Introduction: I wrote my story off of a John Nava painting I found recently over the internet. I did a report on John Nava in high school and I really liked his work, which really stuck out to me. If you get the chance to see some of it you'll probably understand why. I'm not sure of the particular title of the work however, I think it's one of his most strongest pieces. It's a painting of a naked woman curled up on what appears to be a marble floor. Her hair is ratty and tied back into a pony tail with a wide hair band holding pieces of her hair back. Her face is burried into her arms and it looks like there's a light coming from the west side of the painting... Anyways the story isn't up yet but it's coming. The thing I'm struggling with is creating a scene. What I got so far is a mother reflecting over her life, and the overwhelming pressures that force her to do things she's unsure of. In a way it's like she's trying to find strength and the things she talks about in the story, reveals what troubles her.
I am a mother of two older children now. One twenty-two and the other just turned twenty. Both are beautiful children. One boy and one girl, both of which I’m extremely proud of…
I’m proud of being a mother. I really am. There’s nothing more powerful then the bond shared between and mother and her child. I’ve loved them since the day I knew they came into existence. Right here, in my belly. Just thinking about the first time I saw on my angels makes me get all teary eyed and recalling how long ago it was still leaves me in aw. I can’t imagine my life without either one of them. They keep me alive, they are my strength.
Just about two years ago I lost my job. I was a secretary, working by Trabue Road right next to the railroad tracks. It was a fairly small company in the beginning, only consisted of about forty employees and within the next eight years it grew to over three hundred employees. Yep, and to think I managed all that, still baffles me.
Things are different now. I’m a closer at Donatos Pizzera down by Old Dublin Road. The place is pretty small, and after awhile of washing dishes in the hot water it reminds me of how much my life has changed.
I used to be such a confident person. The girl everyone loved and admired. In high school I was the Homecoming Queen for three years, was miss social and dated a guy named Tom, who was going to school to become a lawyer some day. As for me I wanted to become a nurse. Was going to help people who couldn’t help themselves, you know. I’ve always wanted to join the Medical field. But now that I am fifty years old carrying a minimum wage job and a foreclosure on hand, it almost seems impossible.
Stress can really take a tool on your body sometimes. I often find that sleep is the best way to escape. That and smoking; which I know I should quit. I remember that day when I picked up that terrible habit. I was working for some construction company at the time and this married man kept hitting on me. I asked him one day if he’d ever stop and the only answer I received was if I started smoking. So, I did and sure enough it didn’t stop him and I was left with a dying habit.
It’s amazing the types of things we do because of others; that the power of one can change the future for so many. I should have never followed my heart; I should have trusted my gut. You know…this must be what grief is. You think about those things in your life that you never bother to question until someone you know manages to leave this place known as Earth. But he’s in a better place now, my father. He just passed away this past Tuesday and I have yet to cry for him. I’m trying, I really am, but it’s hard to remember the nice simple things about him when I feel that he hasn’t been in my life for quite some time now.
It still feels like he’s away on a business trip. He is a furniture salesman…I mean he was a furniture salesman. He was a darn good one though, I do remember that. It must have been difficult raising a family of six though, including my mother. Now that I’m in the train of thought I can’t believe he did that to her. He left her for another woman. It still amazes me. Maybe this is why I’m unable to cry for him, or maybe I’ve come to realize that the only people I’ve learned to love are my two children.
My daughter did the sweetest thing for me this week. I was upstairs lying in bed trying to recall the good things in life when I heard someone at the door and this tiny voice, “Mom, you home?” It was then I knew it was my daughter. My sweet little daughter, oh how I love it when she comes home. I yelled down to her, “Yes, I’m coming, I’m here.” I got up and bolted down the steps but was surprised by what she was carrying.
She looked at me with a grin and said, “This is for you mom, it’s called a Duranta. I got it for you, for grandpa.”
I was stunned in shock. Just standing at the bottom of the steps perplexed by this beautiful gift, I finally spoke, “Oh, it’s beautiful.” I examined its purple blooms and bright green leaves. I could tell it was a still a baby…it was then I felt the first drops forming in my eyes.
As my daughter held it up and examined the plant she began sharing with me the special little details she went through to pick it out. How she went to the Alton Darby Nursery right down the street. And her concern for picking out just the right one but she had no idea where to start. Then a woman approached her and thought she was courageous for getting me a gift like a plant. As she continued through her story I realized that even though she knew I wasn’t close to my father, she still wanted to be there for me…
Despite everything that has made life almost seem worthless…somehow she still manages to lift all the weight right off my shoulders. Seeing her there before me, taking the time out of her day to see if I was okay and to get a plant in remembrance of my father made things feel a little more at peace.
I’m blessed to have two wonderful children and despite what life will throw at me, I shall never abandon them.