Life Brings Joy and Happiness and Loss- These Things I Know To Be True

2 Replies

During my life, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience many joyful events. I witnessed my older siblings get married and have fourteen beautiful children and watch them grow up. I loved each one of them.

I met and fell in love with the man with whom I have shared my entire adult life. I’ve given birth to my two daughters, Jeanette and Bridget. I was able to nurture and love them and teach them what I had learned during my life. I had the opportunity at thirty-six to attend college. My daughter’s learned it’s never too late to learn and grow in life. 

I lived in diverse and beautiful places. I grew up in the North East in New Jersey. I lived in Florida and California in the 1970s. I have retired to North Carolina.

In my work life, I had the opportunity to give back to my fellow man. I worked in social services with at-risk children who had an incarcerated parent. I worked with the Amache Program with Wilson Goode and Big Brothers/Big Sisters.

I worked as an Assistant Supervisor and houseparent at Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ. to adolescent boys from inner cities including Camden, NJ.

I owned and operated two small businesses. Teaching art to children and adults in my art studios and making jewelry and selling it online.

Life offers us many opportunities, blessings, and challenges. We can grow from these experiences, or they can break us.

Life can be a smooth or unexpectantly bumpy and tumultuous path. We have to learn to navigate both.

There is an old but true expression. That into every life rain must fall.

When I was twenty- eight years old, my oldest sister Jeanie passed away. She was forty-two years old. She developed breathing difficulties when she was about twenty-seven years old. She was tested and diagnosed with a genetic disorder called alpha 1 antitrypsin disorder. It causes symptoms similar to emphysema. In that, it affects the lungs. She also had hemochromatosis, which is a blood disorder that causes a build-up on iron in the liver. That causes affects all your organs. It’s a disease that seems to affect people whose family’s origins are Celtic countries, such as Ireland, England, Scotland, and the Welsh.

Jeanie was sick for a long time. She was the bravest person I have ever known. Almost to the very end of her life, she maintained her sense of humor and her undaunting courage.

My sister’s death had a profound and lasting effect on myself and my entire family and her husband and two children, who were teenagers at the time. My mother and father were devastated by her death. My father seemed angry after she passed. He told me he was mad because no parent should outlive their child. 

I came back to New Jersey for the funeral. I knew she was very sick and had been for years. But I had never reconciled myself to the fact that she wouldn’t recover. Or the fact that she was going to die from this disease.

When my older brother Hugh called me and told me she had passed away, it was a harsh blow. One I had not prepared myself for in any way. I had lived away from home for over six years and hadn’t seen her.

Every day for a year after her death when I woke up, I thought about my sister, Jeanie.  I would never see her again. Every day this broke my heart anew. I would feel a wave of pain roll over me. And I would feel like I was drowning in that pain. Grief and regret were my companions. I regretted all the years that I had missed seeing her when I lived far away from her and my family. Years I could never recover. Opportunities lost. Every day for almost a year whenever I was alone, I would cry. When I was driving to work, I would have to pull over until I was able to get my emotions under control. I began having insomnia. I would awake in the middle of the night. And grief would wash over me like the tide.

About a year after my sister’s death, my husband graduated from college, and we moved back to New Jersey. I could see that my mother and father and siblings still felt my sister’s absence in some profound way.

But we each in our way started to carry on with our lives and move forward. My husband found a job. And we purchased our first home. We started a family. Somehow, we and anyone who loses a loved one must begin living their lives again.

Two years after my sister passed, I gave birth to my first child, and I named her Jeanette after my sister Jeanie. I could think of no finer gift to give my first child than to name her after my sister that I loved and admired so profoundly.

It has been forty years since my sister passed. And I and the rest of my siblings have endured the loss of my parents within eight months of one another.

My father died of lung cancer in 1986. And my mother had dementia, and congestive heart failure died eight months later. One of my nephews passed in 2001. My husband lost his father. He died from emphysema when he was only sixty-two. My mother-in-law died at ninety-two, but she suffered from Alzheimer’s for many years before she passed. It is a slow and painful death to watch.

My sister-in-law Mary Ann passed away two years ago. My oldest brother Hugh passed away a year ago last April. As did my dear brother-in-law Jake passed away last April, three days after my brother. I had known him since I was ten years old. He was the kindest, most generous person I ever met. Always willing to lend a helping hand.

So yes, we all know that life is fleeting. That none of us will live forever. But it’s a devastating loss when our loved one’s pass, our dear friends or god forbid one of our children, but it happens.

We must all carry on with our lives, taking each day one at a time. We must move forward and adjust to the loss. Our loved ones who passed would want nothing less than for us to go on living our lives to the fullest. And find our happiness once again.

Family Dance

2 Replies

They barely made it to the cabin before the roads became impassable. The snowstorm has been raging for over two hours.  There wasn’t any going back now. Sarah could barely make out the cabin through the snowy veil. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She was having difficulty catching her breath. 

“Are you alright, Sarah, you look a little pale?” asked her husband, Paul.

“Yes, of course, I guess I’m just a little nervous about seeing all of them. It’s been a long time.

Paul hears Sarah take a deep breath and exhale. “Truthfully, I’m dreading it. Every conversation with them is like walking over an abyss. I always feel as if I take one wrong step, down I’ll fall. Never to be found again.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little overly dramatic, Sarah?

“No, I don’t. You don’t understand because you came from a normal family. Your parents and siblings love one another. You know when you tell your brother or sister something in confidence, it won’t come back and stab you in the heart. Your parents didn’t pit you against one another and make you feel you had to compete for love and acceptance.”

“Well, this is the last time you will have to see one another if that’s what you want. It’s only two days you’ll be all right, Sarah.”

As Paul pulls their Jeep into the driveway, Sarah can see that they are the last ones to arrive. She takes a deep breath and ties her scarf around her neck and puts on her gloves. Although it’s only a short walk from the car to the cabin door, she feels like she needs armor to guard her against the onslaught of pain and heartache that is sure to come her way.

“Go ahead in Sarah. I’ll get the luggage. Be careful the snow is quite deep, and there’s probably ice beneath it. There always is up here in the mountains.”

Sarah plows her way through the nearly two feet of snow. She feels the snow covering her boots and falling inside with each step. The wind is blowing with such force. She can hardly make her way to the door. She pulls open the heavy door, and the wind grabs it out of her hands. It bangs closed. Sarah pulls it open again, using all her remaining strength.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Sarah close the door. We just got it warm in here. I always forget how thoughtless you are.”

Sarah steps through the doorway and directly into the living room. It looks the same. Somehow, she expected it to look different since her parents weren’t here and never would be. “Hello Henry, nice to see you again too.”

“Where’s that good-looking husband of yours, Sarah? Did he run off with a younger woman?” Ask her sister Kate.

