Out Of Darkness

by Smith, Stephanie Jean

  If people had to guess, they would probably say that I’m an extrovert, when in reality I’m more comfortable in the background. I’m excellent at one-on-one relationships. As the crowd gets larger, I’m more content to listen to what others have to say. I have friends who are extroverts who are open and gracious to most everyone, they’re congenial hosts, and people are always welcome in their homes. These people are often social butterflies and fit in whatever situation.

  If any of my friends showed up at my house, I would greet them warmly and invite them in, and I’m sure we’d have an enjoyable time. However, if I'm feeling ornery that day, I may just pretend like I'm not home. There are some pockets in life that I reserve for myself. My home is my sanctuary, and I have never invited anyone over for a visit. Wow, I bet a psychiatrist would have a field day with me. Even as a child I did most things by myself, I’ve always been a loner I didn’t need other people around to entertain me, I know this has carried over into adulthood too.

  My friends are reading this story going; yeah Steph has never invited me over to her house just to shoot the breeze. I’m probably going to regret saying this but, I don’t have control over other people’s actions, so I usually prefer to visit others, then I’m free to leave whenever I want. When people visit you, you have to suffer their presence until they decide to leave. Some people I hate to see leave and others have me wondering why they come over in the first place. When I visit others, I’m always conscious of the time. I don’t stay long enough for people to think, hey when is she leaving? In the back of my mind, I’m actually thinking how long do I have to stay.

  Reflection on Mother’s Day

  I've come to the conclusion that I truly didn't know my parents as well as I thought I did. It took me twenty years to appreciate the sacrifices my parents endured, especially my mother. I was a “daddy’s girl,”, so I spent most of my childhood basking in the glow of my father’s adoration. My mother wasn’t a mean person; however, she always seemed to be a sullen, illusive, and at times terribly unhappy.

  Looking back on my childhood, I can honestly say that my mother never appeared to be truly happy unless she was reading or writing. My assumption was that the source of her discord always seemed to focus on me and my ten siblings.

  I loved my father dearly; however, there were undercurrents in my parents’ relationship I didn’t come to understand until I was older. Once, I heard my father tell my mother that she could never make it on her own, not with ten children to raise. Unfortunately for my mother, she hadn’t worked outside the home since she married my father. Therefore, my father’s threat was real in her mind.

  Several years later, my father was in a near fatal accident, which left him disabled, and unable to maintain a job. For the first time in twenty years, my mother had to work. The only job she could find was as a nurse’s aide (CSM), it wasn’t a terrific job; however, it provided her with something she hadn’t had in a long time, spending money and freedom.

  Men and children don’t realize that being a woman is more than just being somebody’s wife or mother. Women have thoughts, wants, and needs just like anyone else. Things began to change for the better around the house. My mother recognized my love for music and signed me up for piano lessons. She bought new furniture for the house, spruced up her wardrobe, and she even managed to talk the manager of the neighborhood Good Will out of an old use piano that had seen better days. My father belittled her efforts, but my mother held her ground.

  “Every day in life is a series of choices, the path you choose make you or break you for the rest of your life.” I can’t tell you how many times I heard my mother say this. She told me to work hard, and no one can ever hold me down. In my mother's mind, she didn’t accomplish the goals she set for herself because she married too young and her husband and children took up every spare moment of her life.

  My siblings and I not been in the same city for nearly twenty-two years, so plans were made for a family reunion. Before reunion could be put into motion, my father passed away in October 1994. I didn’t want my mother to miss the opportunity of her lifetime. So instead of a reunion my siblings and I decided to give my mother a surprise birthday party.

  It took six months of planning, but we pulled off the biggest birthday surprise party my mother had ever seen. For months, we searched for old friends and people who worked with my mother at the hospital. It wasn’t easy most of them weren’t in the phone book and we ended up tracking them down starting with the old address.

  The night before the party, I trembled with anticipation the food was ordered, and the hall was rented. Now, all everyone had to do was show up. The day of the party, I received several phones call from people who changed their minds about attending my mother’s party. Evidently, one of the church committees organized a celebration for the pastor’s wife on the same day as my mother’s party.

  I was angry that these people dismissed my mother so easily. What was supposed to be the biggest birthday bash was quickly turning into a small tea party. My oldest brother gently chastised me and reminded me whom the party was for. I got so hung up in the party preparations that I forgot about trying to ensure my mother’s happiness. My Mother was going to have a fabulous time no matter who showed up. We had accomplished quite a lot: we kept the party a secret for six months; many relatives came from out of town just for the party; for the first time in decades my siblings and I worked as a team.

  On the night of the party, my aunt and uncle picked up my mother for what she thought was her birthday dinner. To my surprise and delight the hall was filled with well-wishers, friends, and family. I always thought that my mother was rather unemotional. However, on the night of her party she glowed, I’ve never seen my mother so free and happy.

  Later that night while opening her birthday cards, mother confided to me that she never thought she would live to see all of her children together again. We had unknowingly succeeded in making one of her greatest dreams come true. For the first time in twenty-two years, all of my siblings were in the same room celebrating my mother’s life.

