Chapter 4 Losing it

Chapter 4 

Losing it

Chad had been the construction business almost all his life.  He started out by himself with just a hammer and a nail bag.  Over the past decade he had built a very successful construction company.  He had over fifty employees working for him, and had accrued all kinds of construction equipment and tools that would make any man jealous.  For the first time in our married life, we didn’t have to worry about money all the time, but that changed almost overnight.  I really hadn’t even had enough time to enjoy it. 

After several disappointing construction projects which involved attorneys and attorney’s fees, Chad decided to quit.  He said he was tired of always fighting to get the money he was owed. I was terrified. We had no savings and construction was all Chad knew.  Neither one of us had more than a high school diploma.   He couldn’t just quit, but he did.  We took a second mortgage out on our home and bought a small snowmobile business—it was insane.  Chad had never even ridden a snowmobile before.

The first year was exciting and demanding.  We rented a house on Main Street and put up a huge sign: “Outdoor Action”. Chad also opened a bike store at the same location.  He knew bikes well. It was a good fit for him.  He had been riding mountain bikes long before we met.  In the summer, we purchased four-wheelers and rented them out as well.  Chad hired young man to work on bikes and a neighbor to help out with the rentals.  Snowmobiles in the winter and ATV’s and bikes in the summer.  It was a good combination. Chad enjoyed his new business and it didn’t take long before he was a pro on the snowmobile.  Rescuing stranded clients was probably his favorite part of the job.  About once a week in the winter, someone would get stuck in a ditch or buried in powder.   

The second year didn’t go as well.  It was stressful because money was tight.  The novelty of running an adventure company was losing its appeal.  There were a few disasters, and the business wasn’t making enough money to cover the unexpected expenses.  Then there were damaged and wrecked machines, employee theft—missing bicycles and inventory that just disappeared, customers who wouldn’t pay, bad weather, and just unforeseen expensive learning curve mistakes. Then an employee who claimed to have injured himself on the job was threatening to sue.  

 Each month we went further and further into debt.  As strong as Chad was, I could see things were starting to wear him down.  The lines in his already sun worn face began to deepen.  Bills began to pile up and things that needed to be done were left unattended.  There was just too much to be done.   Chad became depressed and lost his drive to work as the business began to fail.  At times his clear green eyes looked dazed when I talked to him; it was as if he wasn’t there at all. “Chad, where are you?” I thought out of frustration.  I needed him.  I needed his strength, but he had partially, if not totally, checked out.  He kept saying we could do it.  

 I did not want to ask my older sister for help, but I did not know where else to turn for advice—for emotional support.  Laura and her husband Dave had always been there for me. Laura was like my second mother because my mother wasn’t there after my father died in a plane crash.  I was only eight when he died and Laura was just 15.  Out of necessity, she immediately took on the role of mother—showing me how to put make-up on, helping me buy a dress for prom, and running me to cheerleader tryouts.  Mom just wasn’t home of course, she never was—she had too much to take care of with no husband and seven rowdy children.  Laura was there though.  She was there to help me through life: through kid stuff, embarrassing puberty things, selfish teenager years, two weddings and a divorce.  So, when she married Dave, he became my stand in Dad.  It was a role he knew he would have to take on if he was to marry my sister.  That fact became apparent soon after they began dating.  Laura would drag Sara and me along with them on many of their dates.  They took us to the park, played racquetball with us, and even took us to the movies where Sara and I would giggle if they even looked at each other. On one date in which Sara and I were not invited, we sneaked under the kitchen table and watched them in the living room.  Just when he slid closer to her and put his arm around her, we started singing in unison, “Two little love birds sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g” Then we would run as fast as we could when Laura angrily cried out in frustration, “MOM!”

Laura was so different than the rest of the family, she was prim and proper, and unlike my siblings and me, she had manners.  She never joined in the burping or farting contests—she thought that was utterly disgusting.  She was always trying to get us to eat with our mouths closed or to keep the house clean.  I didn’t care for it then, but I’m glad she did it. 

