Recently, while driving down a California micro-highway, I was reminded of a certain time in my life. Though the Los Angeles area is primarily heavily populated, there are a few parts of it that still have a rural feel. They are few and far between and generally small, but when you encounter them, you are always grateful for the scenery.
There is such a place not too far from my house. When you turn off the freeway onto the �expressway�, you soon find yourself passing through hills and a wilderness area. Many moons ago, someone built a dam and the water flooded the plain creating a low lake. The trees still grow up out of the water. There�s probably a name for this type of landscape but I don�t know it. It�s a road I don�t travel on too frequently these days, maybe once a month at the most. When I saw it the other day, I was reminded of a time when I used to drive this road quite a bit.
In 1989, I moved back to Southern California from Santa Cruz. I had been going to school in Santa Cruz, but found that the school wasn�t really a good fit for me for several reasons. Also, I was working 2 jobs to stay there and it was taking its toll on me. I had made the decision to move back to Southern California (Orange County specifically) during the summer between my 3rd and 4th year. It was too late to enroll in the university down here so I was going to a community college while I waited to get accepted to UC Riverside. After three years of living on my own, I was back living with my parents. That part really wasn�t so bad, as my parents are pretty liberal. Once I turned 18, there were no rules anymore, just a matter of treating each other with respect. But the big thing was that during my 3rd year of college, my parents sold my childhood home and moved to Orange County. The move was about 30 miles from where I grew up and between that, and having lived in another part of the state for 3 years, I didn�t have any friends near me. It was a very lonely time for me.
I had stayed in touch with 2 friends from high school. One of them had moved into an apartment with her boyfriend. Her sister was a year and a half older than us and she had recently remarried and was living in an apartment right next to my friend. In fact, their doorways opened onto a walkway facing one another. When I would visit my friend Laura, I would often stop by to say hi to Cari as well. Also, Carrie had a 3 year old son from a previous marriage so I began babysitting for her. This is when I started driving this road with some frequency as it was the quickest way to their apartments.
After Cari and her husband would return from their nights out, her and I would often sit at the kitchen table talking. She had led such an interesting life. She talked about her childhood in Brooklyn with her father, her step-mother, her gaggle of brothers, sisters and half-sisters. She shared about the abuse she experienced as a child, the alcoholic father, the alcoholic mother, the neglect. She had many memories of fun times with her brother, but a lot of her memories talked about the chaos she experienced shuttling between two parents who were both spiraling into a chaos of their own.
She shared her experiences of living in New York with her drug-addicted, mafia-affiliated husband. When she married him, he had been clean for several years, having overcome a heroin addiction. He was several years older than her and when she got pregnant, they moved to California to be near her mother. He began working for Cari�s step-father in construction, but shortly after the baby was born, he hurt his back and was unable to work in construction. They moved back to New York because he had better job opportunities. Unfortunately, those job opportunities were with his old cronies � drug addicts and low-level mafioso. It wasn�t long before he was once again addicted to heroin and using regularly. At this point, the abuse began.
Cari was not going to subject her child to that kind of life and left her husband. Because of New York law at the time, which was not favorable to the battered spouse but has since been changed, and because they had a child, she was required to notify her soon-to-be ex-husband of her address. He would frequently break into her apartment and beat her up. She would call the police, but again because of the laws at the time, the police had to actually witness the abuse to make an arrest.
She told me nightmares about her ex breaking in, beating her up, raping her, destroying all of her clothing, furniture, breaking her dishes. At the time, she was on welfare and receiving very little (welfare is really not enough to survive). She would beg her mom to help her buy a plane ticket to come back to California and get away from him. Her pleadings fell on deaf ears. Out of sight, out of mind I suppose.
She had other stories that inspired me� she talked of the neighbor that would watch her son at night for free while she worked �under the table� at a bar to try to get a little extra money. She shared how sometimes she would come home to find a bag of diapers hanging on her doorknob, a gift from her step-mother (at this point her ex-stepmother as her step-mother had divorced her father). She talked about how she could never eat plain macaroni and cheese now because it reminded her of all the times it was the only thing she could afford. She talked of how she saved her money during the week so that on Saturdays, she could take her son to central park and buy him a hot dog or an ice cream.
