The Goodbye Tour

         
In May, I had received a letter from my university about Freshman orientation. It was scheduled for mid-June. A week before my high school graduation. I was from up North. We start school after Labor Day and we go until the end of June. The South starts mid-August and ends within a week of Memorial. Oklahoma followed the latter schedule. I didn't want to miss it. They made it seem like I had to be there.

I decided that I wasn't going to attend my high school graduation. Why would I anyway? My boyfriend wouldn't be there. You only got 4 tickets so my grandfather couldn't attend. It would have to be my immediate family. I pictured it in my head. Me in a cap and gown, my family in the stands (IF they even decided to go). Afterward, I would meet up with them. Then what? They would congratulate me? Say they were proud? Would we go out to dinner and pretend like we love each other and everything is normal? Would I go to the big school-hosted graduation celebration that was not really meant for girls like me? The thought of having to live through the entire thing made me want to unzip my skin and jump out of it. I was not willing to put myself through it, to go through the motions, to pretend. I decided I would leave early so that I could attend Freshman orientation for college.

I remember walking into the attendance office and I sat down with the clerk. "I need to know how many days I can still miss and be eligible to receive my diploma," I said.
She pulled up my record on her computer. "It looks like you have 10 days," she said.
"Okay. I'm going to take all 10 days at the end of the year," I said.
"You can't just not come to school. I'm going to need an excuse from your parents," she said.
"I don't live with my parents and I'm 18 years old. I'm moving. I have college orientation. Do I need to write a letter or something?"
She just looked at me weird. "You're going to miss graduation?"
"Yes. But that's fine. What do I need to do to get my diploma?"
She begrudgingly gave me detailed instructions of what I needed to do. I wrote it down in my agenda. I left her office feeling satisfied with myself. I had checked something off of my list.

The next morning, I got called down to the principal's office. I thought my parents were up to something, honestly. I walked into her office. It was dark and she was sitting behind her desk. I never liked her, although I had no reason not to. She only wore pantsuits and she never smiled. She looked like if you touched her, she'd be cold as ice. She asked me to sit down. "No, I'd rather stand," I said.

My high school economics teacher told us once that if you ever get called into your bosses office or think you might be in trouble - to never sit. Always stand. It asserts dominance and gives you the upper hand. LOL. I loved him. She was insistent that I sit and I was like, "No thanks, I'm good."

So she stood up and we just stood in her office. "I hear that you are leaving school early and aren't attending graduation," she said.

That attendance clerk really ratted me out. People really were in my business at that high school. In 10th grade, I was called into the guidance office because the lunch monitor told them she thought I was bulimic because I went to the bathroom religiously every day after lunch. I did do that. I had braces and I was brushing my teeth. I had to convince them that I was just skinny and I wasn't throwing up my lunch. hahaha.

Anyway, I got sidetracked. The principal had asked about me attending graduation and I verified that I wasn't.

She was not pleased about it. "But why?"
"I have college orientation," I said. I didn't even tell her I was getting married. That was a box I was not willing to open with her.
"Surely, that can be made up. You are in the choir and you are supposed to sing at graduation."
"They'll be fine without me, they sound great."
"But you are graduating cum laude. That is a big accomplishment."
I didn't care about it. I wasn't smarter than anyone else. I just tried harder. I didn't need a pat on the back. I simply did what I needed to do.
"I don't care that much about it," I told her, honestly.
She looked at me like she didn't know what to say. "What about your family?"
"I don't care about them."
She let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"
"No."
"Well, I think you should re-consider. Your graduation is a big event in your life. I think you are making a big mistake."
That made me laugh in my head. You think I'm making a big mistake? Bitch, get in line.
"Can I leave now?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, visibly displeased.

I was so annoyed. Everyone was acting like I was insane and irrational and I felt completely sane. Everyone was SO EXTRA. What did it matter if I attended or not? Did she think I was setting a precedent?

I did what I needed to do to get through the next few weeks to tie up my loose ends and say goodbye. I had dinner with my grandfather the weekend before I left. My mother-in-law let me borrow her car and I went to his house in Stone Harbor. I walked in and there were stickers on some of his things. He was getting ready to put the house on the market. He told me all about it over dinner. It made my heart hurt. I'd spent so many summers there. That night was the last time I was in that house.

I spoke of my plans and about how I was skipping graduation. I swore him to secrecy. I knew that he wouldn't tell. He was Switzerland in the whole situation. I think he understood my need to get far, far away and he didn't hold it against me. He told me that he thought everything would work out just fine but he gave me a stern talking to about how everyone would be watching and waiting for me to screw up, so I better not screw up and I better finish school. "I will, Pop," I told him. He smiled at me. God, I miss him so much still. He was so dear to me.

He gave me a check for $300. I told him it was too much and that I couldn't possibly accept it. He rolled his eyes at me and insisted. When it was time for me to leave, he said that he had something else for me. I followed him up the stairs and into the attic. He pulled out a Tupperware container and loaded it into the car. "What is it?" I asked. "Just some things," he said, all weird and vague. I hugged him and cried. He told me that he loved me and was proud of me and that we would keep in touch. We did, we talked every Sunday until he died. He was so good to me.

When I got back to the house, I opened the container and it was full of Christmas ornaments that belonged to him and my grandmother. What a treasure! Every Christmas, when I trim the tree and pull out the vintage ornaments I think of our last dinner together before I got married.

The days passed and I started packing up my clothes and all of my things. My co-workers scheduled a dinner for me on my day off. It was at Applebees. I don't know who they got to cover the store that night because they all showed up. Day shift, second shift, my boss. They brought me dinner and they handed me a card with $700 cash they collected for me. I remember the exact amount. I was not expecting it AT ALL. They will never know what a huge blessing that was to me. I went home that night and cried. The kindness they showed me and the fact that they celebrated me, touched me so deeply. It meant so much to me and I will carry that with me always.

I was supposed to work my last shift and say goodbye, but my boss had a call out for third shift and asked if I could pick it up. It would be the last one. It was the middle of the week, but that was my last day of school, so I did it. I got home from school that day, took a long nap, and then got up and walked to work for my 11 o'clock shift. I worked all night and by the time 7 am rolled around, I was exhausted. I had one more thing to do- just get through my last 5 hours of high school. I didn't even change into regular clothes. I was too tired and I didn't care. I showed up for my last day of school in my work uniform.

Because I was leaving early, I couldn't do the normal sign-out procedure. I went to the front office immediately to turn in my books, give them my forwarding address for my diploma and pay a $30 textbook fee.

