My Bright Umbrella

Something was different that morning. I could sense it the way you know it's the weekend rather than a weekday because the salty aroma of bacon wakes you instead of a routine yell from the bottom of the stairs. It wasn't a smell or sound, but rather the lack of both. I rubbed my eyes open to a beam of sunshine penetrating my bedroom window. What day is it? I wondered. Spring was in full swing and the light-filled hours were beginning to lengthen. However, it was unusual for my room to be that lit up before I made my descent from bed. It’s Wednesday and most definitely a school day, I recalled, kicking the covers aside. That degree of silence was not normal for my household. Being the second oldest of my three siblings, sleeping late was almost impossible. Yet, I had done just that. Where was the sound of feet running up and down the hallway or the customary cries over someone drinking the last of the milk? I slowly crept down the stairs and toward the kitchen. At last, I heard my parent's barely audible voices. They whispered emphatically and their hand gestures confirmed a disagreement was occurring between the two. Upon seeing the puzzled look on my nine-year-old face, their demeanors quickly shifted. Immediately, my mom walked over and told me that I would not be going to school. She said that my dad was taking us kids to the farm and that he had something to discuss. I knew not to be overly excited by this news. Missing school or a trip to my birthplace would usually be a treat, but the atmosphere remained tense. My baby brother wandered in ready for breakfast. His bright blue eyes were shining out from underneath shaggy blonde bangs, despite having his usual bedhead. He was too young for school and would be staying home with my mom today just the same as always. I quickly dressed and met my older brother and younger sister in the back seat of our maroon Chevy Impala. We started down our quiet street and turned onto highway 34 by Pioneer Orchard. The town where we lived was the kind that everyone knew what their neighbor had for dinner the night before. It's what I loved and hated about it. Not much exciting happened on a day-to-day basis so everyone looked for things to talk about. Little did I know, my family would soon be the latest scandal and serve as the topic of gossip.

The car ride remained as quiet as the house we had just left behind. I peered out of the window and tried to distract myself from the lump in my throat. The landscape changed as we drove along but the tension in my body did not. Gently rolling hills turned into fields of corn, which turned into barely inhabited, dense woods. When the pavement ended we slowly continued onto the windy gravel road that would eventually lead to our old farm. For the first time that day, warm, nostalgic feelings began to surpass my anxiousness. My parents had built a cabin in the middle of these woods and it was all I had ever known during the first five years of my life. My dad carefully crossed over the creeks and straddled the loose gravel pits to avoid getting stuck. It was not unusual for the road to flood or be completely impassable at times, especially in the winter. That road was one of the main reasons we eventually had to move. My mom's best effort to sway the school board into allowing the bus route to include our residence by becoming PTO treasurer was in vain. They were fully aware of the challenges that the road posed after trying to accommodate my older brother. Our relocation into town provided my parents with the luxury of reliable transportation just in time for my entry into Kindergarten.

When we passed the ever-flowing artesian well, I fully expected my dad to stop the car so that we could fill our water thermoses. He kept driving, but I knew we were almost to our destination. This natural aquifer was an essential water source for us before the cabin was equipped with utilities. My mom used to collect milk jugs and fill them with well water for everyday uses. A pond was dug out on the 100-acre property but the water was not potable and could only be used for swimming and bathing purposes. An outhouse was strategically constructed on the trail from the house to the pond. The layout was a functional one complete with chicken and duck coops and a separate pen for goats and even a pig. Both of my parents grew up in a big city and attended Parochial school themselves, so the decision to live off the land came as a surprise to most. Their goal was to maintain a simple life with a degree of self-sufficiency. My mom had perfected her baking skills to accommodate their lifestyle. She became thrifty in the kitchen utilizing any leftovers and making whatever she could from scratch. Fresh goat’s milk and eggs were plentiful but a consistent meat supply was harder to sustain. My mom would spend an entire day plucking chickens and quartering them into useable cuts of meat when the deep chest freezer ran low. She did not let anything go to waste and collected every last feather to stuff into a new pillow. Both of my parents planted and harvested any crops that could withstand the rocky soil, unpredictable rainfall, and wildlife scavengers. Only the hardiest survived and we usually ended up with an abundance of radishes, tomatoes, string beans, and squash. Wild raspberries and blackberries naturally grew in thorny, well-protected colonies. My mom frequently handed me a bucket with the request that I find and collect as many as I could. It never amounted to much and her hopes of making jam were rarely fulfilled since I had a hard time resisting my sweet tooth. There was a beehive full of honey, but I knew better than to steal from them. During these times, my mom was meticulous with journaling and documenting the blessing and struggles she encountered on a day-to-day basis. Surprisingly, the biggest challenges she recalled had nothing to do with managing an incessant workload or meeting the needs of a growing family. They were from her feelings of loneliness and isolation. She had a degree in nursing but her identity was becoming only a domesticated version of herself. After planning a successful home birth for my arrival, a friendship developed between her and the hired midwife. She was impressed with my mom's nursing experience as a labor and delivery nurse and her passion for obstetrics. Eventually, my mom began assisting her with other home births in the area. I remember being toted along with my siblings in the middle of the night to one that she performed alone due to the midwife being tied up with another birth. The unpredictability began to take its toll on our family and my mom ended up turning down a permanent position when the opportunity arose. Income remained a challenge but my parents continued working together and tackling each difficulty as it presented itself. When asked why they took the road less traveled, my mom recalls it was simply to prove they could do it.

