As I munch on my lunch at my
cube, I
reflect on a lot of what my friends have told me recently. Mainly that I am strong, capable, and that I deserve a man who will really love me.
I started to wonder why I am so strong, and where did that inner grace come from - and the only answer I can come back to is "faith". There are many phrases that are used to console in times of grief, and one that I believe in is that "the Lord only gives you what you can handle."
Well, the Lord must think that I can handle a lot! And I have...
When my grandmother died I did not shed a tear, because I know that God had a plan for her, and she led a full life living that plan. Nannie was a second mother to me, as I was over her house every day after school and during school breaks. She lived with us after my grandfather died for over 10 years, until she got very sick and passed. At the funeral, my cousin made the comment, "You are such a rock," to me, and I guess it was true. I held it together in the hospice room when she passed, as she opened her eyes one last time and looked into mine. I smiled at her, and waved and said loudly, "Hi Nannie!" because I wanted her to be able to hear me. I made the arrangements with the administration, and the funeral home, as my mother was too
distraught to do so.
Many people know that my parents are divorced, and they recognize that I never really mention my father. What many people don't know is that my childhood was filled with parental arguments, driving by bars to look for his car, and one affair after another. My mom claims that he was even cheating on her when she was in the hospital delivering me - and frankly, I believe it. Dad also lied about two very important things about himself, and to this day the truth is still hidden to protect the innocent. As I got older, I would hate to see my mother so hurt, and I would wonder why my father kept doing this. He would always come back, so very sorry and promising change, yet it never happened. I think my mom stayed with him for 14 years because of me.
One of his girlfriends, and the woman he actually lives with now, is a stalker. And I'm not judging her based on long felt emotions, or bad things that my mother put into my head. I stood there clear headed when my mom had to block every pay phone in our
zip code so that she would stop calling and just hang on the phone. She wouldn't say anything, just breathe into the phone, and we traced a few of the calls, and know they were from her. I watched as my mom's car got keyed repeatedly, whenever we went into a store in our neighborhood, and she happened to follow us there - not even trying to hide the fact that she was following us. When I was in the 6
th grade, and we bought our current house, she followed the moving van to where we live, and sat in her car down the street, and watched as all the furniture came into the house. My mother, ever the brave one, started walking down the street toward the car, and she quickly sped off.
I was 13 years old, and my father was cheating again. I remember that it was very close to my 8
th grade graduation, and mom just found out that it was
happening again. He was due home from work soon, and my grandmother was in the process of making dinner. I looked at my mom, and told her that I was going to ask him "why". She looked at me, and I went on to explain that I want to know why he does this, and if he is so unhappy why does he have to make us unhappy? I told her that she doesn't need him anymore, and she should not stay with him because of me. She smiled, and told me that I was very brave, and if I needed to do this, then I should say how I feel.
My father came home about an hour later, and I confronted him. I was standing there in my school uniform, and I asked him why. I started to cry, as this was the first time I had ever gotten involved in any of their arguments, but I muddled through what I had to say. He began to cry as well, and apologize, and I told him that I didn't want to hear about it anymore. I can remember it like it was yesterday: I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and told him to leave. My grandmother and mother were crying silently in the kitchen, as I faced my father in the living room, and asked him to remove himself from our lives, because we didn't deserve to be hurt anymore. He packed his stuff and left.
I will always love my father, because he's my father, but I don't respect the man, and I never will. He tried to have a relationship with me after that, but it wasn't working for either of us. And, he, being the adult, should have tried harder. I haven't spoken to him in over 5 years, and I don't plan to anytime soon.
I've always been overweight, and chubby... but no little girl should feel the pain of walking down the street to her friend's house, and have the neighborhood bullies make fun of her. Calling me names that I didn't even know the meaning of, but repeatedly using the word "fat". And through that entire walk, holding my head high because I knew they didn't deserve the
satisfaction.
I had a 2
nd grade teacher tell me once that people only pick on you because they feel so bad inside of themselves. The only way they can feel better is to lash out at someone. I think that is when I developed my deep sense of sympathy.
Instead of getting angry at people for their actions, I started to feel bad for them. I don't think I have any more strength than anyone else, or any more enlightenment than anyone else. But what I have is a deep compassion for people, and an understanding that people get stuck in places that they never wanted to be, and they are only hurting you because they don't know how to handle themselves. That's how I learned how to forgive so easily.
And... through all of this, I've had faith. I have felt that since I was a little girl that God has a plan for me. Through these experiences, through learning about people, I've been able to get myself to a place where I can help others.
That's my true calling in life, and that is what I'm supposed to do.
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