Growing Up

The first week of February became a puzzle for me and I am sure for Ed, as well. I would get his breakfast prepared and sit with him while he ate but for some strange reason I was not hungry. After he left I would immediately run to bathroom and vomit my insides up. I would spend a while at that most unpleasant job, knowing in my heart I was dying. I had hardly ever been sick except for the usual childhood measles and sore throat. I would eventually go back to the kitchen and clean it up then go to the bedroom and go to bed. Ed would come in from work, turn off the small gas heater, raise the window and get me up. The danger was no oxygen with the space heater going full force and my door shut. He would hug me, laugh at me, admonish me and tell me to get dressed we were going on a bicycle ride to eat dinner.

I was still so sleepy but took a bath, dressed and sit side ways on the bike and we would ride a while then finally get to a restaurant. I could not bear to look at the menu so he would order the best food he could think of. The waiter set the plates before us. A few seconds of looking at it, and I had to hold my mouth as I ran to the women’s’ room to lose my insides again. This was every day… Every day I was sick after he left, slept all day, rode on the bike to supper, sick at the restaurant, go home and go to bed. He was worried about me but it went over my head in silent misery because I did not complain or even tell him anything he could not see.

I did write my mother a week or so after this behavior began. I told her all I did not tell Ed., and added that I may be dying. She wrote to tell me I was pregnant. I barely knew the word much less what it meant but Ed knew and he told me I was expecting a baby. Unlike the people on television shows, we did not jump up and down and laugh. We just stared at each other and wondered how did this happen. Now you may not think a sixteen year old would be so ignorant of life but I was. Of course, my mother was nearly having a nervous breakdown, worried sick about me. My father called our neighbor and made an appointment to call us. Our neighbor told us and the following night we were there at a certain time.

It was on Wednesday evening. My father told Ed he had a job for him at the International Paper Company, and he would come for us in a truck if we would move home. I sat there with stars in my eyes, mouthing please, please please. He said yes, we would. My father told us he would be there Friday. We walked back to the house and later in bed, Ed said, ‘Honey, I hate the mill (International Paper), and I am going to call your dad and tell him we are not moving.’ I only whispered okay, but silent tears wet my pillow until I fell asleep. That sleep abruptly ended at 4 AM when a loud engine woke us. It was my father and some friends in a huge truck to move us.

The rest of my life I hated that Ed was forced to leave because my father came that night and he could hardly tell him we would not go. However, on the other hand, I never regretted that we moved home. He did not hold it against me, although I was sensitive enough to know it was profoundly difficult for him. He remained as good to me as he had always been. When my father saw I was buying shoes more often than he thought was appropriate, he went to Ed privately to apologize on my behalf. Ed assured him the shoes were very reasonable and he did not mind that I bought them.

Ed did hate the mill and did not work there long before engaging in another occupation. He, also, purchased a small house with a half acre not far from my parents. Our baby, a boy, was born in August and we both were becoming more aware of being ‘grown’ and accountable. Actually, I was learning. Ed had to grow up so fast he told me he never had a childhood until he married me and then he learned to play, to laugh and enjoy life as opposed to being so serious all the time.

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