2007-09-21
purging the past
I never realized how strange life gets as you get older. I think I’m so reflective because tomorrow is the big, final move for my parents. To realize that tomorrow night, the house they brought me home to a week short of 39 years ago, will be empty. I’ve never seen it empty. Yes, I’m crying. Yes, I know it’s just a house.
Driving to work this week I had a flash back of when my mom babysat a cousin when I was little. Lisa was a year older than me and pretty much considered a golden child. I can remember running home from grade school, hoping to spend time playing with her, but she’d already gone no matter how fast I ran. It wasn’t the fact that she was gone that made me sad though, it was that when I’d get home mom would show me things they did together. I remember the day I came home and found they’d done this decoupage thing to my niece’s high chair tray, putting cartoon characters all over it. Mom told me how much fun they had doing this. Thirty years later I still remember the pain and jealousy that Lisa got to do this, not me. Every day for a little while it was the same; come home and hear how much fun they’d had together. I realize now that is when I really felt the pain my mother could inflict, I just didn’t understand it all back then. I do know now just how long I’ve felt inadequate. It’s been a very long time.
A week ago my mother gave me a hug and a kiss when no one was around to witness it, and then told me I was a good daughter. I felt like she left the “after all” part off the end. It was nice, but quite meaningless. It took her 38 years and 50 weeks to say this? I’ll admit, overhearing her tell everyone at my great nephew’s birthday party how much I’ve helped and how she couldn’t have moved without me was shocking, in a pleasant way. Actually she was bragging on all us kids, telling how much we’ve helped and how great we are. No, she didn’t even know I was in the house. Actually, my brother (he’s the grandpa) wasn’t inside either and my two other brothers weren’t even there.
Other nostalgic things have been going through my brain. The week before last M got his hair cut. The woman who cuts his hair is an old friend from around junior high/high school time. I met her by way of one of my best friends from school. She lived across the street from Sean (said as seen, not Shawn), in the country, so she ended up in a different school district. Sean and her were long time friends and I became a friend by default.
After college Sean decided she needed a husband. She found one online and they soon married. This was when I was still in the hospital bed after my crash, but back at home. They got married, out of state, in the loft of a converted barn. So basically they got married some place that even if I could have gotten to it, I could not have climbed the stairs to witness the ceremony. She was upset that I didn’t go, but told me after the wedding that they mentioned me with the list of dead people who they said they felt were there in spirit. *ahem* I guess I was suppose to be thankful for that? Honored perhaps?
She and her husband lived out of state for a few years, and then moved back this way, but to a suburb about 40 minutes away from my house. I’ve driven in several times to see her and her kids. She’s never come out to spend time with me. Last fall, when we had our class reunion she said there was no way she’d come out to the town we graduated in and eat in some shitty hole in the wall Mexican restaurant and they should have a fancy reunion at a fancy place like her husband’s class did. Husband graduated in a town about 10 minutes from downtown Chicago, in a class of hundreds upon hundreds, vs. our class of 200, who graduated in a town over an hour from downtown.
I informed her that 1) the restaurant was award winning and very well known and 2) why would we go to a town far away from where we graduated to gather?
No reply to that. In fact, no reply ever again. I emailed her in Jan. for her birthday and nothing.
Going back to the hair cut, since it is relevant. The mutual friend was late because she was having lunch with Sean. She not only told M that, but she told M to make sure he told me. Um, hello? I’m supposed to know this why? I’m supposed to take this information and what? She can drive way out here where there is “nothing to do” and visit with her, but she can’t drive 2 blocks over to M’s house to say hello? Thanks, that’s special!! Funny, when I suggested once she come out here there was the excuse that there is nothing to do in our town. Quite amazing considering my last visit to her included a trip to … *cue trumpets* … Tar-jay! Of course it’s lain out different than our tar-jay, making it entirely different.
I realized that she will have no idea my parents have moved. At first that felt weird. Then I realized it felt fine. As sad as it is to have friendships die, this is one that probably would be like beating a dead horse to keep going. She and I have grown so far apart it’s like living on different planets. I did a search on her yesterday, just to see what came up, and I found she and two friends have a business running children’s wear consignment retail sales. I read the website and her bio, and found myself rolling my eyes and laughing. She has fully become the stereotypical suburbanite mom whose greatest satisfaction seems to be dressing her girls in designer duds. She was even able to say what pieces from what brand’s line she particularly loved, down to the year, season, and what the designer named the line. She listed designers I’ve never heard of, but I’m guessing they all come with hefty price tags.
I’m sitting here wearing a shirt I got off eBay with capris I bought on sale at Fashionista de’ Bug.
You might just recognize from the comparison that we no longer have much in common, since this is a big part of her life. I’d had a hint of that the last time I saw her and she was passionately discussing the wonders of clothes from a mall store that starts with gym and ends with something close to boring. (Oh boy, matching $70 dresses! Amazing!) She wanted to know what brands my niece dressed her son in. I said “clean.” Apparently I’m not part of the in crowd kiddies.
I have other friends who won’t know either. There’s Bri, who moved to Florida and married an abusive, controlling psychopath. I haven’t seen her or talked to her in about 10 years, but her sister keeps me updated. Even her family has to sneak to visit her. Even if she wanted to call me or our other friend, Shell, she couldn’t … our numbers have long since changed.
Nostalgic, yes, but broken up about it? No. I like who I am, where I am in life, and I don’t want to waste time with people who would waste mine.
Does that make me a grown up?