Sarah can feel her heart pounding nearly out of her chest now. She takes deep, slow breaths as she tries to compose herself. “He’s bringing in our luggage. He’ll be here in a minute.” Sarah thinks she rather be an orphan then be a part of this family, not for the first time but perhaps the millionth time.

When she was a teenager, she often fantasized that someday her real family would come and rescue her. She prayed and dreamed the wrong parents had somehow taken her home from the hospital. But the dream was just that a dream. Even she couldn’t deny her uncanny resemblance to her siblings.

Paul pulls open the door and throws the luggage through the doorway and lunges into the room. He slams the heavy wooden door closed.

“Well, no one will ever claim that you two don’t know how to make an entrance. What took you so long, anyway? We agreed to meet here at one o’clock, didn’t we?”

Sarah opens her mouth to answer, and nothing comes out.

“Well, perhaps the four of you didn’t notice, but there is a blizzard out there, and while you all only live an hour from here, we drove six hours. Do you have a problem with that? You’re lucky we made it here at all. The roads are nearly impossible to get through.

Sarah looks first at Paul with a small grateful grin on her face. Heaven’s she knows after a lifetime of experiences never to show any fear. For fear is a catalyst to attack for her brother and sisters. “Where’s Ellen, isn’t she coming?”

Sarah feels a slight lifting of her spirits at the thought that she wouldn’t have to endure a weekend with her older sister Ellen.  Ellen took exquisite pleasure in presenting to the world a mask, of a benign and thoughtful person. But that’s all it was, a mask. In reality, Ellen is a wolf, whose saccharine words are laced with strychnine. Her words could cut you to the core and reside there in your soul and slowly eat it away. If you dare to protest, she would say, “Oh, Sarah is so sensitive. You can’t say anything to her without hurting her feelings. She never let’s go of the little hurts. She holds onto them forever. She’s always trying to get attention and make people feel sorry for her.

“Oh, Ellen’s here. She’s taking a nap. She said she’s been having trouble sleeping. Why don’t you two put your bags in the back bedroom while the rest of us start making lunch.”

Paul and Sarah pick up their bags and go into the back bedroom. “I’ll go get some bed linens, Paul. I’ll be right back.” Sarah stands in front of the linen closet, staring. She walks down the hall and quietly opens the bedroom door where Ellen is sleeping. She looks so innocent in her sleep, but doesn’t everyone. Sarah quietly closes the door and walks back down the hall to their bedroom.

As Sarah makes up the bed, she keeps telling herself, everything is going to all right over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if she says enough, it will be. There’s a knock at the door, and Paul opens it. Henry is standing there. “Well, I have some bad news. It seems as if the power is out. Hopefully, it’ll come back soon. Anyway, we’re going to have sandwiches, and I’m going to start a fire so we can have some hot coffee and tea. Later you and I will have to go out and see what the situation is with firewood. There should be some in the back, and there is a cord or so on the front porch. Lunch, such as it is, is ready. Henry turns on his heels and goes back to the kitchen.

“Oh my god, no power, this is going to be a long weekend. I’m going to lose my mind for sure.”

“Sarah calm down; it’s all going to work out. Don’t get so upset. Everything will be alright, I promise you.”

Sarah and Paul sit down at the table. Sarah looks around the table at her siblings. “What no, hello, no fond embrace Sarah?” Ellen’s expression is one of benign indifference.

“Hello Ellen, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has Sarah. Did you forget my telephone number?”

“No, I didn’t think there was much more to say to one another since our last conversation. You were very clear about how you felt about me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sarah, you and your active imagination. Always making things bigger than they are. You really ought to see someone about that, dear.”

“You know what Ellen maybe you should keep your mouth shut once in a while.”

Everyone stares at Sarah with disbelief. It seems almost unbelievable that she has finally stood up to Ellen after an entire lifetime of keeping her feelings to herself.”

“Good for you Sarah, it’s about time you told Ellen where she can stick it. She has always been such a bully with you. I always thought she was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me, whatever for?”

“Well, your talent, slim figure, and sweet personality, to name a few. But I could go on and on.”

“Henry, thank you so much. I’ve always felt like such an outsider in the family. Even Mom and Dad often forgot about me.”

“Forgot about you? Dad treated you like the sun didn’t rise and fall unless you were around. He favored you over all of us.” Ellen all but shouted.

“Not that I was aware. Dad was always saying Sarah would argue with the pope, Sarah stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about. Oh yeah, I was his favorite, all right. He never once hugged me or told me he loved me in my entire life. I hate to think about how he would treat me if I weren’t his “favorite.”

“Sarah, maybe you forget he brought you a bagel home every day from work.  He helped you buy your first car. He bought you that new sewing machine when you mentioned you like to have one. Why he never gave me the time of day. And when you moved away from home, he wrote you a letter every week. It broke his heart when you moved away, Sarah. How blind can you be? Oh, Sarah, why do you think he gave you the power of attorney when he was dying of cancer? You’re the youngest one. Henry should have been the one to take over their finances.”

“Well, I didn’t ask Dad to give me his power of attorney. He asked me to do it after he had a stroke. How can you or any of you blame me for what he did? If you remember, because I was given his power of attorney, I had to make all the hard decisions when he was dying of lung cancer. I had to take care of Mother after Dad passed away. I even had to pick out their caskets and pay for the burial ground. Not one word of thanks from any of you in all the years that followed.”

“Thank you, thank you for what?” Ellen asks.

” I’ve lost my appetite. It’s been a long day. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Oh, running away again, Sarah, how typical of you.”

“Just what do you want from me, Ellen? Do you want me to apologize because you felt Dad loved me more than he loved you? I never felt anyone loved me until I met Paul. He is the first person who ever showed me any kind of love.”

“Oh Sarah, we all loved you, you must know that. We’re just not a very affectionate family, are we?” Kate asks.

“Not affectionate that’s the understatement of all time. I can’t think of a more cold and uncaring person than the three of you. Not one of you has ever had a kind word for me in my life. At every opportunity, Ellen, you have ridiculed me and made light of my feelings and my accomplishments. I don’t give a damn what reason you have for the way you have behaved towards me.”

“Sarah, for heaven’s sake stop carrying on, you’ve always been such a crybaby. No one could ever say boo to you without you running off and crying to mother. You run away whenever things get difficult. Well, go ahead and leave tomorrow. I certainly won’t miss you.”

“Ellen, you always take things too far. You know that Sarah is a sensitive person and easily hurt, and you take advantage of it. Sarah, please don’t go tomorrow. This weekend is our last chance to work things out between us, besides it’s not safe to drive on the roads. You’ll have to wait until the roads are cleared off.”

“Kate, you’re a little late to be sticking up for me now. Neither you nor Henry ever said a word when Ellen browbeat me throughout my childhood. The only reason I came here was to say goodbye and good riddance to all of you. When you sell this house, I don’t want any part of it. Divide it between the three of you. We’ll be leaving as soon as it’s safe to drive on the roads.”

