It was time to get a job and think about child care though the thought horrified me. But with the help of some caring friends and a little luck, I was able to land both almost at the same time. My son gleefully embraced his new daytime home and I landed a decent job with a real estate attorney although I didn't know the difference between a mortgage and the back of a wildebeest's behind. But I learned. And I began earning my own money, I got off of welfare and ended up picking up some more work from another attorney in the office in which I worked. Days and nights blurred again, my son turned two. He began talking and I settled into a somewhat routine of single parenthood. My ex husband was not around but I somehow managed on my own. My vow of celibacy was taking its toll - I was still young, in my eyes, but when I gazed upon myself that old self-loathing and self-disgust python of emotions crept back up and strangled me. Physically, I felt I was doomed. Emotionally, well, it was anybody's guess.
Sometime in mid-2002, my landlord informed me he was selling the two-family he owned - and in which I was residing and I would have to move. The fear of homelessness was even greater than anything fear I could imagine. There was no one with whom I could reside, nevermind with a 2 year old son along. I lost sleep, I lost weight (not the way I wanted) and I spent my days consumed with the fact I was now going to end up on the streets.
I do not remember who, or when, or where I was but someone mentioned a low-income housing complex in the town I now reside. The town is known for its wealth and its mansion-like homes and apparently, the apartment complex was considered "the town ghetto." I remember taking a drive to the complex and was stunned at how well-maintained the grounds were. But appearances are deceiving as we all know. But I didn't care. I wanted in. I filled out an application and waited and waited and waiting. Fall and winter came and went and with it my hopes. My landlord kept pressing me about finding a new place to live. I had nothing to tell him and frankly, he didn't care. His wife didn't either - she just wanted me gone. Period. She and I never saw eye to eye and it was evident when I planted some beautiful mums in the little garden space on MY side of the two-family - my son LOVED those flowers and she came knocking on my door one day and informed me that she had to go out and buy the same mums because "her side looked bare and ugly because of me." I don't remember what I said but I remember wishing a house would fall on her during the next tornado.
Spring of 2003 brought elation: I had been approved for an apartment in the low-income housing complex. I drove to it again, filled out paperwork and scheduled to move in July 1, 2003. I wanted to see the apartment first so I asked a woman I saw walking around with two children in tow if I could check out her apartment. She agreed. The apartments were the size of cereal boxes but I had a porch, a view of the field in back of the complex and oh yes, I could see dead people from my apartment: I faced the funeral home across the street. Lovely.
But it would be mine and I could afford the rent. And I had a roof over my head as long as I played by the rules (there were many) and didn't commit any crimes, etc.
I remember hugging my son and praying that somehow, we could provide a better life than what he'd had so far. But my prayers went unanswered. The worst was yet to come.
Tomorrow: Custody issues, rollercoaster rides, and loneliness.
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