Wooden Chopsticks

After my parent’s divorce, my sister and I were thrilled when my mother was able to find love again. And unlike her first choice for a partner, she chose a kind and gentle man who not only embraced her with unconditional love, but wished to extend the same to her two teenage daughters. I was fifteen years old when he became a permanent fixture in our lives.

So it was a relief to finally have some peace and stability, but I was caught up in the teen angst of self discovery and realization combined with lots of anger and bitterness from a volatile household that existed when my parents were still together. I didn’t want to fully embrace a healthy male role model because my trust in men had already been shattered. I caused a lot of problems for my mom and stepfather in high school. I fought with my mother constantly, had no interest in contact with my biological father, and challenged rules by constantly breaking them. You could say I was a problem kid.

The interesting thing is that I excelled academically, participated in extra-curricular activities, and had a great rapport with my friends and teachers. Graduated from high school sixth in my class of approximately four hundred. And didn’t touch drugs or alcohol. So I looked like a model teenager to the outside world, and drove my family nuts at home.

I can recognize now what I could not appreciate during those years. My mother’s partner would drive me religiously to and from my part time job so that I could make a little spending money. He would come to school events and tell me how proud he was of me. He always had patience, and interest in my well-being, and generous hugs to offer. In spite of my anger and acting out, his support stayed consistent and his love never wavered. He is an amazing man.

My parents have been together for twenty one years and married for the last four.

In April, my stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The news came as a complete shock. How could this man, who in his mid-seventies, played tennis with his buddies on a weekly basis, be faced with this health crisis?

Oh my god, I thought. I am not ready to lose him.

And the strangest thing happened. It was as if I was a small child submerged in a pool and someone yanked me out sputtering and choking. Sure, this divorce had been all consuming, but I had let it become that way. I was still walking around like a victim and had essentially shut out my family since March.

And it took a life crisis that would hit me harder than what I had been going through to get me out from under the water.

My Chinese mother used to describe an important life lesson to me and my sister from time to time. She would hold one wooden chopstick in her hand and say, “ One chopstick by itself, so easy to break in half.” Then she would add two or three more wooden chopsticks to the first and try to bend the bunch with both hands. “More chopsticks together, very hard to break. This is us. This is our family. We must stick together.”

No apologies had been exchanged since the blowout I had with my mother a few months ago. But it didn’t matter. I picked up the phone to check on my stepfather and offered my love and support. My sister, with her first baby due in six weeks, dedicated herself to internet research to learn as much as she could about his chances for survival depending on what type of pancreatic cancer he may have. My sister provided us with tons of information and calm strength while we waited several weeks for the biopsy results. The news was not good, and he would be scheduled for surgery quickly. I picked up the phone to reach out to my mother and she responded. And then there we were, three chopsticks in three separate states, combining to form a bond of wood that could not be broken. To be there for each other and this wonderful man who had come into our lives.

My sister could not travel at this point of her pregnancy and even with my insistence on going home to be present for my stepfather’s surgery, my mother counseled that with two small children, full time work, and legal bills, I needed to focus on the tasks at hand. “I will take care of what is happening here.” She said, “and you help us by taking care of yourself.” I know my mother had broken down several times with my sister about my stepfather’s condition, but with me, she showed no fear. I understood that was how she needed to insure that I stay strong. We may not be able to be together, but each of us must do our part to keep each chopstick intact, so that together, we are unbreakable.

I couldn’t believe her words. She is a unique woman, my mother. And I realized that she taught her daughters the skill sets needed to be survivors, to overcome any and every challenge in life. In the beginning of my divorce, I had forgotten I had these skills. It was in this moment, when I hung up the phone, that I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I am strong like my mother, I thought, and I am not afraid.

And then a miracle happened. My stepfather had his surgery in late May. The doctors were in shock that the cancer was contained in the tumor – slow growing, no evidence that it had spread. He is now currently recovering, waiting for the green light to hit the tennis court again.

My mother camped in the hospital for almost a week, never leaving his side. One of the first things my stepfather said to me when I called him after his surgery: “Your mother is one in a million.”

My father used to say “When they made your mother, they broke the mold.”

I agree. I’d like to also add that my mother has the strength of many chopsticks.

Carpe Diem

My last post was in April. Quite the writing hiatus, no? It got to a point where the raw nerve was tired of being hit, and needed to be left alone. And I think I just wanted to live a bit without analyzing and dissecting. And I ended up living a lot.

The last two months, I learned to exit that stage of paralysis that can occur during a divorce and remembered to seize the day. Carpe Diem. Because each one is a gift, not a guarantee.

I remember saying to my girlfriend M. back in early April that I just wanted a young boy toy. Some casual sex and fun. No strings. And I met him. Young and very successful, he told me that I was beautiful and enthusiastically courted me. During our first phone conversation, he asked me what my favorite dessert was. On our first date, he showed up with a box of gourmet cupcakes.

It was six weeks of great sex and when I started getting attached and suggested perhaps some light sewing thread (note: NOT chains or strings), the poor kid went running for the hills. Actually, while we were dating, he spent a lot of time driving me around the hills in the quest for a mack daddy bachelor pad to buy (note: early bad sign). So that stung a bit, but it was a good lesson learned. Be careful of what you ask for, because you just might get it.

But it was the first practice run since my break up, and for that, I am grateful. I'm taking the training wheels off and I got my money's worth out of that Brazilian bikini wax.

During this timeframe, three amazing events also occurred:

My stepfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
I stepped onto a plane and left this country to embark on a lifechanging trip.
My younger sister gave birth to her first child.

Each of these experiences have marked me in such a way that somehow, I have found strength and healing in them. So each deserves its own post.

Bear with me while I write them. And then join me. I'm looking forward to sharing with you.