“Paul, how about going outside with me and collecting wood for the fireplace. Just in case we don’t get the power back for a while?”

“What now? Yes, alright, Henry, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you outside.”

As Paul and Henry step out into the howling snowstorm, Kate walks over and puts her arms around Sarah. Please don’t leave Sarah. Henry and I and especially Ellen, want to work towards becoming a real family. After all, we are the only people left in our family. You know it was Ellen’s idea to have this get together. I know she can be a total ass sometimes, but she wants things to get better.”

Sarah looks over at Ellen and says. “Well, it must be deep inside because I don’t see any evidence of her trying to change her behavior towards me. All right, I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. I’ll give her another chance but only one.”

“Wonderful, why don’t the three of us start looking through some of Mom and Dad’s papers and see which ones we should keep and which ones we can get throw away. Ellen, will you come over here? We’re going to start looking through the paperwork. I’ll get the boxes out of the hall closet.”

As Kate goes on her quest,  Ellen comes over to Sarah and sits down on the couch and says,” look, Sarah, you’re right, I’m being a jerk. I’ll try and be less of an ass, old habits die-hard. I know you don’t believe it, but I do love you and always have. I’m just not good at expressing it. I’m jealous of you. You always keep in such great shape. Everyone adores you on sight, and it seems you were the recipient of all the talent in the family.”

A tear slides Sarah’s cheek and is quickly followed by another. Ellen hands her a tissue. Sarah wipes her face dry and says, “Oh Ellen, don’t you know how much I looked up to you all my life. I wanted to be just like you, so full of confidence. Successful at whatever task or goal you set for yourself. I used to follow you all over the place when I was a kid.”

Ellen puts her arms around Sarah and gives her the first hug she can remember. And before you know it tears are flowing down both their faces.

Kate looks from one to the other and says,” What’s happening here, jeez? I was only gone a few minutes?

“I think that we’re having our first real conversation that’s what’s happening. Well, let’s see what kind of papers you found.”

As the day passes, the sisters’ find pictures of them from all the summers they spent here with their parents all those years. Sarah is surprised by how many pictures there are of her and Ellen doing things together when she was little. She looks at one picture of the four of them together in their old rowboat, and the joy that their faces described is priceless. It means more to her than any amount of money they might make from selling the cabin.

Paul and Henry come blustering back inside. And Paul is amazed to see Sarah and Ellen and Kate with their heads bent down and alternately laughing and crying. He and Henry exchange looks and Paul says

“Well, Henry, why don’t the two of us play chef while these sisters spend some time revisiting their past and becoming reacquainted.”

“Yes, why don’t we? It looks like we’ll be spending the next few days together, after all. I never thought losing the power would bring about such a happy ending.

One Is The Loneliest Number- These Things I Know To Be True

3 Replies

If there is one challenge in life that I have struggled with the most, it’s loneliness. There have been periods in my life that I felt bereft of friends.

I suppose to the people I have known throughout my life, my loneliness may be impossible to understand. It may seem as if I made a deliberate decision to spend the majority of my time in my own company.

As an artist, as a writer, it’s essential to spend time creating, contemplating the world around me. I’m often deep in thought. All of these activities require time spent alone.

When I was a young child, I spent an enormous amount of my time alone. I lived in my imagination. I used to pretend that I was a bird and could fly. I made up stories and drew pictures. I read every book in the library. I walked around my neighborhood and visited all the neighbor’s pets. I would talk to my neighbor Thelma Collins’ cats for hours at a time. She had an outside fenced in cat run area, and her twenty plus cats were free to go in and out of her house.

It wasn’t until I was an adult my siblings told me that they always thought I was an odd child. Different than other children they knew. I was sensitive. And my feelings were easily hurt. I told stories about my adventures in the neighborhood. They believed I fabricated these tales. Which I suppose I did. But the stories were real to me. I talked to animals as if they were my dear friends, and they were. So yes, I suppose I was not an ordinary child.

I had a best friend, Joanie and a whole neighborhood of other kids that played with me. We rode our bikes all over town, roller skated, played hide and seek, chased lightning bugs. All the activities children had in the nineteen fifties and nineteen sixties.

When I was old enough to go to elementary school, I made a group of friends. Kids who were smart and funny.

Somehow as an adult, I lost the gift or the know-how to make friends. As a child, if you saw someone you thought could be your friend, you would walk up to them, and say, “Hey do you want to be my friend?” And then you had a new friend. It’s not that easy as an adult. You get married, have children, a job. You have responsibilities, not as much free time.

When my husband and I bought our first house, we started a family. We had two daughters, three years apart. I loved being a mother. I enjoyed spending my time taking care of them and teaching them. But I will be the first to admit being home with small children can be isolating. You don’t have a great deal of free time. The only adult I spent any real time was my husband when he came home from work.

If you return to work when the children are young, you interact with other adults. If you are a stay at home mom as I was for seven years, it can be isolating. Or at least that was my experience.

When I was thirty-six years old, I decided to go to college. I attended Temple University at the Tyler Campus in Philadelphia. I earned a degree in Fine Arts and Art Education. I was the only student who wasn’t the traditional age of eighteen in the Undergraduate Program.

I can’t say enough good things about going to college as an adult. I was a dedicated, motivated student with a tremendous desire to succeed and learn. I loved going to class with young students. Their energy, their confidence was inspiring.

It was difficult going to school and raising two young children. I didn’t sleep a great deal during those four years, about three hours a night. But I loved every minute of it. I graduated when I was forty years old.

Fast forward to retirement age. My husband and I retired to North Carolina three years ago. The cost of living and real estate taxes are so much lower here than New Jersey.

So here we are in an area where we didn’t know a living soul. We found that our neighbors preferred keeping to themselves. We rarely see them outside, except when they cut their grass. We take a walk every night with our dog Douglas and wave at anyone we see and attempt to make conversation.

I volunteered with the Guardian Ad Litem. I met people who dedicate their lives and their free time to helping children whose families are involved with the family court. 

I volunteer three mornings a week at a wild animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure, where I met many caring people who dedicate their lives caring for rescued exotic animals. The majority of these people are under the age of twenty-five. 

In conclusion, I would like to say that I have found being lonely can happen at any stage of life. It can happen to anyone at any time. Loneliness is part of the human condition. I have come to accept solitude as part of my life.

Goodbye Beautiful Sister

2 Replies

I grew up in the small town of Maple Shade in Southern New Jersey in the 1950’s and sixties. At that time Maple Shade was populated by a mixture of Irish and Italian Catholic and Protestant families. My family was Irish Catholic.

You couldn’t ask for a better place to grow up. We were a family of eight living on a tree-lined street called Fellowship Road. Our stucco Cape Cod house had four-bedrooms. It was located two doors down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church and the OLPH Elementary School. We heard the church bells peal out whenever there was a Mass, wedding, funeral, or christening.

