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Love...lost hope (1977)
This chapter has been a long time coming. I started writing it last May on my way back from Georgia, during a four hour layover in Salt Lake City. The first few paragraphs just flowed out of me that day. But as the chapter changed, I hit a wall, and I couldn't carry it any farther. Maybe a part of me didn't want to remember the day everything changed---the day hope died. But I have traveled that journey, once again, and arrived safely on the other side...with hope. This time, hope survived.
Love's Divine - Seal <----click to view/hear music video
During the days and weeks that followed, life continued. By the fall of 1976 I watched my mother's physical health slowly improve. I kept various jobs waiting tables while living at home and utilized most of my free time as a built-in sitter for Cheri and Kelly. But that arrangement didn't last long. The problem with having me living at home was that my earnings counted as household income according to the State of Washington, thus reducing the amount of assistance available to my family. The solution to this problem was simple, according to my mother…I just needed to move out. That way Mom wouldn't be forced to lie or hide anything from the State, and our household income would drop significantly, which qualified Mom for more assistance. The flip side of this, of course, was that moving out created an expense for me called rent. Mom told me not to worry about the rent, she would cover me, somehow.
While Mom's physical health did improve, her heart continued to stumble. As Christmas neared, I felt the weight of her worry and concern about Bill's disappearance grow heavier with each passing day. He was, after all, the love of her life.
Bill came into her life at a time when I know she was questioning her decision to leave Ray. Bill and Mom met in late 1973 when she took a bartending job in the lounge of the local Best Western hotel. Frequented by many blue and white-collar workers, the lounge was a popular hang out for many locals and travelers. It was particularly popular with employees of Troy Forests, Inc., the local lumber and paper mill. Troy, or TFI as it was called, employed about 35 percent of the local population. Bill owned a construction company in Portland, Oregon and during an expansion project at TFI, he met Mom while he was a guest at the hotel.
Once they met, it didn't take long for Mom and Bill's relationship to develop into a serious match; so much so that within a year I learned Bill intended to marry my mother once both their respective divorces were final. Having found each other, they both were eager to get their new life together off to a happy start. By late 1974, Mom's divorce from Ray was final. Bill's however was not as his wife was causing problems on many levels, thereby dragging it out. A year later, in 1975, something happened that threw Bill for a curve and upset Mom. I never found out what it was, but it put a strain on their relationship, and their dream.
From the beginning I liked Bill; he was warm, friendly and when he smiled, his eyes lit up. In my book, that was a genuine and likable quality. After all, eyes are mirrors of the soul. When I looked at Bill's eyes, I felt comfortable, at ease and happy. I didn't get that feeling very often when I looked at someone, so when it happened with Bill I knew he was right for Mom. When he looked at her, his face changed and in his eyes I saw a man in love with a woman. I was happy for them, but especially happy for my Mom.
There was something about him. He had charisma, that magnetic quality that just draws you in. He knew how to charm the fairer sex, especially the daughters of his love. One particular morning in the spring of 1974 stands out in my mind above all others. Having dragged my butt out of bed, I got dressed and went upstairs to begin my morning routine. I walked into the dining room to find Bill sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. His presence took me by surprise and at first I felt a bit awkward. However, that didn't last long.
"Morning sunshine," he said the moment I walked in. He pulled the newspaper down and smiled at me, then returned to his reading.
Sunshine? Did he just call me…sunshine? The bathroom was occupied so I plopped myself down on a chair to wait my turn. Cheri and Kelly were busy eating their morning cereal.
"I think you need glasses," I said coyly. "Because thereis no way I look anything like sunshine right now."
He smiled and put the newspaper down. "On the contrary," he stated. "My vision is perfect. And you are the picture of morning sunshine."
I furrowed my brow. Is he hitting on me? "Oh, I know your type, all too well. And flattery will get you nowhere mister," I told him.
"That's exactly what your mother told me," he smirked, bringing the newspaper up to eye level. Then he lowered one hand and peered at me out of the corner of his eye.
What a cad!
The bathroom door opened and out walked Mom, looking every bit like a fresh spring flower. Bill put down his paper as Mom walked past him, gently laying her hand on his shoulder as she bent over to plant a light kiss on his cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. Her eyes were twinkling with a light I had never seen before. I liked that.
