The Ghost of A Labor Day Weekend Past

 This past holiday weekend a long forgotten memory bubbled up... One from 32 years ago, like a dream that makes you wonder if it really happened at all... But it did.

In my mid-20's, I experienced a traumatic event, which is a chapter of my life that I rarely talk about. An ex-boyfriend tried to kill me in a very horrific, violent way and ended up killing an innocent person in the process, sending him to a life in prison (it's a long blog post for another day). It happened at the tail end of the summer, in 1993. I had almost forgotten, but in the immediate aftermath of the horrible happenings, I experienced one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.

At that time in my life, I was only a few years out of college and still trying to find a job/career befitting of my BA degree. In the meantime, I was working a retail job at The Body Shop in one of the upscale malls in suburban Chicago. It was there that I became close friends with a co-worker, Jennifer. She had gown up in NYC, Manhattan, I think, the only child of very wealthy, divorced parents. She was a few years older than me and had attended Wellesly, but was now living in Evanston with her fiance Kenny (who was also a transplanted New Yorker and worked for an educational software company). She was working part-time at the Body Shop, while getting her Master's degree at the University of Chicago.

I don't even remember having a conversation with Jennifer about the horrific event involving the ex-boyfriend, but that Labor Day weekend, she whisked me away to the Hamptons, on Long Island. Through my shell-shock, I remember feeling grateful and relieved to be getting the hell away from the swirling chaos of the terrible situation, that had even made the local news. We'd be visiting her father, an extremely wealthy investment banker, who was renting a house in East Hampton for the summer (as most rich NYC residents did) and also her mother and step-father, who had a home in Amagansett. Jennifer's mother was a writer and professor at Harvard, who split her time between New York and Paris and her step-father was a wealthy academic and writer, who was somehow related to the Rockefeller family.

I have NO idea if Jennifer explained to either of her parents the circumstances which led to me accompanying her on this weekend getaway and I guess it really didn't matter. All I know is that we flew to Long Island, got in a luxury rental car and the next thing I knew, we we dropped our luggage off at the palatial house her father had rented for the summer and then did some shopping at fancy boutiques in East Hampton. We also stopped at another, more modern home, to visit a couple that Jennifer was friends with, which belonged to one of their rich Aunts. I vaguely remember their curious questions over lunch in a fabulously updated, marble covered kitchen, because Jennifer had actually told them about what I had just endured back home. 

That night, we had dinner with her father and his "girlfriend du jour", served to us by a private chef. I'm sure I was polite and quiet, while I took in this lavish lifestyle that I had never experienced. Later that evening, Jennifer and I crashed in the twin beds, covered in expensive looking floral bedspreads, that were in the middle of a huge bedroom, filled with beautiful, antique furniture. The next morning, we got up and I remember showering in a small, elegant bathroom that had a balcony, overlooking the backyard and a pool. Jennifer said her goodbyes to her father, I thanked him for having me as a guest, then we headed off to her mother's place, stopping at a small cafe on the way, for coffee and pastries.

Her mother and step-father's summer home in Amagansett was much smaller and cozier than the rental house that we'd stayed at the night before. Her mother was chatty and friendly and showed me to a small guest bedroom, where I dropped my bags. It was a short walk to the beach, so Jennifer and I changed into our bathing suits and headed there. I remember slathering myself in sunscreen before walking along the beach, collecting shells and standing in the Atlantic surf, waves crashing against my legs, trying simultaneously to not think about what had just happened to me and wondering how the hell I going to go forward with my life. It was a LOT to process and it would take me years to do it! That night, we all enjoyed a boiled lobster dinner and sat on the backyard patio around a fire pit. 

The following morning, we had breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Again, I'm sure that through my shell-shock I was polite and thankful to Jennifer's mother and step-father for hosting me. I remember my prevailing thought on the plane ride back to Chicago was that I DID NOT want to go back. It was so nice being in a completely different environment, far away from the horrors I had experienced. I don't know if I was able to properly express it at the time, but I was extremely grateful to my friend and her parents for their generosity and kindness during what was THE most traumatic experience of my life thus far. 

Sadly, my friendship with Jennifer only lasted about 5 years. We drifted apart after she married her fiance, had a daughter and moved back east. I remember seeing her house in Evanston listed for sale and I actually went to the open house... It was weird walking through the rooms where I had once spent so much time with her and her partner, seeing reminders of her child that I never had the opportunity to meet, I felt incredibly sad that our friendship hadn't remained, but I suppose it gave me some sort of closure.

So, when the memories of that long ago Labor Day weekend popped into my head this past weekend, I allowed myself to recall the random bits with gratitude, before deciding to commit them to a blog post. They remind me that even in the worst of times, even when friendships don't last, people's humanity and kindness can leave a lasting impression in our minds and hearts. Thank you Jennifer for giving me that gift, when everything, including my life, had almost been taken from me. I will never forget it!

Out Of Dust Comes A Diamond

 Nothing  is normal now.

The world is in chaos, my country is in chaos, my body and mind are in in chaos... the small moments of  joy that make life bearable seem few and far between. There is immense suffering on every conceivable level at this particular moment in time... and I feel it ALL.

