Mean Girls
Thursday, April 2, 2009 at 11:33AM There was a mean woman. At least I thought she was mean because she had no desire whatsoever to be my friend. She lived in my brand new and very small town, and she was what the latest books might call a Queen Bee. She seemed to rule over her sisters with sheer force of personality, and a biting sarcasm that was somehow both cruel and hilarious.
When we met, she had an instant and palpable dislike for me. I think my deep need to BE liked was the kicker that got us off on the wrong foot. It is not an exaggeration to say that in the eight years I lived there it never got better. Running into her on the street, in a store, at a party--never a joy.
But the years change us, life changes us. Sometimes, heaven help us, the unspeakable happens. Several years after we moved away, she lost her first-born son to an overdose. He had been clean for so long, then a lapse. I imagined her heart shattered into a million slivers of light that would never come whole again. The flowers and heartfelt card we sent could certainly bring no comfort, I knew that.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. She has a huge support network, and I made quiet inquiries through mutual friends, how is she? How is she coping? So much to carry.
Then I got cancer, that kind that grows so fast that even the doctors are afraid. Chemo right away, manageable at first, but over the months, harder and harder. Then one day, perhaps the hardest day, a small package arrived in the mail.
From her, of course--though it's crazy to write of course since we hadn't spoken in so long, had never really spoken. But, of course because she knew more than me what it is to wake up one day to an alien world, where nothing is as it was, to pull yourself up out of fear and despair, to move forward through pain and sorrow. I was sick, yes, and I might die, but she...she had faced the unfaceable.
The package had a beautiful and delicate necklace, engraved with one word: breathe.
Breathe.
This is how the mean woman helped me to remember to breathe, because sometimes that's all you can do. This is how she taught me that love can grow anywhere, that mean is a made-up word, that your sister may be where you least expect her.
Reader Comments (8)
This is beautiful, my sweet...
I am so touched by your writing. And this post is so meaningful. When my husband passed away, the people that I least expected were the ones that came forward immediately. People are funny.
Thank you, Tere. I am sorry your husband died; the too soon part is so hard. And yes, people are funny. And dear. Love to you and your dear ones.
I'm sad to say that sometimes it takes a tragedy to bring people together. Over the past 34 years I have only seen my brother Bob three times. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him, but he moved far away and our lives never really intersected. However, a year ago his wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and I felt the need to call him. That one phone call changed everything. We now talk on a regular basis and call just so say "hi." Diane has now passed away and I feel that our relationship will grow even closer. So, even though it took a terrible event to bring us together again, something wonderful is taking form.
You made me cry. Resurfacing to life is a humbling and frightening experience...thank you for sharing a part of you with all of us.
I still remember the phone call from my sister that told me the girl I competed with and was so jealous of my whole life was scheduling the funeral for her parents as her father shot her mother and then killed himself. Their big fancy house, her beautiful clothes - everything I envied of her all through school fell away to nothing as I realized how desperate and difficult her life really was. I drove through the night to be at the funeral. It was so tragic. The hug we shared still touches me deeply.
Thank you for sharing this part of your story, it touched me.
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