Everything has its price
I’ve spent days, weeks really, maneuvering through objects and obstacles. In my little den. The jammed office. My bedroom, the living room, a wretched corner in the kitchen. I am looking. Taking silent inventory. Running numbers in my head. 
I toss aside the memories as best I can. Memories of marriage and babies. Of difficult endings and painful upheaval. I try to focus on the objects, stripping them of emotion. There are cut glass candy dishes and Wedgwood tea cups that once belonged to my grandmother. I see her in these bits of finery; I feel her. I suppose I could sell these things and make a few bucks, but it would tear something in me to sell off family history.
So I continue, moving from room to room. Opening boxes and doors I’d rather not. My eyes, assessing, my heart aching, my mental calculator, valuing.
I scan in silence. Making lists and organizing each item into a slot. These are the tools of getting through tough times and numbing their sting: family treasures to keep, beautiful objects to shed; this for a private sale if possible, that for a yard sale. And then there are the broken things.
The price of a life
The price tag for a life as you live it?
Isn’t that a matter of definition, of context, of personal values? Of course there are clear cut assets and liabilities, and not the currency of the appraiser’s keen examination, or the fluctuations of any market. There is the cost of gutting what you love – in order to protect what you love even more.
If you live, if you risk, if you offer your heart – you will tally up plenty of costs. You bear the price for your living, your risking, your most profound caring. And you call it a full life, a real life.
There are “things” in that full life. In mine, there are antique chairs – childrens chairs, rockers and stools that I sat in as a toddler. My sons sat in these same chairs. I do the math: They might bring some money, but they are – to me – precious. I am not ready to let them go.
By the door stands a diminutive cherry table with its smooth surface, its elegant apron, its 200-year old pedigree. I purchased it at some expense, only four years into marriage. I intended it to be used by the fireplace, for cozy suppers with my husband after our little boys were in bed. An element of romance, a time to reconnect.
But there were no suppers for the two of us. No reconnection. I would love to be rid of the table, at almost any price.
Broken things
The hardest items to inventory are those that have been broken. One is a tall case clock, 1797. I remember, vaguely, the adventure of its discovery on an antiquing trip in the 1960s, with my mother. It stood in her home for years, and when I was married with children, she thought it belonged in my home. I sent her several thousand dollars to have it repaired and shipped to me. It worked, for a number of years.
Now it stands in three parts, in the corner of a room, where it has been for too long. A broken thing.
On the days I feel broken, I avoid its gaze. Knowing the clock still has value, but not like this. Feeling my powerlessness – unable to fix it, unable to sell it, unable to move it, unable to rid myself of it. Unable to escape its beauty, its sadness, its damaged state.
Good company
Recessionary times, a bad divorce, an unenforceable child support agreement even years after the fact – these are realities, and I am not alone in them. There are millions of us – women, mostly. Some of us fight and win, some fight and lose more than we imagine. Some of us keep silent and plug away. Some of us give voice to anger, to despair, to renewed hope, to acceptance. We all tough it out, day by day, raising our children, navigating around the broken places in ourselves, the broken promises for our children, the shattered dreams. Some days we are fine. Other days, we are not. 
We come in a surprising array of variations. You would not consider me broken if you saw me. You would not perceive me as unsuccessful, or devoid of hopefulness. I do not look the part or act it, capable in my necessary masks. And I am not unsuccessful when I think of my sons, and I know they are not broken.
For most of us, our eyes are on the prize – our children. Whatever it takes to get them out into the world, whole and safe. They are the pot of gold, the emotional treasure, the destination that makes any price we have to pay an acceptable price. They are our success in the making, simply through being healthy, competent, and we hope – able to discern and feel happiness.
Inventory
I believe in assessments. Periodic inventories. I have always practiced this discipline of looking at myself and my life – what I have learned, what I have gained, and yes – what I have lost. I believe in lessons, in knowledge, in experiences – all of which forms the vital companion to changes needed to move forward.
For me, inventory has never been about things. It is still not about things.
And yet I take stock, moving from one little room to the next. It’s not the first time and certainly not the last. My mind performs its mental math – $50 for that armchair at yard sale, perhaps $75 for the last of the rugs, maybe another $50 for all the toys in the basement long past use in this household. A dollar a piece for these vases I never use, still in good shape, purchased for twenty times as much.
