Soul Friends

My last post was about my dad - a bit of a downer.  Today is one year since my mom (step-mother) passed over and although I thought about writing about her, I think that could also end up being more melancholy than what I want to communicate today.  Instead, I want to honor my oldest (not in age) friend, whose birthday was this past week. 

It was the summer of 1960.  My father, my two sisters and I were moving to the town where his business was located.  He had rented us a large house with a wrap-around front porch and a roomy, fenced-in front yard for our collie dog.  It was moving-in day when a tall, round woman with two little girls in tow appeared at the back door.  I was five at the time, ready to start first grade in a month.  The woman introduced herself as Clara and the dark-haired and brown-eyed girl hiding behind her leg as Debbie, her six-year-old daughter.  The younger, blonde girl was a neighbor's daughter, Robin.  Debbie and I watched each other with curiosity.Debbie, too, was starting first grade in the fall. 

When Clara discovered that my mom was deceased and my step-mother and father were divorced, she was filled with motherly compassion for me.  Debbie's big brown eyes got even larger as she tried to comprehend how the girl in front of her could live without a mother.  In the weeks that followed, before school started, Clara often invited me to their house on the next street to play with Debbie, and sometimes Robin.

Perhaps, because I had no mom and was accustomed to going to a child-sitter's house while my father worked, starting school was not scary to me.  But, for Debbie, that first day of school was terrifying.  Her mother walked Debbie and me to the bus stop the first day.  Debbie cried, but to ease her fear, I held her hand as we boarded the bus.  Unfortunately, we were in different classrooms and Debbie had to face the rest of the day alone, but I was waiting outside her classroom door at the end of the day and we walked hand-in-hand to the bus together.  That was the start of a friendship that has lasted almost 53 years. 

Debbie and I only attended two years of school together.  My father, one of my sisters and I moved to another state the summer after second grade.  Even during our two school years together, our friendship waxed and waned as we made other friends, but my family's move was still tramatic for us.  Unbelievably, those two third graders started writing letters to one another - letters that always started:  Dear, Debbie or Becky, How are you? I am fine. And from there we shared our experiences in two different schools in two different states.

Every summer, and during some Christmas holidays, my father put me on a Greyhound bus to go visit Debbie.  I loved those visits, especially the summer ones.  I stayed two or three weeks.  Debbie's mom showered me with the motherly love I was missing and Debbie and I and the always-changing foster children in their home spent hours playing in the summer sunshine.  When we were older, Debbie faced her fears of leaving home and her mom and came to visit me a couple of times.

Debbie and I were not always close. We always stayed in touch, we always saw each other at least once a year, but sometimes we did not like each other very much.  Debbie was living in the suburbs of a large city and I was growing up in a very rural area.  Our experiences were completely different.  As we reached our teens years, Debbie was hanging with friends that I thought were trouble.  She was hiding things from her parents and I wanted no part of that. When I visited, Debbie often went out with her friends and I stayed home with her mom, picking vegetables from their garden, shelling peas and talking.  Perhaps it was my relationship with her mom that kept our friendship intact during Debbie's adventurous teenage years, but, whatever was the glue that held our friendship together, I am eternally grateful that we did not drift apart as we often went our separate ways. I went to college, for awhile, and Debbie moved to another state and worked for her brother.  I moved even further away - more than 800 miles.  We both got married the same year.  Through all the years and all the moves and all the changes, we kept writing letters, even when we could not visit one another. 

Now we stay in contact with cell phones and emails and Facebook, but sadly, we rarely see one another.  We have birthday dates - I call her on her birthday, as I did last week, and she calls me on mine.  We drink a glass of wine and chat for more than an hour.  As the years pass, our friendship deepens.  We appreciate each other more with each birthday conversation.  We know that a friendship that has lasted this long, especially from such a distance, is a gift to treasure. 

We have supported one another through marital and family problems, births, deaths and adoptions, illnesses and accidents, happiness and heartache, and, although our life experiences have been completely different, we have always had understanding and compassion for one another's problems and we have celebrated one another's joys and triumphs.  There is no one I laugh so heartily with than Debbie.  There is no one I can so quickly reconnect with, even after months of no communi-cation, and feel as though we have been talking every day.

