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July 23, 2003 - "Left Behind"
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
"Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine." ~Lord Byron (1788-1824) English Poet
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GIVE TO HOSPITALIZED CHILDREN & BABIES! Visit the page of cancer patient and Woman Extraordinaire Gery E. Drahn, where you can help her in her drive to bring books, stuffed animals, and baby blankets to hospitalized children and babies! www.2theheart.com/Papillon
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It's so good to share a story with you by long-time fave Deb Simmons again! Deb's story "Left Behind" confirms my theory that one is never too old (sorry Deb) to be a need one's parents!
"Left Behind"
by Deborah Simmons
All good things must come to an end--and that includes my childhood. I suppose I shouldn't complain, as I had an exceptionally long and happy upbringing, but in my opinion, it came to an untimely and entirely-too-abrupt end a few years ago--six, to be exact. Yes, my childhood lasted through my 45th year and believe me, I wasn't a happy camper when it finally came to a close.
When my parents packed up a lifetime of precious memories and long familiar family treasures, the very foundation of my existence, in the spring of 1996, they left behind three children. I, however, was the only one living in the same town, so their desertion impacted me on a daily basis. No longer would I encounter them in the local grocery store, the post office, or at the gas station; no more dropping by for a sandwich at lunchtime or after work for iced tea and small talk; and sadly, no more quick waves as we passed each other on the road. Oh sure, there were several parent sightings, particularly in the months just after their departure, but like Elvis, it was too late. They had left the building.
Of course, I did my level best to stop them the day they left. But tears didn't work, my whimpering fell on deaf ears, and I could only run after them for about twenty feet before I fell on my face in the hail of gravel they left in their wake. They swear to this day they didn't see me behind them, flailing my arms and yelping as they drove off. I choose to believe them. The alternative is too painful to contemplate.
I considered reporting them to the Family Independence Agency's Protective Services office for child abandonment. After all, you don't just sell your house, build a new one, start a new life in a beautiful climate 1500 miles away--and leave your kids behind. It just isn't done. But that's exactly what they did. And after a while, I realized no one at Protective Services would have had the time or inclination to travel down there on my behalf and drag them back anyway. I was on my own.
So I did the next best thing. I began a shame campaign. I tried my best to lure them back with whining, complaining, sniffling, begging--you know, the usual stuff kids do when they find something isn't going their way. Nothing worked. What had come over them? Why on earth would they choose to live in a tropical climate, free of winter woes and worries, in a beautiful new home in the middle of Florida when they had me in Michigan? What responsible couple would trade the local mall for Walt Disney World, the Kennedy Space Center, and the ocean? And who in their right mind would sacrifice six months of snow and ice (followed by six months of the inevitable Great Mosquito Plague) for ten months of summer and two months of temps in the mid-70's? It just didn't make any sense. Well, not to me, that is. They, however, seemed to be perfectly satisfied with the way things turned out. H-mm-p-h-h.
Well, time has passed and I've survived. Thanks to John and the kids, my life is full and happy, despite my status as a "snow bird orphan." Recently, I was given the opportunity to tour their former home by the kind folks who bought it when my parents left. I parked under the cheery tree in the driveway as I have done hundreds of times in the past, automatically ducked to avoid low-hanging branches and walked up to the front door. As I toured the familiar rooms and admired the changes the new owners had made, I heard whispers from the past--laughing voices, echoes of birthday parties and holiday gatherings, and chit-chat around the kitchen table at lunchtime. I heard the giggles of my tiny children as they darted in and out of rooms, enjoying their visit to Grandpa and Grandma's house. I heard my husband and my sister and brother and their families; I heard good times and bad, tears and laughter, hellos and goodbyes.
I heard life. My life. Their life. Our life.
I smelled the unique scent of "home"-- that distinctive aroma of my parents' belongings, their furniture, their essence. I could almost see them walking toward me, working in the laundry room, cleaning the bathroom or at the stove fixing supper. I could feel their hugs as I left, I could feel their cheeks (one soft, one bristly) as I gave them each a goodbye kiss.
But it isn't their house anymore, and my last visit, though bittersweet, was therapeutic. I needed one last look at "home" before I could let go. The changes in decor made it seem just different enough that I could let go and concentrate not on what I've lost, but on what I've gained over the years--recollections of their home and the family it sheltered; the times, both good and bad, it helped us to weather; and the Mother and Dad who dwelled within its walls.
It took a while, but I think I'm all grown up now. I still miss my parents and I always will, but I no longer make anonymous phone calls to "America's Most Wanted," spinning tales of desertion and cruelty, and my parents haven't considered a restraining order for months now.
If you ask me...my parents probably deserved some time away from me.
Deborah Simmons copyright 2002
Deb is a long-time 2TheHeart beloved writer. Her humorous and poignant writing has endeared her and made her a highly successful freelance writer in many genres. She now lives in beautiful Kentucky and is a syndicated newspaper columnist, grandmother and all 'round amazing lady! See more of Deb's work here: www.2theheart.com/DeborahSimmons
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BOUTIQUE! Check out 2TheHeart's online boutique with books, candles, crafts, angels, soaps, cards and much more from our own online family members! www.2theheart.com/boutique
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The Letter Box:
2theheart,
Mike's story about his beloved Maw-Maw brought tears to my eyes...and joy to my heart. As a grandmother I pray that I can impact my grandchildren's lives, in such a wonderful way. Thank you Mike, for sharing your raw emotions and memories of your Grand mother. How blessed you were. Bobby Smith
Mike, don't tell me you don't know how to make banana nut bread! How could you let that special recipe go! That'll larn you. Now think of something you don't want your loved ones to lose when its your turn and make sure they have it - whatever it is.
What a wonderful blessing to have known your grandmother and be so close to her, what a great lady, who knew just what a boy needed. I hope you find great comfort in your faith and knowledge that Maw Maw's goodness will ensure her a lovely heavenly home, where you will see her again. Bless you,
Margaret Drysdale, Yorkshire, England
2theheart,
Mike's touching tribute in memory of his "Maw Maw" touched my heart. I know that his heart will hold "her key" forever ~ love is locked away there and will remain until that glorious day when their hearts are joined once more in a place where all the keys are alike. My thoughts and prayers are with him through this grieving time in his life. "He now holds the key."
All the best Francine Pucillo
Dear Susan,
I am sorry to hear about Mike's grandmother, but I love his story "The Key." It's those special people in our life that unlock the door to heaven that can never be replaced. Thanks for sharing it with us Mike.
Annettee Budzban
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www.2theheart.com
Making a difference, one story at a time!
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