Laura also didn’t like camping or getting dirty which was what our family enjoyed the most.   She needed a shower—we didn’t.   And what made camping even more unbearable for her was the fact that she was terrified of even the smallest bug.  Our brothers had a good time with that one.  They teased her with small fake spiders or stringy objects they would hurl in her direction.  Sometimes they even used the real thing.  They got a lot of entertainment from hearing her squeal.  Looking back I think of how hard it must have been for her—to be different and to be teased incessantly.  It probably should have been the other way around.  We were the odd balls not her.  

Laura’s complexion was soft and smooth like that of a porcelain doll.  Her features were very feminine and petite.  And she was always decked out from her head to her pretty pink toes.  I would have been insanely jealous of her if she hadn’t been so nice to me.   Not that she didn’t take full advantage of her big sister status—bossing me around, hogging the bathroom, and taking first pick of everything, but she really cared about me.  So, I was so glad that she found a guy like Dave.

Dave was as handsome and masculine as Laura was pretty and feminine.  He had strong facial features with a rugged complexion.  He had blond hair and clear blue eyes.   He was strong yet there was something about him that made him approachable and likable.    Perhaps it was the fact that he grew up in the most meager of circumstances, or maybe it was because he had to get along with 14 siblings.  Yes, 15 kids.  Ten natural born and 5 adopted.  Because of this, he gained many attributes that couldn’t have been learned by any other means.   I’m sure this also contributed to his sense of humor.  Whatever it was, he was the perfect guy for my sister.  

They married at just nineteen years of age.  Dave often joked about being a teenager when he married my sister, and he always made a point of letting everyone know that she was older than him—even if it was only six months.   Being married so young and with no financial help from either parents, Laura and Dave had to make it on their own.  It was tough.  They were immature at times and money was tight, but they always seemed to get by, and they somehow always seemed to be able to help others by giving of their time and what little money they had.  Laura and Dave were good with money.  They were very conservative and cautious with their own business.  Over the years, they created a successful thriving automotive business. 

 Chad reluctantly agreed to go with me to talk to Laura and Dave.  I laid it all out on the table.  I showed them every penny we owed.   In all, we were upside down over $200,000.  Laura and Dave agreed that bankruptcy was the only option, aside from robbing a bank.  Sure, we could have held on for a few more months, maybe even several, but bankruptcy was inevitable—there was just no other way out.  I had gone over the bills and added the figures over and over again hoping we could somehow work it out.  We couldn’t avoid it.  I was ashamed and embarrassed.   I always looked down on people who claimed bankruptcy and considered them irresponsible.  

    With the facts right in front of me, I had to admit we made a few poor choices and some risky speculations, and there were a few unseen financial pitfalls.  I guess the first mistake was starting the business with no reserve—no capital, so the business had to support our family as well as turn a profit to pay off the loans.  Chad also probably could have purchased less expensive machines or secondhand machines for the rentals. Chad said that was debatable because he had gotten such a good deal on the new ones, and he wouldn’t have to worry about mechanical problems.   I could blame Chad because it was his business and his decisions, but there is always someone to blame and some way to shift the responsibility, but all of that didn’t matter.  The bottom line was we were where we were and we had to deal with it.  There was no going back now.  We simply had to face it and move on.  The list of could haves, should haves, and only ifs was long. 

After being in business for less than two years, it was time to face the unavoidable—a huge sign out front of the store read “Going out of business sale”.  The dreams and aspirations were replaced with feelings of failure, sadness, and despair.  It wouldn’t be long before everything we had worked for was gone.   For Chad, it was devastating.  He prided himself on his hard work and self-reliance and now he was powerless to stop the dominos that had been put into motion.  It was hard to shut the door on the business and hand in the keys.   

          The next several months were spent liquidating the store and trying to decide exactly what we were going to do.  Where were we going to live? What were we going to do for a living?  I spent a lot of time pondering, praying, and worrying.  I was really beginning to get scared as the liquidation of our store began to wind down and the shelves began to empty and the money began to dwindle.  The kids could sense the tension and were confused.  The neighbors began asking about the for sale sign in the front yard.  “What was going on? Where were we going? What was the plan?”  I had no idea.  