I went to the front desk and explained what needed to happen. The secretary took my textbooks and made me fill out some paperwork. Then, I took out my checkbook to pay. She told me she would only accept cash. "Why? There is money in my account. I can't go get cash." I couldn't. I couldn't just leave school and I worked all night. I was exhausted. I couldn't physically finish the school day, walk to an ATM, go back to the school to pay, and then walk home. She was insistent. "You'll just have to pay it Monday."
"I won't be here Monday. I will be in Oklahoma on Monday. I am moving this weekend."
"Well, you'll have to figure something out. You can't get your diploma until this fee is cleared." She was being a giant bitch. I lost my mind. I teared up and started yelling, "Listen, I worked all night. I'm tired. I'm moving this weekend by myself. You are going to take my check. My check is good and I'm going to need you to take it!" I was hysterical. There was another secretary that came up and looked at the bitch lady and was like, "Just take the check, Karen." I don't know if her name was actualy Karen.

She accepted. I stood at the desk, sniffling with tears streaming down my cheeks, writing out this $30 check. What a hot mess.

The seniors had Yearbook signing in the gym that day. I walked in with a puffy, tearstained face and red eyes, in my work uniform, my hair a wreck. I surveyed the room, there were hundreds of kids mulling about. Kids that I'd been going to school with my whole life. They were laughing and smiling and celebrating and they all seemed like strangers to me. I was in a sleep-deprived haze and I was physically there but really, I was a million miles away. I didn't belong there. I didn't dislike anyone but I had let go of everyone already. I looked at their faces and I thought that I might never see any of them ever again and I didn't feel anything at all.

I remember people coming up to me and saying goodbye but I don't remember who it was. Except for my very good friend from middle school. I adored her, we held onto each other during a very tulmultous time in our lives. I remember being 13, sitting on her back deck by the pool, listening to K's Choice and talking about all the boys we wanted to kiss. We had drifted apart during high school. We had different classes, different friends. It is just the way things are. We still loved each other though and she had even brought me a plaid chanille blanket as a wedding gift.

She came up to me and give me the biggest smile. She had the best smile and the best laugh. I hugged her tightly and thanked her for the blanket. She wished me luck and we parted ways. That was the last time I would see her alive. She committed suicide when she was 28. I would think about her a lot as my own children were going through middle school. It is sad.

I don't remember finishing the school day. There was no grand finale. I simply walked out the doors for the last time and that was that.

The next day, my friend went with me to pick up my moving van. I'd paid it in full in April. I am still unsure about how they actually rented it to me. I didn't have a legitimate driver's license. I had only gotten my restricted license right before my birthday, 5 month prior. It was a sheet of paper. I wasn't supposed to drive outside of the state.

I was supposed to get my license when I was 16 but my parents discovered they didn't have my birth certificate. They called vital statistics and no one by my name was born on the day I was born at the hospital I was born at. My biological mother, unbeknownst to anyone, had given me her maiden name and had left my father off of the birth certificate. I had to have my name legally changed so that I could get a birth certificate to get my license. It was a long process. That is why I didn't get my restricted license until I was almost 18. What a white trash fiasco.

Interestingly, my birth certificate still says "Father Unknown" on it. I used to joke to my dad that I might not be his. He hated that. When I did a DNA test a year ago, it did come back that he was my father and he was relieved. Which made me laugh, I never doubted it.

Anyway, they rented me a moving van without a valid driver's license. They wanted my money. All the paperwork was in my name and it was a done deal. Then we loaded up the truck. I remember bits and pieces of this. My brother-in-law helped, I think. Before long, everything was packed. I printed out Mapquest directions and I had an Atlas of the United States. It was a 24-hour trip and I was taking it alone.

If you thought getting married straight out of high school was a controversy, you should have seen the reaction when I told everyone I was driving a moving van by myself across the country. People were up in arms. I was "meh" about it. I had never driven on the Interstate before and I didn't have a valid driver's license but I felt confident in my abilities. My boyfriend was insistent that he come and make the drive with me.

He had basically no leave and I felt like that was such a waste of his time. He was mad at me for it. I am stubborn as hell. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself," I said. Besides, I thought the drive alone would be good for me.

Everything was ready to go, but I had one last thing to do. I went to say goodbye to my parents and siblings. Except they wouldn't be saying goodbye to me.

I didn't tell them I was skipping graduation, I didn't tell them when I was leaving at all. The past few months had shown me that they were not going to make this process easy for me. I was afraid I'd wake up to my moving truck tires slashed, or that they would stand behind the truck and not let me leave. That a scene would be made.

It was not the right thing to do. I knew that then and I know that now. I took a lot of things away from them and I didn't give them the opportunity to have closure. But I have no regrets about it. I did what I felt I needed to do to protect myself and my heart.

It was dusk on a Friday. I walked up to the front of the house and my youngest sister was there. She was only 10 years old. I sat on the front stoop and I talked to her and gave her a big hug. I teared up and I tried to stay composed. I didn't want to give myself away. My 16-year-old siblings were out and I didn't see them. I had seen my brother at school and he gave me a card with a Teddy Bear on it that said "I'll miss you!" I still have that card.

My parents were in the backyard with a friend. They were surprised to see me. Any disdain I had melted away. It didn't matter now. It was over. We talked and hugged them both. I did have a few tears come but they barely noticed. I cried because I felt bad and because I didn't know if I'd see them again and I mourned for the relationship we'd never had.

When it was time for me to go, my father's friend followed me into the house. I'd known him since I was a little girl. He knew something was up. I told him I was leaving in the morning and I swore him to secrecy. He looked pained, but he agreed to keep me secret. "You're going to regret it one day."
"I know," I said, "But it doesn't matter."

Then I left my childhood home for good.

I Made My Bed, I'll Lie in It

After my boyfriend left, I had a lot to do. I've always been a planner and that's what I did. I was accepted to college and I made a list of things we would need for our apartment. I was in charge of that "stuff" and a moving truck. It was $1,500 for a cross country move. That was a small fortune to me. He was in charge of getting us a car and an apartment. I needed the money. BAD. 

I worked and worked and worked. An average week for me was to work after school from 3-11 every day of the week except Wednesday. Then I would work 7-3 on Saturday and Sunday. Sometimes, if it was going to be busy, I'd go in at 5:30 or 6 am. Sometimes, if I was lucky, there would be a call-out for the afternoon shift and I'd pull a double. The minimum wage was $5.15 then and I was making $7.75. I was ALWAYS getting overtime. My boss never said a word to me about my hours. 

When I tell you I worked like a dog, I mean I worked like a dog. It was probably one of the hardest things I've ever done in my whole life. School, work, sleep....everyday on repeat. I was so tired but I liked my job. I had amazing co-workers and they placed good music. It was always busy so it was a welcome distraction. I would get a 1/2 hour break for dinner and I'd eat and Italian sub every night. I loved it. I was probably nutritionally deficient but youth made up for it.  

