Have you ever felt the pressure to answer the question, “How are you?” with “I’m ok”? Have you ever felt like giving any less of an answer, regardless of what you’re actually feeling, would just be a burden to society? … Continue reading
I hate the way the world works sometimes. I hate seeing people in pain. I hate watching people getting picked on or bullied. I hate sin and wrong-doings in this world.
When I was going through my university years, completing my education degree, I had a desire to work with special needs children. It wasn’t because I looked forward to the extra work that often comes with special needs children, but because I wanted to make a difference. I knew special needs children were often put down and sometimes stared at as if the were a circus sideshow. I knew I could step up and be the voice of those children, and I knew that I could help those children feel as important as they are. But that’s not what happened.
At first I ended up teaching at a Native School. It took me awhile to learn the different dynamics needed to teach students who come from a history of anger. It was a definite learning curve in understanding the culture, the behaviours, and the thoughts about different things. But one of the things I found is that my classroom was often their safe place. My classroom was the one place they could count on someone being there to love them. I was a safe place for these kids.
Now as much as I loved being in that position, time would have me change again. This time, to a place where I wasn’t such a safe place. These kids did not need me (or at least felt like they didn’t). The attitudes were indifferent, the gratitude was gone. I really struggled at first to see how in the world I could make a difference when my students were convinced they had everything the needed.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t my first year that I figured it out. It was my second and my third that really opened my heart. I realized that maybe I wouldn’t be able to reach all students, even though I try. But there is at least one in each class who needs someone they can trust; someone they can break down their barriers and let them truly see the inside that they keep.
It broke my heart when the first student really let me in their life. The amount of background some of these kids hide is disheartening. It sometimes makes you wonder how they even function. It’s no wonder some of them put up a tough-front at school. Some of them are simply caught in that worldly struggle: the one where they are fighting between being good and doing what they know is right, and doing what the world expects and wants them to do. Absolutely the struggle gets worse as the generations get older. It’s sad in the very least, but it does, unfortunately, exist.
I witnessed something that brought this whole thing up in my mind. A situation that brought up a whole slew of memories.
One of my students is running for class rep in the upcoming school year. She’s an awesome student, wonderful in both academics and her Christianity. Unfortunately, she is one in very few that does not struggle with desires to be popular. She will not swear because others are doing it. She does not talk about inappropriate things because she has no interest. She knows what she believes and she sticks to it. She knows what is right, and that is what she does. And it has made her unpopular in her class.
Today, the vote was completed. And though she almost perfectly fits the description of the position she is running for, more votes were left blank than were voted in favour. My heart sank and my blood boiled a little. If there were legitimately good reasons for not letting her have the position, then I would accept that. But I know it’s because they are upset the one person they wanted to run wasn’t able due to his grades. Whether it’s an expression of bitterness or anger, is it right to decline someone that not only wants the position, but is ready, willing and capable of doing it well?
I don’t know what the right solution is. After all, voting is an expression of your opinion. But my heart aches in knowing that the reasons behind the reactions are wrong. And that bothers me. Someone who perfectly is capable of doing something so well, being held back by unpopularity, is wrong. It takes me right back to my whole philosophy of teaching, and that is that students are capable of more than they are doing, and standing up for those who don’t have as much of a voice.
I grew up in public schools where situations are much worse than I have ever experienced in my years of private school. I have seen “losers” beat up for simply not being good enough for others. I have seen the separation and isolation of those who needed the extra pull-out help and did not think like the others. I have seen students dragged from classrooms because they were acting out in anger about their situations. It’s not pretty.
One year, we did a fundraiser where the boys provided a lunch, and we bid on these “anonymous lunches”. When the bidding was done and every girl had her lunch, then the boys would reveal themselves and we would share lunch with them. I just happened to get one of those classmates that was always taken out for extra help, and who had problems with his anger, reacting from the situations he was in and the way he was treated.
I will forever regret the way I treated him.
I didn’t say anything mean, but that’s simply because I didn’t say anything at all. I was silent the whole time. And now I cannot even go back and apologize for being “snobby” because he was killed in a car accident several years ago (I think I was still in high school). That’s guilt that I have to live with, and guilt that started to change the way I reacted to people.
