Forced Out From the Shadows

 

6 Jan. 2020

My mother is a wonderful outgoing friendly person. She was often visiting with someone, either in person or on the telephone. I used to love to walk through a room and overhear her in conversation with someone because she was usually talking about her children and she always spoke in such high praise and esteem of me. I never heard her say anything negative about me in my life. And I tried to live up to her praise. I liked making my parents proud of me. 

  I felt rather bad for a couple of my siblings who did not always get the same praise. Oh, I’m sure that my mother loved us all the same. I don’t know, perhaps they just didn’t give her as many reasons to praise them. I know that one sister in particular seemed to always act in contradiction to any of my parents’ commands. I was often quite flabbergasted at how she and I would be given a certain command and then the second we were out of sight of our parents this particular sibling would do an exact opposite of what she was told. 

  But I have often wondered, how has my mother’s praise of me affected me. And how has my mother’s negative comments affected my sister? Did my sister ever overhear my mother speaking negatively about her? And what came first- the reason to speak negatively or the negative speech? We have a baby picture of my sister with a scowl on her face and my mother has said on many occasions that this sister was “born miserable”.  What would have happened to me if she had ever said such things about me? 

  I love my mother. I have always tried to please her and show her my appreciation for her. But at the same time, just between you and me, I can hardly stand to be with her. She is so overshadowing. When I was growing up I didn’t mind being in her shadow. I loved not having to put forth any effort to be social among adults. My mother would do all the talking and reaching out for both of us. She was such a social butterfly, buzzing around large crowds of people smiling and visiting with everyone with me in her shadows as she told everyone how wonderful I was. I didn’t even have to answer questions, she did that all for me. When she is next to me and someone asks me a question, I don’t even get a chance to answer. This is true to this day. 

  Unfortunately, one day I had to make my parents cry. I remember being nineteen years old and still living at home trying to please my parents and only dreaming of being rescued by a handsome prince someday. My rebellious sister had moved out years ago and was in a mess, unmarried and with a baby on the way. My parents used this example to show us the importance of why girls were to stay with their father until he hands them over to their husband. Which made sense to me and I had no problem with it until the day that he tried to explain to me the importance of families living close to each other to help each other. Not that I had a problem with that either until he told me that I was to find a husband that lived locally and would live next to him after we were married, etc. (I had attended the young single adult activities a few times in our area. I had not come across anything or anyone yet that I was interested in marrying.) I began to speak up in saying that I planned on following my husband wherever he needed to go. That conversation just ended in tears on my part and I went to bed quite depressed.

  Finally, the day came when some friends of my parents invited me to join them in attending a Youth for America conference in Utah. I was nineteen years old and not even asked, my parents were still deciding what I could and could not do. I wasn’t retarded or anything. I just didn’t want to be rebellious or unrighteous. I grew up with a couple rebellious siblings and I had no appreciation for their way of life or the outcome of any of their choices. 

  My parents are good people and I love them, truly. But my dad was always very old fashioned (which I didn’t mind). But he was also quite strict and controlling. For instance, he would decide that make-up and hairspray were evil one day and then forbid my sisters and I to wear it. My rebellious sister would put it on as soon as we left the house. This would go on for a while. I had to be patient and do my homework. I had to find scripture stories or some such to support my position. Then I would find ways of sweetly, righteously explaining things and he would loosen up a little. I got good at humbly supporting my opinion. My sister would try the “sweet talk”, or begging, or throwing tantrums and get nowhere. So, she simply would not obey.

  But I didn’t always win. One day he decided out of the blue that girls were to wear dresses to public events and activities. I tried to explain to him that girls may have worn dresses in public in his day but they were not as convenient or accepted in my day (the 1980’s). A spur of the moment argument that did not work. He insisted that I wear a dress or not get to go. Strange thing is, most of the time he said nothing and I wore pants anytime I wanted, but this particular evening he insisted. I tried to show him that I had no suitable dress to wear (out of pride and stubbornness, I only showed him my worst dress). He made me wear it anyway. I had quite a miserable night. Of course, if I would have ignored my outfit and swallowed my stubborn pride, I could have still had fun. My sister simply brought some pants to change into at the activity. She was already in the habit of ignoring his commands and knew how to get away with things. You might say she was practiced in the skill of dis-obedience. 

  Anyway, back to being nineteen, finally my parents decided that I could go with their friends, the Holland family, to Utah for the Youth for America week-long conference. I was thrilled. I had to spend one week with the Hollands working to earn my way. The conference costs money that we didn’t have. The Hollands promised to cover the costs for me if I worked for them for one week. We patched discarded tents from the Coleman plant next door and resold them. 

  My poor parents, I’m sure that I must have made them cry when I called them from Utah after the week-long conference and told them that I was not coming home. I hadn’t planned on staying. This was not a pre-meditated or rebellious goal of mine. I just had an overwhelming feeling on the last day of conference that I was to be out there and part of this Youth for America organization and this new school that they were putting together. The conference had worked, I guess, in exciting me to want to be a part of it. I felt like it was the Holy Spirit and God that wanted me to stay. 

  I was becoming, in my mind, an old maid at home. I felt like I had been ready to get married since I was sixteen years old. At nineteen, I imagined that I would just have to become an LDS version of a nun. At this time, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, of which I was proudly and gratefully a member, still required young woman to be 21 years old before serving an official mission for the church. So, I still had a few years before this was an available option for me. And I had decided at a young age that my highest goal and priority was to marry and have a family. IF I had not married by the time I turned 21, then I would happily serve a church mission. When I got out to Utah and experience this YFA conference, I was so excited about this organization that I decided to be a part of it any way that I could. My new mission in life. 

