The One Who Cured The Worst Pity Party Of My Life

Best cure ever for my worst pity party of my life.

This week I have the story of one lucky girl.

     A story that starts with a pathetic pity party.

     Mine.

     On a Sunday night, long ago.

     What is it about Sunday nights?

     How they magnify lonely and sad.

     Which is what I cried to my best friend.

     It wasn’t the first time we’d had this talk.

     Which is probably why she cut short the empathy and sent me a link.

     With a simple note.

     “I think you need to do this.”

     It was a link to volunteer for the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.

     “What’s the harm in giving a couple hours a month to a kid?” I figured.

     That’s how I met her.

     An 8 year-old in pigtails with an impish grin.

First time meeting at the Atlanta Big Brother Big Sister offices. The first day of the end of my pity party.

First time meeting at the Atlanta Big Brother Big Sister offices.

     That first outing to buy giant M & M cookies at the grocery store bakery was the beginning of the rest of my life.

     From two hours a month, to school events to trips across country.

     I have no doubt the act of caring about this tiny person opened my heart.

     Made me ready the following year when I met the man who would become my husband and his daughter.

     Somehow, we fell into a foursome, spending weekends, traveling the world.

My family's travel confession. We are slackers.

     By high school, my Little Sister was living with us full time.

     We never formally adopted her or even became her legal guardians.

     Her mom had some challenges to deal with and we were able to give her access to a better education, a home.

    It hasn’t always been easy.

    About a year ago I called her mother and declared “I’m done.”

    “Oh, no you’re not,” she replied. “All those years ago you promised me you would get this child to college. I don’t know how to do that. There’s one more year. So, no, you’re not done.”

     “But she can be so sassy and disrespectful,” I complained.

     “Don’t you know that’s what babies do to their mamas?” her mother counseled. “You’re her mama, too.”

     Perhaps, this fills in some holes, you’ve had over the years, Dear Reader.

     Who is this second kid you refer to in your columns?

     She’s ours.

     And she’s not.

     In this, we are not alone.

     Perhaps, you, too, are raising a kid who is kinda sorta yours.

     Maybe we all are.

     None of them is really ours, after all.

     It is now 10 years later.

     Today, is the last time I drive her to school.

     Last kid.

     Last ride.

     In a couple months she will be, indeed, off to college.

     “I hope you’re not crying when you read this,” she wrote in that card she left me a couple weeks ago on Mother’s Day.

     The one where she called me her second mother.

     She knows better.

     I was bawling my eyes out.

     For this is the story of one lucky girl.

     That girl is me.

     The one who was sad, lonely, and pitiful enough to click on that link.

     To meet a little girl who showed me how to care about someone else.

     And changed my life forever.

Our whole family at high school graduation. Who has time for a pity party?

Our whole family at high school graduation. Who has time for a pity party?

What is your antidote for snapping yourself out of a pity party?  Please let me know in the Comments section below.

If enjoy this story, you might enjoy my book,

“Hope Possible: A Network News Anchor’s Thoughts On Losing Her Job, Finding Love, A New Career, And My Dog, Always My Dog.”

final front cover

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The One Who Cured The Worst Pity Party Of My Life

by DarynKagan time to read: 2 min
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