At Least You Lost Some Weight

About a year ago, in a state of insanity, I broke down and told my parents about the Zen-like heartbreak I had so painfully experienced. There I was, finally taking off the mask; sitting in the very house that I grew up in, the tears streaming down my face, revealing a side of me my parents had never seen before. I told them of my courage to love again, the humiliation of standing on a porch and him not answering the door, and the fog that I had been living in for the past few months. At 42 years old, I had never been this honest with my parents; even after we all experienced the end of my 15 year marriage a few years earlier.


My father was kind and supportive, patting my arm with his own smooth, soft hand and whispering 'Rose, oh, Rose...' I could tell he felt genuinely sorry for me and my Zen-like heartbreak. After so many years of carrying the burden of silently fighting my parents, I thought this might finally be the end of that well traveled road.

And then I looked over at my mother. My mother. She had a familiar look on her face, it was one that I have seen many times in my 42 years, one that I know well. My mother? She looked bored. However, as our eyes met, she came alive, cleared her throat and imparted her words of wisdom upon me. And I was ready. Finally at 42 years old, I was ready to accept life exactly as it is and finally listen to my mother. And then? She uttered those 6 words that sum up my relationship with my mother.

She said, 'At least you lost some weight.'

'At least you lost some weight.'

Well, okay then. Thank you very much. You have been a lovely audience.

'At least you lost some weight.'

Talk about a reality check.

Look, I love my mother. I do. We all do. Through all of this, I know one thing for sure. I love my mother. She is married to my moody father and has been for the last 50 years. She is the mother to 4 grown, (fabulous, intelligent, talented) daughters. She is the grandmother (Lola) to 7 amazing, brilliant, beautiful grandchildren. She is a pillar in the community. She dresses like Alex Carrington on Dynasty. She isn't warm and fuzzy. She isn't going to bake cookies with my daughters. But she is, well, she's my mother.

Once when I was in high school, I complained to my mother about following in the footsteps of my Homecoming-Queen-Dating-The-Captain-Of-The-Football-Team-Beautiful-Big-Sister of mine. And I remember my mother said, 'Rose you can be smart or your can beautiful...Dad and I are glad you're smart.


Ouch.

But here's the thing. Maybe she's right. Oh, not about the smart AND beautiful thing. Because we ALL know that women can be both. If fact, most of the women I know are both. But maybe in the cold harsh light of reality, maybe she is right. Maybe, just maybe, it IS the lowest common denominator that really matters. Maybe it IS about the 'look at the bright side of things'. It certainly would simplify things, now wouldn't it? I mean, if the bright side of things, the loss of 20 lbs and 2 dress sizes is the one thing that remains from the heartbreak, well, doesn't that put it all in prospective? Ah, so it took some time to mentally get over it. Yeah, the tears. Yeah, the pain. Yeah, the healing. Blah, blah, blah. But maybe it's the truth that matters.

At least you lost some weight.

Maybe instead of searching the universe for the answer to why my heart got broken, maybe the answer is that there is no answer.

But when you look at it through my mother's bright side? At least you lost some weight. It sort of makes sense and hurts a hell of a lot less than the alternative.

Here's the thing. A few weeks ago I got really sick. Scary sick. Emergency oxygen treatment sick. Bed rest sick. Hundreds of dollars in medications sick. And believe me, it was a terrifying ride. I felt like I was in a dream, hearing myself take every breath. It's mind boggling to me how through those times (like my emergency gallbladder surgery in 2002, when I drove myself to the Emergency Room. Duh.), I remain strong. I figure it out. I proceed. I do. And I carry on.

But during the recovery time (for me about 3 1/2 days), I spent lots of time coughing, sleeping and thinking about my daughters. Thinking about my family. Thinking about my friends and Elizabeth City. Thinking about health insurance. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. And I found myself feeling down and out.

And now, it's all over. My healthy life has resumed back to normal. I can breath again. I can mother again. I can cook again. I can write again. I can think clearly again. And the scary ride is just a distant memory.

But I wonder in a case like this, if my mother's bright side is the right side? That through a painful complicated experience is usually the simplest of end results.

Because honestly? Through all of the sickness, the medications, the sleep and the scary ride, my mother was right, once again when she said last week...

'At least you lost some weight.'