Going Home

~How jumping to conclusions led to healing~ 

I have many friends. Some I’ve known only on social media, some I’m related to, some I’ve known for years. However, I’ve only ever had three close friends, all of them I met at specific points in my life: grade school, high school, and college. I lost my high school BFF, Eileen, ten years ago. Last Monday, her siblings lost their mother.   

Mrs. O’Meara was a sports-loving, no-holds-barred, funny, funny woman. She will be missed by everyone that knew her.  

I was hell-bent on going to her services to pay my respects, since I was unable to go to her daughter’s. Eileen also passed in the month of December, but that year we had a blizzard two days before her funeral. Living over an hour away, it was unwise to make the drive. I was determined to go anyway, to absolutely be there for my friend that I just recently reconnected with. Eventually I gave in and stayed home, completely crushed and furious that I couldn’t do something as simple as be there.  

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So I left for Philly early this past Saturday, happy to be going ‘home’, even for a bit. The service was set at a funeral home in the neighborhood where I grew up. There was also a chance I'd see friends that time and distance had kept me from seeing other than in FB posts. I’ve always loved where I grew up. I’m a Philly girl, through and through.  

On the drive up I had the smack-in-the-face realization of the tremendous weight of guilt I’d been carrying over missing Eileen’s funeral, and I know I’m going to Philly not just for her mom, but to finally pay my respects to my friend. Cue the ugly crying. Miles and miles of ugly crying. I didn’t know how much anger and guilt I’d been carrying with me all this time. Missing her funeral is one of my biggest regrets. I had to get all this emotion out before the service or people would think I was insane. Too late.

Exiting off 95, I drove up Harbison Ave to Frankford Ave, noticing changes and recalling what used to be where. The 7-11 where we bought candy and Teen Beat magazines is now closed. The Devon movie theater is now some sort of church (do they know what used to go on there?). The Red Robin diner is still open.  

I pulled into the parking lot of the ShopRite that sits next to McCafferty Funeral Home, parked the Jeep (totally ignoring the “Parking for ShopRite customers, only” sign) where my family once shopped, and where my sister and I played Ms. Pac-Man and Tron, and walked around to the side door of the funeral home to pay my respects. There was no one there. Nobody. At all.  

I quickly checked the obituary and groaned. The funeral was not this Saturday. Face-palming, I realized what I did. I got it wrong by jumping to conclusions. 

My paraprofessional had taken off on Friday, and I worried that, with my luck, the services would be on that day and I'd miss another funeral. After the week my students had, I couldn’t image taking off as well. I couldn’t leave two substitutes with them. I was hyper-focused on the day of the week only, and not the date. Duh. By the way, the actual date of the funeral is December 21. Ten years to the day Eileen was laid to rest. Again with the tears.  

Back in the car I drove down Frankford Ave to Philly Pretzel Factory (only I could come home from a funeral with a souvenir) and parked a bit away so I could walk, like we do in the city, wishing I had company to eat breakfast with me at Mayfair Diner.  

Deciding to drive through the neighborhoods, I headed down Cottman Ave, recalling the time Eileen and I raced a couple of guys we met at a club (Mardi Gras, I think) on New Year’s night all the way from Castor to Torresdale (when did lower Cottman become two way?).  I shoved a pretzel in my mouth as I passed by the Torresdale library and the McDonald’s my sister and I occasionally walked to in the summer. I then turned right and drove up Levick St, expecting not to recognize anything, but honestly nothing changed. Everything looked the same, including the gigantic air conditioner in the front window of our home that I think has been there since before I was born.  

I turned down a side street shedding a few more tears as I passed Barnett St, home of my first dance school, and at one time, Eileen. Lastly, I drove past my oldest (longest) friend’s house then headed for home. The neighborhoods all felt and looked so small and closed in and crowded. I was surprised at how on top of each other everything seemed.  

It sounds so weepy and bizarre and insane, but that 3-hour round trip healed me of something I wasn’t aware I was harboring.  

I'll leave you with this: Do yourself a favor. Let go of whatever it is you're hanging on to. Let go of the hate, or anger, or shame, or guilt, or regret, or condemnation, or whatever it is that is weighing you down. I didn't know how much this was weighing on me until after I did this. Don't go into the new year/new decade with this crap. Give yourself the gift of moving forward with a new you. It's not doing you any good festering in your soul.  

Anyway, I won’t be going to the actual services. I’m celebrating Christmas with my parents that weekend. So will Eileen(!), and that makes me very happy.

Side note: Has there ever been a time where 95 wasn’t under construction?!