Things will get better…. I promised myself

Camping in the Rain

A Walk Down Memory Lane

 

When my relationship came to an end, I moved with my young son into a campground in Surrey. I was trying to find a place that I could afford to live and trying to raise my child through a very difficult time. In the break up, I had lost my business, my home and access to any security that I thought I had built up over the years. I literally didn’t know what I was going to do.

 

It is very sobering to move from a nice home to live in a trailer, to suddenly be poor, to try to balance working life with motherhood and deal with a broken heart. At night I would listen to the wind and the trees cracking and breaking and pray that we would be safe under those trees. I promised myself that things would get better….

 

In the beginning, nights in the trailer were damp and cold but over time I learned how to light the pilot light for the hot water. I bought warm blankets, cozy pillows and an electric fireplace. I decorated my trailer in zebra print throws and leopard print pillows. Honey, if I was going to be trailer trash, I was going for the Tacky Trailer Trash award. I learned to deal with the mud…constant unrelenting mud…everywhere. And I promised myself that things would get better.

 

I learned how to wash the mould away with bleach and water (out of every crack and crevice every week for years) and I discovered that my new friends in the trailer park pulled together. We looked after one another, fed each other kids and spent time around the campfire learning each other’s secrets.

 

I learned to cook (camping style) every day. I became an expert BBQ Queen, even cooking a Christmas turkey on the BBQ. We didn’t have an indoor Christmas tree or lots of gifts but I promised myself that it would get better. That one day my son would have those things again.

 

We spend our first Christmas sledding down a snow bank with all the other trailer park families. Once we were soaking and cold, we would take all our wet clothes and throw them in the community dryer. Then we would huddle under the electric blankets drinking mulled wine. Once the clothes were dry, it was time to sled again. We would put the clothes back on (mind the hot zipper) and go back out sledding. I knew those moments were golden, as good as life could get.

 

I got a job and then resurrected and old business that I had given up when I got married. It was really hard at first. Long hours with little pay but I stuck with it. I worked the morning at one job, took care of my son and then when he was asleep, I would pull out my computer and do my second job. I started to save some money. I had a plan.

 

Many nights were spent around a campfire (even in the rain and snow) with good people, good conversations and my son falling asleep, wrapped up in a blanket on my lap. I found a place of peace and I was secure in knowing that I had friends and neighbours, safety and home.

 

I learned how to string tarps and fight the elements. Rain, bring it on. Snow – no problem. Hail – whatever. Thunder and lightening – ummmm – hid under the covers. Wind storms – I prayed…a lot. And I promised myself that things would get better.

 

I learned how to live with raccoons and coyotes and we spent a lot of time deep in the woods or playing in the stream. We had Halloween parties and decorated a giant outdoor Christmas tree. In those moments I knew life couldn’t get any better than this.

 

I heated water in canning pots on my propane stove and poured it into a basin so my son could have a bath. I learned to live with no storage, a fridge the size of a suitcase and an even smaller bathroom. When it was sunny and warm, it was magic, when it was cold and wet, it was torture but I promised myself that things would get better.

 

I learned to clip coupons and knew which days the meat went on sale. I found a job with flex hours and was able to pick my son up from school everyday. He discovered a childhood that was spent outdoors and I discovered the drive through liquor store so life really was good.

 

As I began to settle in, I worked, saved money and planted a garden. With help, I dug a pond and planted a small rhododendron bush. It was a table centerpiece from a wedding and when I planted it, it was six inches tall. It wasn’t much but it was, in my mind, the beginning of surrendering to the life I had now. It was far from perfect but I was going to make it beautiful even if I only had one small bush with a few flowers on it. I promised myself that things would get better.

 

It took years and there were good days and not so good days but I kept climbing. I was so grateful for the childhood my son was having with friends and creek to play in and there were days when I felt sorry for myself. How in the world had it come to this?

