Philosophy of Debbie Bickings

For over twenty years Debbie Bickings has come to my house to do my hair before I go to work. It all started when she was in beauty school and I gave her some tuition money to help pay her way into the school. It has continued because we have grown to love and depend upon each other.

During these years, we have talked in the mirror of my bedroom about the problems that have come to us. And these have not been simple problems in our minds --her sister's drug overdose, her divorce from her alcoholic husband, my divorce from an over-sized ego husband, her son's tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, etc. I could go on but each phrase minimizes the enormous problem that happened. Change happens every day to all of us. We deal with it and either decide to move on, ignore it or live with it. I have usually chosen to ignore it when it is major and now, I turn again to Debbie. What if I can no longer keep my status quo of ignoring the person when I am forced to be around that person? I told her about the fallout which was slowly enveloping those around us. I told her that at my grandson's graduation, which should have been a day of complete happiness, my son was most concerned that I not have to sit next to my ex-husband and he was running around getting the word to everyone there. I do not qualify as some kind of disaster victim in every family sitting.

So I came home and sent out the photograph of all of us together to all of my family on my e-mail batch. We used to play a game, when I was a kid, called Steps. You could take baby steps, giant steps, crooked man steps, and soldier steps. Whoever got back to the tagline first won the game. My sending the photograph is a mini-micro step for all of them but it is a soldier step for me. It puts me further on the road to forgiveness than I was when I started on the road.

Debbie said that her mother, who is opinionated and difficult, refuses to make any concession to altering her conduct pattern and never, never apologizes for her mouth or her actions. She seems to excuse it all with the words: "Well, that is who I am. They will just have to get over it."

Debbie and her surviving siblings have trouble with the fallout from her pronouncement. So do I.

Am I guilty of the same offense? Are my children dealing with my antics in the same, regretful way?