Not one to lose my chance in the bathroom, I excused myself and left the table. Inside the bathroom I closed the door and stopped in front of the mirror. Sunshine, huh? My reflection said otherwise; my long blonde hair resembled a bird's nest in complete disarray, under my blue eyes the telltale sign of yesterdays mascara had me looking more like the spawn of Alice Cooper, my skin was blotchy and, of course, I could see the beginnings of another acne breakout about to take place on my chin. I'd seen that face many times before and I looked like crap. But Bill's words rang in my ears, and brought a smile to my face. Even if he was just flirting with me, or using his charm, it worked. I liked being called sunshine. If he was trying to score points with me, well, it was working.
Bottom line during that time was, for over three years, we were happy. All of us were happy. Sure there were bumps in the road, but things always smoothed out. I was convinced as long as Mom was happy, nothing could go wrong. Each time I saw Mom and Bill together, I found myself looking to the future, to their wedding. Someday, two families would join together; Bill had sons, Mom had daughters…we'd be like the Brady Bunch. I was okay with that, and I was really looking forward to it.
Then, our world turned upside down. Just before Bill disappeared in early 1976, Mom started to get edgy and restless. Bill's wife would not agree to a divorce and refused to reach asettlement. She wanted everything, including Bill. Whenever he was at our home, Bill spent most of the time on the telephone, either talking to attorney's or to her. Somehow Bill's wife got Mom's telephone number, and her calls to our home became daily events. I always knew when Bill was on his way from Portland because the phone would start ringing, off the hook. It was always her, looking for Bill. I had to give my mother credit, as she handled the wife very well, with a lot of grace and civility. But, at the same time, it was wearing on her. It was wearing on her, and him, and their dream.
To this day I don't know exactly what happened. I've speculated about it, with my aunt, and I've come to the following conclusion: I believe Bill disappeared because my mother broke it off with him. She put him out. Somebody did or said something to her. Mom was hot headed and easy to anger and knowing her, she got mad and acted out of frustration. No doubt she looked at the facts as her divorce was over within eighteen months, while Bill's had stretched out to almost three years. The longer his took, the more Mom feared he was considering a reconciliation with his wife. Rather than face that possibility, I think Mom took the defensive position and ended it with him. When that happened, it pushed him over the edge. Between the stress of running a construction company, dealing with his wife, living on the road, and God only knows what else, Bill cracked under the pressure. Then, he just disappeared.
Mom spent the next three months looking for him. She spent hours handing out flyers with his picture, talking to the local police and every law enforcement office within 300 miles. Reports of a man, fitting his description filtered in, but by the time word reached Mom, he was gone again. People reported seeing him in town, at bars with other women. Mom knew it was Bill when people described a ring the man was wearing. It was distinctive and one of a kind. For a brief time, I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. And then the reports stopped. Completely. Days, then weeks, passed by without a single word. Slowly, I watched my mother lose her grip on things. And just before my 19th birthday, she letgo. That was the beginning of the end, the end of her, the end of us, and the end of hope. She lost it, she lost everything, and she never got it back.
In January 1977, almost one year to the day Mom first got word of Bill's disappearance, I received a telephone call from her. I had taken a room at the Lewis-Clark Hotel, where I worked days in the restaurant and nights in the cocktail lounge. It was a Sunday and I had the day off. I had just finished drying my hair when the telephone rang. For the rest of my days, I will remember that call.
"Crystal," Mom's voice was faint, and weary, "they found him."
Thank God! But, something wasn't right. She didn't sound excited. "They did? Where?" I asked.
I waited as seconds passed. Then Mom said, "Hanging from a tree outside of Portland."
No. No! This can't be. "Mom--"
"Crystal, I need you, here, right now."
"I'm on my way. I'll be right there." I don't remember hanging up, or putting on my shoes, or leaving the room, or driving to the house. I just remember walking in the back door, through the kitchen, and seeing Mom standing by the telephone. Like she hadn't even moved from the time I hung up. She looked up at me as I walked toward her to give her a hug. But before I reached her, she grabbed her purse and walked past me toward the door. Stunned, I stopped in my tracks. I thought she needed me. "Where are you going?"
Mom pulled the door open and said, "Over to Rena's. She's waiting for me."
She was leaving? Didn't she want to share her pain with me? I needed to know what she was feeling, what she was thinking. "But, I thought you said you needed me. I thought you wanted to talk about this."