Father’s old car

When I was young, my parent’s bedroom was on the first floor, and my older brother Harry was across the hall from them. Harry was nineteen years old when my twin sister, Karen and I were born. In fact, he drove my mother to the hospital when she was in labor with us.

My three sisters and I shared one bedroom. While my oldest sister Jeanie had a room across the hall, she was fifteen years old when Karen and I were born.

In the room I shared with my three sisters, Karen, Eileen, and Betty there was little in the way of decorations aside from a crucifix on the wall. The front half of the room open to the eves of the roof. It was large and uninsulated. There was only one heating vent. The room was freezing in the winter, and unbelievably hot and humid in the summer.

The floor was a worn green linoleum. It had small, circular indentations from my sister Jeannie’s high heels. A queen-size bed resided on the left side of the room. My twin sister, Karen and I slept on that side. And my sisters Eileen and Betty slept in the other bed on the right side of the room.

My parent’s conversations downstairs in kitchen drifted up through the heating vents in the floor. My father always seemed to be unduly concerned with the number of garbage cans our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Rice put out. And that she had the unusual habit of cutting the grass in the rain. We always knew what we were having for dinner since the aroma made its’ way up through the vents.

Our bedroom had one window. It faced the Lombardi’s house. Their bedroom windows face ours. The Lombardi’s used to have loud arguments, although some of it was in Italian. We could hear every word. My father installed an exhaust fan in the window in the summer that would suck all the hot air out. The fan was the only thing that kept us all from expiring through those long, summer nights. We would pull the sheets over our heads to avoid the mosquitoes buzzing our ears and biting us.

The only thing that occupied the eves was a pole that ran the length of the space. We hung our clothes on that pole. Whenever I was alone, I would try on my older sister Jeanie’s gowns. I would dance and spin around the room. Jeanie had worn these beautiful dresses to formal dances and as a bridesmaid in her friend’s weddings.

One day when I was about nine, I decided I would cut some of the fabric off of one of her gowns. I wanted to make some pretty dresses for my dolls. Needless to say, my sister, Jeannie, was upset with me. I wished I could take back my careless act. I was afraid she would never forgive me. But she was a kind and forgiving soul, and eventually, she did.

It may sound strange, but I felt very lonely in that room full of sisters. Karen and I were fraternal twins, but we didn’t spend a lot of time together. We had different friends. I was a different kind of child than her. I was gifted with a lively imagination and made friends with all the dogs and cats in our neighborhood. My sister, Jeanie, was fifteen years older than I. My sisters Eileen and Betty were one year apart. This was called Irish twins. Eileen was eight years older, and Betty was seven. It might as well have been a hundred years.

My oldest sister, Jeanie

The day arrived when my sister, Jeanie, left for good. She was getting married and moving to White Plains, New York, with her new husband, Patrick. I will always remember how beautiful she looked that day. She came upstairs to say good-bye to me. I knew it was her before she stepped through the doorway. I heard the click, click of her high heels on the linoleum floor as she came up the steps and through the hallway and into our bedroom.

She was tall, even taller in her heels. They were very high and had a black bow with a rhinestone clasp on top. I pretended to be asleep.

“Susan, I know you’re awake. Come and say goodbye. I won’t leave until you do.”

I looked up at her. I loved my sister Jeanie most of all. She had a wonderful sense of humor. Whenever she was home, laughter filled our home. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I hoped that I would grow up to look just like her.

She had short, shiny black hair, and high cheekbones. She wore tangerine-colored lipstick. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched. Her eyes were blue-grey and slightly slanted. They sparkled when she laughed. She had an exotic look. As if she was a princess from some far-away foreign land.

Her laugh was contagious. She possessed a great sense of humor. She was fun to be around, always joking. It was easy to love Jeanie.

That day she moved out of our house, she wore a lavender suit with a silk blouse. Whenever she wore this suit, she would say, “Susan, did you know this was Marilyn Monroe’s favorite color.” And on her earlobes, she wore pearl earrings, that were ever so slightly tinted a pale purple.

She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. She smelled like the honeysuckle that grew in our backyard on a warm sunny afternoon. She whispered in my ear,” I’ll see you soon, Susan. I’ll miss you.” I closed my eyes tightly, but a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. I felt a knot forming in my stomach. It began to ache.

She turned and walk out the door and into her future while I was left behind. I decided then and there I would never wear high heels, and I never did. After she moved away, the house seemed somehow empty.

She had left her beautiful gowns behind in the eves of the house, and when I missed her, I would put one on and dance and twirl and spin in the eves, whenever my parents weren’t home.

Being Your Own Best Friend and Advocate- These things I know to be true

2 Replies

Being Your Own Best Friend and Advocate

Life throws many challenges our way. We can not avoid them. We must face them head on. There are times in our life when something happens that is difficult to face. We rather turn the other way and pretend it’s not happening. It doesn’t mean you are weak. It means you are human. We are vulnerable. We experience physical and emotional pain.

I’m not a young woman anymore. I have lived a long time. I have experienced much joy and loss in my life. I come from a family with six children. I had siblings that were considerably older than I was. My only brother was nineteen years old when I was born. He passed away last year. He was a father, grandfather, husband, and psychologist.

My oldest sister Jeanie died on my fifth wedding anniversary on July 13th, 1979. When I was twenty-eight years old. She was only forty-one. She died from Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency which is a genetic disorder that causes lung disease or liver disease.  Her lung problems became apparent when she was about twenty-seven years old. She had two young children. She suffered from shortness of breath, wheezing, and lung infections. Ultimately her lungs were so compromised that she ran out of breath. Because she wasn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain towards the end of her life, she developed a type of dementia.

Despite how ill my sister was she never lost her sense of humor. She kept moving forward in her life. Did the best that she could to continue being a loving mother and wife.

When I was in my early thirties my parents became ill. My dad was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. About the same time my mother started exhibiting symptoms of dementia. I have to say that this was one of the most difficult challenges of my life. Facing the fact that I was going to lose my parents. And taking care of them was very hard. They died eight months apart. My memory of the first year after they passed was a sense of overwhelming loss. Everyday when I awoke my first thought was, I’m an orphan. Even though I was thirty-five at the time. I still miss my parents to this day.

Early in 2008 when I was fifty-six years old, I started experiencing cardiac symptoms. At night I could feel my heart beating irregularly, during the day I noticed that I became short of breath when I walked up steps or any incline. I didn’t tell anyone at first not even my husband. I decided to go to my primary physician and have a check-up. I explained my symptoms to her. She performed an EKG. She told me she didn’t see any problems. She didn’t feel I had any need to be concerned. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. 

