I’ve spent many, many years reliving regret over mom’s death. I have always had tendency towards guilt, and mom’s death was no exception. Mom’s death probably defined and emphasized that tendency. But, until recently, I never really put things together completely.

I was riding in the car with Austin and the babies a few weeks ago. I was having a weird week in general and with Mother’s Day and mom’s would-have-been 52nd birthday approaching… it just kind of added to the funk. I’ve been taking Zoloft for a few months and it’s helped me tremendously. This particular week I had run out of pills and was on my 7th day of withdrawls when it all came to a head. Needless to say, I won’t let my prescription run out again anytime soon.

We were driving to town. The babies played quietly in the back seats and Austin was telling me a story about this girl he goes to school with. Her mother has cancer, is a single parent, and is trying to make up for some of her mistakes now that her daughter is a teenager and she is facing the possibility of death. The mother went on a field trip with the daughter recently. The daughter kept yelling at her mom to ‘Go Away’, obnoxiously trying to exclude her, and making her mother sit alone while the class went out for lunch. When I heard the story, my heart curdled. This child has no idea. She has no idea. And if I could let her see inside my mind for a few moments… She would know. You’ll only have one momma this time around. You had better hold tight to her.

As soon as Austin was done with the story, I started crying. I bawled outloud and started releasing a little secret that has crushing my spirit for so long… This tale of Susan’s last few days here with me… (you can start here if you’re a new reader)

Mom was usually pretty short on money. She was a single mother, so that says enough in itself. We took an annual trip in October to the mountains with her best friend (Helen), but this particular year (1988), mom was exceptionally tight on money. I remember hearing her talk on the phone to Helen and my grandmother, trying to make arrangements to borrow money from them so that we could go on this special vacation. I felt bad that she was struggling to get the money together. I know it must have been humbling for her to borrow money, especially for a vacation. But, being a self indulged 12 year old, I wanted her to borrow the money. I wanted the vacation.

The morning of October 15th, we woke up early and loaded the car for our trip. My mom called Helen and my grandmother one last time to make sure they didn’t mind lending the money. We hit the road around 8 am and were to arrive in the mountains somewhere right after lunch. When we first began our trip, mom started reminding me that she was borrowing the money to go on the trip and that meant that we probably wouldn’t be able to do the things we normally did on this vacation– such as Tweetsy Railroad. I immediately got angry because I couldn’t imagine going to the mountains and not doing things that cost money. I went on and on. I pitched a fit. Finally mom pulled off the interstate, stopped the car, turned it off, and looked at me…

“Stephanie. Let’s just go home. I have enough money that we could go out to eat and go see a movie. Let’s just go home, OK? We can have fun, we’ll do something together.”

I started crying, putting on my Stepherz drama, and guilting her into getting back on the road. Back on the road to a place that ended in her death. And if I wouldn’t have been so selfish, so self centered… She would be here now. There’s no other way to look at that. She stopped the car! She gave me the choice. She looked me in the eyes and practically pleaded with me not to be so stubborn and selfish. And my choice was the wrong choice. I’ll live with that for the rest of my days.

I know there was no way I could have known that Helen’s husband would kill them. Obviously if I would have known, I would have chosen differently. But what’s true is true. And the truth is that she might have been here today had I just said, “Ok, Mom. Let’s go home.”

That was a heavy burden to carry for the first few years after mom died. I was so ashamed that I didn’t tell anyone. It sat and festered. I’ve only recently even talked about it. It’s difficult to change how I interpret it now, I’ve carried it as guilt for so long. But I’m working on it. Ya know, I was just a kid. All kids are pretty selfish. There’s just a handful who have something like this as a result of that selfishness, to carry around on their backs for a lifetime. I have to forgive myself for it, because I know mom did.

So, I guess I wanted to share that little (BIG) secret. I always wonder what kind of things make a person who they are. What have they seen? What do they know? What happened in their childhoods that help define who they became as adults.

