The Roots that Bind Us

Women. Roots. Sisters. Family. I have always had fierce lady friendships. I’ve been blessed with women with huge hearts. With a women’s woman mentality. We’ve all made mistakes. Yet now that we are women, there are lines we do not cross. And there are friendships we will not shake.

My relationship with all of these women has evolved through the years. Has had lulls. But all it takes is one phone call. One. And it’s like we’re all meeting at the corner store making up a game plan. I’ve fought for these women. I would go nose-to-nose with men for these women. I have and will continue to love the babies of all these women. I’ve yelled at these women. I’ve cursed at these women. On occasion I’ve even physically fought with these women. Sometimes as fun. Sometimes as rage. Rage over a T-shirt. I tried my best to live in a way that none of these women ever needed to fight for me. That none of these women would ever have to worry about me. That all of these women know that everything I decide to do will be done with reason and I will do it correct and make it look easy.

These women, surprisingly, didn’t all know my husband well when we married. But they didn’t worry. Not because of him. Because of me. Because as much as I fight for others, of course I would fight for myself as well. If I’m choosing to marry someone, something I said I would never do—never get married—then I’m choosing who I want. And no one worried. Because I took that role and I ran with it. I did everything to be expected and more. I created a beautiful life and a beautiful home. My husband knew I loved him. He knew he was adored by our children. My kids know they are loved. If they know nothing else, they know they are loved. By me. By their dad. By family. By friends. But I can’t control everything. I can’t. And nowadays, I don’t even care to.

When my husband died, the decisions were all on me. As to be expected. How he would have wanted it. How I would have wanted it. But it was a lot. It was so much with no warning. I wrote his obituary alone on the couch. I messaged his sister for family spellings and to make sure I wasn’t leaving anyone out. My mom sat with me while I planned his service at the funeral home. My sisters rallied together. My friends showed up. My family was here. My roots kept me standing.

When I’m falling, like I feel I am right now, I call one of the women who helped shape me into who I am today. If they didn’t somehow already know I needed them, by listening to their womanly intuition to call at that exact moment, I call them. One of my ladies, who I refer to as a soul sister, went through a long phase of not answering my calls. And I remember the voicemails I used to leave her.

I would always say:

hey, you’re not answering or returning my calls and that’s fine. I’m going to keep calling. But eventually I will stop ‘cause I may be annoying you. But don’t forget to call me back when you’re ready to talk. Love you.

And one of the last times I made that call was when my youngest was still a baby. And then life comes at you quick. When my husband died, my youngest was two weeks shy of 5 years old. And she returned my call. She returned my call at the best possible time. I didn’t answer. I don’t even know if I responded to her text. But she showed up. She hopped on an airplane and was with me that entire dreaded weekend. She held my head up on the drive home as my body couldn’t stand tall any longer. And she visited with my family. My children. My sisters. My brother. While I slept deep for the first time in over a week. She made me smile and laugh when everything around me was blurry. She, among all the other women I mentioned, sat in the pews as I stood in front of everyone and addressed the crowd in a way I believe honored my husband, my children’s father. They watched my brave little boys stand in front of the crowd. They are the arms that comforted me. The voices I needed to hear.

And today, months later, If I need to vent about all the bullshit or cry about heartbreak or be distracted from my current life situation, I’ve got a woman ready and willing to do all these things. Those unable to attend services have been to my house to visit. They have loved my kids as they were their own. They’ve held on tight and hugged me even though they are miles and miles away.

They know who I am on my own. They don’t look at me as part of a partnership. They know what I’m capable of and what’s burning inside me. The good and the bad. They know my quirks and my triggers. And they know when to push me. They know that even when I’m lying in the dark, they have the authority to walk over and kick me in my ribs until I look at the light and stand up and walk into it. They know who I was before I became a wife. Before I became a mother. They know my roots. They know what I’ve told myself. What I’ve told them. They know what I’ve reached for, what I’ve let go of, what I hold with a white-knuckle grip, who I would die for.

People have said, “I don’t know how you do it.” “I’m amazed at your strength.” What they don’t realize is that it’s not just my strength I’ve summoned together. I’m using my own and borrowing from others. It takes a village and that need doesn’t go away. It’s the women in my life who will continue to raise my boys with me. The fiercest of all women. The most resilient.

Resilience. While we all have our strengths, it’s the resilience that allows us to use it. I am resilient. I am strong and I can get up after taking a shot to the heart; but it’s my resilience that will carry me when I feel weak. My resilience will carry me and side-by-side I’ll be strengthened by the women who know me. Shoulder-to-shoulder there will be a line of women ready to form whatever length of rope they need to assemble when I trip, and throw it down before I fall too deep. They will pull me up. They will remind me of my strength to pull myself up. It’s the women in my life who have always carried an extra life jacket. Who understand me and know me and support me. Those I’ve met as children have all evolved in ways different than my own, those I’ve met as an adult probably wouldn’t have been a friend as a child. And that’s what makes this all work so beautifully. Our integrity is what binds us. We don’t always need to rally together, thankfully, but it’s been proven that we will when the time comes.

And for the first time in an extremely long time, I’m not in a position to help any of these women. I can’t offer them advice right now. I don’t know if I’m available tomorrow. I don’t know anything. I have no plans. I have no insight to share. Everything’s messed up. But I do know, as they know, when the need is here, no matter if I’m still living in this daily fog, I’ll throw my body down and form into whatever piece is required for that life-saving rope. And I’ll pull them back up.