We all have to start somewhere don’t we? But for some of us, we start and then we start again. That is my life. Everything was going well in my trailer trash world. I had the boyfriend of my dreams, my ex-husband was living on the property with his ex-girlfriend as he was slowly dying from the terrible death I wished upon him, my sons were becoming independent and I had plenty of money. Sounds perfect doesn’t it? But to go forward with my story, I must first go backward. And so, here we go!
If you choose to follow my story, you will find we go forward and then we go backward so pay attention. I am no one special. I wasn’t born the most beautiful nor was I born the smartest or from the wealthiest of families. My father was a mechanic, mailman, and paper carrier. They were young when they married, my mom and dad. Mom was 16 and my father was 18. I know, underage and all of those things. My parents have been married for 61 years and they are the best of friends. For them, age was never a factor as they fell in love at first glance. My father loves to tell the story of seeing my mom across the room at a dance and saying “there’s the girl for me”. By evening, he had broken up with his girlfriend who promptly threw herself from his moving car and was going steady with my mother. No, his girlfriend did not die, merely tore the hide off herself and he delivered her to her mother all bloody and distraught.
The bend of the pole is where I am now. I thought it would be the top of the world but instead it is the bend underneath. I am past 50, somewhere in that area before the nursing home and after the young divorced woman that I was for awhile. And I am struggling. I have no desire to be alone when I die. I stood by my unfaithful husband for that very reason. He had no one and as he slowly began to lose his grip on life, I was there. It is so sad to die alone, terrifying in fact. Where do we go? What becomes of us?
I always say I grew up strict Pentecostal, non-denominational but in fact, grew up in what is now known as a religious cult. No, not the Kool-aid drinking kind, just a deeply spiritual and rewarding life that is difficult to maintain if you are unfortunate enough to misstep. Ask the Amish who leave, the Scientologist who tries to leave – if you fit it is beautiful. If you do not, it is torture. I did not fit.
thebendofthepole 