 As we closed the doors on our business, we had to face the shattered dreams, the disappointment, and reality.  The calls from bill collectors were relentless.  Everyone wanted their money.  They were threatening all kinds of things to try to get their money, but we just didn’t have it.  As the material things in my life were taken from me, I had an urge to hold on tighter.  We hid some money and some of the equipment.  The fear of losing everything began to consume me.  The thought of a bottle of tequila had crossed my mind on a few occasions, but I knew better.  I had kids who needed me and I needed them.  One night when I was praying, they thought came to me, “It is only stuff; let it go.” 

Losing the business was hard, but losing our home was probably the most painful for me.  Our home which we built with own hands would soon have new residents.  The rooms in which holidays were spent and memories were created would soon be filled with strangers.  The trees I planted and nurtured for nine years would soon shade someone else’s yard.  The wildflowers that once danced in the back yard where birthday parties were held and neighborhood kids laughed and played would eventually die and be replaced.  The large sturdy wood swing set and fort where my kids spent most of their summers in an imaginary world would only be a memory.  

I had never been the type of person to run away from my problems, but the thought of running away crept into my mind more and more often.   I know I couldn’t really run away from my problems, but I was suffocating in fear and panic.  I thought about the time my mother had taken all seven of us kids camping for one whole summer.  I had a blast; it was a summer I’ll never forget.  We camped in the mountains above Payson canyon on some land my dad owned.  It was about 2 hours from where we lived.  We swam in the pond and caught pollywogs.  My brother even swallowed one whole on a dare.  My dad built us a tree house in a very tall tree.  I remember how scary it was climbing up the nailed on wood slates that led to the platform, and how frightened I was it was as the tree house swayed in the wind.  I loved playing there. It made me feel brave and fearless.  I was only 6 years old so the aspect of an outhouse and not bathing made it even better.  The thought of that summer got me thinking.  Perhaps I could run away—just this once. 

 

I called a friend of mine, Brad, who worked for the department of wildlife resources and asked him where I could camp for three months.  I told him of my little fantasy of taking the kids camping for the entire summer. He was very amused at the whole idea and chuckled.  A part of him thought it was a little crazy—that I had lost my mind, but another part of him was a little envious.  He and his wife Diane had been our friends for about eight years.  Like us, Diane and Brad were unable to have their own children.  When I met Diane, she had adopted one boy, Eli, and I had Dani.  Through the years our families spent a few holidays together, camped, hiked, fished and went to church together.  I shared in their joy as they adopted Noah and then were able to give birth to a baby boy.  They in turn shared in our joy when we adopted Jared. 

Brad was genuinely interested in my new venture.   He explained there was a 14 day camping limit. We would have to pack up camp every couple of weeks and move.  He did have an idea though.  I could be a camp host.  I’d be able to stay in one spot for the entire summer and get paid.   Brad gave me a few phone numbers and I immediately began my escape plan. I called a company that had a contract with the federal government to manage several camp sites throughout the state.  They had an opening that sounded perfect.  It was at the very top of the south side of the Uinta Mountains which was only 45 minutes from where we lived.  It was so high in the mountains they were only open two months of the year—July and August.  It was closed the rest of the year due to snow.  The little campground was called Wolf Creek.  It had three individual camp sites and two group camp sites.  This would be the first year the site would have a camp host.  My duties would include picking up trash, cleaning out the fire pits, collecting money, and yes, cleaning the outhouses.  I didn’t mind hard work, but cleaning the stinky toilets made me cringe. I accepted the job and began my preparations. 