The one girl that was dragged from our classroom was probably the lowest person in our class. She didn’t always take showers, and she didn’t come from the most well-off family. In fact, I actually don’t know how she was treated at home. But what I do know is that people didn’t like her and daily made fun of her. I will never forget the one day she came up to me and told me that I was her role-model. I didn’t try to be anyone’s role-model, I just tried to talk to her and be nice when others wouldn’t. And look at the difference that made on her life. The simplest of acts I could have done, and it literally changed her world.
Now I’d like to say others followed, but they didn’t. I’d like to say her life changed for the best, but it didn’t. I did manage to get in contact with her again during university, sadly to find out she was pregnant and the baby’s father wanted nothing to do with her as soon as she became pregnant. As a matter of fact, he ran out with another girl and married her very shortly afterwards. And to make matters worse, he called social services claiming she was an unfit mother and had her baby taken away. In no way did her life get better.
I’m sad to say I’ve lost contact with her. My only method of contact no longer seems to work. I do pray for her, that things work out and she’s able to have her baby back in her life. I know she was fighting hard for him. But I pray God’s love surrounds her and God-willing, I will be able to connect with her again.
I truly, truly do hate the world treats people that are different – people that stand out from everybody else. I had the position of popularity and I misused it once. But I promise to do my best to never misuse it again. When a situation arises where someone needs a voice, I wish to be that voice for them, to stand up on their behalf. Just because you don’t think the same as everyone else or do the same things everyone else does is not a reason to be treated so badly. Stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Make a difference in someone’s life. Even if it’s just one person you’ve helped, you’ve literally just changed a person’s entire world. Do what you can and don’t delay. You never know the good you can leave behind.
Something happened today that really jarred my memory and brought me to write this post. I saw the following picture on Facebook and it got me thinking about my grandfather.
It took me right back to the moments where I can remember thinking about him and instantly started crying. Even now writing this, I can feel the water filling up in my eyes. I know many of you will say that you have/had an awesome grandfather to, but I’d like to take a minute to tell you about mine, and how special he truly was.
I guess it starts when my mother became pregnant with me. My parents were not married. I guess my grandfather liked my dad, but he was very upset about the whole situation and didn’t talk to my mother for days. However, being the man that he was, he still bought her a crib and everything she would need for me, even though he wasn’t talking to her. He was always that way, taking care of things even when he was upset.
Of course, as soon as I was born, he was completely smitten. My mother is a child of two, but lived very much a single child’s life. She never met her brother as he died on a surgery table a few months after he was born. That meant, I was the first and only grandchild.
My parents didn’t stay together very long. They did get married after I was born, but separated when I was about 4, officially divorcing when I was around 5. Where do you think we went back to? My grandparents. In fact, their home was very much “home base” my entire life.
My grandfather always spoiled me (and later my other siblings). I have pictures where my toys barely fit in the picture with me. My father told me that I would get tired of opening gifts because there were simply so many. I had this 6″+ man wrapped around my tiny finger. There’s no denying he loved me.
My grandfather was a used car salesman. In fact, it was my mother’s company that he worked for her since she dropped out of college to be home with me. The company was even named after my sister and I. But eventually he took over the company and changed its name since he did become the only one running the business.
I used to love visiting him at his office. My grandmother and I would get lunches for him, he would let me sit in his office chair, I would be called his “Number 1 Dudette”, and I loved the fact that everywhere we went, people always knew and respected my grandfather, and thus treated me as if I was a special person. I had never met anyone who didn’t know or like my grandfather.
If you could imagine the biggest realistic playground in the world, that would be my grandfather’s car lot. He gave me access to all the keys and vehicles in his lot. I can still remember the amount of fun we had pretending to drive the cars, and especially in exploring the only RV I remember him having. Only once did he ask me to backup a truck into a corner spot. My mother sat in the passenger seat with me, and I remember learning really quick to use my mirrors. I was so scared I would mess up his vehicles in this tight spot. But I did it! I still can’t believe he trusted me…
If I could compare him to anything, it would very much be the godfather. I’m not joking when I say that everyone seemed to know who he was. He was an amazing man when he was happy, but he was always a man you feared when he was unhappy. I don’t remember him every getting mad at me, but it was a general rule that when he came home, the remote control to the television had to be in the right spot for him to lay on the couch and watch what he wanted. He became upset if the remote went missing. There were just certain things you knew not to do.