Sometimes I crammed in some homework on my lunch break. I tried as much as possible to do it at school. I wasn't trying to talk to anyone. Even if we had 2 minutes left in class, I would try to do as much as possible before the bell rang. I'd be doing homework at lunch. I hated the nights I wasn't able to finish my work at school because I'd be up until 12:30 in the morning and then having to roll out of bed at 6:45 the next day to do it all over again. 

I stopped giving one shit. That last six months, my hair was in a ponytail, I had no makeup on, and I stayed in jeans and an ARMY sweatshirt. Gone were the days of cute skirts and mascara. I had no time for it and I wasn't trying to impress anyone. 

The best part of my day was right after work. I would clock out around 11:00 pm, lift my bookbag onto my back, put a CD in my Discman, adjust my headphones,  and go out into the night to walk home. 

I was a tiny girl and I probably should not have been walking alone that late at night but it never occurred to me. I was never afraid. I would walk past the high school and through the parking lot and onto the soccer fields.  For the first time all day, I was really ALONE. 

I listened to music as I walked and it was just me and God. I prayed a lot on my walks. I thought about my life and the future. I did a lot of self-reflection. I was one day closer to being reunited with my love. I still love to walk. Whenever I need to clear my head, I pop in some earbuds and head out. My walks aren't at 11 o'clock anymore though. I can't even stay up that late anymore. 

During this time, I really pulled into myself. In some ways, I felt a lot of peace. It was a time of transition and I was taking the time to process it all. To dig deep inside myself to find the strength to move forward. I feel that way about my life right now, a little. 

But it wasn't all work. I decided that I wanted to get my belly button and my tongue pierced. I had always wanted to get my belly button pierced but my parents would never let me. I must have gone in an afternoon after work. I am 90% sure I went alone. I barely remember it, except for the part where the guy stretched my tongue out with a pair of tongs and suck a giant needle through it. 

That next week I couldn't help but stick out my tongue at myself in the mirror and pull up my shirt to admire my new body jewelry. I wanted to be a grownup and get married but I also wanted to be young and wear low rise jeans and crop tops, and have a whale tail and be covered in body glitter and feel pretty.

I went to my parent's house for dinner a few weeks later. They made it like a peace offering but it always turned into an opportunity to lecture me. Their faces when they noticed my tongue ring was comical. They treaded lightly. I had learned to assert my dominance and they knew I would just get up and leave if they said something that I didn't want to hear.

I wouldn't go every Sunday, but occasionally. I missed my siblings. I would make a short appearance and then leave again before things got uncomfortable. I'm still like that. lol.

Once they figured out that I wasn't going to listen, they enlisted my extended family to participate in the don't-get-married crusade. I got letters and phone calls, "Hey, I've been thinking about you...."
                       
It was intolerable. For Christ's sake, I wasn't asking anyone for anything. I was just trying to live my life. Even my uncle, the consummate bachelor, took me out to dinner and gave me the don't-get-married speech. We laughed about it when I attended his first wedding, a month before my 8th anniversary.

The rumor mill started at school. Not that it was a secret or anything. People would be like, "Are you getting married?" and I would say "Yes." Then they would just stare at me speechless. They looked at me like I was from outer space. Which -we all know- I most definitely am. ;)

I did get a lot of "Whys" with a few, "You knocked up or somethings."

My teachers were a mix. A lot of them felt bad for me. Some were supportive. And some were downright mean. I was told, "You'll probably wind up living in a trailer and working at Burger King."

Honestly, who says that to someone?!?!? First of all, I'm not a classist jerk so I don't see any problem with living in a trailer. Secondly, I love Whoppers so I would happily work at Burger King.

It was at this time that I learned to tune out the noise. That I could not control what other's think, I could only control myself. I learned to stop caring about everyone's opinions and to follow my heart. I had to. But to this day, I do not tolerate negativity. I always say, "Positive vibes only." Don't be speaking negativity on me or my life.

When I wasn't busy fielding questions and lectures, I was gathering the things for our apartment. I put stuff on layaway so I could pay in installments and then get it all at once. I got towels, pots and pans, a futon, floor lamps, this shower curtain that looked like stained glass flowers. I loved that shower curtain. We had it until we moved to Indiana in 2006. I was weirdly attached to this shower curtain. Goodwill has some brand-new mattresses that we overstocked and I got a new mattress and box spring for $100. I ordered a comforter from a catalog. It was emerald green with Chinese dragons printed on it. The "theme" for our bedroom was like, Asian infusion. I was so excited. These things were mine-ours-I'd picked them out and paid for them myself. I was proud of myself. I was like, Look at me buying spoons and shit. 

One day, I was in a literary magazine meeting and the teacher asked what I still needed. I went down my list. "Oh! I have a table and chairs for you!" I made arrangements to go to her house that Saturday after work to pick it up.

My mother-in-law let me borrow her car. When I pulled into the driveway, I was surprised. It was just a regular rancher. She was so eclectic and larger-than-life that I half expected her to live in a Tim Burton style Victorian mansion. I knocked on the door and she answered me right away and ushered me into her living room.

The inside of her house fit her personality more. It was dark, there were lots of plants and knick-knacks everywhere. We sat on the couch and her husband came in. She introduced us. Then she turned to me and said, "Would you like some Sambuca?" Whoa. Things were taking a weird turn. I said that I did and her husband came back with 3 shot glasses. I watched her pick it up and throw it back. I had never had liquor before and certainly had never taken a shot. I imitated her. It burned and tasted like black licorice. I hated it. Not many people can say they took their first shot with their high school English teacher. Sounds like the beginning of a bad Lifetime movie.

We talked for a while. I think she was fascinated by me. She always loved when I wrote scandalous poetry. I wrote a poem once and one of the lines in it was, "You found God between my legs." She loved it so much. She would reference it to me constantly. She thought it was the funniest thing ever. I was a Catholic girl who broke all the rules. Well, some of the rules. I wasn't drinking liquor, obviously. The poem was published in the school magazine and distributed to all the students and teachers.
                          
I didn't care what people thought and I was who I was and that side of me appealed to her. I think she would be terribly disappointed now. If she knew I was a suburban PTA mom, she would spit out her Sambuca and hate it so much. I think she would find me incredibly boring. I don't write naughty poetry anymore. I write mom poetry:

"The milk is right in front of you,
It's simply behind the ketchup bottle and my soul."

*snap* *snap* *snap* *snap*

After we had our chat, she gave me a tour of her house and showed me pictures of herself when she was young. She never had any children of her own. Her husband loaded the table and chairs into the back of the car. It was perfect. A small, wood card table with two chairs. Just right for young newlyweds. She was always so kind to me and I still think of her often.

