Or, Reasons why my
Mother is a Badass
Actually, let me tell you something. I firmly believe it
should be illegal to wake up before the sun does. There. That’s all I will
gripe on that subject.
Yes, back to business I go. I am writing this entry 10,000
feet above the earth, on my personal favorite domestic airline, Southwest.
Everyone is just so friendly at Southwest. I swear, I wouldn’t be shocked if it
turned out they all popped some E in the back cabin while preparing my freshly
brewed airline coffee (now there is an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.) Now,
as I sit here, counting down the minutes until I have to take part in the whole
‘responsible adult’ portion of my day, I am having an internal battle with
myself. This is how it’s going so far:
Me: “Should I just call in sick tonight? I haven’t called in
sick in over six months, I think it’s vastly overdue.”
Conscience: “Now, now, Robert. Would that be fair to your
co-workers?”
(side note: Yes, my conscience refers to me as, “Robert.” We
are very formal with each other, for some reason. You’d think we would’ve
gotten closer at this point…)
Me: “… Well, they do it ALL the time, and screw us over!
It’s my turn, why the hell not? Everyone deserves a day of hooky now and then.
And besides, my throat feels scratchy and my back hurts and I think I could
have food poisoning.”
Conscience: “Robert, you have less than three weeks left of
work before you begin your travels back to Pittsburgh, then you are flying to
Australia shortly after. Stop being a little bitch.”
Me: “You’re going to make me feel terrible about this,
aren’t you…”
Conscience: “That’s why I’m here, Robert.”
Me: “I hate you.”
Conscience: “I love you.”
Damn Conscience, always the voice of reason. He is right,
though. Don’t screw over your co-workers, there will come a time that you may
need their help one day.
So, yes, I will be going into work tonight with roughly
three hours of sleep under my belt. Why put myself through this torture? Well,
we’re finally getting to the heart of this entry.
I spent this past weekend with my mother, Frances Ann Ross
(wow, typing just Ross feels a bit
strange). For those who may not be as close to me (not yet, at least), I will
fill you in on some Ray family history. My parents recently went through a
divorce, which used up most of 2014’s emotional stamina. I know it’s not
uncommon for divorce this day in age, but still, it doesn’t mean it stings any
less when you see it happening. For as long as I have lived, my mother’s last
name was “Ross-Ray,” so writing it down without that little extra syllable at
the end has seemed to scratch the metaphysical scar and bring up some memories
of last year.
Before my father filed for divorce, my mother went through
some struggles. For as long as I can remember, she worked as a government
lawyer for the United States Western District of Pennsylvania, and she loved
her job. I don’t think I ever met anyone who spoke about their profession as
fiercely as my mother does. So it came as a shock to many when suddenly her
boss, we shall call her Judge Callihan, brought her into her office and told
her she no longer had a position at the courthouse, and her job was terminated,
effective immediately.
My mother was devastated. Judge Callihan was a woman whom my
mother trusted and respected. Hadn't they worked together harmoniously for years? This just didn't make sense to her.
Here is what I would’ve loved to say to Judge Callihan at
that moment in time:
“Go to hell, you heartless bitch.”
So, let’s look at the picture at this point. My mother,
jobless, depressed and basically suicidal, had to start from scratch. She had
to do job interviews at age 55, competing with people fresh out of law school,
fighting against the masses to find work. Eventually she found a position doing
litigation, of which she claimed is “her nightmare.” Now, on top of all of
that, my father files for divorce.
I truly can’t imagine what my mom was thinking at this
point, and to be honest, I probably don’t want to.
I don’t want to misconstrue this whole divorce thing. It was
much needed. My parents were not happy, and neither were my brothers and me. It
was a toxic environment to live in, and it needed to end. My dad is also not a
monster, by any means. We will get to know him in a later entry, I’m sure. But
for now, back to Frances Ann.
The divorce was… messy, to say the least. I won’t bore you
with the gory details, but yeah, messy is a good word to sum it up. Oh, and
EXPENSIVE. One word of advice: If you are poor and thinking about divorce, I
would seriously consider a career in bank robbing before you go to file those
papers. Anyway, after everything was finalized, my parents were out a couple
thousand on both ends, and my mom was forced to move out of our house.
I still resent my dad just a little bit for that.
She found a modest house in a neighboring suburb, and life
slowly became a bit more stable for the newly proclaimed Frances Ann Ross. Life
just wasn’t the same, though. The comfort and security I always saw in my
parents was stripped from her, and it trickled down and affected us children. I
wish I could say I handled it well, I wish I could say I became Switzerland
throughout the whole messy thing. I tried my best, but pain was still there.
But then something amazing happened.
About 4 months into this new half-mended life my mother
created from scratch, she was offered interviews for potential jobs within her
beloved field. That’s right, not just one, but multiple interviews. And let me tell you, she killed it. Within a
month, she was offered three jobs across the country, finally accepted a
position, and relocated to Denver, Colorado.
My mom is a badass.
During my visit to Colorado this past weekend, I saw many
beautiful places and interesting things. I spent some time in Denver, got to
know the local culture, and reveled in the beauty of mountains and fresh air.
My mom and I took a road trip to Boulder, or should I call it, “hipster’s
paradise.” I could see myself living there someday.
Yes, I saw beautiful places and interesting things, but what
I noticed more than anything was my mother. This woman, this brave, inspiring
woman, uprooted her entire life in search of one thing: Happiness. And I really
think she is on the right path.
My mother’s story is an important one. You are never too old
to change your fate. It is never too late to find your happy ending. Frances
Ann found herself face-to-face with the ugly, hulking brute called “Life,”
stared right into its nasty face, and came out on top.
To my mother, I say this: Thank you for teaching me this
lesson. You changed my life for the better countless times over and you didn’t
even realize you were doing it again, in the most impactful way possible. It
takes immense courage to do what you did. You are my hero, and I love you.
I am really glad I never had the opportunity to scorn Judge
Callihan in those past moments of pain and rage. If I were to ever see her now,
I would thank her. She freed my mother, and released her from the shackled life
she was becoming far too comfortable in. Thank you, Judge Callihan, you’re the
best!
With this new found love of searching for happiness, I am
even more ready to start my adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I am still afraid,
but I know there is support all around me, even in the most unexpected places. The
great unknown is ever more enticing, and I am ready to lose myself completely
within it.
Until next time, my friend.
Oh, since this is a travel blog, Colorado is beautiful and
you should definitely visit.
-Robby