Sometimes, my grandmother and him would fight. I’m sure there’s not a couple in the world who has not at least had one argument. Sometimes, or maybe more than sometimes, this meant he would stay at his office for the night. It was a conveniently built, small building that contained 3 rooms and a tiny hallway. One room was “the office”. The second room was of course a washroom. And the third room was his bedroom. It contained only a tv, a bed, and a mini fridge. It pretty much had everything he needed if he needed a night away. So it was a fairly normal occurrence for him not to come home sometimes.
The best thing about my grandfather was that he was always there for us. There was a time when we didn’t have the most money, and work was slow. My grandfather always provided what we needed, and then some. Most of you know that I have moved like 20 times with my family, not including on my own. The one person who was always there, regardless of where we were, was my grandfather. He never missed an opportunity to come and stay with us. (Of course I should say my grandmother always came with him as well, but I will dedicate a post to her another day.) He was honestly one of the biggest constants in my life.
When my family made the official decision to move from the east coast to the west coast, my grandparents offered to bring my sister and I out at the end of summer so that we could spend the extra time with our father. It was a fair bit of a long drive, but even then my grandfather trusted me with reading the map (before GPS systems). I almost think his belief in me helped me grow to the independent woman I am today. I have a lot to credit him for.
They stayed with us at our new place for a few days. Early in the morning, him and I would get up and drive to a hotel or another homey restaurant to eat. He was not a chain-restaurant type of person. Even back in the town he worked, he had one particular restaurant he preferred to eat at, and everybody knew his specials and what he enjoyed eating. He always preferred the homestyle cooking. In fact, he met my grandmother while she was waitressing at such a type of restaurant. My family and I have visited that restaurant a few times and imagined what it must have been like. They still have the juke boxes and the old stools. Sometimes it’s nice to preserve history rather than to embrace change.
We then took a trip to the “big city” so my grandparents could see it before they left. We had a lot of fun. At one point, we lost my grandfather in the big mall. I’ll never forget him driving around on those motorized scooters for people who can’t walk well. He had even gotten an orange smoothie and I guess spilled it all over the machine. If you knew my grandfather like I did, you would picture him using colourful language for the time he was mad, then acting like nothing ever happened.
I don’t remember how we ever found him, but I can tell you it was one of the hardest good-byes of my life.This wasn’t just moving a few hours away, this was a four day drive across the country. Of course they would come visit again, but the visits would never be as frequent as before. What I didn’t know was that my tears would get worse before they ever got better.
Literally two or three days after we returned to our new home, I got a call from my grandmother. It sounded like her for sure, but something was a little different. She asked to speak to my mom pretty much right away, so I gave my mom the phone and sat on the landing of the stairs. My mother took the phone into her room which was at the top of the stairs. The next words I heard told me pretty much everything I didn’t want to hear. She said, as she began crying, “Oh Mom!”.
My grandparents had been involved in a car accident on their journey home. An impatient driver went in their lane to pass a semi-truck and didn’t see my grandparents van coming at them. My grandmother was in the hospital, a little bruised but otherwise ok (she would later need nose surgery to correct the alignment). My grandparents’ friend who was helping them drive home had so many broken bones, including ribs and shoulder, and would also need counselling for what happened (he was driving at the time – completely not his fault). But my grandfather didn’t make it.The speed they were traveling on the highway, and the impact of a completely head-on hit left the vehicle in shambles and took my grandfather with it.
Immediately, we packed and drove back to the city. I thankfully had a great aunt and uncle who lived just outside the limits and welcomingly invited us in until we could all make arrangements to fly home. My mother was able to fly right away to be with my grandmother, but there were 4 more of us to fly, and we had to wait for a cheaper ticket to afford it.
It was so strange when I got home. Being in my grandparents house seemed so normal. I mean, I was only at my “new home” for less than a week. I had no attachments to it and didn’t even have to act like it was supposed to be my new home. I had come home and it felt like life should be normal again.
I know I cried a few times, but I remember just having the attitude and thoughts of “My grandfather is just at his office, staying the night like he usually does. Sometime he’ll come home.”