Finally, we pulled into the driveway that remained unfinished. Each time it was like taking a refreshing stroll down memory lane. The property was now owned but not lived in by a local family physician. He verbally agreed to preserve the farmhouse during the sale and granted my parents access at their request. The Bluebells, Zinnias, and Queen Anne’s Lace my mom had planted as a border to the front patio were beginning to flower. The outdoor metal table where I spent time with her, attempting to recreate botanical scenes with watercolors, was unchanged except for the addition of a little rust. I couldn't wait to check out the swing set and treehouse in the backyard. Then, at once, I remembered I needed to find out why we were here in the first place. Our car came to a halt and everyone jumped out at the chance to stretch our legs. My dad told us we were going to hike around a bit and pointed in the direction of the pond. My chest began to tighten again as he gradually revealed what we were all anticipating. “Your mom and I have decided to split up. This has nothing to do with you kids. I hope you understand,” his voice trailed off. No one cried. No one protested. We just accepted the information the same as one would a weather forecast. However, I didn’t know how to prepare for this new reality. If an umbrella were necessary for a rainy day, what would a divorce require? My mind raced as we trekked along, my dad pointing out poison ivy patches for us to avoid. The birds chirped happily and the fragrant honeysuckle overwhelmed my senses but a shadow was cast over all things once pleasurable to me. The darkness persisted from that day forward contrary to everything else in my life that began changing at a rapid pace.

The next step in the impending separation, was for my parents to split time with us. My dad camped out at a nearby state park for a while but ultimately got a small one-bedroom apartment. He picked us up and we would just drive around or stop by his girlfriend’s house. A woman named Sheila was the person I came to understand as the responsible party in the division of our family. I had been introduced to her before at my dad’s place of work. He was the administrator of the only long-term care facility in town. Sheila was the director of nurses there. My mom also helped out a couple of days a week utilizing her nursing degree. It was not uncommon for my siblings and me to join her after school to color pictures for the residents on her workdays. I remembered Shelia as nice and friendly and that didn't change when she became more of a fixture in our life. However, visitation with my dad felt like visiting a stranger. He joined the same non-denominational church that she attended and insisted we do the same. I longed for my mom to accompany us so my world would feel normal again, even if it were temporary. Meanwhile, on alternate weekends with her, she began to allow us to miss obligatory Sunday Mass. My mom decided what we needed more than spirituality was emotional healing. We sat around the kitchen table discussing our feelings but we didn't know how we felt so there was not much discussion. Little pieces of paper were passed around for us to anonymously write down what thoughts might be circulating in our young minds. My mom unfolded the paper I recognized as my own. “I wish l could throw Shelia in the trash,” she read aloud. Everyone laughed. Deep down, that was not what I desired, but I did want to see my mom smile. The affair had already caused so much pain in our lives, I didn’t wish for any more on anyone.

Grams was living in California at the time when she heard from my mom. “Come out here,” she suggested. “I will help you.” Those were the only words my mom needed to hear. A life preserver was being offered and she could not refuse it even though it was on the other side of the country. My grandmother had raised eight children as a stay-at-home mom in the Midwest. Once they were all grown, she relocated to Los Angeles seeking therapy for her life-long battle with depression. She had spent the past couple of years getting healthy and was finally in a position to help my mom when she needed it the most. In the beginning, my mom resented her absence but it was, ultimately, the most loving thing she could've done for her children and grandchildren. This story of resilience is as much about my grandmother as it is about my mom. Taking care of herself enabled her to take care of others. It was a cumulative effect on our entire family. We moved to California just before the beginning of the following school year. My mom found an affordable rental home in a good school district with an accessible bike path to the beach. She obtained her California State nursing license and began working full-time. Early on, my mom took us to Toys R Us and announced we could each pick out a brand new bicycle. I felt like I had won the lottery as I perused by the newest and shiniest models. Instead of just admiring and adding them to my wish list, I got to try my favorite one out and take it home. The three-year-old, banana seat version that I had learned to ride on and left behind was no match for my new 10-speed. I rode my bicycle to and from school, proudly. On the weekends, we utilized the bike path and rode to Santa Monica Pier to spend the day by the water. Grams moved in and assisted with rent, childcare, cooking, and chauffeuring. At the same time, she exposed me to a world I was completely unfamiliar with. I met her gay friends and inquired about the interracial relationship she was in. Before bed, she read us the comic page from the daily newspaper while clipping articles for my mom to review after work. It wasn’t perfect and nothing would keep us from mourning my dad’s absence, but I began to see bright spots amidst the once dark.

My mom received counseling and found resources to move forward in the best possible way. As a child, I watched her transition from pioneer woman to homemaker to full-time career woman securing much-needed health insurance for her children. She adapted to each circumstance with resolve and when she stumbled, I watched her accept a helping hand. I learned that showing weakness did not make me weak. True strength came from knowing myself, first. That knowledge would further my ability to good decisions and was completely independent of another’s actions. I respected my mom and, therefore, I learned what it meant to have self-respect. The definition of a boss is a person of authority or one in a leadership position. A mom is both. Most will freely follow a good leader, trusting their guidance. They are like the beams from a lighthouse tower, making it possible for a captain to safely navigate their ship. Returning to my previously posed question: If an umbrella is necessary for a rainstorm, what is necessary during a life storm? My mom was my umbrella. My grandmother was hers. It’s what I hope to be for my daughters – a guiding light.