Ready
To Be Home
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Three weeks ago I left the sunny
climes of Mexico for the frigid badlands of the Yellowstone River and Glendive,
one of the strangest trips I’ve travelled.
As the holiday season which ends the
Old and precedes the New Year rolls around, I tend to introspection. Plunked
down in the country where my ex-husband lived out his last years, here for his
memorial service, made me even more so. Memories surfaced like snippets of
film.
When a couple have children, there
is always a relationship. Then the grandchildren come along, another shared
bond. To forestall an embarrassing moment, I asked my daughter to ask Harvey’s
wife Pam where I should sit at the memorial. I sat with family. As Pam said, we
are all family.
At a time in my life when I was
having a rough go, Harvey suggested Dee Dee live with them a while, the logic
being there were two of them to control her (a logical illusion) and only one
of me. Made sense. Dee went to high school in Bozeman. I had her for holidays.
I got the best of that deal.
As she will tell you herself, those
years our daughter was a rebel. I’m sure Pam cried herself to sleep more than
one night. Couldn’t have been all bad because Harvey and Pam ended up adopting
five children.
Right now my daughter is going
through her own rough patch. It’s been one thing after another: health, car
breakdowns, bills piling up, over-whelming hours at work. She had knee
replacement surgery and then her father died. She seemed to me like a puppy
lost in the clutter of living.
I changed my return flight and
stayed to pitch in where I could, to drive my daughter to physical therapy
appointments, to be there for Christmas. You’d have to laugh to see us; me with
my walking stick and she with her walker, a case of the halt leading the lame.
Needless to say, my girl and I had
good heart-to-heart talks. She might have been ready to kick me out a couple
times when I cut too close to the bone.
Maybe because we had the
opportunity, Pam and I spent several hours together, our own heart-to-heart
talks, a gift. Pam and I share a daughter.
The day before I left Glendive I got
a phone call from my son. Ben had been in jail, heroin related charges, for ten
months. During that time he had applied for and was accepted into an intensive
treatment program, recently instated in Washington. I knew he had been released
December 20th.
After searching my heart, I decided
he had to want to contact me. Ten months of forced sobriety is good but the
real test is what happens outside the walls. His phone call gave me hope. He
lives in a treatment house for six months during which he has several kinds of
therapy, AA meetings three times a day and four hours a day of group counseling.
He spoke with both is sister and me.
Of course, we compared notes. He took accountability for his actions, a real
step forward. No excuses. His choices.
So, my “holiday” in Montana was
bittersweet, happy/sad. I carried worries like Santa’s pack. Finally I let them
go. I didn’t cause it. I can’t control it. I can’t cure it. That goes for all
the “its”.
And I certainly can’t control my
next-door neighbor, Frank.
Firms in Mexico use a unique (to me)
method of advertising. A team walks the street, one on each side, taping shiny
colorful flyers on each door. It must work. Large chain stores use the method.
Small family restaurants use it.
Today I flew home to Mazatlan. When
the cab pulled up to my house, my door was plastered with dozens of rectangles
of color. It was the best and funniest welcome home I’ve ever experienced.
Frank had gone collecting all over the neighborhood to decorate my door like a
Christmas tree. If you need a special treat, a little extra cheer, I’ll send
Frank by.
Let’s live life as fully as we can.
Feliz Ano Nuevo. Happy New Year.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
December 31,
2015
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