One story moves me more than any other. One of her friends called her up one day and asked her for a favor. He told her that he had recently moved out on his own for the first time and had no idea how to grocery shop. He asked her if she would accompany him to the store and help him select groceries for about 3-4 weeks. She helped him stock his cabinets with canned foods, meats, cheeses, dry goods, etc. After leaving the grocery store, he handed the cart to her and said, �Here, this is all for you.�
After her second marriage, and during my first year back in Southern California, Cari got pregnant with her second child. She had a very difficult pregnancy and ended up in the hospital several times. Her �morning sickness� was all day sickness and it continued throughout her entire pregnancy. Finally, in her 6th month, she was taken off work and placed on bedrest. Her husband worked 10 hour days 4 days a week, and left for work at 4 AM. She was not allowed out of bed and could not care for her son, but because of her husband�s work schedule, there was no one to take him to daycare. She asked me for a favor. I could never say no to Cari.
For whatever reason, during our late night talks, I grew to love and care for Cari more than I had cared for any other friend. The chaos of her life was a stark contrast to the peace that she knew inside. My life was so seemingly peaceful on the outside, but my brain and emotions were the chaos I experienced. For whatever reason, Cari provided balance for me. And Cari was one of those people with a big heart.
So when Cari asked for a favor, there was no way I would refuse. Even though it was by no means a convenient request. What it meant was that before I went to school at 8 AM, I would drive 40 miles in the other direction, pick up her son, then drive another 10 miles farther from my school to take him to preschool, then drive to school. I was often on the road to her house at 5:30 in the morning. I was allowed to drop her son off as early as 6:30 but Cari lived at least 45 minutes from my house. This is when I spent all my time on that road.
One morning, as the sun was rising, I found myself driving down this California highway. The sun was slowly rising in the east, casting it�s pink glow upon the world. On this particular morning, a fog had settled over the lake and the trees were barely peaking out of the top of the fog. With the sun rising and all the color in the sky, the fog lit up pink and orange. It was like layers of color and was probably one of the most beautiful things I have seen. I remember wishing I had a camera with me to capture the scene. It was like my gift for getting up early that cold day.
Partway through Cari�s pregnancy, routine tests showed that she was HIV positive. She had contracted HIV from one of her dirty-needle-using ex-husbands brutal rapes. The timing seemed horrific. She had finally overcome the turmoil of her past, she had found an amazing man who was raising her son as his own, she was pregnant with a daughter, and now this. But after a few days of mourning, she put it behind her, trusting god that she would be okay, that everything (no matter the outcome) would be okay. And when the baby was born, she tested clean. Cari had not passed on the virus to her daughter.
Cari died of AIDS 5 years later. Her death left me emotionally devastated for years. I had lost the person who provided balance for me. I had to learn to create my own balance, and I eventually did. Cari�s legacy will remain with me always. I marvel at her peace and serenity. When her ex-husband was in prison dying of AIDS, knowing that he had passed this on to her, she forgave him. It was important to her, she said, that she be able to forgive him before he died. She spoke with him on the phone so that he would know that he had been forgiven.
I cried for Cari nearly every day for 2 years. Her death was something I could not shake for many years. Friends would ask me, why aren�t you over this yet, but how can you put a timeframe on mourning? Cari was supposed to be there with me for all the big events in my life. She was supposed to be in my wedding and in the hospital room with me when my first child was born. Now I could not share those moments with her. It was 2 � years later, this same time of year, when I finally found peace with it. First I had one dream where I knew Cari was dying a week before she died. During the dream, we spent time together talking, sharing stories and I had the chance to tell her how I felt about her and what she meant to me. A week later, I had another dream that Cari got to return to the earth from heaven for 1 week. Again, we spent time together talking, sharing stories and I told her how I felt about her and how important she was to me. After both of these dreams, I woke up feeling as if I had just returned from spending the day with her. They were so real. And that�s when I realized that Cari is always with me.
So these days, when I drive by that lake, and watch the trees grow up out of the water, or see the fog settling on the surface, I am reminded of Cari, and the view is my way of knowing that she is always there for me.