  Many birthdays have come and gone; however, my mother still reminisces about the birthday bash her children gave her eighteen years ago. I didn’t always show my appreciation for my mother, but I don’t think I would be the person I am today without her.

  Short Trip

  I was dreadfully hungry all Saturday morning, and the only thing I wanted to do after work was to eat something, take a nap, and do nothing for the rest of the day. After leaving work at 1:00 pm, I decided to make a short trip to the store. Short trip to the store is an oxymoron there is no such thing. My intentions were to grab some hamburger, chips, cheese, and buns; five minutes top right, no way. It took five minutes to find a parking space and another five to walk to the store.

  As soon as I entered the store I saw someone who used to work at my previous place of employment. I hadn’t seen her since I was re-deployed (fancy word for fired with severance); I heard through the grapevine that she’d recently been re-deployed. She hugged me, and we stood there in the middle of the aisle, blocking everyone’s way to chat for about twenty minutes. When I shop in the store, I get irritated with people who block the aisles running their mouths, now here I was the biggest offender. She and I exchanged contact information promising to keep in touch.

  I barely moved a couple of feet before seeing someone else who used to be a member of one of my business networking groups. He hugged me, and then exchanged contact information with the promise to do lunch soon. I was happy to see him as well; I haven’t seen him since he was fired from his job years before. He’s a terrific person, and I’ve missed his quick wit and dark humor. He and I talked for about fifteen minutes just catching up on the last three years. He was unemployed for eight months before he found another position in his field. It took me sixteen months to find another full time position, and I’m still not working in my field. He hugged me again before continuing with his shopping.

  I bare
ly made it around the corner before I saw someone else I knew. The lady in question used to coordinate the youth enrichment program I enrolled my nephew in for a couple of summers while he was in grade school. She didn’t hug me, but she asked me how my son was doing; I didn’t take the time to correct her I just told her that he’s sixteen and taller than me. She and I conversed about general things and carried on with our shopping.

  I had two more stops to make before going home; I’ve been promising my mother that I would pick up a shower chair for her because it’s getting harder and harder for her to stand in the shower. I went to a drug store that specializes in home care products such as canes, wheelchairs, etc. Now there were two shower chairs that were exactly the same except that one was gray, and the other was white. Did I just buy the cheaper one and move on, of course not? I wanted to know why the white one cost more, so I stood there talking with the salesperson about the why and wherefore of this stupid chair.

  Then I ran a little experiment. Walking around looking at products determining if the prices were higher if the colors were different. I found out that white potty chairs cost more than gray ones and the black wheelchairs cost more than gray and blue ones. What should have been a five minute stop turned into a thirty minute stop?

  I stopped to fill up my tank and purchase lottery tickets. Then I called my sister to tell her that I had a specific project for her. Fern is good at putting things together, so I knew she would love assembling mother’s shower chair. I was watching TV as my sister put the chair together.

  As soon as it was assembled my mother said she was ready to use it, and she wanted me to wash her hair. Suddenly I felt guilty; I didn’t realize until just that moment how much my mother needed that shower chair. She told me a month ago, when I wasn't too busy she would like a shower chair. My mother never shows a sense of urgency so my radar should have gone off. I washed her hair and helped her with her shower, and you wouldn’t believe how happy she was.

  I got off work at 1:00 pm; I didn’t sit down to eat my cheeseburgers until seven o’clock that evening. Was I upset about the time I wasted talking in the store, helping my mother, or the missed nap? Actually, I felt revived as if I’d received an iron shot. If I provided the people that I saw on this day, half of the good will and entertainment that they provided me, then we all had a pretty darn fantastic day. Never be too stressed to bless someone else!

  Smells

  Nothing can trigger a memory like a certain smell. To me there’s nothing better than carrot cake or brownies baking in the oven. Years ago my church’s choir needed to purchase more robes, and as Choir President I decided to use a Mother’s Day bake sale as an event for raising money.

  A pastor once asked me why would anyone want to do all that work for so little return. My answer to that question is doing things for people that you love and care about are well worth the work involved. I took bake sale orders from friends, family, and co-workers. For a solid week, I came home from work every day and baked several batches of cookies or at least three cakes. I was exhausted, but I felt such a sense of accomplishment that I hadn’t felt since. That first year, our Mother’s Day bake sale, raked in over $1,000 dollars.

  I still think about those times and wonder how I got over? How did I find the strength to make it through? As with all major projects, I had help, other choir members were baking pies and cakes too because we were working for a common goal. My sister, who doesn’t attend church, made lemon meringue pies for me. She even helped me to frost the cakes when I was too tired to do myself. I even had a friend who wasn’t in the choir baking pound cakes as well as keeping track of the money during the sale. Now, anytime I bake chocolate chip cookies or frost a cake I think of those times, and it makes me smile.

  Smells can trigger other feelings too. I used to live a block away from the grade school I attended, and I swear I knew when my mother was cooking cabbage. I absolutely hate cabbage. The smell of it cooking makes me dizzy and upsets my stomach. The texture of cooked cabbage is slimy, and the color is off putting. Mother used to tell me that I was making myself sick with all my nonsense, and she would fix my plate full with cabbage anyway.