She wasn't the only one. My French teacher threw me a surprise bridal shower. I was not expecting it AT ALL. She asked me to come to her house for something and the back den was full of my girlfriends. There were snacks and everything. It meant so much to me. We visited and I opened gifts. High schoolers don't have money but they all pitched in and brought me a little, white microwave. I loved that microwave. It was with us for 6 years, 4 states and 5 houses. It served us well.

They also brought me a bunch of skanky underwear. It was a bunch of 17 and 18-year-old girls - like what else do you get someone? I got at least 6 thongs. Thongs and a microwave. That sums up my personality. They will never know how much I really appreciated it. It was a wonderful afternoon.

My parents found out and my stepmother called the school and complained to the principal to try to get my teacher in trouble. I felt so bad. She put herself out there to do something nice for me and had to deal with so much drama about it. She didn't regret it at all. She was a badass. When 9/11 happened, I was in her class and they told all the teachers to turn off the TVs and she refused. She was like, I do what I want. I have so much respect for her.

Time continued to march on, as it does. I did go to the senior prom. I didn't care about it but I did have FOMO. My friend Bill (the one that helped me move out) asked me to go with him. I borrowed a dress and shoes. I was saving every dime so I was doing prom on an actual shoe spring. I worked that morning. I went in at 5 am because I was leaving at noon to get ready. My boss came in the morning and told me that the third shift person called off. He asked if I'd be willing to cover the shift and that he would give me off for Memorial Day in exchange. The third shift was time and a half. I couldn't pass up the offer.

I left at noon and my friend's sister did my hair. I did my own makeup and didn't get my nails done. I was so "meh" about the whole thing. Bill picked me up and we went to his family's house for pictures. Then we went to prom. I had almost no recollection of the prom whatsoever. I must have danced. I have a handful of pictures. The only thing I remember is that this couple was nominated for prom king and queen and the boyfriend won and the girlfriend didn't and she sobbed. I felt awful for her. That was the actual tea.

We left early and had dinner at a diner and then he took me back to the house to change into my work uniform. Then, he dropped me off at work right before 11pm. I still had full prom hair and make-up. Some of my classmates came in throughout the night. They looked confused to see me behind the deli counter with a full up-do. I made them sandwiches and I drank a ton of soda. I was scheduled for the first shift the following day so I pulled a double. I worked from 5am-12pm, went to the prom, came back and worked from 11pm until 3 pm the next day. I was up for 36 hours. Then, I walked home. I could barely keep my eyes open. I almost laid down on the soccer field and let the vultures take me. It was harsh.

I walked into the house and my mother-in-law jumped up. "You're home! I got your wedding dress!" This lady really took it upon herself to buy my wedding dress. lol. She retrieved the lace dress and I took one look at it and said, "I love it." Thankfully, I did like it. Even if I hated it, I would have worn it not to hurt her feelings.

Then, I walked into the bedroom, took off my shoes, and passed out. I didn't even take off my uniform. I slept for 20 hours. I woke up and didn't even know who I was. That's probably why I forgot prom. It was Memorial Day. I walked out of the bedroom and my brother-in-law said, "Dude! I thought you were dead!" I kind of was.

Sometimes I Hear My Voice

              
It's June, which means it's my anniversary month! This anniversary is a special one. It is the anniversary that is the age I was when I married. This anniversary marks half of my lifetime. After this, I'll have been married longer than I was unmarried. That does give me pause. It doesn't seem like that long. Time has just continued to pass and here we are, 18 years later.

I've been thinking about our marriage and the time that led up to it. It was pure insanity. The further away I get, the fuzzier the details are. So I've decided to write it down, now, as I remember it, from start to finish. It is long. A saga almost, but I feel like it's important to have a record of that time. The story has been told, many times, in bits and pieces but here is, from start to finish.

I think it is important to note that it is not intended to paint my family in a bad light at all. I believe their behaviors and attitudes came from a place of concern.

On Christmas Eve in 2001, I was 17 years old. A senior in high school. My boyfriend was 19 and home on leave from the ARMY. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.

I decided not to tell my family. I knew that they would not take it well. My parents were very strict. It is not easy to have a teenage daughter and I think they had a lot of fear. In many ways, I felt like a caged bird. It's like that Pink Floyd song, "she won't let you fly, but she might let you sing." That was hard for me. I have always been fiercely independent and it had become a huge control issue for years.

I was turning 18 the following month and my relationship with them had deteriorated greatly.  There was no respect there and no love at all, really. I feel terrible about it now but I felt nothing for them but disdain. I had told them for years that I was moving out on my 18th birthday. I didn't care where I would go but I would not stay another minute longer than I had to. I'd been saying that since well before I'd met my boyfriend.

Now, I was engaged to be married and my birthday was right around the corner. I don't know how it came to be, but we decided that I would move into my boyfriend's house. I got along with his parents, he was gone away so I could stay in his bedroom, and they lived directly behind the high school, which also was across the street from my workplace. I could walk everywhere. I only had 6 months of school left and then I could go to wherever he was stationed.

He received orders in mid-January. He'd been stationed at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. There was a 4-year university in the town there and I applied immediately without telling anyone. They had rolling admissions, thank goodness. I paid my own application fee.

For the first time, in as long as I could remember, I was hopeful. It was a strange time in general. My boyfriend had left the end of August, 9/11 happened just a few weeks later, my relationship with my family was increasingly strained. The world seemed "off" in so many ways, things seemed so uncertain.

But now, the tides were changing. I knew where we would be living, I had applied to college, and I was preparing to move out of my house. I am a planner and I like to know the things that are ahead for me and it gave me great comfort.

In the two weeks before my birthday, I began to go through my things. Teenagers spend all their time locked up in their bedrooms anyway. I decided I would only bring the things that I had purchased myself. I'd been buying my own clothes for years. I packed clothes in old bookbags and boxes. I stacked them neatly in the back of my closet, out of sight. I didn't have very much at all.

My parents probably enjoyed me in the weeks before my birthday. I was never pleasant to them but I wasn't combative. There was finally an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife but I could endure it for just a few more weeks.

On my 18th birthday, I hopped out of bed. There was a sense of freedom I had that morning that wasn't there the night before. I acted as if everything was normal. I went to school and was anxious all day. I replayed all the reasons that I was leaving in my head, to remind myself, so that I wouldn't chicken out and change my mind.

My friend Bill agreed to help me move. He had a mini-van. An old shitty mini-van which was 100 times better than what I had - nothing. After school, we met up and he drove me to my house. No one was supposed to be home. The plan was to be as quick as possible. Go down and grab my shit and GO.

We pulled up to the house and my father was home. My heart sank. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. I'll be fine."

I walked in the house and my father was in the kitchen. He smiled at me, "Happy Birthday!" he said. I didn't smile back. I decided I would just tell him. Rip off the band-aid. "I'm leaving," I said. "I'm here to get my things."