After all, I never drank alcohol, never did drugs, never smoked. I had been a vegetarian for over twenty years. I was rarely sick. I exercised everyday of my life. I kept asking myself why would I be sick? I never did anything to endanger my health. Of course, neither did my sister Jeannie.

My heart continued to exhibit negative symptoms. I had angina pains that ran up my left arm and into my jaw. I started having arrythmias all day, which are irregular heartbeats. Even picking up and carrying the lightest burden became impossible. If I needed to pick up even the lightest object, like my purse. It felt very heavy. I finally confided what was happening to my husband. He told me to go to the doctors. The second physician I went to prescribed several more tests. She called and told me that the left side of my heart was not working quite as well as the right side but that it was nothing to worry about.

I disagreed with her. I told her I felt there was indeed something serious going on with my heart. I wanted a referral to a cardiologist. She became quite angry with me and told me once again it was unnecessary. But she gave me a referral.

The cardiologist did many tests, an EKG, an echocardiogram and a cardiac catherization and tilt table test and a pulmonary stress test. When I went to the follow up visit after the tests, this is what he said, “you are now a heart patient. You have left heart failure. Your ejection rate of your left heart is 40. It is supposed to be 60. You have a twenty-five percent chance of surviving five years.” He gave me prescriptions for several heart medications. Which they would start out at low doses and gradually titrate up over several months.

I was stunned. Somehow, I always felt that I was invulnerable to getting a serious illness. But nonetheless I did. The first year was tough, getting used to the meds wasn’t easy, but the depression and anger I felt was often difficult to bear. Gradually I started feeling better. I became less depressed and started living my life again, one day at a time.

I would like to share with you and essay I wrote after I received the diagnosis of heart disease.

Yesterday I was told that my heart was broken. Well they are not the exact words that the doctor used. He used big, important words like, congestive heart failure, and weakened heart valve, cardiac insufficiency. Cause unknown. I knew for the past several months that my body was trying to tell me something. I told myself I am just tired, stressed out, poor coping skills. But deep down I knew my heart was telling me something serious. Wake up, pay attention, and listen!

I stared at the doctor. I said,” I just cannot believe it, I’m so, so shocked. He said,” yes, it’s true you are just a cardiac patient now.” My mind refused to believe that I could now be defined with these few insignificant words.” I said to myself, this is not who I am, I’m so much more than this. I’m an artist, teacher, writer and lover of all living things, mother, wife, sister, aunt, and friend.

I hadn’t been a very good friend to myself, I felt angry, I don’t know who I was angry at. I felt cheated, but I don’t know whom, or what had cheated me. I had spent many years trying to deny any possibility of being frail human, I ate all the right things, exercised every day, never smoke or drank. Why, why me? Why not me, I said deep inside.

Certainly, my life had been stressful, for a long, long time. I didn’t always make good choices, I trusted the wrong people, gave my heart away bit by bit to people who didn’t deserve it. People took big chunks of my heart with them when they left. I often felt unloved, unaccepted, unfulfilled, unwanted. Always reaching out for love, acceptance, never really feeling loved in return.

Indeed, my heart was broken. But maybe, I can find a way to patch it up, pull it together, if I can find all the missing parts. Yes, I told myself I would begin today, put myself back together. Mend my heart. Learn to love myself, accept myself, and bring fulfillment to the heart that had broken in so many small and big ways.

That was eleven years ago. At first, I didn’t think I would live long enough to retire, or see my husband retire. But I have. And here I am living in North Carolina. We moved here three years ago. I have been volunteering at an animal sanctuary taking care of exotic birds. I’m still painting and writing. I spend long hours in my garden tending my garden. I have adopted three new pets a longhaired dachshund named Douglas and two parrots named BB and Travis. And still have my two cats Sloopy who will be twenty-five this year and Evie who will be nineteen.

In conclusion. I would like to say that you should listen to your body. It will tell you when there is something wrong. Listen to it. If I didn’t pay attention to the symptoms that I was experiencing I wouldn’t no longer be alive. You have to stand up to people no matter who they are and make them listen to you. Keep trying until they do listen. Or go to a different doctor who will. If you don’t, who will? You must be your own best friend and advocate, always.

Your life has meaning, it has value. You can do good in the world. And the world will be a lesser place without you in it.

She Walks In Beauty Like The Night co-authored by Lord Byron

3 Replies

” She walks in beauty, like the night/ of cloudless climes and starry skies.”

I’m panicking. I am going to be so late. First, the dry cleaners can’t find my dress. About an hour later, they call me. They apologize. It was sent to the wrong store.

I have to drive forty minutes out of my way to pick it up. I jump in my car. As I pull out, I happen to notice a black Mitsubishi pulls out right behind me. Its headlights are shining into my eyes through the rearview mirror.  I adjust my mirror.

Forget about it. Forget about it. I tell myself. Oh well, it’s probably nothing.  God no, now I’m lost.  I pull over to the curb. It’s a terrible neighborhood. I ‘m afraid to get out of my car. Oh, an older woman walking her dog. I’ll ask her for directions.

 “And all that’s best of dark and bright/ Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

“Excuse me, Madam, can you please tell me where Haggarty’s Cleaners is? I’ve gotten a little turned around?” She walks a bit closer to my car, but not too close.

“Yes, certainly you make a right turn onto West Avenue, then go down two blocks. It’s on the corner of 2nd Avenue and Lake Avenue.”

“Thank you so much, have a good night.”

I’m about to pull out from the curb. I’m repeating the directions the woman gave me over and over in my head. I have absolutely no sense of direction. It’s so frustrating. As I  pull forward, I happen to notice what looks like the same gleaming black sedan in my rearview mirror. Huh, that’s weird. Is he following me? No that’s ridiculous. Still, I better keep my eyes open.

“Had half impaired the nameless grace.”

I berate myself. Why oh why did I leave the GPS in the other car? How stupid can you be? I see the street sign, 2nd, and Lake Avenue. Thank god there it is. I’ll barely have time to run in, get my dress then stop at some fast food place and change in the lady’s room.

I’m running into the cleaners. My heart is pounding half out of my chest.  If I had time, I would give them a piece of my mind, but I don’t so I practically throw the money at the cashier and rush out the door.

 “Which waves in every raven tress.”

I rush over to my car. Crap I left my car keys on the counter in the cleaners. I practically fly to the door. I yank the door handle. It appears to be locked. But that can’t be true. I pull again. Nothing!

I feel as if I’m going to go stark raving mad. I bang as hard as I can on the door. Oh, thank the dear lord. Here comes the cashier to the door. She has a wicked look on her face. She is dangling my cars keys out temptingly. I pull the door. It’s still locked.

If there is a god in heaven, he will deliver me from this nightmare. The woman opens the door. She flings the keys out the door onto the sidewalk. She turns her back and flips me the bird as she struts away. Well, I can tell you right now, this is the absolutely the last time I will ever use this cleaner. That woman has a lot of nerve.