  There had been several YFA conferences this particular Summer, high up in the mountains of Duck Creek village Utah, above Cedar City. I had attended the second to the last one for the year. So, I stayed on for one more week and served in the kitchen for the last conference. But then, everyone was going home. Now what was I to do? The Hollands had gone back to Missouri. And no one was staying at the lodge in the mountain. They wouldn’t be back to start their new school until the following September. So, I had to catch a ride with a family who had been attending that last conference who lived in Phoenix, Arizona. My Grandma was living at the time in Phoenix. So, I called her and arranged to stay with her and asked the family to drop me off. They agreed and luckily had one open seat. 

  Those next couple months in Phoenix were long for me. I was itching to get back up to the school in Utah. But how? I had only a tiny bit of money given to me for my service in the kitchen at the end of the last conference. Not enough to get me anywhere. And no winter clothes or anything but my weeks’ worth of camp clothes and things I had brought with me. Plus, I didn’t have any money to attend the new school. I had talked to a couple of the administrators at the conference and convinced them to let me come and work at the school in trade for some studies with them. But there were no promises. I was to call up there to them later and find out if they had worked out a sure situation. I called several times over the next couple months. I was going crazy at my grandmother’s house, trying to be patient. I would play cards with my Grandma and great grandmother- Maw Maw. They loved the game of Skip-Bo. It was not a favorite of mine. I should have spent more time trying to get to know them better. But I was so anxious to get my life started. I could feel something exciting waiting for me and in my mind, I had been patient so very long. 

  Besides, my grandmother had remarried only a year or so ago at the time. Being one of the oldest grandchildren, I can still remember my grandma and grandpa together. Then after about forty years of marriage, or something like that, Grandpa just ups and leaves her for a younger woman. It was devastating to us all, but not nearly as much as it was for my grandmother. Then, after so very many years of being single, she had suddenly, recently, surprised us all with a new husband. A brownish colored, suave, friendly Italian man. I liked him well enough when I met him, though I did feel a little suspicious of it all. But my grandmother was happy and I was happy for her.

  When I went to stay with her though, in Arizona, her new husband was not there. She was still giddy and happy as a newlywed. She told me that he was often gone for long periods of time on business trips. She must have felt that we were about the same age at the time though because she enjoyed telling me intimate stories about their relationship that made me just a little queasy and uncomfortable. I guess I was old enough for such information, but very sheltered up to that point and unexperienced. 

  Anyway, strangest thing happened while I was there. One day, Grandma got a phone call that started a series of phone calls. Apparently, Anthony, her new husband, had just died. He died at home- his other home, with his other wife and family. He had married Grandma and a couple other women to get money. I don’t know why he thought he could get money from my Grandma. She didn’t have anything really. Plus, poor thing, she had worked so hard for everything she had. Poor Grandma, she was upset, but handled it all very well. She decided to go and spend some time up in Oregon with her daughter and her family for a little while. This was perfect for me because she said that she would drop me off in Utah on her way up. About this time, I also finally got the “go ahead and come up” from the school officials. So, Yay! Things were finally working out and life was beginning. 

  I had to give Grandma everything I had to help with gas. It was a beautiful trip. We had a little picnic in the mountains before she dropped me off. And there I was, back up in the mountains of Utah without a friend or a dime, but full of hope, trust in God, and excitement for my future. 

  I was there for a month or so already before I finally met the man of my dreams. Of course, I didn’t know that he was the man of my dreams at first. The Spirit told me that he was. I just thought he was cute. God let me know in many small ways that he was the one I should marry. Then, I just had to wait patiently for him to get the same message. 

  He was so fun loving and popular. All the girls lined up to hang on him. They surrounded him constantly. He had girls doing his laundry and rubbing his back and tickling his arms and making treats for him, even though his family lived just across the deck in cabin #2. 

  I was made cook for the school. I lived and worked in the main lodge at Duck Creek village. My soon-to-be husband and his family had come up to Duck Creek a couple weeks before me. They were there to build the new Skousen Center building for the school. They were such a fun, friendly, loving family, most of the students frequently would hang out at their place. Cabin #2 quickly became the entertainment center for the school students at Duck Creek. 

  When my husband finally figured things out and chose me out of all the eager, willing young woman, we married. 

  All I ever really wanted more than anything was to be a wife and mother. I was so very happy. And I remained happily married for the next twenty-five years. I followed him all over the place. He was in construction most of our married lives and followed the work around. Then one day the chance finally came for us to move to Hawaii, a place he had always dreamed of living. So, we were off to Hawaii and lived there happily for nearly ten years. Until one day he suddenly passed away. 

  My husband was a very well liked, outgoing, friendly, happy man. I was happy to be in his shadow. I was happy being the stay-at-home, hardly seen, busy mom. I loved taking care of him and our ten children. My vacation moments were not with friends but a few quiet minutes alone at home when he would take the kids to the beach or something. I was not raised with a lot of social skills. I was a homebody. 

  Now here I am, alone. And I don’t know what to do with myself. I am not completely alone, I still have a few children left at home. But I feel so exposed without my husband to hide behind. I am forced to come out from the shadows and I don’t know how or what to do. I must find ways to support my children and myself. I must suddenly become the friendly figure for the family and I don’t know how or feel adequate in any way. I can no longer live in the shadows as I have no covering left. I feel lost in the spotlight. I have no talent to display. No dance to perform. 

  How do I become again that girl in the fearless moment of leaving home and looking to the future with such bright hope and excitement? What bright hope do I have left? Everything I wanted is gone.