His face changed immediately. He was confused and then angry. He yelled at me, screamed. I don't even remember what he said now. I felt nothing. I wasn't going to argue with him. My feelings were not hurt. I was done. When I am done, I am done forever. I didn't care if he yelled, or pleaded, or anything.  I was leaving, case closed. I didn't yell back, I did just calmly walked downstairs and collected my things.

"You better not take anything we bought you," he yelled.
I calmly replied, "I'm not. It's just my clothes and books."

I set all my things on the front stoop and my father sat in a chair on the porch and watched us load everything into Bill's van. He looked so sad and dejected. I avoided eye contact with him. Then, I got into the passenger's seat and we drove off.

I recall being confused about his reaction. I'd been saying I would leave on my 18th birthday for years. I don't think they thought I had the actual balls to do it. But I did have balls. BIG ones. Bye Felicia. I was done.

We got to my boyfriend's house and we hauled my things into the house. Then, I got dressed and Bill took me to work. It was a big day at work for me. I was 18, which meant that I had no restrictions on when I could work. I would get my grey apron. I would be taught how to use the slicer and the trash compactor. It was a training day for me.

I was hoping to catch my boss but he was gone for the day. I spent my evening learning the ropes of my job duties. I felt calm. At one point my stepmother came in. She looked pissed. She was holding a gift bag that she threw onto the counter. "Happy Birthday," she said in a way that told me she didn't want me to have a happy birthday. Then, she stormed out. My co-worker looked at me weird and I shrugged. I don't remember what was in the bag. It is one of those details that is fuzzy now.

I walked to my new home after work that night. My boyfriend's mother was still awake. We spoke for a while and then I got ready for bed. I walked into my boyfriend's bedroom, which was now my bedroom. All of his things were still there. There were some clothes still in his dresser, baseball trophies, his Simpsons comforter. It seemed wrong that I should be there without him. I stood there in the middle of his room, my things packed in boxes against the wall and I missed him something terrible. I cried.

The next day, I did catch my boss at work. He was aware of the situation and was sympathetic to me. I told him that I could work any day of the week, that I would pick up shifts, that I had no restrictions. I'd been working for him for about a year and a half and he knew I was a hard worker. He agreed to do what he could. He was a good guy. He put me on the schedule 5 days a week.

I went to school and work that week and adjusted to my new normal. I didn't speak to my parents at all. There was a peace inside of me that was new. I had been so anxious my whole life but now I had a little bit of control and I wasn't afraid. It was a feeling that I was not used to and I liked it.

My boyfriend was graduating from AIT the Friday after my birthday. I decided to take that day off of school and I drove down to Columbia, South Carolina with his mother, aunt and uncle, and little cousin. It was a long drive and I was happy to see the South of the Border signs as we got closer and closer. If you would have told me then that we would settle down and raise our children in South Carolina, that this would be home, I would have not have believed you.

We drove through the night and when we made in Columbia, we went into a Walmart to freshen up. I brushed my teeth and got dressed. His mother had brought us matching blue camo tee-shirts she got from Avon. I was planning to wear something a little more form-fitting and sassy but she was so excited about the matching shirts that I couldn't deny her.

We went through the gate at Fort Jackson and they directed us to the building where there were holding graduation. There were chairs set up that were full of other soldier's family members, waiting impatiently. Then, they walked in. I spotted my boyfriend in the crowd of green uniforms. They marched to the front of the room and sat down for the ceremony. It killed me to have him in the same room as me but to not be right next to him. I longed for him so badly.

The sergeant gave a speech and they called names and everyone clapped. Then, they released the soldiers to their families. I let his family see him first, of course. I wanted him all to myself in that moment, but I knew I would get him forever so it was only fair. He hugged his mother, and his aunt and uncle. His little cousin looked up at him like he was the coolest. Then we saw each other. He smiled and walked over to me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. When I tasted his lips on mine, I almost melted into the floor. He could always do that to me.

After our greetings, we had to go to the barracks to collect his things. His roommate was from Philly and he was catching a ride with us too. We waited in the van as they went in to retrieve their bags. He came out in plain clothes, his dog tags around his neck, and his rucksack on his back. He looked shaken. He sat down and van said, "Dude, your parents called my sergeant."

My blood ran cold. "What?"

"Yeah, they said I was encouraging you to skip school or some shit."
"Are you going to get in trouble?"
"Nah, I don't think he cared that much."

I was disturbed. They were really trying to get this man in trouble with the US ARMY. I was so livid. It was just another nail in the coffin.

The van now was full, with 2 extra people and a rucksack. We volunteered to hang out in the very back of the van. I was so happy to have him next to me - for 11 straight hours. I didn't care that we were in a van full of other people. "Wanna fool around?" I whispered. "Sure," he said. We were such whores for each other. haha.

I don't remember what time it was when we pulled up to the house, but I was exhausted. I insisted that he sleep in his own bed and that I sleep on the couch. We may have been whores for each other, but his parents were super Catholic and also we were teenagers, so we weren't allowed to sleep in the same room. Which, was fine. Totally understood.

The next morning we got up early and took his roommate home to Philly. We walked around and ate street food and enjoyed each other's company. It was frigid but the sun was shining. It was just a great day.

He was home for two weeks to do hometown recruiting. So, technically, he had to work. It was just a few hours a day but I still had school and work during that time. We would see each other in the morning. He'd be putting on his uniform and getting ready for the day and I would just watch him. He was like a stranger to me. He was so different. When he left, he was a boy but now he was so much like a man. I can't even explain it. I was in awe and madly in love with him.

He would visit me at work in the afternoon. He'd go for a run and show up in his ARMY sweatsuit and black beanie. Sexy as hell. He'd wait in my line to buy a bottle of water and I'd lean over the counter and kiss him. His face would be ice cold. New Jersey winters are unforgiving. He'd pick me up from work in the evenings and we'd stay up and hang out. I was calm now that he was back. He was my safe place.

My parents at some point found out we were getting married. I'm not sure if I had told them or if they heard it through the grapevine. They knew he was home and asked to have dinner together. All of us, including his parents. His father had to work but his mother came along. I should have said no, I should have known it was a trap. I was young and naive.

We met in a diner. Them on one side and me, my boyfriend and his mother at the other. The tension was thick and for some reason, I was afraid. My mother had this folder on the table. It was an hour of them convincing us that we shouldn't get married. Which, is understandable. But it was just terrible and cringy. My mother had my college acceptance letters in that folder which she pulled out like evidence at a murder trial. Exhibit one, acceptance to the University of Miami. Exhibit two, acceptance to Seton Hall. I was accepted into the pre-med program with a $10,000 a year renewable scholarship. I wanted to be an OBGYN. Could you even imagine? I think of my life if I hadn't gotten married. I'd be in North Jersey, sitting between some woman's legs like, "I'm pretty sure it's yeast, Susan...." Poor Susan.