I wish we lived closer.  I wish we could have a tea together at least once a week.  I wish I could call her up and say, "Let's go shopping."  I wish we could take long walks together and sort through the meaning of life.  But, we can't.  We have different lives a long distance apart.  We have families and businesses and responsibilities that keep us where we are, restricting our ability to even visit.  But, I know that in spite of all these challenges, our friendship endures because we are soul friends.  Our friendship transcends our lives.  It is deeper and stronger than our physical connection because it is a soul friendship and for that, and for Debbie, I will always be grateful.

Walking Away

I have been thinking about my father a lot recently.  Maybe because of Brene Brown's writing about living an authentic life and dealing with shame and guilt in her book The Gifts of Imperfection and perhaps because someone shared with me their desire to cut a family member out of her life, as I did my father about ten years ago.

My father was a typical mid-20th century husband and father.  He expected to have a stay-at-home wife to raise his children, take care of his needs and provide him with a comfortable home life.  He was open to having several children, as long as he was able to pay for the bills and his wife was willing to take care of them.  I doubt if he, like most men of his time, even thought much about the consequences of having children, other than the cost.  His mind was on his business and children were his wife's concern.

Unfortunately, after the birth of four children and the death of one, his wife, and my mother, checked out of this earthly life at the relatively young age of 39.  I was an infant when she passed and my older sisters were 10 and 7.  Not only was my unprepared father left with three children, one a baby, but those kids were also girls - a fact that seemed to make the situation even harder for him.  His mother came from Chicago and took care of us for about 18 months - long enough for my father to find another wife, my stepmother who passed last year, to raise his kids.  That marriage failed quickly and again he was faced with three daughters to raise without the help of a woman since my grandmother's age prevented her from coming to his rescue a second time.  So, he did the best he could.  His best was not all that good in some ways, but he adequately provided for our physical needs.

My father was not the huggy, warm type of dad.  Not at all like those wonderful widowed TV dads who are wise, generous and loving.  He worked hard - rising at 4 AM to run his business, often working on Saturdays and Sundays.  He was impatient, demanding and unforgiving of mistakes and transgressions.  A glass accidentally dropped and broken was treated the same as if it were hurled purposefully across the room in a fit of anger.  I lost my greatly-needed eyeglasses when I was nine and, as punishment, he refused to buy me new ones.  I spent the next eight years sitting in the front of classrooms, squinting to read the chalkboard and books, and living with almost constant headaches until I went to live with my stepmother and she took me to the optometrist and I soon sported new glasses that allowed me to see so much that I had been missing.

My father had a temper, but he never hit us.  He would yell, he would slam doors, he would subject us to days, weeks and even months of silence for not acting or being who he wished we were.  My two older sisters left home as soon as they graduated high school, leaving me alone to deal with him.  Nothing I did was good enough, right enough or fast enough.  I was an A student, but felt like a failure.  When I was 14 we had a silly argument over who sang a song and he stopped talking to me - for months.  I became depressed; my friends and teachers worried about me.  A guidance counselor intervened and eventually my father allowed me to go live with my stepmother in another state.

At first, I was just relieved and happy to have him out of my life, but since my stepmother forced me to stay in contact with him, I soon fell back into the old pattern of wanting to please him and never being able to do so.  He visited me and I visited him a few times over the next three years.  Then, I ended up moving to the state where he had settled and we even lived in the same town for a couple of years.  He traveled a lot with his business, which allowed us to maintain an almost normal and friendly relationship.  Then I moved 100 miles away to go to college and within a year, I was married.  My husband I moved to another state.  My father visited whenever he was traveling through our city.  Eventually, after he retired, we ended up living in the same state again and for three years, my father resided in a mobile home on the property where my husband and I had built our home.

Living so close together was a bad idea.  Our tenuous relationship strained with the constant contact.  My father routinely invaded our privacy, using the "emergency" house key we gave him to enter our home whenever he wanted, even when we were sleeping .  He was rude and argumentative with my husband and my in-laws.  He told lies about us to my sisters.  My marriage bore the stress of the constant problems he caused.  My father became more and more combative, even speaking badly of us to the people in the small town where we lived.  After three years of escalating conflict, he moved to the state where one of my other sisters lived.

