Weathering the storm
climbing up and over the pain
Maui weighs heavy on my heart. This post was already prepared for today, but I will be writing about the fire on Monday.
Although these pictures don’t depict happiness, I still feel confident asking,
Is there anything better than a happy ending to a story?
I plan for, work toward, and in most cases, wait for the happy ending. This post will initially read as an unfortunate story, but stick with me. It becomes a celebration of three generations of women in my family. I’m dividing this into two posts since the story is a bit complicated and long-winded.
My mom didn't shower me with praise as a child. My dad did, though. I was fortunate in that regard. Down deep, I knew my mom was proud of me, but she was troubled, worrisome, stressed, and dealing with alcoholism, so cultivating my little ego likely wasn't a top priority. She was also in an unhappy marriage (the photos above tell a story.) She would tell other people how proud she was of me, and at times, they would pass that along. Better secondhand than not at all.
Not too long ago, a friend shared with me that my mother told her that even as a young child, I seemed to have the ability to climb up and over my problems and had continued to demonstrate that ability throughout my life. She also said that my mom told her that I deserved the good things I had in my life because I had to do a bit of mountain climbing along the way to attain them.
That message struck home. And as lovely as it would have been to hear my mother say those words, it was powerful, even secondhand. I saw the truth in my mother's words. I do climb up and over pain, disappointment, loss, etc., but I've never thought of it in those terms. I see it as searching for a happy ending and I will claw my way toward it if necessary.
My mother's declaration that I deserved my happiness felt good, but I don't use the word "deserve" much in my vocabulary because, in reverse, the term is harsh and unforgiving. If someone is in pain, do they deserve that? I think not. If someone is enjoying happiness, is that because they deserve it? NO.
It has more to do with the hand we’ve been dealt, hard work, perhaps climbing up and over the pain, and a bit of luck.
Richard Bach still influences my thinking; I read his book in 1984.
You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.
-Richard Bach, Illusions The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah
I married at 23.
My mother Helen married twice in her lifetime. Her second husband was my dad, Don. In creating this post, I searched my parents' photo albums, not finding any pictures of their weddings, one ceremony in Mexico and another one in the States. I find that sad.
As I mentioned above, my mother suffered from alcoholism, as did my father. This story, though, really centers on my mother and me, as my father had strength at times that my mother did not, meaning he could abstain when he needed to, for instance, at my wedding.
My father's first daughter, Sharon, came to live with us for three months when I was five. I've written about her here. My mother had a jealous streak when it came to people my father loved, so Helen and Sharon had a strained relationship. Poor Sharon was only 18, displaced after graduation because her mother was also an alcoholic going through a very difficult time. Sharon met her husband-to-be (my mother's younger half-brother Jim… I know, it's complicated) when she was staying with us. They married three months later in my parents' garage. My parents planned and paid for her wedding. (Remember this and remember the year 1960.)
After two decades, plus change, I announced my engagement. My mother would eventually quit drinking, but that would not happen until a few years after my wedding. An additional fact that plays into this story is that Helen loved spending time with her family (six siblings) but didn't like gatherings of people she didn't know. Her lack of self-esteem and addiction dictated who she would socialize with.
When Ron (my first husband) and I began to discuss and plan our wedding, my mother asked if I couldn't just elope. My reply was an unequivocal no. My feelings were hurt. I did an initial climb up— a small peak.
I moved into the planning stages of shopping for my wedding dress. The dress I selected was $325, not cheap in that day, but also not the most expensive. Already a court reporter by then, making my own way, I was never extravagant, but I also knew what I liked and had the means to pay.
When I told my mom how much the dress was, she replied, "Sharon's dress was only $50 at JC Penney." I still remember the sting associated with her comment, comparing my dress 20 years later with Sharon's dress, Sharon who she’d spent years since badmouthing.
Sorry Sharon, speaking of "deserving," you didn't deserve any of that, nor did I. But deserving isn't why we experience the sorrows in life. Strife, pain, insecurity, and loss are just a few reasons we act the way we do. And in the end, we always have our reasons. I’m sure my mother had a very sad history she harbored deep within.
My mom’s comment ended any participation my mother would have in planning my wedding.
The likes of an Everest expedition, I worked hard that year, climbing up over the pain. I suggested to my parents that I do the planning and that they donate what they wanted for the celebration. We would take care of the rest. And that's what we did.
My mom did not participate in the planning or attend either of my two showers. My maid of honor hosted one shower at her home, and my mother-in-law's best friend Inge hosted the second one at the Fairmont in San Francisco.
Whoa! I remember feeling a bit like Cinderella at my own shower, afraid the clock would strike 12, and I'd be discovered as the imposter I was. I wasn't from a family that hosted parties in posh hotels. Nonetheless, I enjoyed every moment of it.
I have no recollection at this point of what excuse my mom offered for not attending, and I have no doubt my mother-in-law was a bit disappointed, maybe even embarrassed. But I knew the truth; Helen did not have the strength to attend. She also would have felt like an imposter, minus the enjoyment factor. It was too much for her.
As the wedding day approached, I asked but one thing from my mom, that she abstain from drinking at my wedding. Having never experienced the throws of addiction, I likely underestimated what I was asking for. She honored my request not to drink at the wedding, but I neglected to ask that she not arrive drunk. Her appearance was alarming when she arrived; dark circles lined her eyes. She seemed to be hanging onto my father's arm for support. I can only think she had been bingeing for days in anticipation of my wedding.
I did my best to ignore my mother that day. And thankfully, my dad remained sober.
As I look forward to Amy's wedding with the anticipation of a child, I have finished grieving my mother's pain. I send loving thoughts to the heavens, thanking her for helping me become stronger than she was, allowing me to transcend our family's history, and in her own way, teach me to climb up and over my obstacles.
A postscript… after the wedding, my mom told anyone who would listen how lovely she thought our wedding was. She had made it through the day.
Stay tuned for my girl's shower.
Thanks, Sue, for writing through your life with such honesty that I can feel my connections to my own.
Love your stories…. So many of us have untold childhood trauma that got us where we are today. Bless you for sharing yours