All day I’ve been recalling a time about fifteen years ago, when I fell into the category of being a “mother of a young child.”
When my oldest daughter, Navy, was about 3 months old, our little trio of a family was temporarily re-located to the happiest place on earth, Disney World. Well, to be fair and specific, we lived “off-property” in Orlando, and Duke went to work everyday at the giant sun-dial building (Team Disney building) designed by Arata Isosaki. The move was supposed to be short–6 weeks, but extended into almost a year. I had gone back to work when Navy was 6 weeks old–and was ecstatic to get to be a stay at home mom, but sad to leave family and friends behind with my ever changing infant. Other than Duke and baby Navy, my first weeks in Florida, I only met one other wife/mother (of a 5, 7 and 9 year olds) and the cleaning lady for our room at the Residence Inn. (She was from Laos and didn’t speak a word of English, but was very nice.)
And then I met Chiquita.
Chiquita’s husband worked with Duke in the sun-dial building and she, too, had a 3 month old baby girl. We hit it off. Soon, we began to fill our days doing baby and mom things together. We’d go to Gymboree and Discovery Zone. We had serious conversations about what was rumored to be found in the ball pit, but climbed in anyway with our baby girls. We were fellow skeptics of Florida–she hailing from Washington D.C. and I from Texas. (Florida had giant bugs and an alligator in every duck pond.) We worried over buying the best first pair of little white shoes for our girls to walk in. If she needed to go somewhere, I would babysit. If I needed to go somewhere, she would babysit. I missed my friends and family in Texas. She missed her friends and family in Washington D.C. We’d rejoice together over Navy and Gabby’s new teeth, new foods and first steps.
I convinced her to go to the “Southern Women’s Expo” which was a JCPenney style show and whoever was on the cover of People magazine as the keynote speaker. Upon leaving she said, “Well that wasn’t too bad. I guess I expected lawn jockeys by the door.” We giggled hysterically and we both shed some thin and almost invisible prejudices. She was my first friend that I got to know because of our children. She was brilliant and hilarious and she was a part of making Florida bearable.
I wonder if scientists were to study humans in their wild, native habitat (like Florida) they might observe something about mothers of young children? I wonder if they might observe such mothers cling to each other in those formative years–learning this new role of motherhood? I wonder if young mothers come armed with their history (or baggage) of being mothered, but are fed and supported by their peers in those formative years? Almost saying to each other, “You can do this, and I’m here to do it right beside you.” I remember this. I have been the receiver and giver of this many times since, and have seen it in others, most recently and frequently in the St. Martin’s Mothers of Young Children group.
I’m now the mother of an adolescent. I’ve have countless, golden wonderful friendships with people I have met through my children. I cherish them all in how they have informed my life and mothering.
This morning, the first words I heard was that “Chiquita Durham died.” It took me a second to swish the cobwebs in my brain away to remember how important that name is. Our friendship was short. They went back to D.C. and we came back to Texas, and we lost touch. She evidently has been fighting cancer for some time. I’ve remembered her all day. She was the little girl I blessed at the end of Godly Play, she was the woman I bumped into at Lowe’s and she was the old woman I let over on the freeway. This was a good day to remember her wonderful friendship and to honor the spirit of loving support we give each other as we parent.
My dear Chiquita, rest in peace.