This is the first time in a year that I’ve had no kids in my
house for a week or longer. Wow.
This is the first time in a year that I’ve had no kids in my house for a week or longer. Wow.
I get to eat a bowl of popcorn slowly. I can hear my parakeet chirping. I get to watch whatever I want on television. Nobody is crying. Nobody is complaining. I do not hear video games. Nobody needs a ride somewhere. Nobody has a cut, scratch or splinter. Nobody is looking for a misplaced bathing suit or a lost flip-flop.
Gee, the cat has come out of hiding. So that’s what she looks like! My little Yorkie is not avoiding the main thoroughfares throughout the house. Everything is left exactly where I placed it. I can complete a full task without interruption. I can sing out loud. I can take a bath with the door open. I don’t have to answer any questions. I can type my column at 3 in the afternoon instead of my usual quiet time of 5:30am.
I can eat an entire hot meal sitting down. I can mow the lawn without a child handing me the cordless telephone and shouting, “It’s for you.” I don’t have to hide behind the tool shed for a moment of peace. I don’t have to wait in line for the bathroom. I get to open the Netflix. I don’t have to cook meals. I don’t have to resolve any arguments.
For the next nine days, I am no longer a nurse, chef, laundress, counselor, taxi, bank, referee, arts and crafts coordinator, spelling bee champion, weather forecaster, activities planner, or hairstylist. As I said, this is my first break in a year that exceeds two days!
In my desperation for occasional solitude, my car and I have become good friends. It has become just about the only place that I’m alone with my thoughts for short periods of time, uninterrupted. It’s like my little private sanctuary.
So, after dropping everyone off in Los Banos recently, and thinking about all of the selfish things I get to do or not do at my discretion, I got to thinking about some somber realities as well. My actual thought was, “Who gives a crap about my spare time!” as I began to absorb the news that Adam Charvez had passed away. I saw his obituary in the paper that morning.
Finally alone, I choked up thinking about Adam on the way back over Pacheco Pass. I met him when I was about 12, and we attended a ski trip with our church youth group that year. I had never been skiing before. Adam was three years older than me, so he seemed very mature at 15. He was handsome and had a natural, warm grin.
When we arrived to the snow and got on all of our gear, everyone started pairing up and heading for the slopes. I was having trouble keeping my skis on, and I fell – a lot. Adam was right there, smiling, helping me up, helping me chip ice off my boots and lock my skis back on.
He could have taken off with the others, but he didn’t. He gave me advice and encouraged me to keep trying. If he was irritated, I couldn’t tell. If he just felt obligated to help a kid and felt sorry for me, I didn’t know it. I was completely grateful for his help. I would have spent the whole day alone and never made it down a single slope if he hadn’t stayed behind and helped me.
Every time I’ve been to the snow since then, I’ve thought of Adam and remembered that day, 25 years ago. It was a genuine heartfelt gesture on his part to stay behind and help me. I don’t think my circumstance was special; I think Adam was. I can only assume that this was just who he was and that he touched a lot of people throughout his life. I won’t believe anything different.
I’m not thinking about my chirping parakeet anymore or about eating a hot meal sitting down. Right now those things are very unimportant, and I’m humbled by this tragic news.
Adam Charvez was a great guy. I can’t imagine his face without that adorable grin. My heart goes out to his family and friends. This is a tremendous loss, and it makes my stepparenting issues feel very insignificant.
Lydia Eden-Irwin and her husband were both raised in Gilroy. They have three kids collectively and have spent the past four years meeting the challenges of blending two broken households into one great family. Lydia can be reached at ed*****@*ol.com.