I was so relieved to be rid of him, again, but he was soon inching his way back into my life.  Knowing that he was not welcome, he became nicer and I let my guard down, again.  And, eventually, I would regret it, again.  Over and over that happened.  He quickly ruined his relationship with the daughter that he was living near and moved to another state to actually live with my half-sister.  She was so sure that she and dad could occupy the same house in harmony.  Wrong.  And, then it was back to my state, back to me.  He had no place to go, he would be homeless, or so he led me to believe.  No way he could live with my husband and me after the horrible experience we had with him living next door.  So, I bought him a piece of land and a mobile home a mile away.  Even that was too close.  He started out nice and cooperative and seemingly appreciative of all I was doing for him.  That lasted just long enough for the closing on the property to take place.  Then, his ugly side came out again.  Constant complaints and demands.  Nothing I did was good enough. Soon he was telling lies about me to my sisters and his neighbors.  But, I put up with it for eight long years.

Why?  Why would I allow myself to be treated like that?  I kept hoping that if I did enough for him, he would become the dad I always wanted and needed.  Time was running out.  He was aging.  I only had so much time left to finally get the dad I had always hoped for.  I did more and more for him, especially as his health declined and he no longer drove.  And, still he disrespected and criticized me.  Nothing was enough, I was not enough.  The more I did, the more he berated me, the more he complained, the more he demanded.  As he aged, I felt trapped.  How could I break off my relationship with him if his health was declining?  He needed me.  I could not abandon him.  I resigned to a life of his verbal and emotional abuse.  Until. . .

Who knows what causes that moment - that moment in time when you say, "Enough! No more!"  I stopped to check on him one morning on my way to work.  He began berating me for not buying him a car.  His truck had broken down a couple of years before, but he was already rarely driving due to his health.  I took him grocery shopping, to doctor appointments and anywhere else he needed to go.  Then, he got this idea that he could start driving again and that I should buy him a car.  When I refused, he became angry and for weeks he had argued with me about it.  That morning he started the argument anew, but that time he accused me of abusing him.  He said I was a horrible daughter and that he had called a state agency to report me for elder abuse.  I knew he was lying, as he often did, but, for some unknown reason, at that moment something snapped inside me.  No, that is not the correct description - some slammed shut - like a door closing on our relationship.  Without a word, I walked away.  I never saw him again.  I wrote a letter to him, to the VA Hospital that provided his health care and to my sisters stating that I was no longer responsible for him in any way.  He could continue to live on my property, but I had ceased providing him with transportation or any other aid or services.  I detailed some of the psychological and emotional abuse I had experienced from him and declared myself free from any his manipulation and cruelty.  Three years later I received a call from a deputy sheriff informing me that my father had been found dead in his mobile home and had been deceased for several days.  He died alone.  His life did not have to end that way, but his own actions brought about his lonely demise.

The day I walked away from him was a day of rebirth for me.  It was the beginning of my new life - a life that would take a few years to develop, but a life that was in the birthing process. Taking action to leave that abusive situation opened my mind to clearly seeing and evaluating other relationships and situations in my life.   It would lead to the end of my marriage, the terminations of some "friendships" that were unhealthy, the creation of new relationships and a new life.

I am a person who often suffers from guilt.  But, surprisingly, when I walked away from my father that day, I never suffered any guilt or shame about my decision.  Some people were shocked and judgmental about my decision.  My father was usually funny and charming around people he first met or saw infrequently.  Friends and acquaintances of mine could not understand why I had such problems with him or why I cut him from my life.  They saw a man who was putting on a show - a witty man with great magnetism; I lived with a man who was rarely nice to me unless he needed something from me.  Even the disdain and criticism of these people did not affect me.  I was strong and confident in my decision.  My only regret was that I had not walked away long, long before.

Here is what I learned from my decision to walk away:

• You can never mold someone into the person you want them to be. 
• Abuse does not have to be physical.  Emotional and psychological abuse are just as damaging and may even have effects that last longer.
• Leave an abusive relationship as soon as you can.  
• Anyone can be an abuser - your spouse, your partner, a parent, a sibling, a friend - ANYONE.
• No one deserves abuse.  
• Manipulation is abuse. 
• You can change your life, one step at a time. 
• Don't pay attention to those who criticize or ostracize you for removing an abuser from your life. 
• If your friends do not support your decision to remove an abuser from your life, they are not your friends. 
• If other family members do not support your decision to remove an abuser from your life, feel free to remove them, too.
• NEVER feel guilty for doing what is right and healthy for you.  
• There are supportive, loving people in the world and if you are wasting all your time trying to please an abuser, you are missing the opportunity to have wonderful relationships with those people.  

In a way, my decision to walk away that day led to Manifesting Mount Dora.  Back then, I would never have dreamed I could even think about manifesting something wonderful in my life.  In fact, I could not even imagine having a wonderful life.  Now I do.  All because I walked away.  

