14 Months – But Who’s Counting?

Almost three years ago I was picking out curtains and bath towels, and contemplating which clothes would come with me to Brockport, NY. I was starting my junior year that August, ready to begin the next chapter in my life. It would be the first time I lived away from home and away from my family – 338 miles to be exact. It was also the first time I would be living with my boyfriend. We were getting a one-bedroom apartment right off campus. We were both excited to take the next step in our relationship and continue our educations together at the same college. Long story short, I had a great two years at Brockport; I learned a lot, liked and respected (most of) my professors, and graduated with a Bachelor’s in journalism in May of 2010.

I knew that after graduation we would go home for the summer and we would both come back to New York together. Philadelphia has one of the most competitive job markets in the country for communication-related careers. With the economy plummeting into a black hole, I knew the best way to gain experience in my field was to go back to Rochester. I guess you could say it worked out for the best that James still had two years of college left. It will give me some time to establish myself elsewhere before returning home.

In November I found myself sitting at a new desk, with new challenges awaiting. I was hired to work in the marketing department at an international contact lens manufacturing company as one of five Social Media Coordinators. The position has proven to be great experience and will certainly boost my resume for when I move back to Pennsylvania…in 14 months. I feel like I’ve been a graduate for years now. Although I enjoy my job, the pay isn’t substantial enough to live comfortably (sigh). But I digress.

I’m looking at this part of my life as the preface to not just a new chapter, but a new novel. I’m ready to take on greater challenges and reach my potential in the career force. May 2012 is the month I can begin writing that novel, but trust me when I say, the outline has already been sketched. Oh, Rochester, you will (not) be missed.


This too shall pass, my dear

She either told it like it was or completely lied to your face – but only because she didn’t want to hurt your feelings.  She’d give you the eye roll of dissatisfaction or flash you a smile that would remind you how much you were loved.  But no matter what mood she was in, or how many Manhattans she had, she always treasured two things in life: family and happiness.

There weren’t many times throughout my childhood when I saw my Mom-Mom unhappy; I actually can’t think of one time – even when her sister died of cancer.  She told me once that she saw her sister’s angel at her bedside, and while she told the story she teared up but not because of sadness; she said her sister Grace was at peace, and then said to me, “This too shall pass, my dear.”

My Mom-Mom used to recite that saying every time I was upset or angry or hurt, and I used to dread those words coming from her mouth.  She’d give a nod of disproval, put her hand on my shoulder, and repeat the same quote I’ve heard over and over again my whole life.  My unwanted emotions then were because of high school break ups or test grades, and at that time, I thought nothing could be worse than the short-lived rumors. Hearing that quote was like pouring salt into my gaping wounds, and I would never respond back.  But now, as I glance at the most recent picture of her and me, all I want to hear are those simple words, that repeated quote, the voice that bound our family together.

As I type and tears fall down my face, I know she’s telling me from wherever she may be, “This too shall pass, my dear.”  And although I know the pain will fade with time, my memories – our memories – will never pass.  They will live on, and yes, Mom-Mom, this too, this sadness, it shall pass.


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