What the Unicorn Girl Said - 1/5/14

It's still all around; the Christmas stuff.  I've started kind of moving it to one table, so I can eventually put it away so, so neatly.  That's how my mind thinks. There's really only three things on that table.  I feel that when I pack it all away, he is gone from Christmas forever.  Replaced by the one that we did totally by ourselves.

Between that first paragraph and the start of this one, it's all put away.  Well, mostly.  I always leave out two boxes for a few extra days - one for the towels, pot holders, things that need washing; the other for the 'extra' finds that are inevitably missed in the first clean-up sweep.  I feel accomplished. Yet I feel......I feel cheated. I feel cheated because I was reminded, in cleaning up the year, of what was stolen from me. I feel the need to share something that came home with me, and you can take from it what you will.  I am mostly sharing this for two types of people; adults with sentimental memories of their own, and young adult girls (women) like my daughters that are in the midst of dating, falling in love, and trying to find that special someone.

I have all sorts of memories of my husband around the house.  I will work on organizing, deciding what to save, what to pass on.......one of these days.  Right now, I just look at things occasionally, and put them back in their cabinet or drawer or box.  I'll get the right feeling when I'm ready.  Perhaps moving into the new year will advance that feeling, but then again, maybe not.  I'll just have to wait and see.

I visited my mother-in-law for a couple of days over the holidays.  At one point, she handed me a manila envelope, taped closed, marked "Scott-memories".  I slid it into the front flat zipper pocket on my suitcase and promptly forgot about it.  (Conveniently forgetting things is a part of grief, perhaps one of my greatest defenses!)  I forgot so hard that I didn't even remember to close the zipper on that pouch when I checked my bag to fly.  The envelope was partially sticking out when I claimed the bag.  After an "oh crap!" moment, I zipped it closed and forgot about it again.

So, as part of the "put away Christmas", I decided to get those last few things out of the suitcase so it could be put away as well.  And there was the envelope.  I saved it for bedtime, alone time, no interaction-with-other-humans time.....just in case.  I cut open the tape, and pulled out one thing at a time.  Drawings, report cards, birthday cards, progress reports, one after another.  Then, two envelopes.  The first, an inner envelope of a sort, with his parent's names - "Trudy and Jim" in my handwriting.  I opened it - she had saved our wedding invitation from 1984. I glanced at it, had a few memories, and put it away.  I have one, too, so now each girl can have one if they want it.  The second envelope held a card, and was addressed to Scott by me, postmarked July 9, 1981.

Our first date was January 14, 1981, so this was almost six months later.  I was eighteen years old, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year.  I pulled out the card - it had a big unicorn on the cover.  Yes, I was a unicorn girl. I admit it.  Some of the vestiges are still around, coffee mugs and figurines.  It's really time to clean out!  I opened the card and started reading.  Mostly descriptions of what I was doing, and had to do in the next few days.  Sweet, innocent, young.  But right in the middle, there it was.  The part that brought me to tears.  How could I say this after only six months?  I would chastise any young girl that did so today! These words, though, brought home to me what I'd lost, how invested I was, and why it's so easy now to "be strong" and yet so difficult to "move on".

If you are a young girl looking for the right person today, saying words like this may happen through text or tweet, or snapchat, or whatever ghostly invention comes next.  And I feel sad that you won't be able to hold it in your hands thirty-three years later and smile or cry or laugh about it.  If you are saying something like this, though, be aware that you could actually be expressing a desire for what will turn out to be your whole life.  It could come true, it could be made real.  Just be aware of that.  It was made real for me, and I was fortunate; it was true and turned out beyond well. Hence my strength. Also my sadness.  Here's to memories for us that are older, and to looking for your happily-ever-after for those that are searching.

My words to him, in pretty cursive writing in a unicorn card:

"I can't wait to see you again.  I feel like I can face the world if you're there holding my hand.  You make me so strong - you know that, don't you? I love you."

I'm not who I used to be - but why? 4/3/13

I'M NOT WHO I USED TO BE!!!

I may see you after 20 to 30 years, at a reunion, or while visiting my family.  I look older, not skinny anymore, and the face - still smiley.  The makeup still done.  The rings, bracelets, earrings - still the same style.  But you don't know me.  I am not who I used to be.

I may have the same smile, the same laugh, and the same old eyes.  But I'm not that person anymore.  I keep that sweet, innocent, faith-that-could-change-the-world girl in a special place in my heart.  Every now and then, she has to surface.  It may be to comfort someone, it may be to fake it through a conversation, or it may be to defuse a situation with her peaceful, positive attitude.  But she stays put away unless needed.  She is not who I am anymore.

What changed?  Whose fault is it?  I have tried to analyze it so many times.  Was it moving a lot?  Was it having children?  Was it family? Friends?  Church people?  Disappointments?  The answer is yes.  As I have traveled the road from youth through middle age, everything has affected my beliefs and my core values.  Some things that I would have condemned when I was young are now things that I can not only accept, but stand for. 

What I wonder is - does this happen in every generation?  Could a 16-year-old that was raised with slavery turn into a 50-year-old that ran an equal opportunity business?  Did a 20-year-old that campaigned for prohibition later become a middle-aged social drinker?  I'm sure it did happen.  And so...I am one of the ones that has changed.  But what about those that don't?   Really- what's it like to be one of those people?

I have many friends on a certain social network that are from my high school days.  I sometimes take a "stalker-ish" look at their particular page to see if they've changed like I have.  Sometimes I don't need to look.  Some of them are still saying, endorsing, and espousing the same ideas and doctrines that we were fed in high school.  Some of them still have that change-the-world faith.  I'm a bit jealous of them in particular.  Others drop hints that they too, have changed.  Others declare it openly.  I just wonder how I "landed" in the changed group.

"Jaded" - an older word, meaning hardened, cynical, negative.  Am I jaded?  I hope not.  My career allows me to be a positive influence on little children all day long.  I couldn't manage that successfully if I were jaded.  But then something happens.  A little five-year-old girl tells me that mom and dad were fighting all night and dad threw mom down to the ground.  A nine-year-old boy tells me that his new step dad doesn't like him and makes him do chores from the time he gets home from school until bedtime.  The special beast that is the preteen almost-middle-schooler learns to get attention by putting down others hurtfully and publicly.  I always jump in and help, bridge, strive to foster healing.  It's my instinct.  But every instance over the years has taken away my innocence and belief that I can change the world.  Therein lies the problem.  As individuals, we cannot change the world. 

I think part of my answer (to the "how did I end up this way? question) has come to me while sharing these thoughts.  The blind faith gains sight - or insight - into particular situations when they cross my path.  And I - I do the grown-up thing and allow these situations to change me in the way I think honors and protects the precious souls and feelings of the individuals in this world that receive hurt after hurt.  Whether those individuals are children or adults, I think I owe them fairness.  And kindness.  And a listening ear and understanding heart.  I owe them love.  And if love has been what changed me, so be it.