Timing is Everything

(Louise, the prolific)

Had I found Thelma any sooner, I might not have been strong enough or determined enough to make that move in the right direction. As it was, I had spent the last year of my life getting "sober" from codependency. My daughter had problems, and we seemed to feed off of each other - with me always picking up the pieces for her when she drove her life into the ditch. I was also very codependent with my STBeX (soon-to-be-ex) husband, always enabling him not to be very responsible as the "provider" for the family. Many times, I was the one who had to go out and find work. I was good at it, though, always succeeding at whatever I set my mind to. Lucky for us, I could do that. Not so lucky for my kids, as their mom was usually traveling.

That year of recovery allowed me to see clearly what was mine and what was my daughter's or my STBeX's or God's. It allowed me to get out of my own way. It let me off the hook for the troubles of the world.

April 1st, I wrote to Thelma on both Classmates (which I hadn't found her on before then) and Facebook, hoping she'd remember me and write back. In my mind, she had moved on and wouldn't have a clue as to who I was. While I had spent the last 30 years thinking about her, I was sure she had never given a second thought to me.

Before the day was out, she had written back to me, twice in a row. In the first one, she seemed a little unclear about who I was, and then it was like a shock of recognition went through her. Within that one day, our notes to each other started flying back and forth minutes apart -- this was before I learned how to use chat on Facebook. Though we have erased all those messages for our own protection while we extricate ourselves from bad situations, they are forever etched in my mind. They went from friendly, long messages catching each other up on some things that have gone on since high school to a whole different tone a couple of days later.

April 3rd at noon (for anyone reading this who didn't already know), my ultimate nightmare came true. The police showed up at my door to tell me that my daughter was found dead at the home of a friend. After 8 weeks of red tape and toxicology tests, it was determined that she died of a fatal mixture of two common prescription drugs: Oxycontin and generic Ambien. If I put more details here, the ex might be able to find me through a search, so I won't. I'll just say that my life was forever changed that day. I still have moments of feeling like my guts are being torn out by a wild rhinoceros, like I may not survive my next breath from the absolute pain of the loss. I still have moments of disbelief that I'll never see my daughter again.

When I went to bed the previous night (a Thursday - and my daughter was a Thursday's child), my daughter was already gone, though I didn't know it yet. The next time I sent a message to Thelma, I had to tell her the horrible news. I think it was late Friday night when I wrote her. This was after I had made all the required telephone calls, gone to the funeral home, and fallen apart completely.

She was there for me in a way no one else was. My sister made plans to fly into town, and I really wanted Thelma, too, but I dared not say that. After all, I didn't yet know the full story. She was married. I didn't know how happily or unhappily she was married. Before the police came to my door that Friday, I had probed a little deeper into her life, asking about the years I'd missed - the years before she was married in 2001. The death of my daughter stopped us both in our tracks, however. It seemed like it would be inappropriate for me to ask for her to come to see me during all of the hell I was going through. But the most comfort I got from the STBeX was a pat on my shoulder. At least my son and I have a good relationship and we were of comfort to each other.

While I was dealing with the tragedy, an influx of family members, and endless planning for the memorial service, Thelma was at her mother's house for Easter. Little did I know, she was running about all the local towns looking for just the right gift to send to me. She was also immersed in my other blog, reading me and learning me.

A week after the memorial service, when everyone had gone home, I got a package in the mail. She and I had been talking on the phone by that point, and she asked me to please open it alone.

I went off to my room and pulled the shades. I was still crying my eyes out on a regular basis at that point, and my eyes felt red and raw. Just that afternoon, I'd had it out with the woman I had considered my best friend for years. She had come into town and made a jerk of herself, angry because I wouldn't go out and get a mani/pedi with her or take her out to eat. She seemed oblivious to the fact I'd lost my child only a week before.

In my room, I felt safe and secure. The world was outside that door, staying away.

I cut the tape off the box and peeled back the tissue paper. Inside I found a beautiful music box with an angel on top. The frame was gilded and the music was "How Great Thou Art". Tears slid down my face. It was the perfect place to put my silver pendant that held my daughter's ashes. She couldn't have known that I was conflicted about where to put that very special pendant. The music box was right on.

She also sent a card and a daily prayer book with the box, something else to show me how much she was thinking of me and missing me. Now that we were back in touch, we were hungry for each other's company. She had found the perfect way to tell me how much she felt my grief. I completely understood when I opened the box that she loved me. I no longer had to wonder how she felt then or now.

In the interim, while I was dealing with the planning of the memorial service, Thelma had responded to one of my FB emails in which I pried a little more into her past. I wanted to know if it was true that she had run off with one of our friends and if she knew anything about me. The response I got was a private email with the subject, "Yes". In her message, she said, "The answer is yes," that she had lived among women and had been out for many years BUT she did not "run off" with one of our friends. She moved away to the big city alone at age 17 and lived her life "out".

Life threw her too many curves at one time, however, in the 1990s and in 2000, and she ran back in the closet, succumbing to pressure from all sides.

The dam broke with that message because though it took me a few days to get back to her, I felt I had an opening to talk to her, and when the time was right, I did.

See you next time, L.