Resilience

More time with my old chums from 9th grade. One of us lives in the country near Portland, and her husband collects old Cadillacs, has 104 of them. He was hosting his car club today, so we all crashed the car club party and ate plates full of their lovely food. I couldn't resist taking pictures of the cars, which I've posted on that other photo-sharing site.

But the subject of the day among our crowd was RESILIENCE. Most of us had strict, authoritative fathers. Some of our parents were alcoholic. We all grew up with violence. Several of us had deeply troubled mothers who suffered from severe depression. Our moms were having a good day if they were able to get out of bed. Not one of us had what anybody would call a happy family. Jane, who is a psychiatric nurse and has worked for years in drug and alcohol rehab, said she has never been able to figure out why some people who have lousy childhoods are resilient. They walk through hell and come out filled with compassion and creative energy. Others lose their minds, commit suicide, or become addicted to drugs or alcohol themselves.

It's a wonder anybody survives. Many don't.

We all wonder what makes resilience. We don't know.

I love these women. I've heard of high school reunions that are a nightmare of small-talk, bragging, one-up-manship and posing. The five of us stood around smiling in a field full of old Cadillacs. We acknowledged how far we've come, grinned at each other with admiration and tenderness, and were grateful to be here and to see each other again.