be the first time I don't
have to move out in the middle of the night."
A punch in my gut, packed with memories. Remembering every one of those midnight moves.
The tears I couldn't shed because it would have made him even more angry.
The pain of lost friendships, lost memories, and an identity never quite
formed. The pain of being the new kid again, the outcast. A combination of my poor kid clothes and a protective shield I held high, kept anyone from getting too close. The shame of my life, my family, my
story and the fear of someone discovering who I really was, made it easy after
a while to leave the towns behind.
Easier but never less painful.
Maya Angelou defines
an epiphany this way. "It probably has a million definitions. It's the
occurrence when the mind, the body, the heart, and the soul focus together and
see an old thing in a new way." What I
hadn't realized during this process, was
I wasn't just buying my mom a house or a home. I was buying her
freedom from the only way she had ever experienced change in her life. I
was buying her a chance to do this the right way and in a way she could talk
about, brag about and look forward to. It was the first time ever she had
been able to talk about moving before she did and the first time she could tell
other people!
As we wrapped up our call that night, I
managed to hit the button to disconnect before I sank to the floor and cried the sobs of a little girl and years of choked
back tears. I cried so hard my eyes hurt and my stomach hurt. I held my dogs close as they rushed in to
comfort me and I cried for all I left behind each time we got the wake up
call. Twenty six times before the age of
15. I cried until I physically could not
cry anymore and my exhaustion gave me a respite from the overwhelming grief of
all that had been lost and taken.
Hearing her sound so happy should
have been a happy moment and I am happy for the moments my mom will have in
the first home that will be hers. The reason I have some
happiness only exists because of the gut
wrenching pain, which adds an indescribable layer to it. It brings a lost and vacant
feeling that comes with years of
homelessness and wandering, searching for new places to be homeless.
So many things in life start out as one
thing and turn into something else. I wish I only felt the single dimension of joy and happiness and anticipation that she does. The truth is,
without the shame and pain as a driving force I am not sure this would have
been on my bucket list. Would I have had the drive
and dedication to do this for her? I can handle all the sharp angles this comes with, as long as she just feels the happiness. Because that is what this particular journey was about anyway. Her happiness. And I smile with tears in my eyes as my mom tells me for the hundredth
time "do you know what the best part is going to be?"..... This was a
defining moment for me and in the pain I see the old things in a new way. I wish it didn’t hurt so much but I am
grateful beyond measure to hear only joy in her voice. As the memories raced through my mind, body
and heart felt the full impact, I
wouldn’t trade it for a moment.