The Buddhists believe that attachments cause suffering. And to achieve enlightenment, one must detatch from the source of suffering. But how does one accomplish this? Mainly though meditation. You train your thoughts to be quiet. You train your breathing to be deep & steady, which in turn causes your heart rate and pulse to slow. You train your body to respond, with poses and movements that are mindful & intentional. It takes years of practice. I mastered it on a very basic level by taking Hatha yoga classes with a wonderful teacher for 7 years. And while it helped me tremendously, I could never master the art of meditation and full relaxation, because I have what yogis commonly refer to as "monkey mind". My brain just never shuts off, even on a subconcious level when I'm asleep. I am not able to have thoughts or distracting sounds enter my mind and let them pass through without reaction. I am a deeply sensitive, intuitive, empath & while I understand the very Zen concept of total detachment from thoughts, feelings & outside influences, try as I might, I simply cannot "detach".

On a "macro' level, the world is currently experiencing intense shifts, both politically and economically. There is a rising tide of far-right fascism throughout Europe. The Middle East has been destabilized, thanks to the Palestinian / Israeli conflict in Gaza, fueled by Hamas, Netanyahu & funded by Iran & the U.S.. There has been three years of brutal war in Ukraine, the land my grandparents all fled at the turn of the 20th century to escape persecution and discrimination at the hands of the ruling antisemitic, oligarchic, dictators. And now, I'm witnessing MY country's 249 year-old democracy being dismantled from within, by some of the most horrible people on the planet. It's horrifying on so many levels, because never in my lifetime did I imagine that the Republic of the United States of America would become the very thing that my grandparents emigrated here to escape from. I've had to enforce some very strong boundaries & "detach" from the fascist, dystopian, nightmare shit show that's playing out 24/7 on the television & social media, for fear of literally losing my mind from it!

On a more "micro" level, there is my physical suffering. The fabulous combination of menopausal hormonal shifts and an autoimmune disease (rheumatoid arthritis) have thrown my body into absolute chaos. I've been dealing with the RA for nearly eighteen years. I firmly believe that the traumas I experienced when I was younger, along with major hormonal shifts immediately after giving birth do my daughter are the cause of the onset. I have been on every class of drug used to treat my disease, but despite short-lived success and relief, I have failed on each one. My rheumatologist is probably going to have me start IV infusions at this point, which is literally the last line of defense in the treatment of RA. I have NO idea how I will tolerate it or whether it will even work. My inflammation is systemic and now affects my hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, hips, lower back, knees, ankles and feet... pretty much EVERY joint in my skeletal system (with the exception of my jaw & upper spine). I am in some form of pain every single day of my life and it never ends. Ever. At best, I push through it by taking my meds, supplements & edibles when needed & push the suffering to the back of my mind, so I can focus on what I need to do in my daily life. At worst, I lie in my bed sobbing, sometimes barely able to move, putting the best laid plans aside, because I'm not physically able to do all of the things that I used to. I'm still trying to accept that last part and I fully believe that at some point, I will probably need to use a cane and will eventually end up in a wheelchair for mobility. Currently, my illness is "invisible"... I don't look or act "sick", so people assume I'm fine. Unless you know me well or see me wearing compression gloves or hear me groaning as I try to shift in my seat or get up from a very uncomfortable position, because my joints are screaming, you would never know how excrutiating & debilitating my daily battles are. My body is at war with itself & my mind is constantly at war with my body. I can only hope that like one of my artistic heroines, Frida Kahlo, who also suffered with physical disabilities & disfigurement from childhood polio & a terrible accident in her teens, I can somehow elevate my suffering into an art form.

At the same time, I'm also working a full time job (because I was denied meager disability benefits a few years ago, since I'm still relatively able-bodied), but my boss is a pretty horrible human being, who's a narcissist, with OCD, ODD & borderline personality disorder. She's a miserable woman, who loves to berate, browbeat & bully people into doing her bidding. She is not a compassionate, collaborative, empathetic or mentoring sort of person & she really has no business being in a management position or ANY position of authority at all. Luckily, there are lots of other "normal", caring, interesting people at my workplace, so I find solace with them. And then there's the raising of my nearly eighteen year-old daughter, who will be graduating high school in 2 months & then will be off to college.  She will soon be getting her drivers license (after a year of driving lessons & practice with me), she has a serious boyfriend & wants to go on birth control (which I fully support) & is about to enter the brave, new world of "adulting". My sassy little girl is now a young woman & ready to fly the nest. It's exhausting dealing with all of this, both mentally & physically! And sadly, I have no one to guide me, because my mother, my aunt & my "antie cousin", who I was very close with my entire life, are all dead & gone. No wise, female relatives that I can turn to for advice & counsel... So, I've had to rely on myself & make it up as I go along. I hope that I've successfully navigated the parenting thing & that I've steered my funny, intelligent, supremely talented & lovely daughter in the right direction. Nobody's going to give me trophies or medals for my efforts, but I know that I have done my damndest to give her both roots AND wings!

I don't know how I have been able to be so highly functional under so much pressure. I don't know too many people who could have survived what I've survived and still be standing. I like to think it's because of my genetic predisposition for survival, thanks to stubborn, strong Ukranian / Polish / British Isles personality traits & superior DNA. I'm sure that my twisted, wicked sense of humor, forged out of trauma & suffering, has also kept me from breaking into a million little pieces. I have literally walked through the fires of hell or Mordor & kept on going, despite being a bit singed. Perhaps I'm like that piece of fossilized, carbonized coal, that gets squeezed between shifting tectonic plates for millenia, compounded by the immense pressure & heat of gravitational forces & time... I could've been ground into dust, but instead, I was forged into a briliant, glittering, multifaceted diamond.