As for the beloved objects, the infused-with-history objects, the pieces of my history, of American history, of my sons’ childhood – I will divide and conquer, make difficult decisions, see what can be discarded and what cannot. Everything has a price. Everything can be bought. Memories remain steadfast with tangible reminders, but will linger even without.
The price of friendship
I take notes. I sit. I take a breath, and start again.
I practice the art of juggling, which I have managed for many years, knowing full well that many others perform these same feats of magic daily. It is my job. This is part of it.
I scribble ideas and names. I revisit the past. I imagine the prices I hope to exact from things, in an effort not only to increase what sits in the coffers but to make life simpler. I am weary of caretaking. I wish to be lighter.
Some objects – artworks mostly – conjure friendships and recollections that are glowing. The price tag on friendship is not quantifiable. Friendship is given freely (perhaps more so than love), and usually, without strings.
When the price is too high
There have been things asked of me in the past few days that would alleviate one particularly challenging situation, and let loose a host of other problems. Worse, a single yes would compromise my integrity, though the household would return to a (temporary) state of calm. The proposed short-term solution is no solution at all if I offer myself up to being broken again – sacrificing my word, and my beliefs in right and wrong.
I have come to realize that I can be bought. More precisely, parts of me can be bought. For the sake of my children.
But not all of me can be bought. As much for the sake of my children as for myself.
So I must say no – and it is a no that will cost me dearly, in many ways. And it will cost my son. But I am the only example of integrity in his life – though he will not see that. I can only hope that some day he will understand. That when he takes stock of his own childhood and adolescence, he will find lessons among the broken things.
- What memories would you sell off if you could?
- Is any price too high to do what is right for our children?
- How do you make your toughest decisions, when there is no “good” answer?
- What parts of you can be bought?
© D A Wolf
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what a beautiful essay.
good luck! and be well.
you are in my thoughts
with care
~jason
Of course that’s too high a price to pay! The difference between mothers and everyone else is thinking about long-term consequences. We know that what helps in the short-term is almost never the right answer for the long-term.
I have nothing of value in my home. Except for the people (and cat) that reside there. Sometimes, that depresses me, but most of the time, I’m okay with it.
Yes, long term consequences. But kids can’t see that, any more than we could when we were kids.
Thank you for sharing such an honest look at what sounds like a difficult situation. Our toughest job as a parent is to constantly weigh the what-ifs. We have to take the bullet if it means protecting our children and their long-term well-being – even if the bullet means their anger. You sound like you are living courage every day.
I’m afraid I could be bought. And I’m sad to admit that. I think – if my health were up to par – I would sell my eggs for the money. Crazy, right?
But Wolfie, you HAVE to say no to this opportunity, whatever it is. There is a moral line – a very personal thing – we just can’t cross. No matter the value. And man, that’s a difficult thing.
If this isn’t about courage, I don’t know what is.
I think we can all be bought, Eva. I know I could – in ways I couldn’t have been 20 years ago. But only certain parts of me. I’ve learned that. I’m learning it every day. But I can’t possibly know if my decisions are “right,” and the cost is very heavy.
Meanwhile, I like your selling eggs idea – why didn’t I think of that? (Of course the only eggs I have are (cough, choke) “deviled” – and in the fridge. But have any more good ideas? Drop me a line… ) 🙂
I am sorry you are in this situation… but your child is so lucky to have such an insightful, wise and caring mother! I agree that no price is too high to do what’s right for our children. Best of luck to you. And sorry I have not stopped by as often as I’d like to! Just taking a break and relaxing during the pregnancy… xo
You should definitely relax during the pregnancy! (Relax and think lovely French thoughts.) Nice to hear from you… and thank you for the kind words. Bisous.
Sure we can all be bought. To a certain extent. I would never have dreamed of the arrangement we’ve come up with since my marriage ended 13 years ago. But I’d do it again to have the time it gave me with the kids. Yet we all have limits and it sounds like you’ve reached one of yours. Teaching our kids the meaning of integrity without preaching it is the biggest and toughest parental legacy; I think you’re pulling it off.
I’m quite a “thing” person too, BLW, and an antique collector, and the family historian. But, of course, my family’s history starts post WWII when they came to the U.S., so nothing’s really old. I could let it all go if I had to as long as I could hang onto the irreplacable things – my mother’s wedding album, the naturalization paperwork, the photos from the DP camps. And, of course, there’s nothing I wouldn’t let go of if my kids’ or husband’s lives were at stake.
