Flooding Back

[The following is a stream of consciousness post on a deeply personal matter. I'll be back to my normal posts soon.]

I hadn't thought about my childhood in a long time before my sister posted a link on her Facebook page to the '90s ballad, "Truly Madly Deeply." It's a love song that has probably been played ad nauseum at many a high school prom, but to me, this song has a deeper meaning. "Truly Madly Deeply" came out around the same time that my parents separated. We always had the radio on at home and so, for me, this song became the soundtrack to the first rough time in my life.

At seven years old, my whole world changed. I packed up half of my belongings and moved with my mom and 2-year-old sister from our big, beautiful house in an upscale neighborhood to a small, roach-infested apartment in one of the poorer sections of North Las Vegas.

It was scary. I was old enough to understand what was going on, but not quite old enough to understand why. It was the why that terrified me for the longest time. Having your parents divorce when you're young has a way of forcing you to grow up a little faster, even when your mom takes superhuman steps to protect and shield you from it.

I had nearly forgotten the song, but when I clicked on the video and the first notes came trickling through my headphones, I started to cry. All the times we scraped by to the pay the rent, when my mom had to sell rollerblades in dirt lots out of the back of a moving van, and when we would go dumpster diving for furniture and appliances or to Dollar Day at Savers to buy all of our clothes — it all came flooding back to me on a wave of tears that had been repressed for a long time.

Maybe it's just a coincidence that my sister posted this so near to Mother's Day. Listening to this song reminds me of my mom's strength and all of the sacrifices she made for myself and my sister. She was so committed to doing what was best for us. She worked at conventions, handing out flyers, even though she had a college degree in Business Management, so that she could keep my sister out of daycare. If she suffered, she did so quietly and with such dignity that we would've never known.

I don't know for the life of me how she did it. How did we survive on a paltry $300 a month in child support from my father — who never gave any indication that he was concerned for our financial situation? How did my mother hold everything together in the face of such seemingly insurmountable odds? I'll probably never know the depths of her strength and wisdom.

Because of my mom's sacrifices over many years, I have had the opportunity to become the man I am today. I have been able to realize my potential by following her example of hard work and stubborn determination. Her love inspires me. Because of her, so many of those tough times are augmented with beautiful, happy memories.

I'm still a little hurt. I'm still a little angry at my father for putting my family through such hell and haven't spoken to him in almost 5 years. But when I look back, there isn't much I would change. My mother has been happily married to a wonderful, caring man for almost a decade now. I have two more little sisters, whom I love and couldn't imagine living without. I have learned lessons that a life of privilege and money could never have taught me. The person I am today has been shaped and molded by this experience and it is ultimately good.

I feel like I'm getting to place where I will soon be able to heal the scars and I will once and for all put the pain behind me and remember only the good times. I take comfort in loving family, in supportive friends, in a God who doesn't abandon us, and in the words of a love song which was an unlikely source of inspiration in times of darkness:

I will be strong,

I will be faithful,

'Cause I'm counting on 

a new beginning;

a reason for living;

a deeper meaning, yeah.

...

And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky,

I'll make a wish,

send it to Heaven,

then make you want to cry. 

The tears of joy for all the pleasure and the certainty

that we're surrounded by the comfort and protection

of the highest powers,

in lonely hours;

the tears devour you...