It was mid June so I only had about two weeks to get everything figured out.  I called Laura and let her know of my plan.  She thought I was crazy, but knowing there was no talking sense into me, she hooked me up with a friend of hers who had a 5^th wheel trailer for sale.  It was a little dated but her friend, Jerry, had taken immaculate care of it.  Since Jerry and his wife had previously lived in the trailer for six months while they served a mission for their church it was all set up. There were extra solar panels, a TV, and larger than normal water tanks.  It was 26 feet long with a pop out in the kitchen and living room area which slid out with the push of a button.  The carpet was a nice sea foam green color and in excellent condition.  There were large windows in the living room and kitchen.  I could already imagine seeing the trees and beautiful mountain scenery.  It was perfect!  After we agreed on a price, Jerry showed Chad all the ins and outs of the trailer.  It took Jerry over an hour to explain everything.  It was far more complicated than either of us realized. 

After purchasing the trailer, we rented a storage unit to store everything we couldn’t take with us.  We planned on getting rid of a lot of stuff so we rented a small 10X20 unit to put everything in from our 2500 square foot home and two-car garage. The unit seemed so big when it was empty, but it didn’t take long before the thing would be crammed full all the way to the ceiling with not one inch left to spare.  The few things that didn’t fit would have to be stored at Laura’s house.  I called it stuff. She called it crap, but after a long weekend moving everything.  I called it crap too. 

I gave each of my kids a small plastic storage container and told them they could only bring what would fit into the box.  Jared was only four at the time and Danielle was soon to be nine.   As I was trying to figure out how to fit all my stuff into the trailer, the kids kept bringing things to me and pleading, “Can’t we just bring this too?”  “Just this one? ”   First it was big things like the Barbie jeep & the doll house from Danielle and the tike, and train set from Jared.  I really wanted to say yes because I knew how much they loved those toys.  I loved them too. I loved watching them play with their friends and with each other, and I loved playing with them as well.   But, we just couldn’t.  There was no way.  My reply was always, “Does it fit in the box?”   You would have thought they would have given up after the first several times or even after 10 times, but they just kept coming, and became more persistent after the box was full.  There were a few times I raised my voice, “No, I said No.”  But that still didn’t stop them.  They kept coming.  I guess they wouldn’t be kids if they didn’t.  Jared’s box contained mostly cars and balls.  He filled it to the brim and then tried to balance a huge plastic blue ball on top that was bigger than the opening of the box. Danielle had taken great care to organize her box carefully.  She emptied it out several times and reorganized it so that she could fit just one more Barbie or one more toy until it was impossible to fit anything at all no matter how hard she tried.  She had even sneaked a few toys in Jared’s box.  He was too young and too easy going to mind.   When Danielle finished she showed me how well she had organized her box as she stood there with pride.  She had a little toy pony in her precious hands.  As my eyes moved from the box to the pony, she quickly replied, “I’ll just hold this one.”  

Going through all my stuff and getting rid of things was hard for me as well.  When we first moved into our home, we moved from a 900 square foot rental into our 2500 square foot home.  After nine years you just accumulate things.  It didn’t take long before every nook and cranny of the house was filled with stuff—with crap.  As I went through my stuff, I had to decide what to keep, what to take, and what to get rid of knowing that the “what to get rid of pile” had to be the biggest.  Of course it was easy for me to look at my husbands pile and say, “Are you really going to keep this?”  Like this odd exercise wheel I had only seen him use a handful of times in the 12 years of our marriage.   “Yeah,” he replied defensively as he looked at my stuff and picked from my pile a cream colored pillow with a lace doily on the front of it.  It was old and tattered.  Chad mocking said, “Are you really going to keep this old thing?”  The pillow had followed me from place to place with each of our 8 moves.  My heart sank seeing it in my husband’s hands looming over the get rid of pile. My grandmother had made.  It was the only monetary possession I had to remind me of her.  She was the one constant in my life when my father, her son, had passed away.  “My grandmother made that.”  I said in a soft sullen voice. Chad knew how much my grandmother meant to me. “I’m sorry,” he replied earnestly and handed me the pillow.  That was the end of that; we both stayed away from each others piles from then on. 