Yes, I think there are parts of all of us that can be bought. Integrity is sometimes hard to keep and hard to explain but the reward is so much more (usually) than what is being sacrificed.
You son may not understand fully until he is once again faced with a challenge to his integrity, or has kids of his own. But he will.
Good for you, making the possibly more difficult but probably right choice.
Is any price too high? Yes, definitely. Our children learn from us, as you already mentioned. They see us selling ourselves, and they will do the same. If we sell ourselves for our children, then our children sell themselves, and our purpose is defeated.
Are there memories I would sell? Hmmm…sometimes I think so. But then, I wouldn’t be me without them, and that’s a tough thing to decide. To be me? Or to be a different someone who doesn’t have all this baggage?
You’re asking some great questions. And you’re writing is beautiful.
Thanks for stopping by my blog…and leading me to yours!
~ a Momalom blogger
Thank you so much – and happy to have you here. (Love that Momalom 5-for-10!)
I’m thoroughly enjoying your writing, thanks so much for sharing.
I’m a little farther down the road then you, as a single mom of 15 years. My 3 kids are spreading their wings and testing their independence at 22, 19, and 19 (yup, twins). Over the years I’ve made most major decisions based on what would be best for them, putting my own needs/wants on the back burner. My belief being that I chose to have them, with love, and I have a responsibility to give them the best I have to give. I also love them to distraction, so I’d do pretty much anything legal to ensure their well being. I made a conscious decision not to date, or remarry, partly because I was so hurt in my divorce, and partly because my older son had such a hard time adjusting to the “loss” of his dad, that I didn’t want to add to his stress. (the twins were to young to remember much at three). In hind-sight I’m not sure if the no-dating, no- remarriage was a good decision. Oh well, can’t change the past. Today my kids are thriving, well adjusted, kind, confident, and productive young adults. Thank God/dess!! But it took a lot of hard work, and a good dose of luck too!
Raising kids is a tricky business, a lot of work, and there are no clear cut rules. Each of my kids is an individual with their own quirks, and strengths, and personalities. So it’s not as if one way of doing things works for all three kids. For the tough decisions, I ask myself….”what would love do?” And sometimes love means that you have to be firm, or disappoint your kids, or risk their anger. Especially when their safety is an issue. But if you have a great relationship with them, and build a firm foundation of trust and love between you, then in time, they will get it, and get over it.
As for memories…………it’s true that all my past experiences have shaped me into the person I am today………still a work in progress……but yea, I have some memories I’d like to erase……the ones that made me feel inferior, or not good enough, feeling like I didn’t fit in as a single mom in a world of couples……….The memories of long weeks of stress headaches, and not enough sleep, and all the wasted time I spent crying over him trying to understand what I did wrong. Those I’d gladly give up. But life is too short for regrets. So I’ve learned to own them, then let them go. When they pop up now, I feel as if they belong to another person.
I’ve never thought about being “bought off” before. I wonder if giving in is the same thing as being bought off? Probably is. I’ve bitten my tongue too many times to count, to support my ex in his relationship with our children, because I think their having a healthy relationship with their father is important to their well being. So yea, I guess, over the years I allowed my silence to be bought for the sake of my kids. Now that they are older, as they ask questions, I’m more honest with them about my feelings or opinions regarding their dad.
Good luck with the changes you are making. Change is the only constant you can count on, and it’s a great thing to have some control over the change in your life. Follow your heart.
Blessings, Lynne
Lynne,
Thank you so much for this incredibly thoughtful comment. Those of us who have been through years of raising kids solo have a special experience – with both good parts and aspects I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Putting the kids first – which clearly you have done (and I believe is important) often takes a toll in all other aspects of the parent’s life. Your conscious decision to not date was brave and self-sacrificing. And you are, in a way, fortunate that your twins didn’t remember a time before.
It sounds like you did everything to raise your 3, and they turned out well. I’ve never been able to have a workable relationship with the father of my children. It is what it is. But they, too, are turning out well, as far as I can tell.
We all bear scars from childhood one way or another. And yes, most of us can be bought – to a some extent – to protect those we love.
Thank you for stopping and reading. I hope you will again.
Great stuff as usual…