I still remember it as clear as yesterday: My mother and I were sitting in the living room, on separate couches, not talking much as we didn’t for a while, and her saying the exact same thing that I felt – that Grampy was just at his office and sometime he would come home. And it hit us right then that we had to realize it was wasn’t true, that Grampy really wasn’t coming back. I broke down (just like I am again now) because he was always there, for everything! How could he not come back this time! How could the one stable thing in my life not come back! It was so hard to accept.
Sitting in his house, seeing all of his old stuff, going to his office, it was all so hard to do when you realize the person who has always been there for you, the person who has loved you your whole life was suddenly gone. My nickname would never be used again, except when telling stories of him. My promise from him of giving me my first car would never come true. My life was drastically left with an empty hole that I’m not sure was ever filled again. Nobody could take his place, and I could never have been prepared for that instant change in time.
Life is not fair, and it never will be. The devil is waiting for any opportunity to attack and make a mess of things. He knows which strings to pull and he knows how to make things hurt you more than anyone else. He knows he can damage us and take away everything that means the world to us, which is why it’s so important to turn to God when you’re hurting, to let Him hold you and tell you that everything is going to be ok, because one day, it will. One day, when Jesus returns and we are taken to Heaven with Him, there will not be anymore pain, there will not be anymore death, there will not be anymore tears. I don’t know what my grandfather’s relationship with Christ was like. I know he sort of had a falling out at one point, but he insisted my mom make sure she took us to church. So I only hope and pray that he had a good relationship with God, because it would be so nice to run into those loving arms I miss so dearly, the loving arms that were missing during both of my graduations and my wedding, the loving arms that were taken away from me way too soon.
I miss this man more than anything, and truly just thinking of how much I miss him brings me to tears almost instantly. Hold your loved ones close and make sure you let them know how important they are to you. You never know which instant will take them away.
I had already written this blog post once, believe it or not. As I sat crying, I poured out my heart on this computer. But just as I was finishing, my computer decided to glitch and it was all lost. I didn’t have the heart to write it again. Except this time, I’m not crying my heart out and writing in a different manner.
You see, normally I don’t work on Fridays. Well, I do, but from home. Last Friday was different as my grade 6s and I had a PAT scheduled for Friday morning. So therefore, we had to be there.
The PAT went alright, and most of the students had rides to leave right after, the others had soccer practice. I had a few of my students from last year come to visit me and study for their upcoming exams. I was able to make practice questions for them so that I could help them if necessary.
While they were studying, I received the most unexpected message from my mother. It was news that one of my friends had just died. By “just”, I mean within the half hour. It hit me like a deer in headlights. I didn’t believe it for a second.
This girl and I were on the same basketball game in high school, were in the same classes, and even though it had been awhile since I had seen her, we had been very good friends.
I maintained control as my mother began to tell me more details of the car accident, the head on collision, the fact that her baby and her were in the one vehicle, and a woman in the other. Both the baby and the other woman had been sent to the hospital as code 1 which means the ambulance is travelling fast with flashing lights as the passengers have serious injuries. However, my friend went code 2, which meant deceased and nothing they could do, so no rush, no flashing lights.
I just couldn’t believe it. Even now, the emotions are starting to rise again, but for the first hour, I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t think of anything else, but I managed to have a small conversation with a cousin of mine who also know my deceased friend. We discussed how the tiny town (population around 100-200) we came from never has anything like this happen. We discussed how we take it for granted that everyone we know will just be there when we go back to visit. We discussed how we really need to realize that anything can happen anywhere. And that’s when it really started to sink in.
Now, being at work was not the place I should have been. But I managed to hold it all back while the students were still there. It was when they decided to leave that the tears started to fall. I didn’t full out cry just yet, but managed to keep it still mostly contained. My husband showed up early from work to pick me up. I kept it in until I let him in the door and we got back to my classroom. I couldn’t even answer him what was wrong without starting to bawl. It sunk in so deep.
I cried and cried and cried, my husband not really knowing what to do. He helped me to pack, and took me home. I continued to cry and cry and be upset and wonder why these things had to happen. I knew I’d deal with this whole situation, but I didn’t want to have to deal with it. I went through the deep of emotions of how life is unfair and how her 8-month old baby is left without a mom. I was in a deep, dark, painful place. And that’s where I was originally writing this blog.
