My Lucky Stars

There was a period (long period) of my life where I remember feeling like no one came through for me. I feel pathetic typing it. My feeling life a victim made me one. But as I look at my life today, I realize that period of my life is over.

Today is the eighth anniversary of the night I was robbed at gunpoint when I lived in San Francisco. It happened about right now actually.

That night on the beach, I laid on the cold sand with a gun pressed to my temple. I did not fight or protest, I just squeezed my eyes shut tight and listened to the crashing waves on the shore and let hot tears drip down my cheeks. The only thing on my mind was the roar of the ocean and the realization that I had not told my mom where I was going that night. As the only thought in my mind, I was filled with profound sadness -my dying would be a mystery and my mom would never completely be able to sort it out because I did not talk to her that day. Not talking to her every day was not at all unusual, but I felt regretful that I had not called her this day. I put all of my energy into thinking her messages of how much I loved her. Obviously I love/loved my dad and my brother as much as mom but for some reason all I could think of was her.

When it was over, and I obviously lived, I called my dad the next day to tell him what happened and I begged him not to tell my mom until I saw her in person the following weekend for mother's day. That day, I kept my big Jackie O shades on for the initial part of our visit because of the swelling and bruising on my eyes.

When we sat down for brunch and I removed them, my mom's face contorted into tears and she pleaded with me to tell me what on Earth was wrong. She must have thought I'd been beaten by my boyfriend or been in a car accident. Actually, I don't know what she could have imagined. She was shocked when I told her why my eyes looked the way they did.
Peter was angry and sullen that I was getting all of the attention, but it was not attention I wanted.It was one hell of a mother's day. I did not mean for the focus to be on me, but it was unavoidable.

For the past couple of years, my mom has mailed me a card to tell me on the anniversary that she loves me and she is so grateful I am still alive. The first time I received one of her anniversary cards I cried because I could not believe how thoughtful and expressive it was for her to take the time to share those feelings with me.

This year, our relationship moved forward again because rather than the card, I got a call from her on my way to work. She expressed gratitude that I am still around and also read me my horoscope for no extra charge - it made my whole day.

So often in families, actually all relationships, people forget to take the time to share what they assume is common knowledge. My mom calling me to remind me of a critical point in time where my life could have ended and hers could have changed forever fills me with love for her and for my own life.

We get so many reminders in other people's stories to: slow down, share your feelings, appreciate what you have, say thank you, say I love you - and we feel sad for a moment and then we bustle forward again and forget.

My best friend has been busy with her final finals and wedding planning and a horrible knee injury and has been fairly unreachable for the last three weeks. During that time, I have not needed her, but I have wished she was available to talk. I know if I called her and told her why I wanted to talk, she would have dropped what she had going on to be what I needed, but I did not know what I needed. I did not want to have to ask her to listen. I did not want her to feel interrupted or sorry for me.

All of these emotions coming up again have been bizarre. I feel angry then scared then calm and mostly just frustrated with myself that I feel any of those things at all. Being subpoenaed to testify again should not in and of itself be scary. I know that PLS cannot "get" me and I know that I can certainly face him again because I did it before. There are a broad spectrum of feelings welling up, ranging from anger that I have to deal with this again to elation that I am as lucky as I am - that I am still here to type my self-involved blog. But what interests me more than any of those emotions is the fact that when I finally spoke to my best friend today and clued her in to everything I am processing she was so supportive and lovely and kind. She did not treat me like a victim or a wounded bird, she made me feel stronger.


Eight years ago, I did not have the kinds of friends I do today. I did not have the quality relationships I have worked so hard to build. Lucky may be the wrong word because I have worked hard to surround myself with a small number of really amazing people who I respect and adore. I have worked hard to love them and be a good friend myself. What's happened in return is that my friendships are loyal, and honest, and reliable and everything I'd hoped for but didn't know if I would ever find when I was a lonely 23 year-old facing this criminal for the first time.

I love my husband and my family and my friends so much it hurts. The best thing is, lucky as I feel, I know I deserve them.