They told my boyfriend that if he married me that he'd be ruining my life, that he was dishonorable for not asking their permission,  if he REALLY wanted to be with just one woman his whole life, and if he truly understood what it took to provide for a family. They were low-key roasting him, which his mother did not appreciate. Her Puerto Rican came out in full force. My boyfriend kind of just stared down at the table and I just looked around and prayed to leave my body. When I tell you it was bad, it was bad.
               
After we ate, we all left. I wouldn't even look at them. It was horrible. My boyfriend was silent the whole way home.

We walked into the house and went to his room. He sat down on the bed and looked so sad and dejected. I had never him like that. He looked at me and said, "I'm not going to marry you."

I was TRIGGERED. "What? Why?"
"I'm going to ruin your life," he said. They had really gotten into his head. He was so upset.
"You are not going to ruin my life. It's going to be fine," I said.
"Your parents are going to hate me," he said.
I started to cry. "So? Hate them back."

I sobbed and was completely overdramatic. His mother showed up to see what all the ruckus was about. I'm trying to talk to this lady between sobs like, "He...said...he's...not....going....to....marry....me." Which makes me laugh so hard now. I was like, if you're not going to marry me, I'm telling your mom!

She was also TRIGGERED. She was like, "You're not going to ruin her life. Just marry her and give me some damn grandkids already." She didn't say the part about grandkids but she probably thought it. He came around and was like, "Okay. Let's get married." I was pissed at him. I sat in bed and pouted.

"You're not going to talk to me now?" he said. Then, this man just up and left. I was mad again. He was really leaving me. He came back a few minutes later with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. My FAVORITE. "I thought this would cheer you up," he said, handing it to me.

I ate the whole thing. I ate all of my feelings. Get you a man that will run out and get you ice cream when you are sad.

Things were fine after that. We enjoyed the rest of his time home. He left just a few days before Valentine's Day. I woke up that morning to go to school, he was headed to Philly to catch a plane to Oklahoma. He drove me to school and I said goodbye to him. No matter how many times we parted ways or how long he was gone, I never grew accustomed to it. It was February and I wouldn't see him again until June.

My heart hurt so bad. I kissed him goodbye and I cried. I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk and watched him pull out of the school parking lot. At that moment, I felt completely alone in the world.

To be continued...

It's Over, I Think

The school year is over. At least I think it is. There is no real ending. It's the strangest thing. I guess the ending is when my youngest goes to retrieve her things from her locker on the 29th and my oldest turns in her Chromebook.

What usually happens, is that I take the girl's pictures on the sidewalk before I send them off to school on the last day. Then I get a massage to reward myself for surviving another school year. I guess I can do that on the 29th, as some sort of weird, symbolic last day of school acknowledgment. It's been this way for so long. It's all I know.

This year is different in so many ways. The pandemic has just compounded the heaviness of it all. It is the ending of a lot of things for me. I will no longer have a child in the middle school anymore. I am not sad about this. I have had a child in middle school for the past 6 years. It is not my favorite stage of life, the middle school years. They are full of so many new and interesting challenges. They have been defined by hours spent in the car, and hormones, and so many trials as my children have transitioned from children into teenagers. It actually takes my breath away.

I now have two children in high school. My baby is going to be a freshman next year. I can't even believe it. My oldest will be a junior. This is the year before the last year. It is now starting to hit me how different my life will be. Soon.

On a normal year, I would have had more time to think about this. To celebrate many of our "lasts" and the milestones that go along with that but instead this time has just brought a weird cloud of uncertainty that trumped my anticipation of the things that are ahead.

My life in just a few short months will be different. Next school year, my youngest will be in high school. She's much more mature now and will be busy with school, friends and activities. My volunteer duties at the middle school will cease. Which is okay, it has been a huge part of my life since my children were very little but my time has come. My oldest will be living 3 hours away at residential high school (pandemic permitting) and I will not see her face every day.

She is very close to me and it will be hard. But it is GOOD. It is a wonderful opportunity and will allow her to grow into the woman she needs to become.

This is a time of transition. A part of me is really sad. It is hard for your kids to grow up. It leaves a hole. But I am going to fill that hole with my husband (no pun intended) and plan trips and find myself. My new self.

My identity has always been tied to being a mother. I've been a mom for most of my adult life and a lot of ways it's all I know. They are my entire world, my entire universe. They always will be and I will always be a mom but as I prepare to launch them in a few years to find their place in the world, it will also be time for me to find my place.

I need to figure out what I want to be when I grow up and restart some of the things I put on hold while I focused on raising children. This is an exciting prospect for me. I am so young and I feel like all the doors are opening up again. There is great hardship as your children become older but there is also great freedom and I am going to embrace that.

I have amazing kids and I think once they are adults they will be my very best friends. I just adore them, they are such great people. They make me laugh. Now that things are re-opening our house has re-opened. On Thursday night, me, my husband, my kids and 2 other teenagers sat at the dining room table and played Phase10 for hours. We were listening to 80s hits, eating snacks and laughing and enjoying the company. It was a nice time. I feel so fortunate that the girls want to hang out with us. We have built beautiful memories together. I always thank God I had them young because I get to know them my WHOLE life. What a blessing.

There was no ending to this whole period in my life, it will just slowly move into this next part. As my girls would say, it just be like that sometimes.

And It All Went Away

                       

We are still here. How long has it been? Five weeks now, I think? Things are getting better. I don't know if they are actually getting better or the fact that I am medicated is making things more bearable. We do what we can to get through the day. We wake up, we work, we eat and we try to entertain ourselves and we sleep. There is no end in sight really. There are glimpses that things will return to normal but there are no promises in this place. How quickly everything evaporates. It simply takes your breath away.

They canceled school for the rest of the school year. When I told the kids, they seemed ambivalent. Everything has been taken away from them already, that what is the point of being sad and disappointed? They kind of just shrugged. I do worry about them. They seem okay but still waters run deep. Some days are better than others. I am trying to be gentle with them. Their entire lives have been turned upside down.

I wonder about how this will affect them long term. Will this be the thing that defines their generation? Every generation has the thing that shapes who they are. Those who lived through the Great Depression, wars, 9/11. When 9/11 happened, I was just a few months shy of 18. My entire childhood was pre-09/11 and my entire adulthood was post-09/11. I think that has shaped how I view the world tremendously. This is different than 09/11 though. 09/11 was like a gunshot, stunning and shocking. This is like a festering wound that has slowly turned gangrenous, spreading and turning everything black and decayed. You can't compare one to another but they are both devastating in different ways.