Mount Dora Renewal

Three days in Mount Dora have helped to ease the fatigue of three months of long work hours, several illnesses and some painful back issues and many days and evenings of being the caregiver for my two grandchildren.  On Thursday, my man and I and our two dogs headed south on a rainy afternoon.  We were greeted by 20 mph winds and intermittent showers in our favorite town, but nothing drastic enough to keep us inside.  Soon we were visiting Grantham Park on Lake Dora, walking the streets of the “old city” and dining on delicious Cuban food at Copacabana.  Friday and Saturday were filled with many long walks with our dogs, wonderful food and conversations at Copacabana, One Flight Up and Cody’s on 4th.  We shopped - particularly at my favorite boutique, Em’z on Fifth.  We rested and read.  On Sunday, for the first time, we visited the weekly Open Air Market and purchased some fabulous French bread, pastries and biscotti from the booth of A Wish or Two Ago, a French bakery located in Grand Island, some fresh arugula, tomatoes and blueberries, and a hair care product by Wildflower Beauty by Jessica, and I longed to buy some pottery from the Perry Stoneware booth, but decided that needed to wait until another trip.

One of the interesting aspects of our trip was the first time inclusion of our dog Pooh.  I rescued Pooh and her mom Winnie in 2002.  Winnie was about 3 years old and Pooh was around 4 months old.  They were living on the streets near my mom’s home in Tennessee.  Winnie was socialized having obviously been someone’s pet at some time, but Pooh was completely feral.  In spite of her better people skills, Winnie was not a dog to live in a house.  Being within four walls made her anxious and stressful, resulting in excessive panting and pacing, so she and her wild-one daughter spent the next 10 years living in my backyard and sleeping on my back porch.  Winnie became ill in January and left us.  Pooh is still trying to adjust to life without her ever-present mother.  Although Pooh is certainly tame now, she is still easily frightened and becomes nervous in new situations and around unfamiliar people.  Since living alone was not a good idea for the grieving Pooh, we started allowing her in the house with our Pekingese dog and she has slowly adjusted to life with our family and without her mother.  Worried that leaving her alone, without her most trusted people (my man and me) and without her canine companion Chanelito, we risked taking her along on her first ever vacation.  Pooh was nervous and leery of Mount Dora where everything was new and different.  She was overwhelmed and confused by her first sight of a large body of water, Mount Dora.  Walking along the downtown streets, busy with tourists and shoppers, triggered all her fear phobias.  But, slowly she adjusted - a little - with the one exception of her bathroom habits.  At our home, she uses our backyard for her bowel movements and in Mount Dora she was always on a leash or in our cottage, all places that did not seem “right” to her for that bodily function.  For three days we fretted about her lack of a bowel movement, always afraid the call of nature would become too strong when she was in the cottage.  Fortunately, that did not happen and on our last morning there, during my man’s early morning walk with the dogs, she successfully released what had been held inside of too long.  We were all relieved!!

Since mid-December my life has been out-of-synch, out-of-balance, as evident in my consecutive illnesses, back problems and a general feeling of dismay and discord.
Our trip allowed me some downtime to think, to read and to try and figure out what is wrong and why it became so wrong.  I read the book “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brene Brown who I recently saw on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday.  Her book is fantastic and I highly recommend it.  I really identified with her studies on the problems of perfectionism and I learned much from her about embracing our imperfections.

I came home from my long weekend feeling a little more rested, with slightly less back pain and with a renewed commitment to getting my life back on track.  First, I spoke to my daughter about her work schedule, insisting that I have Monday through Wednesday evenings free of childcare so I can attend my yoga class, work for some of my evening clients, volunteer at Wild Iris Bookstore and attend the monthly Feminist Open Mic Poetry Readings that I enjoy so much.  I promised myself to better organize my home work space and bedroom, so those areas feel less cluttered, confused and confining.  I recommitted myself to writing more often and I began researching some sort of creative class or activity that I can enjoy with my grandchildren.  And, hardest of all, I made an agreement with The Universe to be more positive and more patient about my Manifesting Mount Dora project.

Tomorrow begins my return to the routine of work, household duties and helping to care for my grandchildren.  Tomorrow begins the juggle of hours and the scheduling of all the things that I need to do while trying to make time for the things I want to do.  Tomorrow and the next day and the next are the test to see if my Mount Dora Renewal will take hold and grow sturdy roots.