Category: family

One of my most unglorious public moments was when I gave a talk at the Sunstone Symposium a few years ago, about 10 days after having surgery on my left leg (surgery necessitated by the mysterious bacterial infection that I’d been fighting for 6+ months).  I looked like shit when I gave my talk, and was so weak that I couldn’t stand for more than a few seconds.  I was taking painkillers all day long to even make it through the event, and was quite emotionally fragile.  I’d also gained quite a bit of weight during the months I spent immobile on the couch, too–ugh.

But what I like about this video is that I can look back and see how much has changed since that hard time in my life. I’m now healthy and strong–emotionally and physically. My body’s immune system is so robust now that I’m rarely ever ill.

As a historian, I’m rather obsessed with marking change over time, with creating a narrative of how the past has impacted the future.  So when I watch this video and think about how awful that time was, or how it hurts to see myself declaring love for a spouse who’s since left me, it can be a bit…hard.  But it’s also validating to see just how much change has happened in my life since the Fall of 2008.

I want to put my arms around my then-self and tell her that life is going to be more amazing than she could have ever imagined.  That she will recover from the surgery and walk confidently again.  And before long she will paddle to off-shore islands and fly in small planes and travel to the places she could only dream of.  I want her to know that she will finish her dissertation and be a professor and nail a job that will make her happy everyday. I want her to know that she will experience tenderness and unconditional love from new friends and partners. And although she knew then that her children were divine, I want to tell her that this will be even more evident as they grow and make wise choices with their lives.

But most of all, I want her to know what she learned about “what has to be done” will be the most important lesson of her life, and will get her through all of the challenging days that lie ahead…

I’m a firm believer in the power of community.  I believe that none of us should be afraid to lean on each other or gather support from a network of friends.  But, I’m also learning that there are moments that I need to stand alone…

My move this week is a big step for me.  I’ve never signed a lease on my own or moved myself without aid.  As a matter of fact, I’m sure that for most of my life I felt that I couldn’t have done either of these things successfully, which is why I’ve eschewed nearly all offers for help on this move.  Although I’ve had many friends stop by and keep me company as I pack, and have had many friends drop by empty boxes for me to use, I’m going at this on my own (and thank you, all, for your kind offers–I appreciate them so very much).*

Perhaps it’s because there’s still a lot of my ex’s stuff to sort through or perhaps it’s the need for a very clean break with this move, but whatever the reason, I needed to not have help with this.  I needed to know that I could do it with my own two hands and my own strong back.  I’ve planned ahead for weeks and packed small, liftable boxes.  I’ve taken load after load to the Goodwill and the dumpster.  I’ve given away many of the larger pieces of furniture.  A friend with a truck will come and help me schlep some of the furnishings that require more than two hands to carry, two neighbors helped me move the beast of a file cabinet out of my storage closet, and the kids have carried some loads to/from the car–but the bulk of this I’ve done by myself.  At this point I’m on the tail end of things and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit to some level of exhaustion.  But the end is in sight and I can’t believe how smoothly it’s gone so far.

I realized, in chatting with a friend last night, that what I’m the most afraid of with this move, is of failure.  I’m afraid that I might’ve made a mistake in arranging for this home to live in.  I’m afraid that I might’ve bitten off too much to care for (this home is at least twice the size of my current place, though still small-ish by California standards).  I’m afraid that maybe I can’t actually afford the extravagance of a home (even though it’s still well within my means).  I’m afraid that I might not be ready to move away from the block where I’ve lived for 15 of the past 20 years (oh, that is huge change!  Huge!).

But as I sat on the edge of my new-to-me bed last night and looked out the window (the one that looks out over the deck and garden) and felt the cool night breeze on my face…I lost much of that fear.  It’s time for this change, I know it.  And I’m ready for whatever consequences will come of it.

*the one exception to this is my kids’ stuff–they are packing and moving their own things.

And, for your listening pleasure….here’s the song that’s become my mantra for this move.  I love humming along to it while packing.  :)

I was chatting with CatGirl the other day when the subject of dependence came up.  I took the opportunity to explain to her what the consequences were of the choices I made to marry young and start a family at age 21.  That it meant that over a decade ago, when it became obvious that my spouse was not as trustworthy as he had seemed, that I was stuck.  At that time I spent all day caring for my two young children.  He took our only car to work everyday and our neighborhood wasn’t well-served by local bus routes.  Which meant not only was I confined within the walls of our home nearly every hour of the day, but I was also ‘stuck’ in a larger sense.  I’d never held a full-time job and my bachelor’s degree wasn’t in a marketable field.  Even in college when I’d applied for crappy part-time jobs I’d usually been turned down because of my disability (this was back in the day when they could tell you to your face that “We think you just aren’t physically capable of this job”–which meant that somehow my artificial leg would prevent me from answering phones for an office?).  And as a cancer survivor, I was also insurance-dependent, knowing that the only means I had for acquiring my expensive prosthetic limbs was via my spouse’s policy.  The fear of losing my mobility loomed large.

What I didn’t explain to her then, but will someday, is what followed.  After celebrating my 30th birthday I started wearing black all of the time because I felt frumpy and old.  Soon, I stopped eating, and then I spent most of the day staring listlessly into space while sitting on the back porch, or curled in a ball leaning against the washing machine and feeling its comforting hum.  I thought too often about matches and knives and wanting my life to be over.  My chronic bronchitis developed into chronic laryngitis.  I whispered and wheezed.  And over time I grew smaller and smaller and smaller…

So I told my daughter that I would always support and respect her choices for the future, but I hoped that she would never-ever-ever put herself in a position where she was as dependent as I was.  Because everyone deserves mobility and opportunity for employment–even spouses who choose to stay at home and care for their children.

She was listening carefully as I spoke, and she agreed.