 I wonder what it will be like for them. How will society be different? Will they view the world differently? Will they always have an additional stock of toilet paper and hand sanitizer? Will they forever morn this lost time? Will they watch their own children at the ages they are now and pause?

Having older children in this situation is both a blessing and a curse. Life is easy with two teenagers. They get up in the morning and are responsible for themselves. They are independent with their school work, cook most of their own meals, do their laundry. They require little upkeep from us. This leaves us time to relax and to work. The house has been peaceful. Then, there is the other side.

Our kids are older and very smart. They understand. They watch the news. They've seen the scary suits and the morgue trucks and the headlines. They know when I am sad. They grasp the seriousness of it. We do our best to temper their concerns and to be hopeful. We never have tried to shield the children from the truth about anything and the same is true with this.

They look to us for answers but we don't have any. In that way, we are truly going through this together. The other day my daughter asked, "What do you think is going to happen? Do you think I will be able to go away to school?" I didn't even know what to say. "I don't know, but I hope. None of us have ever been through this before, but every storm runs out of rain sometime."

Which really, is some bullshit thing to say. But I need them to hold onto a shred of hope that things will get better. And it will. But it might not be soon. That is hard. Sometimes I wish they were little during all of this and that their days were filled with blowing bubbles and Disney movies and wonderful obliviousness.

When we have children, we want so much for them. We pour all of our hopes and dreams and wishes into them. We want them to have good times and beautiful experiences and coming of age in the middle of a global pandemic was not something that I wanted for them. I couldn't have known. I couldn't have prepared for this. As a mother, I mourn for them. They are young. This is supposed to be their time in the sun. They will never get this time back.

If it changes them, I hope it changes them for the better. I hope it helps them appreciate the little things in life. I know it will change me. Our lives are shifting. I am going to really live, to re-focus. My volunteer life is starting to wind down. I'm going to write and figure out what I want to be when I grow up. My trips are canceled but once things are normal again-I'm going everywhere. Greece, Italy, Jordan, Ireland, Isreal, Thailand, Germany, France, the Netherlands, Spain, Portugal, Scotland, Austria, Poland, Czech Republic, Morrocco, Canada, England. EVERYWHERE. That's my next 10 year list. This pandemic can suck it.

In spite of this pandemic, it has been a good life. The actual staying in the house part - I love! We have a very close-knit family and it is so nice to hang out and just BE with the kids. I like evenings alone with my husband and not ever having to wear a bra.

When this storm does run out of rain and the sun comes out, there will be much rejoicing. But we will never be the same.

I'm Holding on for Dear Life

               
We've been in self-quarantine for 26 days now with no end in sight. This week, I think I hit my point of no return. At the beginning of all of this, I made the assumption that it would get easier as time went on. But I was epically wrong. I've simply become more and more numb inside as the days go on.

On the surface, all is well. Certainly, we are much better off than some. We have our jobs and our health. The kids are easy. We are enjoying our time together. We are lucky. In some ways, that makes it worse. The guilt. When there is suffering and death all around but you are okay. I went to pick-up groceries yesterday and all the stores and restaurants were closed. I thought of everyone who has lost their jobs. I can't even read about the death toll anymore. My heart hurts so bad.

I am trying to come to terms with the many things we will miss in the coming months. The kids aren't going back to school for the rest of the year. They haven't announced it yet, but I know this will be case. I can't imagine any scenario where they would. We aren't supposed to peak here for weeks. My daughter is moving to Greenville in the fall (maybe, will this be over then?). She will never play with her band again, or drive to school, or eat lunch in the courtyard with her friends. There will be no prom. We already brought her dress. She looked so beautiful in it. Josh was trying to convince his mother to drive the BMW. They were supposed to have fancy dinner, and have pictures taken downtown, and then dance the night away. Her dress is still at the tailor. Not that it even matters. She is holding up okay. She mostly just wants to sleep, and I let her. I don't blame her at all. She comes down in the evening and participates in games or whatever activity I've planned to distract us. She is not happy but she does what she has to do every day.

And my youngest. This is her 8th-grade year. The end of the year for them is so fun. They are the oldest group and have survived the hell that is middle school. There are celebrations and goodbyes. This is their last slice of childhood before high school. I remember sitting in the awards ceremony my oldest daughter's 8th-grade year and the principal said, "These kids come in here as boys and girls and they leave as young men and women." There will be no awards ceremony for my baby. She got straight As all year, she is a junior scholar, she is so smart and amazing and I am so sorry that the best time in middle school will be taken away from her.

The last day of school, when school lets out, the principal rings the bell at the front of the school. He pulls this long rope and it "gongs" as the children stream out of the school, chatting excitedly, ready for the summer break. I fear this year will be silent.

I wonder things like, how will the kids clean out their lockers? They have things at school. There was no warning. Will it be some stuffy day in July? Will they let them in and grab their sweaters, gel pens and memories?

I don't think my youngest will get to go to Governor's School in June. I'm hoping and praying but they haven't sent the email for us to pay yet and I know that means it is up in the air. She was so looking forward to it. It will crush her.

We won't be going to Italy. That is the biggest sting of all. We've been planning and saving for this trip for over two years. It's paid for. I should be able to get credit. I'll just push it to next year. I've been so looking forward to it. I can't even think about it right now. I can't process it. My disappointment is deep as the ocean. I've been watching Italy this whole time and I feel terrible for the people there. It is worse than a nightmare.  I literally cannot breathe, if I think about it. The past few days I've been having horrible panic attacks. I can feel them coming, like a wave crashing into me. They haven't been bad like this in almost 20 years.

I have a panic attack if I think about anything in the future. I just can't. People are asking me about things that are supposed to be coming up, changes that need to be considered, plans that need to be made. I can't bring myself to go there. I am completely in survival mode now. I can only think about today. How am I going to get through the day? What things do I need to do? What shred of hope can I hold onto? What can bring me joy?

You would think that ME of all people would be okay. In my life there were no school trips away, no graduation from high school, no graduation from college, no wedding, no honeymoon..... No events or celebrations for major life milestones? Crushing disappointment? Life being weird and not normal? Those are things that I am intimately familiar with. I trained for this my entire life. Shit, this should be my Olympics. But it's not. It surprises me and makes me angry at myself.

When I was young, I learned not to look forward to or get excited about anything. It was a defense mechanism. It protected me from the inevitable disappointment. I feel like that right now. I'm not looking forward to anything. I am simply waking up and going through the motions. I did that for YEARS of my life. In some ways, it is like being home again, but like if your home was shitty and terrible. It's better though because my house is harmonious and I have my family here. It is helping.