 “Where thoughts serenely sweet express/ How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”

As I turn away from the door, I see out of the corner of my eye, a man in the darkness sitting in the black Mitsubishi. I think it’s a man. I can only see the tip of his lit cigarette glowing in the dark. What is he playing at? Is he following me?  I chastise myself. I’m getting paranoid in my old age. 

Just the same, I get myself back into the car, as quickly as possible. I click all the doors locked. I throw the plastic bag wrapped dress into the back seat. And I’m off. Off to find a place to change.

I pass a WaWa. No, that won’t do. Oh, here on my right at the next corner is a Taco Bell. I’ll go in their bathroom and change into my gown and my new $600.00 Ferragamo stilettos.

 “Heat whose love is innocent.”

I drive quickly into the Taco Bell parking lot. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be caught dead in such a low-class eatery. But I’m desperate. If I don’t show up on time for this event, it will be the death of me, as far as being invited to all the A events. I run through the door, practically knocking a toddler over in the process. Her mother gives me the finger. I ignore her. Peasant.

I push my way into the lady’s room and the empty stall. It smells like the last person that used this toilet, had one too many burritos. God help me, is there no end to what I must suffer in one day?

I pull my clothes off and slip on the sequined black Versace over my head. I take off my work shoes and slide my feet into my gorgeous Ferragamo’s. I step out into the bathroom and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. I run a comb through my hair and spritz on Chanel. I reapply Drop Dead Red lipstick to my lips. It makes my alabaster skin glow. I approve. I walk out of the bathroom.

All eyes are upon me. I can hardly blame them. I know I look magnificent. I glide out the door, and into my future.

 “Day denies.”

Those are the last words I hear as the stranger from the black Mitsubishi clobbers me on the head with a baseball bat and throws me into the filthy trunk of his car.

GIVE BACK AND HELP AS MANY AS PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE

2 Replies

The secret to living a fulfilling life is giving. If you have been fortunate in your life, if other people have given you support when you needed it, pay it forward.  Do it often as it is possible. This is a lesson I learned early in my adult life. When I moved to Florida at twenty-two the only people, I knew were my soon to be husband, Bob and his immediate family.

I applied for a job at B.D. Cole which was an insurance company in West Palm Beach. I had been working there for about two months when I took off two days off because I was getting married. I took a very short honeymoon in Miami.

When I returned to work, I was called into the office and handed a large gift-wrapped box in wedding paper with a beautiful satin bow on it. The attached card said Congratulations on your nuptials, it was signed by all the employees of BD Cole.

I said, “oh, thank you so much for your gift.”  As I was about to leave the office to go back to work my boss said, “Oh Susan, just one more thing. I’m sorry but we are going to have to lay you off because we are having some financial problems. And all the recently hired people are being laid off.”

Saying I was shocked is an understatement. I was floored. At the end of the day, I cleaned out my desk and left without saying anything to anyone. I went back to my apartment and had myself a good cry. I was still crying when my husband of three days came home from work.

I explained to him what had happened and he said,” don’t worry Susie you’ll find a new job.” But I didn’t. I looked for a job for several months. But I became aware that most companies in Florida at that time had a policy of not hiring people who hadn’t lived in Florida as a permanent resident for at least six months to a year.

I decided to go to hairdresser’s school. I can’t remember just why I thought this was a good choice for me. Since, I never had any interest in even my own hair. Perhaps it was the only training available at the time that only took nine months. After I graduated, I was hired at the Colonnades Hotel on Singer Island doing facials. I decided that I would look for a volunteer position since giving facials was not very challenging.

And that was when I realized my true calling, helping other people. My first volunteer position was with an organization called Childcare Assistance for Special Children. And during the next several years that I lived in Florida I volunteered as a fill-in houseparent for a home for mentally handicapped adults when the regular houseparent took vacations. I leaned how to do physical therapy for two young brothers who suffered form Cystic Fibrosis. 

My husband Bob and I moved to California so he could attend Brooks Institute to study photography. My first job didn’t last long I was hired to sell hats and wigs at Robinson’s Department Store. To say I was bored is an understatement.

I was lucky enough to be hired as a houseparent at St. Vincent’s a residential school in Santa Barbara. My position was houseparent for a group of adolescent girls with a variety of physical and learning disabilities including mental retardation. It was the most rewarding position I have ever had in my entire adult life. Those girls taught me more about life, and courage and love than any other people I ever known.

Because of the positive experience I had working at St. Vincent’s I continued throughout my life to try to contribute to other people’s well-being and quality of life. Whenever, I saw an opportunity. Because, in helping others, I helped myself immensely. I felt my life had true meaning, that I was contributing to making the world a better place. It has given me a sense of worth that I would not have realized in any other way.

Over the next several years, I took classes in teaching Basic Skills and English as a Second Language. I taught Basic Skills to people trying to get their GED. Some went on to higher education. They were able to earn a better living and help their families financially.

I taught English as a Second Language to immigrants from India, China, Bosnia and Serbia. There aren’t words to describe what a wonderful opportunity this was for me.

As a second generation American I had the ability to help other people from across the world to find a new life in our country. A life with more opportunities for themselves and their families. A chance for them to contribute to our country as all previous immigrants have. America is a country of immigrants.

In my paid positions, I worked as a houseparent and Assistant Supervisor at Terrell Cottage at Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ. Which is a residential treatment program for at-risk adolescent boys from inner cities such as Camden and Trenton NJ.

I worked at Center for Family Service in Camden, NJ in a program called Project Cope which matched children who had an incarcerated parent with a member of five churches in Camden. It was a partnership with Big Brothers, Big Sister Program. I took my training through the Amache Program in Philadelphia run by former mayor of Philadelphia, Wilson Goode, the first black mayor of a major city in America.

In conclusion, I would like to say without doubt that no one can create a better life for themselves than in the service of his fellowman. It gives back a thousand-fold. Could I have made more money somewhere else? Yes, probably. But I would not have had the opportunity to work with all the caring and wonderful human beings I have known. I wouldn’t have met people from every walk of life, people from all over the world. I wouldn’t have been able to feel that my life was as well-spent.

The Yellow Bug- 1970 Yellow Volkswagon

5 Replies

It was the summer of 1970. I had been working as a dental assistant for Doctor Edward G. Wozniak for about a year and a half. I started working for him when I was a senior in high school. My title was dental assistant. But actually, I was the entire office staff.

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

I was his chairside assistant and was in charge of developing dental x-rays. This was decades before digital X-rays. I answered the phone. I handled the billing and confirmed appointments. I cleaned the dental office and the waiting room. I sterilized dental tools. Sometimes I babysat his two young children. And it wasn’t unknown for me to take his car for a tune-up.

