The Decades

I am 7:

What I remember: Not much except that times were tumultuous. I was forced to change schools between second and third grade because of redistricting. I was in an integrated school, and then, I wasn't. I'm sure the impact of that would have been felt seismic if my family wasn't imploding. My mom and dad separated between my seventh and eighth birthdays--as memory serves.

I am 17:

What I remember: My graduation from high school. It was a glorious time. Beyond the excitement of graduation was the elation of the next steps, being on the precipice of my future and freedom. Or so I thought. Long story short, my planned move to the dorm was cancelled, and I spent the next two years commuting to college and fighting to survive the onslaught of my brothers' antics and my mother's growing medical and mental anguish.

I'm 27:

What I remember: Kindergarten. My son had two orientations in two schools. The first orientation was rendered moot due to an argument his dad had with the landlord of our apartment building. We were evicted. Thankfully, another apartment, only a few blocks away, was available, so we moved in. Despite the second apartment being geographically closer to the first school, we were out of the district. Hence, the second orientation at the new school. My daughter was entering the parenthetical terrible twos. Twenty-seven was a blur.

I'm 37

What I remember: Upheavals. In the workplace, the CEO of the parent company died. Two years later, the executors sold the family of businesses, ending one era and beginning a new one (for me). On the home front, my marriage was crawling toward its eventual end. My 15-year-old son and my 12-year-old daughter had their eyes, hearts, and hopes trained on me for guidance.

I'm 47:

What I remember: Being in a relationship. My mind was falling in love with the idea (and the act) of falling in love. It was a long-distance affair, meaning it wasn't without its logistical challenges.

Dance Me To The End of Love

I'm 57:

What I remember: Nothing super specific; my mother died four years prior (my dad, five), and judging by my archives for the year, blogging was not a top priority. Between over-arching grief and focusing on the newish job in a new (to me) industry, I was putting one foot in front of the other and just moving right along.

One of the November posts from that year contained this quote:

"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."   -Audre Lorde

and creatives

I Didn't Want To Know Anything (More)

A couple of months ago, I decided to go out to lunch with one of my many cousins (Pam) from my father's side.  For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades. Her mother and my father (both deceased) were siblings. My relationship with my father, his siblings, and their offspring suffered when my parents divorced when I was a kid.  There was, over the years, some effort to reunite the families, but mostly, they were all out of my life.  

Enter social media. Pam and I became friends in that realm. We exchanged phone numbers. We texted and IM'd every now and again.  She has tried to get me to meet face-to-face before this summer, but I always begged off, as we were, in my view, virtual strangers despite our ancestral heritage. 

Enter a death (Sqr), another cousin.  His sister (Dot) was in town for the memorial service.  Pam invited Dot and me out for an afternoon of reminiscing some days after the service (which I had missed).  I hesitated but eventually agreed.  On the day of, I discovered that Dot had begged off, so it was just Pam and me. 

      

 For context, we hadn't seen each other in several decades.  And while we are close in age, we have people and experiences in common, the second half of our childhoods and a large chunk of our adulthoods were spent in separate worlds.  Her memories and my memories did not align. 

She shared stories of her parents, our grandparents, and the epic family divide, most of which I had never heard or experienced.  It became clear that what she sought was someone to bear witness to the trauma and toxicity that permeated our separate but equally fraught-filled child and young adult lives.  

At the end of the afternoon, I told her I'd keep a good thought for her upcoming surgery (she'd shared a devastating medical diagnosis--I was the first cousin to know) and said our goodbyes, hugging it out.  

We haven't spoken since.  Enter social media.  Pam and I are still friends in that realm.  

Happy Autumn!