  It never failed I would vomit right after consuming it; sometimes it would come back up before I could finish chewing. I’ve even had friends tell me that my mother just didn’t know how to cook it right. If I tasted their mother’s cabbage, I’ll think I died and went to heaven. They got the "died" part right; my sister-in-law tried to make me eat cabbage once too. I told her that cabbage made me sick, but she didn’t believe me any more than my mother did until I threw up on her new carpet.

  I never considered that I may be allergic to cook cabbage until later on in life. I was in college when Runza sandwiches became popular, back in those days fast food places didn’t tell you the ingredients. The first time I ate a Runza I was sick to my stomach, I emptied my stomach not even twenty minutes after eating it. Later on I found out that cooked cabbage was inside Runza sandwiches.

  Sometimes certain smells can let the body know when we shouldn’t indulge in something. My sense of smell was on target I just didn’t realize until later in life that because cabbage is so abhorrent to my sense of smell that it’s something that I should never eat. Think about this when meat is rotten or turning bad sense of smell gives a warning.

  Smells can also remind you of people. My father was a counselor for AA; when I smell cigars or Old Spice it makes me think of my father getting ready for a speaking engagement. He would ask me to pick out a suit, shirt, and tie for him to wear. I would listen to him practice his speech as I shined his shoes. I don’t know if he realized that I was hanging on every word he uttered. Oh what I wouldn’t give to revisit those days again.

  When I smell Tide it makes me think of my mother hanging out clothes on the clothesline in the back yard. I used to run up and down the rolls of clothes and make a game of it. Later on, when the clothes were dry, my mother and I would shake them to make sure there were no bugs on them before taking the clothes in the house.

  A sniff of Shower-to-Shower reminds me of when my mother used to get ready for work. She doesn’t wear perfume because it makes her breakout. So before, she went to work at night she would take a bath and afterward she would put on 'Shower to Shower', and the whole house would smell like it for a few minutes.

  Every time I smell shampoo I think of my sister-in-law’s beauty salon and the discussions we used to have about whatever was going on in the news. My mother, sisters, and I would get our hair and nails done, and it was just like a social gathering. Some of the best times in my life have been triggered by smells, and I keep those things around me because I know that after, one whiff, I’ll be transported back to another place and time. I hope a smell triggers some incredible memory for you today!

  Thank You for My Flowers

  One of my previous pastors used to say time and time again, give me my flowers while I’m still alive to enjoy them. Last week I received my flowers from family, friends, church family, and just well-wishers. I’ll never forget the day I had my stroke, February 10, 2010 around 3 pm.

  There was nothing memorable about the day other than sitting there wishing I could be somewhere else. I was eating Cheetos and drinking a Coke when it happened. I lifted the Coke can with my left hand to take the last sip of Coke and my whole arm went numb and fell onto my desk.

  My mother had suffered two mini-strokes, and I knew some of the symptoms. I Googled the symptoms of strokes and heart attacks and called my sister who used to be a nurse. She confirmed my suspicions that I was probably having a stroke and demanded that I get to emergency right away. My left arm hung by my side like a useless appendage. In addition to the numb arm and tingling fingers, I had a severe headache.

  Since I was only minutes from a hospital, I asked one of my co-workers to take me. I scared my co-worker because he couldn’t believe I was so calm about my condition. I used to be a disaster recovery planner, and I’ve worked disaster scenes for wo
rk and the Red Cross. I always try to keep a calm head, but if a fire is involved all bets are off.

  I was able to walk to my co-worker’s car without any difficulty before we could pull out some stupid woman was blocking our departure. After several hand jesters and expletives on my co-worker’s part, we finally pulled out of the parking lot. That was so out of character for him that I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it the situation was funny.

  The hospital was a couple of blocks away, and we made it there within five minutes. As soon as I walked into emergency and started talking about a numb arm, tingling fingers, and a severe headache. I was swiftly pulled back into a room where two nurses stripped off my shirt and bra and had me in a hospital gown. They were constantly asking me questions and asking me to squeeze their fingers. The doctor came in and listened to my heart, checked my eyes, and started rattling off a series of questions. He immediately started me on blood thinners and ordered a battery of tests.

  By the time the doctor was done, my sister Linda had showed up. I was moved to another room to administered the blood thinner. As the nurse hooked me up, I used this as an opportunity to notify everyone in my cell phone address book about my situation. As soon as I hit the send button my sister Linda took my phone from me, she said there was no way I was going to sit there in emergency texting.

  Hey I didn’t see the problem I was on drugs and I wasn’t feeling any pain at the time. At least not until they told me how much I weigh, I was like how can that be possible. The nurse told me that scales don’t lie. I wasn’t calling the scale a liar I was calling her one because she obviously transposed some numbers. By that time my sister Joanne showed up telling me that I was probably going to have to take medication for the rest of my life (gee who let the gloom and doom fairy out of her cage).