You see, just like I knew in my head the whole time, I would learn to deal with it. Loss is a thing that unfortunately occurs in life, sometimes way too frequently. You can’t avoid it. But you can learn to deal with it. And that’s what I had to do.
I cried myself to sleep. I slept for quite awhile. When I awoke, I had a huge headache, and had the eyes of an alien. But my husband asked if he could take me to a funny movie, just to help any he could. I agreed, and in order to not rush me, we planned on going to the late movie, and he went out to the gym for a quick workout so I had time to get ready at my own pace.
Fortunately with an extra application of some good Mary Kay make-up, and a good hair tease, I was able to mostly hide those alien eyes and the fact I had cried for hours. My husband and I went out, he was very caring, and made sure I had the best time possible at the movie.
We came home, I went straight to bed, and was able to wake up this morning (still with a headache), but ready to begin again. The tears may be gone, but the pain I feel for my friend and her family is not. A life is not something that can be replaced. This sweet smile will not be seen again. But the memories we hold of her, the pictures that capture the moments of her life, and the baby that will forever be a reminder of her are left behind. I don’t know the update on her baby. He’s still alive and I’m assuming he’s stable. The extent of his injuries are something I don’t know. But what I do know is that he has an extensive, caring family that will be there to raise him and to remind him of the wonderful mom he had.
You just never know what will happen. A life that could be here one minute may not be here the next. Really, there is no time to fight, there is no time to hate, there is only time to focus on making sure the people you love know that you love them. Make sure you’ve made them a priority in your life. Love them, spend time with them, and go to bed each night knowing you’ve done your best. You honestly just never, ever know.
Doing something 27 times that you don’t even like seems crazy, doesn’t it? That’s because it is! Especially considering I haven’t hit my 27th birthday yet! And you would have total rights to call me crazy, if it had all been in my control. You see, these 27 same events spanned over my lifetime, starting from my newborn year. These 27 events are the amount of times I’ve moved. And yes, the 27th time is about to happen in less than a week. And no, I’ve never learned to enjoy it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I quite detest it.
I’ll take you on a little history ride since it’s the only thing that seems to make sense to me. Whenever I look back on my life, I’m only able to recall the years and ages that things happened because of where I lived or what grade/school I was in at the time. My life has been compartmentalized in my mind because there are so many things involved that it only made sense to tie them to the place I was since those are the smallest divisions I could make. So here we go!
When I was born, my mother took me “home”. Now I call this place home because it was the first place I had known as home and we still own this house today. My mother in fact has done many amazing renovations to it (magazine-worthy kitchen) and is living there now. At the time I was born, my grandparents (her parents) were living there and so she herself went “home”.
Very shortly after, my father had arranged an apartment for us to live in. This was about an hour away from “home”, but it was my mother and father’s first home together. We didn’t stay here incredibly long as my father was looking for a permanent house.
My father did in fact find a permanent house of which he still lives in today. Of course he has done renovations to his house as well, but he is situated on a nice hill where you can eat your supper, look out and see the city lights twinkle in the night. Great location, and I distinctly remember having a blue sign on top of my bedroom door with my name followed by the word AVE. My room was named after me!
Things did not go so well between my father and mother, and after a couple years, my mother went “home”. I can remember my father visiting us sometimes, but they were unable to patch their relationship. By this time, my sister had entered the world and she was a very sick baby. My grandmother and my mother would take turns driving, walking, rocking, etc… all night long because she would cry and cry. My parents of course headed to divorce.
Not too too much later, my father met the man that would become my step-father. This of course meant that we would not leave the town we lived in, but we would relocate to his place. As convenient as it was to go to his place, I loved being able to stay in my hometown. Of course I wished my father and my mother would get back together, but after some hateful months, my step-father did become my friend. The best part about the town is that my family was where. My dad’s parents, his brothers and sister with their families which meant my cousins and I all went to the same school. My mom’s parents were obviously still there. Basically my family was all there except my dad. And I looked forward to the weekends I had with him.
