As we sat at a Seattle waterfront restaurant watching the rain, clouds and sun fight for control of the views out the window, I marveled at the thought of the 19 years that had passed between my friend and me.  We didn’t look 19 years older, but the age of our children was reality enough to ensure we were not dreaming.

A blustery day on the Seattle waterfront

Two Peas in a Pod

Mildred and I met when I re-entered the workforce one year after the birth of my first child.  We have a very strange history together.

Our work history intersects at three different employers.  I was her supervisor at two of those employers.  At one point in time, I held a former position of hers and then later she held a former position of mine.  That speaks volumes in itself.  It is a testament to her character and her work ethic.

Nineteen years later, she has a nice retirement nest egg from her employer waiting for her; and I am just now finding my career niche—my writing.  Unlike most writers I know, I don’t have a day job to fall back on.   Some might say it is a luxurious lifestyle.  For me, it is part of my self-care program.

Mildred was eager to hear all about my upcoming trip to Spain.  As if to confirm why she was such a good employee—and how very like-minded we are—she immediately suggested having my story translated into Spanish.   I agreed and told her that I negotiated the foreign rights to my story with my publisher and that Pedro had already translated the manuscript.

Does time really heal all wounds?

Wounds of the Past

We caught up on talk about our kids and our parents—being in the sandwich generation.  We naturally ended up talking about work.  Many of my former colleagues and employees had retired or moved on to other organizations.  A few remained.

As we talked about work, the memories and people’s names started to drift back to my short-term memory—people she had even long since forgotten about.   Some of my memories were of painful events, like my demotion.  Except for one brief moment, I experienced no emotional pain in discussing it though.

They say that time heals all wounds.  I’m not sure who that ‘they’ is, but that is not something you’d ever hear in recovery circles.  If you don’t look at the painful wounds of the past, you bury them alive.  They will leak out in unhealthy ways when you least expect them—like in outbursts of anger, or can lead to physical symptoms like ulcers, etc.

In my case, I worked through my character defects that brought me to my knees at the hands of my boss.  I’m grateful for it, as it pointed me down the road to recovery, and eventually to Celebrate Recovery, a Christian 12-step program.

Moving Forward

Going down memory lane is a healthy practice—not for self-condemnation or holding on to resentments—but for healing.  The one painful memory that surfaced helped me to realize that I still have one last thing to clear up—an amends of sorts.

Even as Mildred and I reconnected we touched on the same thread between us—making sure we understood each other and to not take advantage of our friendship.  Her words served to encourage me, and likewise mine for her.

Another luncheon is over.  Another friendship is rekindled.  Another day is done.  All because of the connection my story is making in people’s hearts.

Maybe I do lead a life of luxury.  It’s not the kind of physical luxury or success that pays the bills.  It is the luxury of friendship.  That’s the best kind of riches to have.

Do you embrace opportunities to go down memory lane or avoid it like the plague?  I hope you’ll embrace it and free yourself from the pain of the past.