FINDING
MY LIFE
As the thunder boomed in the distance, the rain pounded my windshield so hard
I could barely see. I tried the defrost button but the cool air fogged up
the window, making visibility worse. The outer belt was filled with transfer
trucks spraying my windshield with massive streams of water as they flew past.
The car was chilly because the automatic heater hadn’t kicked on. Shivers
piercing through my bones, I wasn’t sure if it was the damp spring air
or the fear of my mission that were to blame.
My thoughts kept drifting back to the events of earlier that morning that
started out like any other. As usual, I had not slept well. Sleep eludes me
for at least an hour or more many nights. What had I forgotten? What are my
priorities tomorrow? Did I handle that issue correctly? What about payroll
and sales? To-do lists, sales figures, deadlines, meetings, and appointments
all race through my head, weighing me down, filling me with dread. I try to
sink farther into my pillow trying to hide, looking for relief. I beg my mind
to stop. Think good thoughts, I tell myself. I say a prayer over and over.
That will made it go away. God will help make it go away. Eventually, I fall
asleep.
In the morning, I hurriedly got dressed and went downstairs. My twelve-year-old
son, Chris, came running down behind me.
"Mom, I wanna play football."
"You’re too small. You’ll get hurt. We’ve talked about
this before and I’m not having this discussion."
"I’ll wear pads, Mom. I really wanna play football."
"He’s not too small," said my husband, Jason. "It’s
a great way for him to get exercise."
"Yeah, Mom," Chris agreed.
"This is not the time to have this discussion. You need to get ready
for school."
"It’s never time to have this discussion, Mom. Dad thinks it’s
OK. Why don’t you?"
"He’s played baseball for nine years. Kids were always getting
hit with the ball. It happens in any sport."
"Yeah, Mom. Any sport."
"I don’t like being ambushed like this when I’m about to
go to work. We’ll talk about it tonight."
"I have to sign-up today or it’ll be too late."
"When would you play?" I asked, feeling pressured.
The phone rang. Who could be calling this early? I answered it.
"Elaine, this is Mary from the church. You signed up to help clean up
the kitchen after the Appreciation dinner tomorrow night and I just wanted
to give you a quick reminder."
"Tomorrow night? Are you sure? When was the sign-up?"
"Yes, I’m sure. We passed the list around in Sunday school last
month."
"I have to work tomorrow night," I said.
"Well, I would really appreciate it if you could find someone else to
substitute for you. Have a blessed day. 'Bye."
"Who was that?" Jason asked.
"It was someone from the church. She said I signed up for something at
the church tomorrow night."
"Well?"
"Well, I have to work. She said I have to find a substitute."
"Call someone."
"I don’t know anyone."
"Elaine, we’ve lived here eight years. You don’t know anyone?"
"No," I said quietly. "I’m always working."
"I have to turn my form in today," Chris interrupted. "I play
after school. You have to pick me up a 4:45."
"I can’t pick you up. I’m at work. I’m sorry son, it
just won’t work." That constant feeling of guilt gripped my heart.
"Dad?" he pleaded.
"Sorry, son. It’s not going to work out."
"I guess that means I can’t tutor math or be in Student Council
either. I can’t ever do anything!" he cried.
"That’s not true," I said. "You do lots of things."
His fair, handsome face had transformed into an angry, red mask of hurt. Tears
streamed down his cheeks. He grabbed a Pop Tart his dad had laid on a paper
towel and ran out the door without a word.
"Don’t worry about it, Honey. He’ll get over it," Jason
said as he kissed me on the cheek and walked out the garage door. "Have
a good day," he called.
My son’s words, "I can’t ever do anything," resonated
through my head as I drove out of my driveway into the rush-hour traffic,
bringing on the familiar feelings of guilt that had become my companion. I’m
blessed with a great kid. He makes good grades; never gets into trouble; does
his chores. He’ll get over it… or will he?
Suddenly, a fear shot through me like an electric current completely taking
my breath away. Panic paralyzed me, momentarily rendering me oblivious to
my surroundings. A blinding spray of water enveloped my windshield forcing
my hands to steady the steering wheel and awakening me to the road.
Calm down. Take deep breaths. Think clearly. What if he doesn’t get
over it? What if this makes an important impact on his life? It can be difficult
and lonely being an only child. Maybe he needs that team. Tutoring math? Student
Council? They’re important things. When did it get this hard? What am
I going to do?
I thought about the call. Every time I sign up for something, I have to cancel.
Who could replace me? I don’t even know my neighbors. But, on the other
hand, I have a great career with accomplishments, money, awards, and respect.
It’s in my blood, the planning, the problem solving, the challenges,
the responsibilities, and the accolades. They’re all part of who I am.
I thought about respect. Respect of my son? Respect of my church? Respect
of my neighbors? Respect of my friends? What few I still had? Where did my
life go? What did I want all those years ago? A loving husband? A child? A
home? A career? I had it all. At what price? I fought to hold back the tears.
I lost the battle.
I called my husband on my cell phone. "Hi, it’s me."
"What’s wrong?"
"I just can’t take it anymore," I said as I had a thousand
of times before.
"Just quit," he answered as he had a thousand of times before.
I hung up.
After pulling into a parking space, I looked for an umbrella. There’s
never one in the car when you need it. No matter, the rain would cover my
tears. By the time I stepped out of my car, the blood racing through my temples
had clouded my vision with black spots, making me light-headed. Every inch
of my body trembled with anticipation, uncertainty and anxiety. Deliberately
and purposefully, I walked across the parking lot through what had become
torrential rain. My walk became a sprint as I reached the door, then a run
as I climbed up the tile steps two at a time using the banister to propel
me along. I hurried down the long corridor and passed the administrative assistant
busy at her desk. She looked up to see who had made such an abrupt entrance,
but I had already rushed by her and into the office unannounced, plopping
myself down in a chair seated in front of her desk. My boss, my friend, glanced
up from her work with a surprised look that turned to a bright smile as she
saw me.
She looked hard at my face. I could tell she was trying to read my _expression.
Her smile evaporated. She took a deep breath and said, "This isn’t
good, is it?"
"No," I said in a shaky voice. "I have to quit. I have to get
my life back."
We both cried.
When I left, the rain had gone.
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