Do you get a lot of the chain emails that threaten financial ruin if you don't forward it to 50 friends within five minutes? I get them constantly, and from people that really should know better. Some of these actually contain sweet messages or sentiments, but I'm so put off by the emotional blackmail, that I'm too pissed to appreciate them. There is one that I've received that always makes me think of someone that probably saved my life several years ago, my former next door neighbor, Louise. The email is the one that talks about people coming into your life for a reason, or a season, or a lifetime.
When my ex-husband and I first moved to Minnesota, we lived in the suburb of Apple Valley. Our move in date was December 12th, and after living in Georgia for the past seven years we were looking forward to a traditional snowy Christmas (fools). Our hopes were crushed when the temperature climbed to 72 that day. The movers wore wife beaters and shorts as they unloaded the moving van and joked that this must be Texas, not Minnesota.
The first night after we moved in, there was a knock at the door around 8 PM. There was a small half circle window in the top panel of the front door, and I could see a pair of eyes and the top of someone's head peeking in. I opened the door to find a middle aged couple, who introduced themselves as our next door neighbors, John and Louise. Louise did almost all the talking as she pushed a white bakery bag full of cookies into my hands. Quick introductions were made and she encouraged me to come over if I needed anything. Oddly, even though the residents of this state are known for Minnesota Nice, John and Louise were the only neighbors who came to introduce themselves.
Fast forward several months, the snow that we were so anxious for is finally melting, and the kids and I are going outside to see what the spring thaw is uncovering in our back yard. Louise was also outside, doing some early spring cleanup. She and I began to chat, and we discovered that we'd both lived in Pennsylvania and had done interstate transfers several times before settling in Minnesota. Louise was the same age as my mother, her oldest daughter was the same age as me, but she had two teenaged children from her second marriage to John. I found that I really liked her, and was grateful that she was so open and warm. It had been a long winter of days spent cooped indoors with three children under the age of six, and I was craving a real live conversation with another human being. To top it off, I knew there was something seriously wrong with my marriage, and I was a big ball of emotional turmoil inside.
In our house, I had a corner kitchen window that looked out over Louise's front sidewalk. We'd exchange smiles and waves as she let her dog, Coco, out for bathroom breaks. Occasionally, she'd come to the front door, and would visit with the kids and me, never staying more than a half hour or so. I wanted her to stay forever. She was so generous with compliments, whether it was about the kids or my cooking or a little knick knack that I purchased in my lame attempts at decorating. My marriage was deteriorating, I was scared shitless, but I confided in no one. I was the poster child for low self esteem back in those days, and had convinced myself that I was the most worthless human on the planet.
I kept my marital woes to myself. I didn't want to share them with my family in Ohio, because I knew that if my husband and I reconciled my family would still cling to the wrongs that I'd shared with them. I didn't want any unforgiven sins resurfacing at family reunions for the next fifty years, so I clammed up instead and reported to everyone that everything was fine, just fine. For months, I was miserable and unable to function at any level more than Mommy. I hadn't yet made any real friends in Minnesota, I felt completely out of place, and didn't know where to turn. Years later, one of the teachers at my children's school told me that she always worried about me during that time. She said the stress was etched on my face and she just didn't know how to approach me about it. In hindsight, it's probably better she didn't since I was terrified, and I'm pretty sure that a conversation asking about my mental well being would have quickly dissolved into an endless crying jag.
In spite of my burgeoning friendship with Louise, I didn't confide in her. Her family was there to celebrate my children's birthdays, her son babysat the kids on the rare occasion that I went out, and we shared dinners in each other's homes for a year until I realized that I was rapidly approaching a mental breakdown of some sort. I called Louise and asked if she would mind coming over. Alex was in school and the twins were occupying themselves in their playroom. Louise came to the door, and we sat at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee while I told her that the life I was living was about to come to a crashing halt. I was trembling, and out of breath, and dry mouthed. She patiently listened, interjecting only with an "uh-huh," " hmm," or "I know how you feel." She had survived her own difficult first marriage, and was completely empathetic. She had my back, that woman. When one of our snooty neighbors suggested to Louise that there was too much crabgrass in our lawn, Louise defended me to the woman and suggested that perhaps she should find better things to worry about.
For the next few months, Louise was by my side, literally. The kids adored her and John, to them she was "Miss Wuh-leeze" and he was "Mr. John." With no relatives within 800 miles, Louise and John were the closest thing the kids had to grandparents. She was there whenever I needed her, always just a phone call away. She understood my desire to keep my family intact, and she let me know that no matter what my decision regarding my marriage, she supported me. I can't go into all the sordid details of that relationship here. Suffice to say, it was the darkest point of my life. My ex and I, after much thought and effort, finally decided to end the marriage. It was beyond the point of repair.
Shortly after we made that decision, Louise broke more bad news to me. She and John were being transferred to Chicago, a move that would return them to the city they loved and nearer their oldest daughter. I was devastated. I didn't let on too much, because I knew she was excited but sad to leave the kids and me behind. I wanted to gather my little ones up and stow away in the moving van as they headed east. The only bright spot of her move was that the very first listing I had as a real estate agent was her beautiful home. She and John were patient as I muddled my way through the process. I was numb the day she moved away and mourned silently for the better part of a month. I kept looking for her out the window as I did the dishes, and when the doorbell rang, I held out hope that I'd see her eyes peeking over the window. I was desperately lonely, but her phone calls and emails continued to pull me through the dark times, and Louise celebrated every single one of my victories with me.
It's been more than eight years since then, and Louise and I still keep in touch. I visited her in Chicago once, and hope to do so again...maybe I'll do Blogher this summer and stop in to see her. She is like my mom version 2.0, and she is a lifetime friend. I only hope that she knows that I am indebted to her forever, she threw a lifeline to a drowning young woman and I can never fully repay her for that.