After several years of being “home”, we had to leave my family behind, the only school I had ever known, the closeness I had grown up with (to this point). I was sad, there’s no denying it. We moved roughly 2 1/2 hours away into a rental farmhouse (no barns but lots of land). The house itself was pretty nice, and we were so far in the country that instead of a school bus picking you up, there was a man with a boat of a car that made several trips picking up students along the way. Talk about interesting! I can even remember a lady with baked goods coming to our door as she did once a week to sell her baked items. Talk about country living at it’s best! I made friends fairly easily here, although I missed “home” very much. The reason for this move was due to my step father’s job relocation as he drove truck at the time and had switched trucking companies.
After a year, it was time to leave again. Again my step father was getting closer to his trucking work, and so I lived in my first city. We lived in an apartment, in a school that was ok but that I didn’t feel like I quite fit in. We were required to play the ukulele and I had never seen one before. The other students had been playing for years and so I was expected to pick it up right away. I struggled, but we only remained in this place for a little over a month before we left again.
My step father was again relocated. I believe this next place was called a city, but it was indeed a very small one. Again we were in an apartment building in the basement. It was small, but we had the police department outside our front door. If anything, it was a safe place to be. I quite liked my school here, and although I had missed the first month, I jumped right in (no crazy musical requirements) and made tonnes of friends. I loved being here. Sometimes between this move and the previous two, my brother also joined our family which of course made a 2-bedroom apartment a tight fit with 5 of us in it.
But of course, once again we had to move when the year was over. This time, we returned to a farm. My parents had been looking for one, and they found a beautiful, old farm that had land reaching down to a large lake. So large you would almost second guess it was the opening to the ocean. On our property we had fields, forest, a pioneer cemetery, we owned half of an open pond, and all of a pond that I considered “magical”. It was surrounded by tree and you only knew it was there if you walked into that circle of mini-forest. The pond was spring-fed and little streams of trickling water would run through the forest from it. When you were inside the circle by the pond, the rest of the world would fade away and you were left in this magical place. This place will forever hold my heart. We stayed on the farm for 2 years. We had everything from cows, horses, pony, chickens (both meat and egg-laying), turkeys, quail, rabbits, dogs, cats, goats, etc. We had never been farmers in our lives and we jumped right in! It was fun and at the same time, so laborious! Here, I made one of my best friends. We spent so much time together that we became like sisters. We were the 3rd and 4th stops on the bus which meant it usually took us an hour on the bus to get to school in the mornings and an hour to get home. But we loved every minute. However, as work would have it, this is the time when my step-father no longer had a job and had to go west, and travel back and forth. So the decision was made to go west with him when school concluded that second year.
We sadly sold all of the animals on the farm, and packed up. My mother and brother right away left to go west with my step-father, but my sister and I stayed with our grandparents so we could spend more time with our father. So for the time being, our belongings were placed back at “home” and we travelled between the two places. I had never seen my dad cry in my life until the moment he found out we were leaving not just to another town or city, but to the other side of the continent. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced.
At the conclusion of the summer, my grandparents, my sister and I packed up the van and hit the road. It was a 4-day journey to cross the continent. I was ever so glad to be off the road when we finally made it. Our new place was a townhouse, again with only 2 bedrooms. We had a very short amount of time in this house as after 2 days, we decided to travel to the big city to show my grandparents around before they made their journey “home”. We had a great time with them, but I was extremely sad to see them leave. That was my last little bit of “home” that I had with me. And these were my mom’s parents who no matter what, no matter where we went, made sure they always came and saw us and always made sure we had what we needed. We drove back to our place while they took off for their next 4-day journey. I think I had a total of 4 days in this new place before we got the phone call, and my grandfather had died in a car accident on his way “home”. My grandmother had called from the hospital. She would later need surgery to re-align her nose. The friend they had driving with them broke several bones. My grandfather had simply not made it. This was probably the hardest thing that has ever really happened to my family. This is the man I had spent most of my life with, the man I knew would do anything in the world for me. I was his first grandchild, my mom was an only child. He took care of us more than any other person, he was always there. I went into severe denial over this. I mean, the man who has chased us his whole life, no matter where we moved, is gone? That just can’t happen! Of course, we immediately went “home”.