With haunted eyes, she looked at me and shook her head. "Not right now," she told me. "Stay with the girls. Right now I need to talk to Rena."
I was stunned, but understood. "Okay," I replied as I watched her turn and walk through the porch. In the living room Cheri and Kelly were both on the floor watching television. I sat down on the couch, bewildered by my mother's behavior. We had always been so close, best friends. I could tell my mother anything, anytime. Well, most of the time, obviously my pregnancy wasn't one of our better mother-daughter moments.
But as I turned and looked to the kitchen door, listening tothe sound of her station wagon leave the driveway, the news began to sink in. How would this affect her now? Would she stand up to the strain? She had already changed so much during the past twelve months; where was the woman I knew to be my mother? I wondered about her, and I wondered about Bill. Where had he been the past twelve months? What caused him to put that rope around his neck, and then make that last fatal move?
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't hear Kelly's voice next to me. But when she leaned on my leg, I turned my head to find her staring up at me, her bright brown eyes deep with concern.
"What's the matter?" she asked quietly.
"Nothing," I told her as I reached out and pulled her onto my lap.
She cuddled in close to me; Kelly liked to cuddle, and I loved holding her. The feeling of complete peace and total relaxation I felt when I held my young sisters always helped stabilize my emotional state. At the age of 10, Kelly was more like a 2 or 3 year old, always needing gentle reassurance, so sensitive to her surroundings and yet so inquisitive about the world. As I gently stroked her soft, curly dark brown hair, she pulled away and looked up at me.
"But you look so sad," she observed. Children. They are so highly keen to everything, there's no hiding the truth from them. They always seek the truth. It's in their eyes, those pools of endless innocence and life. I looked back into hers and at that time the tears started to flow.
By now Cheri got up from the floor, walked to the couch, climbed up next to me and sat down. When Cheri took my right hand and wrapped it around her as she leaned into the warmth of my body, I felt so vulnerable, and yet fortunate. I had them, my two sisters. Wrapped around my heart, with all their purity, love, and undying devotion. Without them I knew I'd be lost.
"Is it Mom?" Cheri asked. "She's always crying or mad. Why does she hate us?"
Through her words I wondered if there was some truth to it. That maybe a part of our mother did hate us. But I knew it was not true. It was the situation she found herself in. She was dealing with a lot right now, probably more than she could handle, alone. And I felt the needto help these twoyoung hearts understand that hate was not what our mother carried in her heart for us.
Pulling them even closer to me, I tried to explain, and maybe send away their fears. "I don't believe she hates us."
"But she's always angry," Kelly cut in.
Yes. She was. But there was another mother inside her, the mother I knew as a child. The loving, tender caring person who gave so much of her heart that at times I felt like the world just stopped for us and us alone. This mother made me feel special, and very loved. Anger didn't exist in her heart. She was too filled love. That was the mother they never saw, and I knew it was up to me to show her to them.
"When I was a little girl, younger than you both are now, Mom was the most beautiful person in the world to me," my voice was tired and weary, strained from the sorrow of my tears, but I continued. "And there was a time when she would go to the ends of the earth of us. When I was very young, Mom used to take Mary and I to a special place, because I think she thought it would help me. It was called Angel's Flight."
Kelly pulled away from me, with a puzzled look on her face. "Angels fight?" she asked.
I couldn't help but laugh. "No silly. Angel's Flight. F-l-i-g-h-t. Like a bird takes flight."
"She's so stupid," Cheri replied.
I turned to Cheri with a look of gentle displeasure. "Cheri don't call her that."
"But she is."
"No, she's not. Kelly just marches to the beat of a different drum, that's all." I turned from Cheri and looked at Kelly. "Don't you?" I asked.
Meekly and silently she nodded her head. I could tell Cheri's words hurt her and all I wanted to do was ease her feelings. Once again, I began to stroke her soft hair.
"Anyways," I continued. "I loved riding on Angel's Flight with Mom and Mary. It was one of those special things we did together when Mom could afford it, like when we got to have Fizzies. But Angel's Flight was different."
"What is it?" Cheri asked.
