Another day, another story!
My mother has moved in with me. It seems like only yesterday that we were just like this, her in the drivers seat, her being the one to keep me steady on my feet, her keeping me balanced so that I didn't go careening off into the dark night, bad decisions, high fevers, or swampy creeks.
Now I'm the one that is trying to keep things balanced. Keeping them from tipping over. We are having such a great time. Really, we are. You laugh? You doubt it? I can see why. There are days that I stomp through the house exhasperated by her every sigh or comment. Days where I turn fourteen and want to go to room and slam the door. But my door doesn't slam because its just one more thing I have to fix in this house so there's no point. Instead, we find something we can agree on to watch or we tell old stories and laugh. Thank God she has a sense of humor. Most days I have mine. She follows me around the house with lipstick trying to get me to just "put a little color on" and reminds me to use lotion on my face. A lot. Like every time she looks at my face. She is also the Queen of the List. There is always a list of things we need. As soon as I leave for the store a new list has begun. Daily trips to the store are a bizarre part of my family history. It's as if we can only buy one thing a day. Or three. But never all of the things. When I was in high school and was sent to the store that was fine because Cousin Deb was with me and we always took the really, really long way which means we did everything we wanted to between the house and the store. Now the store is a chore. Particularly when someone is following your around the house with a plastic bag that has the name of a particular brand of three ply double roll extra size super soft paper with no truck tracks in the middle of it so that you can "READ every word so you get it exactly right." This is why I studied literature. I just know it. It's come to this.
But I get it. The little things matter when they seem to be the only things you might possibly have control over. The pressures of giving up your home after fifty years, making a move to the mountains after being a flatlander all your life (her words) and giving up so many shades of independence are challenging in every way. Trying to still find things when many are still in storage, reaching for the light in the middle of the night and realizing it's in the wrong place. That everything is in the wrong place. Mourning an old house like a family member. Because it was such a part of the family for so many years. The shelter for every tropical storm and hurricane. That little brick house held every family member far and wide while the storms raged outside. It was our lifeboat and our arc. Through the literal Florida storms and from life's storms. When grandparents grew sick and elderly and moved in with us. When there were car wrecks and bad news. The death of pets. Of bad grades. Broken hearts. Celebrations. Birthdays. It was all right there and my mother was the captain of that ship. Period. My Daddy was in the Army and away much of the time until he retired. Then he came home and took his place without ever removing her from hers.
Now so many things fall to me. Just cause this is the way that life shook out. It has a way of doing that. Taking a road we didn't expect but then that is life. And as family we make the best of it. As a writer I empathize with my mother making a change so significant we don't discuss it too much. The decision to let go of the car keys - one of the hardest of a lifetime. My mother's parents never owned a car, never drove. If I felt the day I had my own set of keys and eventually my own set of wheels represented freedom - for her that had to be a kind of rising up and driving out that came from a much deeper place. It represented more than sixteen year old I gotta be me. It represented a rise out of poverty, a way to have a job and keep a job, a success that meant she could buy a little house, build a family, have a little girl that would ride shotgun some day.
And, I did. Those were glorious times. My mother finally bought the car of her dreams. A big Oldsmobile convertible. White with red leather interior. A dream machine. She drove with confidence behind the wheel wearing scarves over her hair and streaming behind her, cat eye sunglasses. She was amazing, looked like a movie star. Riding in that front seat beside her, the sun shinning down, the radio playing, I knew that Mom was in control, that we were traveling down that road, and that all was well with our world.
Now, a blink of an eye later, I'm behind the wheel. She's riding shotgun. And I can only pray that I will exude just a little of that air of confidence she possessed. The kind where she can truly I believe that it's okay. In spite of her home being shifted beneath her feet, her keys having slipped away. That in spite of it all - all is well with the world. That the road before us is a long one. To trust me enough that I do know the way. That life is still a great adventure. We just have to take it one day, one moment at a time.
Rocky was movie of the year and fittingly Bowie was singing Golden Years. They were.
I've been no-show for years. Here and there. Popped in at 10 and 20 and had a blast. Then I fell off the earth in a way. I've been busy here and there and swamped with life. Everyone has.
I liked everyone. As I remember it everyone else was just downright nice. (If things were different don't tell me now.) Of course it could have been the High School - Bay High was a true melting pot. We were beach boys, and suntanned girl. We were a bunch of pot smokers, over-achievers, football players, band members. Believers and day-dreamers. We came from every side of the tracks and run of the road. We rolled with that.
So for years we rushed ahead living our lives everything feeling more or less as if we were just a step away from graduation night. Just a few long days and short nights from the halls of ringing bells and laughter. Young couples holding hands. Favorite teachers (Hello Ms. Kelly, Coach Lawson) and each other. Just a step away from our parents being young enough we fought and argued over things like curfews and grades.
Then it happened.
We slipped into stages that were beyond Dan-D Donuts and Talley Ho. We fell out of our neighborhoods and into our lives. We loved and loss. Mates, children, parents. Friends and Family. Each other. We were broken and we healed. We picked up the pieces.
Now as I think about those days I realize even those of us who seemingly had not so much in common but a bus ride have come full circle. We have everything in common now. We've weathered this many years together and apart. We have suffered and survived this beautiful, messy, broken life.
And for just one night on the beach I'm going to celebrate all of that with those who are able to attend.
Right there on that beach, by those waves where I used to wear Banana Boat, swim in the Gulf and run the Miracle Strip at night.
For this one night I'm going to celebrate the fact that in spite of everything, because of everything, we are still alive while remembering that once upon a time we could be anything.
On this one night, on this special year, I intend to raise a glass to celebrate all that we were and all that we've become.
Thanks so much for reading, liking and sharing with friends.