My mother jumped on the first plane possible. I remember her falling onto the ground as I was trying to hide around the corner and hear what the conversation was about. The only words I remember was right before my mom started crying, she said “Oh… Mom… “. I knew immediately what that meant. Nobody had to tell me anything. I just went into mental shock. So she jumped on the first plane, while we stayed at my great aunt’s farm for a few days until plane tickets were cheaper to fly the 4 of us home. I started school late that year which ended up being ok because it was the school I had started my life in and I still knew everything there, including my cousins. But the manner in which I started school again that year was different. I was now back to living in my “home”, but it was just my grandmother and I. The house held an empty void, one that took forever to sink in. You see, my grandfather had an office in “town” for his used car business that also had a bedroom in it for the nights he didn’t feel like coming home. It was so easy for me to just think that Grampy was at his office, and sometime he would come home. The rest of my family had moved back to my step-dad’s place as we have never sold that either. But I knew my grandmother needed someone to be there. I wanted to be there. It was so hard to accept he was gone. Even now as I sit here and remember this, tears fall freely from my eyes. A loss that was not and still is not easy to accept. But I was “home” where I definitely needed to be for the next couple years.
At the close of the 2 years, my family met to discuss the problems. My dad had run out of work options (as an electrician) and after talking to his boss, there would be no other options for quite awhile. My mother did not work as we were joined by my second baby brother. We had to move west again. We literally had come back from a campmeeting, and had one week to each pack a garbage bag with clothes and whatever we wanted. That was it. And we made the journey west again with 6 people in a 6 person car. The arrangements were made ahead of time for us to have a place. However, when we got there, we were told that nothing was arranged for us, and so our first living space became a suite at a local hotel. As exciting as this might be for a kid, it was not for us. Try going to school and having your new friends ask you where you live, and you say a one-bedroom suite at the local hotel. Not the greatest.
Thankfully, my mom met a couple at church who had divided their 3-level house into 3 living spaces. Their parents had owned the middle floor, but were on vacation and had no problems letting us use it. We were into a 2-bedroom which was better than 1, but it was still pretty full.
The top floor was being rented by an actual tenant and we were promised her place as soon as she left. She did leave, we moved up a floor, but this is where the problems began. My dad was travelling back and forth for work, and so my mom was left to deal with the issues. The issues were things like mice, bats, bugs, etc. And the landlord would yell at my mom instead of offering to fix the problems.
Thankfully, a friend of my mom’s told her that she could get out of there right away and temporarily we could live in a spare basement bedroom she had. Although this was a good gesture for getting us out of our current problem, can you imagine the 6 of us all living in 1-bedroom with all of our belongings? I don’t have to tell you that this did not last long.
I was in high school at the time, and my mom came running into the school one day with the intention of pulling me out of class. She was so upset that we couldn’t keep living the way we were, and with my dad working away like he was, I very quickly had assumed role of second adult in the family. My vice-principal pulled her into his office before she could get to my class. He very kindly asked her why she was crying and she told him everything. Fortunately, his twin brother was head of the university that shared the same campus, and said he would call and see if we could have one of the college apartments. And this became our next living place. It was right on campus of all of our schools which was easy for us to go to school and easy for friends to come over. We made friends very quickly and I even had some that lived right on campus in the dormitories which turned out to be a great arrangement. Of course, when we first moved in, we had no furniture and so we ate, slept, and did everything on the floor. Eventually, my dad had been working enough that we were able to afford the necessary items, beds, table, etc…
Although that had been a pretty good place, it was a college apartment and we were not a college family. Plus, we had an option to move about an hour away from this place and Dad would actually be able to come home every night from his job placement. At first, we did not have a house arranged, and as crazy as it sounds, we put most of our belongings in a storage unit and bought a fifth-wheel trailer. Yes, the 6 of us lived in a fifth-wheel trailer. The front of the trailer had a master bedroom, and the back of the trailer had 2 sets of bunkbeds, so the 6 of us did indeed fit. We were kind of outside a small city, of course in a campground. And as fun as this was, this did not help us get into school. We instead started homeschool for the first time ever as we lived in this trailer for approximately 4 months before the campground closed.
We did buy a house finally! We moved to the big city, had a nice house. We lived here for just about 2 years, and after I finished homeschool for that first year (and held my first full-time job), I then went back to an amazing school for my graduation year (and of course was forced to drop back down to part-time).
