I just got back from my ten-year high school reunion. Yep–you read that right. Ten years. Man that makes me feel old. I suppose in ten or twenty years, I’ll feel really old. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
It was great seeing everyone again. I even made a new friend (This is pretty hard to do since our graduating class was 18 people. Yep–you read that right again. One Eight. But to be fair, she is the wife of a classmate, and I never had a chance to meet her till now.). Someone (sorry, I can’t remember who) said something like, “It’s so weird to see everyone again, with kids, all grown up.” Yep, it definitely was. And I have my own kid.
My best friend said, “Yeah, and everyone all pretty much looks the same. No one has gotten extremely fat. Ten years is enough time to fall apart.” I suppose it is. I know this probably isn’t the way she meant it, but maybe some people (like me) have fallen apart, but they put themselves back together again just in the knick of time. And no one had to call all the king’s horses, thank God for that.
I’ve done a lot of things in the ten years since high school. I’ve fallen in “love” with at least ten guys (more or less; it’s a good estimate and I like things even). One of them beat me, one never made a move, one was already married, one was drunk or high most of the time, and one I almost married (key word–almost). The rest I don’t remember at the moment.
I’ve battled alcoholism and kicked its hairy ass. I don’t think I’ve ever admitted to myself before now that I ever was an alcoholic. But I was. And I guess I always will be. On the few and far between occasions I do drink, I still have trouble with not drinking too much. I suppose I always will. That’s the curse of the alcoholic. And I didn’t need any meeting to tell me that.
I moved to Pennsylvania, lived there for a year or so, and then moved back to Texas. Anyone I went to school with would’ve bet money that I’d never move up North, or even out of Texas. Boy were they wrong. So was I. Who knew.
I’ve suffered the loss of several more family members (my Dad and my Uncle David died when I was still in high school), including my Uncle Lucky, my (second) cousin Emilie, and my Pappaw. Actually, the reason I moved back home was because Pappaw got sick. He died two weeks after I moved home.
It’s funny how life works. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this thought. Life really is ironic. Sometimes when I think back on all I’ve been through and start to wonder why, I have to stop and think–there has got to be for a reason for all this. Shit like this doesn’t just happen for no reason.
After I moved back home, I started dating (code for sleeping with) Michael. Four months after that, I found out I was pregnant. Now, here we are two and a half years later, engaged, with a beautiful little boy who lights up our lives like a candle in the darkness. Now I finally get it.
My son is the reason for all that shit.
Who knows what the next ten years will bring, but I can’t wait to find out.