Part Dos: How I Met My Stepdad

healthwellnessyogameditationmindfulnesshealingSelf-Improvement

Jul 8

"Not every hero wears a mask. Some heroes save the day in the simplest of ways. By just being there for us, or letting us know we're believed in.”
-Barry Allen (The Flash)

Episode 52.

"Why can't it just be the 3 girls? Why do we need a guy to be in the picture at all? I like it how it is- just the three of us."

I was putting the milk back in the fridge after drowning my after-school snack of cornflakes.
Then I probably slammed the door to the fridge.
I probably stomped back to the table where my bowl and spoon sat.
I probably crumbled into the kitchen chair with a deep sigh.
I probably had emotions welling inside me that my 12-year old system could not quite process.
So, those emotions unloaded in anger and denial.
Masked sadness.
Masked fear.
Masked uncertainty about the world around me- that it could collapse again.
And again.
Without warning.
Without reason.

So, Vee was moving in.
To our house.
To the house we had just bought in Massachusetts. The house in a different state- which could have been a different planet- before the days of email and facebook, which would have preserved connection with my former 6th grade friends from River Vale, NJ, where I had lived in the same home since I was born.

The Massachusetts house was new. New construction. New neighborhood. New neighbors with blossoming families, mini-vans, and swing sets; converging on the 4-bedroom colonial spec houses, outgrowing their starter homes with baby #2 on the way; a pressing need for more space. This family dynamic was in stark, afflicting contrast to the single mom with 2 pre-teen girls, and the boyfriend who drove the sporty Toyota Supra from out-of-state for visits on weekends. And now, he was moving in. To this new house. New and different.

Different.

In 7th grade, different was any little thing. And I had all the big things. New girl in school. New cookie-cutter neighborhood cradling strollers, newly planted saplings, and stay-at-home moms, instead of established yards boasting rooted oak climbing trees with knotted ropes and tree forts. Weird Jersey accent where we pronounced our "r". Yankees baseball hats. Dead dad. Mom dating. And now a boyfriend moving in. Different.

I dropped my empty bowl and spoon in the sink and padded up the carpeted steps to my bedroom; builder-grade walls of eggshell white paint, clad with thumb-tacked posters, royal blue fish-printed comforter pulled neatly to the edges of my twin bed, desk outfitted with coordinated pencil holder, lamp, and desk blotter (I think the desk blotter went out with the beeper and Starter jacket). I sat at my desk in my vinyl chair, and retrieved from my ESprit bookbag, my green Mead notebook, designated green for Life Science Class.

Life.

It continued to unfold. The details vivid, pronounced, and also a blur. First crushes, passing notes in class, middle school dances, friend sleepovers, renting movies with the sticker reading "be kind, rewind", buying cassette tapes at Sam Goody, making friendship bracelets, Champion sweatshirts, disposable cameras, softball practice, swim meets.
A wedding.
February 27, 1992.
My mom a bride.

It was not easy. I was not easy. I was a good kid. Teachers liked me. Friends liked me. But I had built an armor of protection around the raw devastation in my heart; and that protection was threatened with witnessing my mom kissing Vee at midnight on New Year's Eve at my Aunt Tina's family party, my mom putting on lipstick to "impress him", my mom holding his hand in the car, driving to the Cape. It was all disturbing to my 13-year old mind, and I made it known, in no uncertain terms.

I still wasn't facing the reality of my dad's death, so how was I wrapping my head around my mom being re-married? I didn't want to talk about it. Not to my mom. Not to my friends. Not to Mariko, the therapist I had completely dreaded visiting each week, despite her penchant for empathy and ease, and likely clinical aptitude in attempts to uncover what I wouldn't recognize as trauma until I was in my 30's. No, I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to survive in a state of denial that the most important, loving man in my life had been taken suddenly and unexpectedly. I just wanted everyone to stop talking about my dad, and stop making me go to a wedding to watch my mom smile and speak vows to someone else.

My stepdad.

I wouldn't use that label for a long time. I wouldn't acknowledge that he had become a part of our family. If I didn't say it out loud, maybe I wouldn't have to actually let someone else in to the gaping hole in my heart, my soul, my daily life.

Life.

It continued to unfold.

It became easier to refer to "my parents" with inclusion of Vee as the second parent to my mom. It was more normal. So I said it, despite cringing every time. And Vee became more of a constant, as middle school turned into high school. Vee was there. He made bagel runs for weekend breakfasts, loaded the car with ski gear when a school-night forecast called for a storm that secured a snow day, played tennis doubles with my mom and Lindsey. He cooked dinner- chicken on the grill and spinach lasagna; and rice and beans for me, when I proclaimed myself as vegetarian in 9th grade. He even stayed up with me in the midnight hours during my bouts of insomnia.

High school turned into college, turned into grad school, turned into a move out west, a move back east, marriage, divorce, a move back in with Mom and Vee, career expansion, births, deaths, relationships, triathlon races, family holidays... forks-in-the-road and indecision... U-turns and opportunity... accolades, successes, and heartbreaks.

Life.

It continued to unfold. The details vivid, pronounced, and also a blur. And through it all, Vee was there. Through each step, each day, each phone call, each worried moment, Vee was there. The day of their wedding, in 1992, he gave me a bouquet of flowers. I did not want the offering of connection. But he did not ever stop offering his love, support, advice, warmth, guidance, or hugs. He did not ever wane in his devotion to my mom.

How I met my stepdad started as a moment in a racquetball club in NJ, and unfolded over space and time, to be one of the most important meetings of my life. I have met him many times, in many moments, over many years. He has always shown up to meet me. He has always held us up and supported my mom, my sister, and me.

Life will continue to unfold. And I will continue to meet my stepdad. In all ways. In unconditional love and support. In gratitude. In holding each other up. In cherished moments and in honoring the hero that he is and always will be.

Love, Jessica

"If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants".
-Sir Isaac Newton

“Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me.”
– Fred Rogers

“Life doesn’t get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient.”
— Steve Maraboli

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
— Ernest Hemingway

“And one has to understand that braveness is not the absence of fear but rather the strength to keep on going forward despite the fear.”
— Paulo Coelho

“Resilience is very different than being numb. Resilience means you experience, you feel, you fail, you hurt. You fall. But, you keep going.”
— Yasmin Mogahed