"It was an old trolley car, kind of like the cable cars in San Francisco. You've seen them, on the TV commercial?" Both girls nodded their heads. "Well, like the ones in San Francisco, this car climbed up a very steep and tall hill. To me it was magical and I canremember sitting inside feeling happy as the car slowly rose up that hill. I always felt special when we rode on that trolley car. And I think that's why Mom always wanted to take us there. I think she believed there was power in that place, a healing power, for Mary and me. Like she believed riding on that car brought us closer to the angels and made us better again." With the memory, the tears returned as I thought back to how young and scared my mother must have been, 23 years old, all alone in a big city, far from her home. She must have been desperately searching for any way to heal those wounds.
Silence fell between us for a few moments, and then Cheri asked, "Better from what?"
"From what a very mean and ugly person did to me, and to Mary." How much should I tell them? Everything? Did I dare share with them what happened all those years ago?
This time it was Kelly. "What happened to you?"
I let out a sigh, caught between what to share and what to keep. "There was this woman, who we lived with and she took care of Mary and I while Mom worked. When Mom was gone, the woman would hit me, very hard, all the time."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Guess she was just a mean person with a very bitter heart. But you see, as soon as Mom learned what that woman did, she moved us out of that wicked place. Back then, like I said, she was the most beautiful, giving person in the world. To me, anyways. She was always like that, especially when you two were born." I looked down at my two sisters, who looked so lost and helpless. And I wondered if any of my words were helping, if anything I said was easing their worried little minds, and their pain. "When you were born, her heart sang a song of joy. I heard it, and I saw it in her eyes. She loves you, both of you, today, just as she did while she carried you inside her. And just as she did when you were born, she loves you both very much, today."
"Then why does she spank us?" Cheri asked. "Is she like that woman?"
"No, she's nothing like that woman," I assured them. At least, I hoped I sounded assuring. "Right now, I think Mom is confused about a lot of things. You know how it is when you get confused? Sometimes, you get mad and angry. There are a lot of things going on in Mom's mind right now, and some of it makes her angry. And because we live here, wesee it. I don't think shemeans to lash out at us when she does. But, if we all try, we can make things better for her, so she won't be angry."
Both girls looked up at me with a look of hope so profound I had to catch my breath. "How?" they asked.
"By not fighting. No more bickering, no more pinching and hitting, or biting each other." With my words my sisters slowly cast their eyes downward. They heard me. "Together, the three of us can help her get better. Mommy's very sad right now," I said, stroking both their cheeks as a tear flowed down mine. "But, we three, we can help her smile again. We can be like the Three Musketeers, you know. Only we will fight for love, for what is right. Not with swords, or angry words, but with love. Is that what you want?" In unison they nodded. "Then look at me." Both their young faces turned up to me. "Promise me, right now, right here. Promise me that you will let the love you feel for me, right now," I said, pointing to my heart, "lead you, and guide you. Promise me, when one of you does something wrong, that you won't yell, or kick, or fight. I know I can't be here all the time for you, so I'm counting on each of you to remember this. Okay?"
After a brief hesitation, both girls nodded their heads and replied with a "Yes."
I really didn't expect them to fully carry out the promise. More than anything I just wanted them to remember what I said, about the love they felt in their hearts. And I wanted them to remember this moment on the days when I wasn't around to hold them, to comfort them, to help them make sense of what was going on. I just wanted to send out a message to help them adapt to the changes taking over our simple lives.
The three of us sat in the living room, soaking up the love we felt for each other. They needed me and I needed them to need me. It was moments like this that gave my life a sense of purpose, even when I felt lost in everything else, loving my sisters filled me up inside.
In them, I found hope, for a better tomorrow.
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Speechless...what a wonderful story you absolutely amaze me not only with your talents but with your strength, wisdom and courage!~kbear
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What a sad story...I felt like I was right there with you. You write so well Dona.
12/6/05 5:08 AM
There's nothing to say except that I can only imagine what a savior you were for your sisters. I am SO sorry for your loss. It shouldn't have happened. We can't go back and save that life, but there's your precious life and your sisters. You still need healing . .. . I think of the grief your mother put you through. It's unbelievable and I know your little sisters had a big dose of her cruelty, although NOT like you did.
I hope you're able to cling to one another . .. you three women. I hope you're able to support one another. The healing continues . . . writing is a great outlet for a talent like yourself. You could easily become a professional writer although I realize that was NOT your purpose. I'm just so moved by your heartbreaking words.
Cyndygee