The kitchen was the largest area and would take the most time.  How on earth was I going to have enough room in the trailer for what I needed?  I opened each drawer and made an assessment: A pastry cutter—very useful but not mandatory,  A metal spatula and a plastic one—I liked them both for different things but only one would go, two whisks—only one,   several knives of different sizes and blades—narrowed down from 10 to 5. This went on until every item was scrutinized, evaluated, and sorted.  As I began to put the items in the trailer, I was like Danielle with her little box.  I organized the drawers over and over again to try to make things fit, but there just wasn’t enough room.  I had to reevaluate and make a second cut, like selecting a sports team.  Narrowed down to the very best and then narrowed down again in the second cut.  This was the second cut.  I loved my whisk.  I used it all the time, but it had to go. Five knives got cut to three; four serving spoons all got cut; four mixing bowls down to only two.   The toaster also got cut—the blender didn’t make it past the first round. 

Clearing out the kitchen was monumental, but it was not the hardest.  The hardest was the sentimental stuff, like the decorative wreath a cherished friend made for me, the MVP trophy I received from my coach in the 9^th grade, and the crochet rug I made with my sister.  Getting rid of that stuff broke my heart.   I had to remind myself it was only stuff and that giving these items away did not take these people from my heart nor did it belittle their memory.  I’m sure my grandmother would not have wanted me to tote that pillow everywhere. 

After several days of sorting through mountains of stuff, I soon began chucking things with ease.  Why had I hung on to all this crap in the first place?  All the wasted time spent storing, cleaning, and moving them from place to place.   With each item that went into the give away pile, I felt energized and powerful.  I was freeing myself and it felt good.  I remembered back to the first time I moved into my first apartment at college.  Everything I owned fit into my car.  Everything I thought was making my life easier was robbing me of my time and my energy.  Not only did it take up physical space, but it took up emotional space as well.   All this stuff was just that—Stuff.  I still had my kids, my health, my faith, and my husband—other than that, what really mattered? 

With the last item put in storage and the last room cleaned, the house seemed so big and so empty.  As I studied the empty living room, it reminded me of when we first moved in.  The room was now like it had been then: a blank canvas waiting for me to write my story.  Memories flooded my mind. I remembered the first time we ate dinner in our new home.  We sat on the floor with our legs crossed next to empty paint cans and ate on paper plates right in the middle of the floor.  We were so full of hopes and dreams of what the future held for us. We spent years creating memories in this house. The house had become a home.  My boy was born here, my daughter learned how to ride a bike here, tears were shed, laughter filled the rooms, love was built, and conflicts were resolved.  Now with the home empty it held only memories. The emptiness was a sting that reminded me this was no longer my home.  The blank canvas before me this time was not filled with hopes or dreams. It was filled with loss, sadness, and regret.

We had one more memory to leave in our house and that was my daughter’s birthday.  She was going to be nine on June 20th.  I had always made a big deal of my kids’ birthdays with a party that included lots of friends, food, cake and a piñata—always a piñata.   One time we hung it from the swing set, another time we hung it over the balcony into the living room. We even hung it in the garage. It was always my daughter’s favorite part of the party.  Kids are always told not to hit and to be polite.  This was their chance to take a bat and whack the crap out of some innocent colorful figure—like a unicorn, Barney, or a rainbow.  All the kids anxiously waited for the big moment and each one hoped they would be the hero who was strong enough to break open the treasure for everyone.    But this year would be different.   Because I had been so preoccupied with everything that was going on and consumed with my own worries, I didn’t have much time, energy, or money to make this birthday anything spectacular.   There were no friends, or fancy food, and no piñata. 

We sat in the empty living room on the floor opened a few presents, sang happy birthday, and had a little cake.   As a mom, it’s my responsibility to make sure each holiday and every birthday is perfect in every way.  I don’t know why it’s like that or where that notion came from because my own mother never made a big deal of my birthdays, but that was just the way it was for me.  Perhaps it’s part of some female physique or my ingrain nature to nurture.    This birthday however would serve as a one of those bad mommy memories—where you fee like you’ve failed…again.  I have decided there are just way too many ways to feel guilty as a mother.