I think it's the hardest for my husband. The quarantine doesn't bother him, he could probably do this forever, but he can't stand to see me like this. I can never fool him. He knows that I am sad. Completely devastated. I am usually the positive, jovial one. There is nothing that he can do and he hates that. He is always asking me if I'm okay, multiple times a day. Hopeful, that just one time I will say that I am. But I will not lie to him. I say, "No, not at all," calmly and resolutely. He frowns. He hovers around me. I think he is trying to make me feel better, to make sure I am alright. I think he believes I am fragile and could shatter into a million tiny pieces at any minute. And maybe he is right.

I am not okay. I also know it's okay to not be okay. I hate people saying, "Look on the bright side." Gee, Karen! Why didn't I think of that?!?!? You must be some kind of prophet. Your wisdom astounds me. Right now I am not okay. I am angry, I am sad, I am disappointed, I am panicked, I hate pretty much everything, and getting out of bed every day seems like a chore. But, I also know that I will be okay. That this will pass. Every storm runs out of rain eventually. We are alive, and healthy, and have much to be grateful for. One day, this will be a painful and distant memory. I will forget it. I've been keeping a daily account of my day because I know that I will block out this time. I do that with all of my painful memories, I extract them from my brain completely. There are whole parts of my life I don't remember, people that I've forgotten. Bad memories are like cancer. They serve no purpose but if you let them stay long enough, they will spread into the healthy parts. Once this is over, I will bury this time deep, deep inside of me never to see the light of day ever again.

There is nothing to do now. Just wait and pray and survive.

Pomp and Circumstance

                          
I always tease my husband that he failed the third grade. He always corrects me by stating that actually he attended summer school, therefore he technically passed. Then he proceeds to tell the story of how he saw the Pp on the alphabet chart and made a joke about "pee-pee" and the summer school teacher made him leave. He loves that story- we've all heard it about a hundred times. He was that kid in elementary school that was always getting into trouble. He didn't think he was smart. As he got older, his behavior calmed down and he only ever did enough school work to get by.

I met him right after junior year of high school. Going into senior year, he had no plans for the future. It never even occurred to him that he could go to college. Neither of his parents even made it to high school. But they were good people. They worked hard. They wanted a better life for him.

He joined the Army in February. He woke up that morning with no intention of it. He simply tagged along to the recruiting office with his cousin who was considering joining the service. He was standing there and the recruiter asked his plans for after high school and he said he didn't have any. The recruiter was like, "Wanna get out of this small town and shoot some guns?"  My husband was like, "Hell yeah." Then he signed the papers. I'm not 100% that is how it exactly went down, but you get the gist. He went home and told his parents he had joined the ARMY. He never even consulted them. His mother cried. What was done was done.

He scored high on the ASVAB and got a job in accounting. He was smart. HE just never realized it. I knew all along though. It 18, on paper, marrying him seemed like a gamble. But I knew HIM. I knew he was smart, kind, generous, and a hard worker. To hell with what anyone else thought.

Unlike my husband, I always knew I would go to college. I grew up knowing that was the plan. When we got married, I enrolled in the local university. I took a class with a soldier that told me that the military would pay your tuition while you were active duty and that it didn't affect your GI Bill. At that time, my husband had already been in the service for a year and had gone through accounting school and was doing accounts payable for the ARMY.  He was ready. "You can take one class at a time," I said. That's what he did.

We took a Biology class together that summer. We studied together and were always lab partners. We actually had class on our first anniversary. We did our Lab and then came home and played Scrabble. Romance.

Life changed. I got pregnant, we moved, and moved again. He got a job with the Department of Defense and started an Associates Degree Program. He finished at 22. He was so happy. Those were hard days for us. I was still in school too, and we had a baby. He would work, come home and do school work, and watch the baby while I did school work. It was impossibly difficult. He vowed never to go back to school.

Life continued to march on. We moved and moved again. He left his accounting job with the D.O.D and went to work for a small IT company. He worked hard, he learned a lot and he built a good life for us. Then, he went into contracting work. He's always wanted his work to benefit veterans and soldiers and it was BIG for him.

My husband's dreams have always been: serving those who serve, traveling the world, not having to live paycheck-to-paycheck, making sure the children have what they need, being happy.

A few years ago, he started traveling for his job. He's gotten to go cool places - Texas, California, Hawaii, Germany. He works long hours when he travels so he doesn't get to explore. But SOMETIMES he works weird hours (like going in at midnight) so he does get to see some of the places.

When he was in Germany in 2016, it was a long trip - two weeks. Sixteen hour days. He was supposed to have ONE day off. He really wanted to go to Paris. He called me that week and was going back and forth about it. "The other guys don't want to go, the train tickets are $200, what if I get lost?" I was annoyed. "If you can go-then go. It will be $200 well spent. If they don't want to go, go alone. You'll regret it if you don't." A few days later, he sent me a selfie of himself, smiling from ear to ear in front of the Eiffel tower. I teared up. I was happy for him. The man has worked so hard his whole life, he deserves every good thing that comes to him.

I picked him up from the airport from that trip and he was talking excitedly. "So, I decided, I'm just going to finish my bachelor's. I still have some of the GI Bill left. I want to take on bigger projects. I'm going to do it." I was hesitant at first. He works full time and our lives are busy. I knew it was going to be insanely difficult. "Okay. Do it! I'll support you."

He did. He went to school year-round for 3 years. Every evening, he was studying. Every weekend. Every spare moment. Part of the degree program was obtaining certifications and those were the worst. He'd study for months and on test days I would be a wreck. I'd be at home, waiting and praying for the text that he had passed. When he is stressed, I am stressed. When he is disappointed, I am disappointed. When he is happy, I am happy.

That is what his life has been for 3 years. Work, work, work. When his Capstone was accepted he exhaled. He didn't sleep that whole night, he was so excited. That evening, we went to Moes. Just the two of us. The kids had various practices, that's when things were normal.

I said, "You know, only 9% of Hispanic men have a 4 year degree and only 2% of people that marry as teens have a 4 year degree. So I was thinking, if we are somewhere in the 2%, we need to now figure out how to get in the 1%," I joked. He laughed, "I guess." "What would we do with like 10 million dollars?" I asked. He thought for a minute, "I don't know. Go on vacation." "Definitely, and maybe we could sign up for one of those Hello Fresh subscriptions. We are going to be so fancy."

I asked how he felt, if he was glad to be done and he said, "The thing is, I never thought would graduate from college in my life."

That made me happy for him and broke my heat all at the same time. His life is a great success story. His life is proof that it's never too late, that you can do anything. It's not just about finishing college either. He has sacrificed a lot in his life, he has had a huge amount of disadvantages, he has grown into an amazing husband, he is an attentive and loving father. He never gives up. Even when things are hard, even when they seem impossible - he always just puts one foot in front of the other. He never complains. He just does what needs to be done. I admire him so much. He inspires me.

Here's to you, my love! May all your dreams come true!