 

Strangely enough, when I were finally able to buy a small house and move, I mourned the loss of my little trailer. I didn’t want to go. This small plot had been home. I didn’t want to leave my friends. I was sure I would never feel at home anywhere else. I would never find such good neighbours. I was leaving my security and the life I knew well. I wasn’t sure I would fit in with people who lived in real houses. I was leaving my little flowering bush. It had grown too big to transplant.

 

But I bit the bullet and we moved into a the fixer upper with the leaky roof. At first the little house was too big for me. It took time to get used to a real fridge and cupboards and space. The first week, I spent most of it around a campfire outside even though it was December. It didn’t feel like home and I was very lonely.

 

So I got to work. With help, I landscaped and painted, dug a pond and built new walls. I put up paintings and unpacked my boxes that had been in storage for all those years. I missed my friends and I was lonely and afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do it all by myself. But in for a penny, in for a pound as they say.

 

I learned how to bleed a hot water tank and fix a garburator. I learned how to prime an indoor fireplace and get moss of my roof. It was hard and there were days when I stood in the pouring rain trying to stop my bathroom from flooding that I hated my life. I was so sick of doing it all alone. But I promised myself it would get better.

 

On good days, I sat in my garden and laughed with my son. I bought a hot tub and we spent magical evenings under the stars. I learned how to cook inside and the BBQ got cobwebs. I ran a real bath just by turning the faucet. That never gets old for me. I made friends with my neighbours and they became my family.

 

I am not lonely now. My adopted grand-boys run into my house looking for hot chocolate and waffles and I run next door for coffee and a hand massage.

 

This weekend I took those same boys camping at the same campground that I used to live in. My friend and her daughter braved the weather and we set up camp right across from my old trailer. It brought back so many memories, both of the good times but also of the scariness of it all. I remember feeling so overwhelmed.

 

This weekend it poured rain and the mud I remembered so well pooled under our feet. I strung tarps and build shelter, cooked food outside and battled the raccoons for the spoils.

 

We sat around the campfire and told scary stories in our mud covered pants and wet shoes. We played in the creek in the rain and slept in a leaking camper all scrunched up together under the electric blanket. I warmed up water on my propane stove to fill little hot water bottles to keep everyone warm.

 

It brought back such bitter sweet memories of how far I had come and how life is always a balancing act between moments of fear and self doubt and moments of sheer pleasure.

 

Moments of giggles and boots full of water, moments of frustration when the camper won’t start and I have to haul the battery out BY MYSELF and hook it up to the charger and reinstall it and try to get the engine to turn over and I am so sick of always having to be the one to do everything by myself …. (rant, rant, rant) ….and so proud that I am capable of doing anything, by myself. (don’t you love Google)

 

The point of this is that no matter where you are in life right now, things will get better. They will also get worse. Life isn’t a straight line. The trick is to stop long enough to notice the precious moments and to bear down and bullfight your way through the tough moments.

 

The only skill you need to have is adaptability. Faith, good friends and knowing how to tie a good knot go a long way. Learn to go with the flow, kicking and screaming sometimes, lonely sometimes but always pushing forward, promising yourself that things will get better.

 

And they will. Surround yourself with good people, push yourself to do more, learn more, be grateful, be stronger, get stubborn, take chances, say yes more often than you say no and then watch the magic happen. Things get better.

 

I took a picture of the small rhododendron bush that I planted 13 years ago. Look at it now. It grew strong and healthy, just like my son.

 

This weekend I stood in the pouring rain and I looked at that trailer. I felt such love. You can make anything a home. Home truly is in your heart.

 

Don’t give into fear. Don’t let self-doubt cripple you. No matter what life throws at you believe that things will get better and then take the scary steps necessary to turn it all around.

 

Plant a flowering bush, dig in your heels, make your mark and stay in the game. It all starts with what you believe you can do. Go ahead and cry, swear, feel sorry for yourself – that’s all part of it but when you are done, get up and do it yourself.

It’s your life. Make it beautiful, one small flowering plant at a time.

 

Shara Nixon

Sept 2016