By the end of the two years, my oldest younger brother had been diagnosed with epilepsy which was hard on the family. They had him on so many different medicines, some that left him so angry he’d punch holes in the walls. My father’s job ended for him being able to come home every night, and was forced to go further away so he’d travel back and forth again. My mother needed the extra help, she needed to have more family. And so the decision was made. I would have to decide what university I was going to attend because my family was going back “home”. And to get our house ready to sell, we moved back into the trailer, into a different campground, where we lived for another 2 months. Camping, to me, has developed a totally different definition.
When my parents left, I decided I wanted to go back to the campus we had lived on before. Most of my friends would be attending that university, and I knew the teachers and the dorm supervisors and everyone pretty well. Of course, since they had both university and high school dorms, they decided my sister would stay with me, which meant we had to split a room. Now, it’s ok for a university student to stay with a high school student IF they are in the high school dorm. But not for a high school student to stay with a university student int he university dorm. This is something I struggled with. This meant I had to adhere to ALL of the high school rules. I had to be in the dorm by 7:30, lights out at 10:30 (times may be slightly off, but close). Room checks once a week (maybe even once a day). It was totally restricting.
After Christmas, they said that they were expecting an influx of high school students, so they asked if I would move to the university dorm. Of course this meant I could have some more freedom, but I also had to find a person that was looking for a roommate and ask to move in. I did find a girl that wasn’t so bad, though incredibly interesting at times. It was only for a few months anyway and it ended up not being bad at all.
When university ended, I was not allowed to fly home until my sister was done school two months later. So then, I left the university dorm, moved across campus again back into the high school dorm, but luckily enough had my own room this time. It was so nice to finally have a room to myself.
She ended school, we ended up driving home with my step-dad, and only I came back out. They decided my sister wasn’t read to leave home yet. So this time, I actually spent the whole year in the university dorm with a roommate that had actually arrived after me, but was very studious and quiet. I spent most of my time with my new best friend up in her room anyways. All-in-all, it was a pretty good year.
The next year, I had made arrangements to move out of the dorm. I was tired of the bills, the extreme cost of cafeteria food, and was ready to make it on my own for the first time. I moved into a bedroom of one of the staff on campus. They inhabited the basement while they rented out 3 bedroom upstairs. My best friend also moved into one of the bedrooms. I absolutely loved living in this house for the last two years of my education. It was nice to have all that freedom, cook your own food, invite people over if you wanted to, no curfews, it was great!
When college ended, and I got my first job, I had to relocate as I was definitely unwilling to drive almost an hour each day to get to work. A girl I had graduated with got a job at the same school I had and so we were able to rent a very nice apartment and split the cost. This worked well for a year, but I had gotten engaged in that same year, as well as my sister was travelling back and forth from working for my step-dad, and you could tell my roommate didn’t like my people there as often as they were. She enjoyed having people around, just not the two I had and I ended up spending quite a bit of time either locked in my bedroom or out of the house walking around malls or wherever just to get out of the house.
And thus brings me to my present-day apartment. My job at the previous place was only a maternity leave, and had ended. My next permanent placement was here, in the big city I live in. I wanted to move out of my other place fairly quickly, so I looked for a place that was fairly cheap based on the size. We have had a few problems in this place, but overall, I don’t regret coming here first. This was my husband and my first home together. We have come to outgrow this place is the problem. It is a small apartment.
The next place we’re moving, next week, is a townhouse. A 2-bedroom with a large basement. It’s not the newest, but it’s pretty nice. It doesn’t have the large yard I’d like to have for the dogs, but it’s better than nothing. Right now it takes me about 1/2 hour to get to work, and it should take less than 5 minutes at the new place. When you consider big city stop-and-go traffic, it will save us so much money on gas. There will finally be enough room for our stuff. There will be a place I can have an office for my home businesses. I am so looking forward to this new place, as much as I hate moving. It’s so much work, but I think in the end, it will be worth it.
Now, the sad part is, I know this won’t be my last move. I don’t know where I want to be, but I know it’s not in this city. My husband has not yet received his papers and so I’m the only one who is able to work which means I have to maintain my job. And I do love my job, but I don’t love this city. I will always be a small town girl at heart. And someday, I’ll figure out where that place for me to be is.
Calm in Christ and Fitness 