One of my favorite movies is 'Shawshank Redemption. There is a scene in the movie where one of the characters, 'Ottis 'Red' Redding', is up for parole after serving 40 years in prison for a crime he committed as a young kid. When asked if he felt he was 'rehabilitated', this was his response:
Redding: There's not a
day goes by I don't feel regret. Not because I'm in here, or
because you think I should. I look back on the way I was
then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime.
I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him
-- tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long
gone and this old man is all that's left. I gotta live with
that.
I was reading my best friends blog this morning, 'Insufficient Mums', and her latest post titled 'Scrot Mother', had me thinking about my life, and choices. Had me thinking about how I got to where I am now, and had me dreadfully wishing I could go back. Go back to when I was a young, stupid girl. Like Redding, I want to go back. I look back on the way 'I' was then, a young, stupid kid who made poor choices. I wanna talk to her. I wanna try to talk some sense to her too - - tell her the way things are. But I can't. That girl's long gone and this old woman is all that's left. I gotta live with that.
I want to go back. I want to tell that girl that was sitting on her boyfriends back porch, crying, when she realized it was over, that she would be okay. That it wasn't the end of the world. That I didn't realize that my self worth, which I was so lacking, didn't come from him, but from within. I want to tell her to not give up my dreams and aspirations for anyone. That any man that loved me, REALLY LOVED ME, would support, and encourage me in my dreams. That I should listen to my mom, and grandfather, and go to school to pursue my dream to be a nurse. Or singer. Or 'Cruise Director', like Julie McCoy, on 'The Love Boat'. (glad I didn't choose that one...I get extremely sea sick!) I was full of 'Wanderlust'. I had so many dreams. Dreams I gave up. I allowed men to squelch. With their insecurities. With their 'NO'. I allowed my rose tinted glasses to be removed, not by me when I was ready. No. They were blown off my face. I have to live with that, too.
I wanna go back. I wanna go back to my home in Maplewood. To a simple time. To my room. My little world. Feel that again. Feel that energetic, fun-loving, out-going, risk-taking, sometimes reckless, young girl again. Dancing at family gatherings in my white 'go-go' boots, young girl. Fearless, and fanci-free..... My grandfather made home movies, capturing those moments. I can't watch them. Not now. They rip my heart into shreds. I am happy they exist. So that I know my memories are true. That they aren't some made-up fantasy, I conjured up. They are real. But they make me sad.
I want to get up off that back porch stoop, get in my car, drive to the college, and sign up. I want to be the woman that pursued her dream. Has self worth. Be the woman I would want my daughters to emulate. A good role model for them. Instead, I went out. Hungry. Craving to feel full again. Whole again. I thought I did. With the first man I met, an alcoholic (surprise, surprise) at a bar, getting in with a fake ID I had been given by my neighbor. That I married. I was pregnant. I realized too late that it was wrong. I want to listen again to my mother, who told me I didn't have to go through with it. She'd come, pack up my stuff and take me home. I didn't listen. I wanted for it to work so badly. It didn't. I managed to leave. With two young daughters. They were my life. I did not want them to live the life I had. I wanted to show them what a strong woman looked like.
Life was so messy. I put myself through Cosmetology school, while working nights as a bartender. A part of me became a bit of a rebel. Newly divorced, from a controlling, alcoholic. I was free. But, it was harder than I thought. Problems didn't magically go away once I divorced. They magnified. I just couldn't seem to get out from under the black cloud that seemed to follow me. One of my daughters began to exhibit behavioral issues. Everything was a battle. I lost my best friend. The blow was devastating. It took me a very long time to recover from that. The rejection was gut wrenching. The only escape I had was working at the bar. I was receiving attention from so many men. That made me feel worthy. Beautiful. Wanted. Adored. Lusted. But still empty. No amount of men, or sex, or alcohol, could fill me up.
I married again. A man I met while working at the bar. Any surprises here? See the pattern? Ya know, I knew. That 'still small voice' deep inside knew it was wrong. I have a bad habit of ignoring that gut feeling. That is what I wish I could go back and tell the young me. "Listen. Dammit!! Listen! Listen to that 'voice'. It knows. It really does. You can trust it. Please, Kimmy, I implore you, trust that. You can. Really."
My second marriage was the one that put me in my grave, and nailed the coffin shut. Kimmy was gone. I walked around, pretending I was happy. Any sense of self-worth I had remaining, the little I had mustered up, was gone. My mom knew it was wrong. Again, she tried. Again, I didn't listen. This marriage is a blog in and of itself, that I won't go into now. It has had more challenges than most marriages experience in a lifetime. I won't take that away from it. The loss of a son. A disabled daughter. The daily uncertainties. The struggles with my other daughters. The financial struggles. The medical costs. The slow, drifting apart. The shear loneliness. The destructive behaviors. It isn't a 'Lifetime' movie, with a happy ending.
Now, I am just a broken, old woman. Tired. Beaten up. Broken body from three back surgeries. The daily pain. The struggle to care for a growing, disabled daughter. With this broken body. Trying to rebuild. Again. Trying to spare my daughters the same mistakes. Praying they learn by my mistakes. Hoping they have it in them to not want the same fate as me, and to fight not to. To rage against anyone who would try to stop them. Not wanting them to be sitting in a bed, typing a blog about wishing they could go back. Oh, how I want better for them. I've seen glimmers of similarities, and it scares the shit out of me. All I can do it try. Try the same way my mom tried. With any luck, things will be different for them. They will have the self-worth I didn't. The self-worth I am working to have, for the first time.
It hasn't been easy, and I find myself tripping, and falling. I still seem to make poor choices at times. But, they are fewer. A lifetime of habits, and behaviors doesn't change overnight. I try to surround myself with strong women, women that have no problem telling me when they see me heading for a disaster. Year, and years of counseling have been invaluable. Sometimes I wish there was a large, blinking light above oncoming disasters, DANGER! WARNING WILL ROGERS!
I also try to remember, as C.S Lewis said, "Never too old to set another goal, or dream another dream." I will. I have to. I must. No option. No quitting. Today is a new day, and to remember,
'hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.'
dancing above our heads, in ecstasy.... 