I worked a split shift. I didn’t get home until 9:30 at night. And then I would have to be back first thing in the morning by 8 am. I worked five and a half days a week. I made a minimum wage of $1.45 an hour for forty hours. I didn’t get paid overtime.

I worked from eight in the morning until twelve, and then I drove home and had lunch with my parents. After lunch, I went back to work. My mother always had lunch waiting for me a buttered bagel and lemon yogurt. Once my mother found out you liked something, she kept giving it to you long after you were sick of it. She was funny like that. Finally, I begged, “Please Mom, no more bagels and yogurt.”

It was a vigorous work schedule. But looking back at it, I realize I enjoyed working there. Dr. Wozniak was a decent man who worked as hard and long hours as I did. He was about thirty-eight when I started to work for him. I was almost eighteen. Even though there was a twenty-year age gap, we worked well together.

He was patient with me while I learned the job. I was a quick study and loved the fast pace, and meeting new people. I enjoyed keeping the office spic and span and keeping everything orderly. I was my father’s daughter, intelligent, quiet, organized, and always on time.

I decided I needed to buy a vehicle of my own. My sister, Karen, and I had been sharing a car our father had given us. Did I mention we are Fraternal Twins? It was a beat-up Edsel, about ten years old at the time. It was my fathers’ car before it became ours.

Now that I think about it, my father was very generous in giving us his car. He had to purchase another car for himself. My dad had recently retired and was living on Social Security, so he must not have had very much money. I guess I never really thought about that until now.

My sister and I were somewhat embarrassed driving this car because it was in pretty rough shape. Let’s say it had seen better days. The trunk was banged up and had a chain holding it closed.  My father had glued a picture of a strawberry on it in a misguided attempt to cover up the enormous dent. He was something of a folk artist. But that is a story for another time.

The driver’s seat tended to collapse backward unexpectantly. We had to anticipate this and keep our backs straight at all times. You couldn’t lean all your weight against the back seat. You had to keep your back straight and somehow suspend it that way unless we wanted to end up in the back seat with no one driving.

At some point, I had the brilliant idea to prop an umbrella behind the seat to prevent the seatback from collapsing backward.  The umbrella worked for some time until it would vibrate and, over time, fall to the right or left. I realize now that this was a dangerous and possible suicidal driving problem. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. My sister and I never talked about it.

The other problem was that my sister and I were inexperienced at both driving and being responsible. As a result, we would often forget to turn the headlights off on our shared automobile when we arrived home. And during that first cold winter night, we repeatedly killed the battery by leaving the headlights on overnight. In 1970  lights didn’t turn off automatically when you took the keys out of the ignition.

Unfortunately, we would have to wake my father up to jump the car battery. This happened quite frequently and made for some very tense mornings. My father, who worked nights, would be sleeping, and we had to wake him up. He would yell and holler and give us hell. We would promise not to do it again. But we did, and then we would have to wake him up again. It was a long learning curve for my sister and me.

We lived closer to my sister’s job than mine, and I had that two-hour break in the middle of the day. So, I would drop her off at the Mailing Services where she worked. And then, go to my job, which was another ten minutes away from Collingswood to Oaklyn, NJ.

My sister endlessly complained that I had the car more often than her. She said it was unfair and I was always the favorite. And sometimes she had to take customers out. I never fully understood where she was taking these customers or for what purpose. I probably never asked.

About this time, a friend of hers stopped by to visit. Her name was Elaine Wharton. We went to grade school with us. She taught Karen how to drive even though she had just gotten her driver’s license a couple of weeks before.

Elaine was driving her new car. Karen and I were sitting on our front steps. And she told us that she had just purchased a brand-new automobile. And she informed us she didn’t have to put out any money. She had financed the whole thing. We had no idea that this was possible.

My sister went to the car dealer and purchased a new car within a couple of weeks. She bought a Maverick. It turned out to be a lemon and broke down more than it ran.

I decided to get a 1970 Volkswagen. My sister went with me to the VW Dealer since she already knew the ropes. She did all the talking. She was imbued with confidence at an early age. Confidence I didn’t develop until much later in life. The car salesman asked me, “Is she your Philadelphia lawyer?”

It turned out that I was making less money than Karen, and I had to get a co-signer. I don’t think my sister and I ever discussed our salaries. I asked my older brother, Hugh. He was a clinical psychologist. He was twenty years older than us. He was married and had three kids and two jobs. He wasn’t too thrilled about co-signing, but he did it.

The car was a 1970 lemon-yellow VW, and it was love at first sight. It had an automatic stick shift, which I had to learn how to use on the drive home from the dealer.

The car cost $ 2,300.00. My payments were $65.54 a month for three years. I paid it off in eighteen months since I couldn’t tolerate the idea that my brother had to co-sign for me and seemed ticked off about it.

I was so excited about this car; it was all mine and beautiful. I used to get up early every day and hose it down before I went to work. My father swore that I was going to wash the paint off of it.

My Dad was somewhat perturbed that Karen and I were only nineteen and had brand-new vehicles. And here he was, sixty-three, and never purchased a new car.  That year he went out and bought himself his first new car, a Ford.

I had my yellow bug for ten years. I drove it out of NJ  to Florida when I moved there. I drove that car all over Florida. And to California when we moved there when Bob attended Brooks Institute, a photography school.

I loved that car up to the day my husband, Bob, and I were involved in an accident while driving in the rain on the way to San Diego. We were going to spend Thanksgiving with his best friend, Ronnie.

We didn’t have any extra money because we were living hand to mouth. And unfortunately, the car had bald tires. There was an accident in front of us. And we skidded into the median strip. My VW was crushed in the front by the car we hit and a car in the rear. The trunk was in the front in those early VW, and it was totaled.

When my car was towed away, I never saw it again. I cried like a baby. I cried the whole time we were visiting Bob’s friend and refused to eat anything for the three days we visited them. I’m sure he and his wife were glad when we left.

It’s a true axiom that you never truly get over your first love. Because although it has been over fifty years since I lost my beautiful VW, and I have owned many cars since, I never loved one as much as I loved that yellow VW.

These Things I Know To Be True

1 Reply

Words Matter

When I consider the things that have most shaped my personality, my self-esteem and my self-identity it was another person’s words that built me up or knocked me down. Words have power. The power to hurt or heal. 

When I was very young, before I attended school my parents and my siblings’ words defined me. They created my reality. Gave me a sense of who I was in the narrow world I occupied, my home, my neighborhood.

I didn’t comprehend that some of these words were said in anger or perhaps annoyance. I was a very sensitive and thoughtful child. My feelings were easily hurt.  Harsh words often felt like a physical blow to me. Apologies are not often made to children. It is impossible to take words back once they are uttered. It’s possible for words thoughtlessly said to a child to permanently affect their perception about themselves and who they will ultimately become.