There’s another pinch of stuff in the Stepherz recipe…

I thought it might be fun to share a secret with you once in awhile. One, just to air. Two, because it doesn’t hurt anything. One thing that stinks about not having a lot of girlfriends is that Jeremy either has to listen to my same stories over and over, or I have to bottle the craziness that has been my life. You think I’ve shared some pretty amazing stories here and there? Oh, but you have no idea. Seriously. This life should have been a Soap.

I used to think that maybe, just maybe, my blog could lead to some freelance work. Hello, Dreamworld. But, my focus on English in College only goes so far and I throw the rest out the window because I don’t want to write like I’m supposed to, or about things that are proper. I want to write how I talk and about the things that are real to me. Run on sentences and misused punctuation. Obviously I’m not getting paid for this or I might shape up. Sometimes I don’t spell check…(Gasp)…

Anyhow, that was just fore-thought. You wanted to know a secret, right?

When I was in 4th grade I met my best friend Hallie. I had lived in Charleston, SC with my mom most of that year. Mom had a rough time that year. I won’t over-dramatize this by sharing the details of that, blah-blah-blah. Mom gave me to my grandma to raise for awhile in Fayetteville, NC. I was put into a private Christian school, my third school that year. And that’s when I met Hallie.

We ended up losing contact for a few years because I went back to Mom. When Mom died a few years later, I went back to live with my grandma and went to the same school where Hallie and I picked right up where we left off. She was beautiful and gracefully sociable and popular. I was her geeky sidekick who was afraid of boys. We weren’t in the same class. She (her parents) was very rich and made excellent grades. She was voted Homecoming Queen. She was all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips. She always took my boyfriends away from me– just because she could. She’d take them, make me cry, and then dump them all in the same day. Some weird masochist/sadist dance we had.

Right after graduation, she introduced me to Jason. The father of my sweet Austin. Jason and Hallie had been buds in high school and he went with us to her Father’s condo in Myrtle Beach for our “Graduation Celebration”. I thought he was really good looking and extremely likeable. He was also going to college with Hallie that Fall. I fell for him, was in a really vulnerable point in my life, and welcomed the potential relationship with him. I nearly instantly got pregnant. Go figure. I was doing what most 18 year old girls do, I just got pregnant doing it. I don’t regret Austin a single bit, he just wasn’t born into the “ideal” situation and I wish I would have brought him in to more stability and maturity.

Anyways, long story short… Hallie and Jason got their groove on when I was 5 months pregnant! I ended up going to a Maternity Home in the mountains (per my grandmother’s request) and feeling soooo utterly alone. Except for the baby in my tummy. He was my hope. But I had such a broken heart. Hallie and Jason were all I had going for me after my family turned their backs on me. There was such betrayal there.

I didn’t begrudge Jason so much as I did Hallie. You know how that goes. She was my best friend. She owed it to me to be my friend, where Jason owed me nothing. He didn’t disappoint me. She did.

She and I still talk. Often. Almost everytime we talk she apologizes to me for that incident, I’m not kidding. She sometimes cries about it, even though it was 13 years ago. Have I forgiven her? Of course. I love her! I’ve loved her for 21 years! I even loved her when she gave me the awful news and mourned losing her more than losing him. I embrace the amazing memories I have with her and, OMG, there are some unbelievable memories! And she’s grown up and into such a lovely human being, what does it matter now?

She was my best friend through an amazing era in my life. Losing mom, murder trials, first periods, first kisses, losing virginity, and so on. Hallie is one of those people I have taken with me and held tightly to. She’s the only one who knows October 17th is the day I lost my Mom and she calls me every. single. year. on that day. Every 17th of October, I get ready for bed thinking that she forgot. But she never does. She calls me almost always as I’m crawling into bed to put the day to rest. She must love me too!

So there’s a secret! When’s the last time Dooce or Amalah shared a secret with you? Huh? Huh? So if you’re are looking for a freelance writer who is honest and tells you secrets while breaking every English rule known to mankind… I’m the Momma for you. If you aren’t looking for a freelance writer and just wanted to be entertained… There’s one little secret and many more where that came from.

Here’s to the friendships that survive youth. Those are the ones that last!