Meandering down memory lane while soaking in the tub
Wednesday, April 7, 2010 at 3:40PM I was contemplating my enjoyable moment while being too excited by a fresh bar of soap, a brand new razor, and something more precious than either, some time alone in the tub to soak and think.
I wondered where I should begin my walk down memory lane, I decided upon the first time I remember taking my first bath with a fresh bar of soap, a new razor in my first home that I bought when I was twenty. It was only a used trailer, a little more than worn, but it was mine. I choose when to clean, shop, when to sleep, bathe, or watch TV. I never had to worry about losing the remote because it was always the last place I put it. There was always the same amount of ice cream in the freezer, and no one wore out my razor or made my soap funky and hairy.
The first time I was soaked in the tub, I was quite pleased with myself. I had thoroughly cleaned all day, making this trailer house my home. I was beyond exhausted by the work, but was content with what I had done. My eyes closed, I leaned back into the tub, taking in the new sensations. A smile spread across my face and I was happy. My life was beginning on my terms, how I wanted, where I wanted; and it was good. After a few minutes, I noticed the quiet. At first, it was nice, and then it was deafening. A bit of anxiety began to set in as I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t make the money to pay my bills. I calmed down, by telling myself that I would be married the following year and this year would be the test of my tenacity. If I could make it all alone this year, then I would be all right, forever.
Shortly after moving in, my mother passed away from cancer. I had a hard time with my childhood because of abuse, so my mother and I never got around to having the best friend relationship as I had hoped. I was sad for what would never be. I was angry because I felt cheated. I was grieved that my future children would never know their grandmother. My brother, John and I became closer because we were both lost. Although we weren’t exactly what one would consider a Norman Rockwell family, a family without a mother is like a boat without a harbor. Therefore, we clung to each other, buoying the other one when a storm blew by us.
The second occasion I experienced death was six years later when John was taken from us; by that time, I was a married mother of two small children. John’s death rocked my world in ways I still can’t comprehend. It some respects John’s death was much harder than when our mother died. He had held my newborns in his arms. He had stood next to me on the Alter when I was married. He taught me how to cook some amazing food. He made me laugh, cry and at times shake my head in wonder. He was really my best friend, I looked up to him and I have never stopped missing him.
Six years after that, I was divorced. In a lot of ways, it was worse than death. For the person lived; but the relationship died. How do you go from loving someone with all that you are, and ever hope to be to not being able to speak to him? We had four small children, lots of issues and no answers. It was hard enough raising children with two parents. It was more than twice as hard raising them alone, all the while dodging daggers. Somehow, through lots of prayers, we found a niche and learned how to be a family.
Nearly twelve years later, I was remarried with two more children, and well on my way to divorcing again. My first book was published, my second book was wrapped up and I was several chapters into my third book. Life has thrown me some curve balls; some I saw coming, while others I did not. I’ve cried a lot, but I like to think I laughed just as often. I have been terrified at times, especially when my children have been ill, far away from home, or otherwise being afflicted by some trial. I know that I have learned more than I ever hoped to learn and I pray that my life is only half over. You see, it is my wish to dance at my grandchildren’s weddings. I want to hold my great-grandchildren in my arms and tell them about when I first held my own children as newborns.
I want to tell them its okay to be alone at times, but never be lonely. Likewise, they may experience anguish because of circumstances, hardship, etc. that will happen to them; but never to let fear replace the faith that they have. Furthermore, I want to remind them to pray always. There hasn’t been one thing in my life that I haven’t prayed about, with sincere, heartfelt desire, that hasn’t been answered. Oh, and it hasn’t always been the answer I was seeking; but it has been the answer that I needed.
The water has grown cold and my time for soaking is done. Ever so grateful for the quite solitude to let my thoughts reflect on my past, to be delighted for the fresh bar of soap and a new razor. Even so, and more importantly, I was glad that I wasn’t alone. Not in my thoughts, not in my house, and not in my life. My mother and brother live on in my heart, and are always in my thoughts. I’m sure that my mother and I would have become the best of friends long before now. John, my source of reason, has never left my side. My ex-husband and I have become friends and my children (not his) call him Uncle George.
My children are my solitude, my solace, and my soul split evenly amongst them. I have healed more thoroughly, found more hope, laughed more often and prayed more intently because of them. They are my gift from my Heavenly Father, given to me to love, teach, nurture, learn from and because of them, I have grown wiser. I have frequently regretted that my life had not been *perfect* before I had children. I am still learning to curb my tongue, not jump to conclusions, give them space, but not too much and gently encourage rather than demand. This is just another dance I’m learning to perfect. I hope that I will have mastered the steps well enough that by the time I have my grandchildren, that I will be considered their equal. And all of this because I meandered down memory lane.