The words that I recall my parents saying to me as a young child that stayed with me throughout my life are these: Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. Get that look off your face, I don’t know what your problem is. Are stupid or just lazy? You can’t say boo to Susan, she will start crying. You’re crying, what now? I’ll give you something to cry about.

These words seem to dictate to me at the time that my feelings were invalid. That I wasn’t  Words have power. The power to hurt or heal.  supposed to cry or at least let people see me cry. That I was stupid. As a result, I learned to hide my feelings, keep things to myself. Hide who I was from the people who were supposed to care for me the most. My family often remarked how quiet I was, how I kept my feelings to myself. When they were the ones who taught me to do this to protect myself.

My parents and siblings were not terrible people. They weren’t abusive. They were just overworked, tired people who lived in close quarters and struggled everyday to get by with less than they needed. It was often difficult to make ends meet. The same problems people now have. Overworked, underpaid, too much month left when the money is used up.

As I matured, I made an effort to be more aware of the words I used when I spoke to other people. I tried to keep in mind that hurtful words did indeed hurt people. I certainly was not and am not perfect. I lose my temper and say things out of anger to people that I love and care about. When I calm down, I apologize for what I said and tell them I didn’t mean it. I strive to be a better, more considerate person. I am not always successful. I remember each day, is a new beginning.

In addition, when I see someone is doing the right thing, putting great effort to do their best, I tell them what a great job they are doing. And how proud I am of them. When a friend or an acquaintance looks nice. I complement them. How much effort does it take to say, “Hey, you look fantastic today?

Words truly have power to lift someone up or do put them down and crush their spirit. If you consider the last time someone told you how great you were doing. Didn’t this positive reinforcement spur you on to do more and better in whatever you were working on?

If a friend or loved one comes to you and confides in you about some personal struggle, are you open to listening, really listening to them? Do you offer them support and a caring heart without judgement? Or do you blow them off because you’re too busy? Put yourself in their place, wouldn’t you want this same friend or love one to care about you, to support you when your life is a struggle at times?

How great would our world be? If you, me and everyone we know arose from our beds everyday with the idea that we’re capable of making the world a better place just by being in it. And treating the people we meet and see during our day with a kind word, a supporting word? How difficult is it to say, “Hello, have a great day?” To the people we meet along the way.

You are doing a great job. I can see how much work and effort you are putting into everything you do. I see how hard you are doing, I’m proud of you. I have faith that you can succeed at whatever goal you set for yourself. You are a decent and kind person. I feel lucky to have you in my life. You make the world a better place, by you being a part of it. I love you. I care for you. I am here for you. I consider you my dear friend.

Words are that powerful, they create our reality. Use words with great care my friends. How great would our world be? You tell me.

THE LITTLE WHITE LIE

2 Replies

OK I lied, but it really was such a small, insignificant lie. I don’t see how it could have hurt anyone. Well, at least no long-lasting harm anyway. After all there was some truth in it. Well, it wasn’t even a lie, a mere oversight really.

It all began the day I stayed home from work because of the snowstorm. My husband was out of town on business. I decided to straighten out the dresser drawers. I usually don’t go into my husband’s dresser because he’s such a fussbudget.

He can always tell if anything has been disturbed or is out of place. My father was the same way. He knew if anyone had been looking through his stuff. He would have a fit if anything of his were moved. Everything had to be just so.

My father had this thing about his pens. He kept them on the top of his dresser and they had to be in the same place not one inch this way or that. The thing is he collected a lot of interesting things. And I love to go through his drawers and shelves when he wasn’t home. I guess you could say I was and still am a bit of a snoop. Over the years I’ve became quite proficient at snooping and being able to put everything away perfectly. And the funny thing is my father never caught on.

Unfortunately, the things that I found out about my father were not always things I wanted to know. But I just couldn’t stop myself. Every time he went out to work or shopping, I would start rooting through his dresser drawers.

But worse then that I started going through his desk in the basement. Oh, the things I found in there. Well let’s just say there are some things that a daughter doesn’t want to know about her father. After awhile it became difficult for me to look my father in the eyes, knowing what I knew about him. It really poisoned our relationship.

When I was old enough, I moved out of the house. I never really went back again. Oh, I call on holidays and birthdays, but that’s all. After all I know who my father really is down deep inside. He doesn’t have me fooled the way he does everyone else.

My mother calls me every Sunday night and begs me to come home for a visit. But I just can’t. I just can’t go back there and I never will. I tell her I’m too busy with work and community commitments. I know it hurts her but I won’t tell her the truth. I know she isn’t strong enough to know the truth. The best thing I could do for her is to stay away.

I guess men are by their very nature duplicitous. They just can’t be truthful about well, even little things. They hold things back. That’s why I have to look for things so I know what’s really going on.

That day it snowed Josh, that’s my husband called and told me his flight, was cancelled. He wouldn’t be able to get home until tomorrow at the soonest. I was a little disappointed at first since we were supposed to go to the McGuire’s house for dinner and out to a movie. And tomorrow is my birthday. I know Josh will have a wonderful surprise for me. But it will be nice to have some time to myself. Well, you know the old saying. idle hands are the devil’s workshop. There’s some truth to that.

So that’s when I decided to straighten the drawers and closets. I carefully looked through everything in there and put them back in place. Low and behold in the second drawer of his dresser I found a box. A wooden box that had a hand carved Phoenix on the lid with inlaid mother of pearl. It was amazing. 

I couldn’t believe all the detail. I lifted the box out of the drawer and opened it. It was lined with the very finest of red silk brocades.  And within it’s silky embrace lay a necklace. It was so amazing I couldn’t breathe for a moment. The chain was braided silver. The pendant was possibly the most beautiful thing I ever seen.

It echoed the Phoenix design of the box. The phoenix was rising out of the fire. It was made of filigreed silver. The eyes were perfect emeralds, my birthstone. Oh, I was so happy I could almost burst. I wanted to call Josh immediately and tell him how much I loved the necklace. I picked up the phone and then remembered I couldn’t do that. Because Josh would know that I had been snooping. I placed the necklace back into the box, the box back into the drawer.

The next day when Josh returned from his business trip. He suggested going out to dinner for my birthday at our favorite restaurant, The Chalet De Couer. We had a great evening, wonderful food and a divine bottle of Muscadet, perfection.

I was waiting for the surprise. My pulse was rapid. I felt a little out of breath.

Josh handed me an exquisitely wrapped box. I opened it carefully not wanting to tear the beautiful paper. I looked down and there was the beautifully carved box. I know I had a wonderfully surprised look on my face. I know because I had practiced it so often in the mirror. “Oh Josh, how wonderful. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous.”

“Open it, there is something more. I had it made especially for you.”

I opened the box and there it lay in all its beauty. “Oh, Josh I can’t believe how wonderful this is. How wonderful you are. Can you help me put it on?”

So, as you can see sometimes you have to tell a little white lie, it’s really for everyone’s own good isn’t it?”