Personal Narrative: My Mother's Death and My Move to California

I should have followed my mother’s advice, and had I chosen to do so I am certain I would have benefited from her advice; but I was younger then, and heedless of her counsel, I took off for Dallas with nothing more than a dream. That was not an impulsive act. I had given it considerable thought for almost a year before I decided to make the move––that not only took me to Dallas, but was the beginning of a journey that led me half way across the country and deposited me, as it were, in the midst of adventure and intrigue.

My hometown of Weatherford was but a short drive; and as I adjusted to life in Dallas, I established a routine of visiting my mother every other weekend, that progressed to monthly, and then whenever my filial conscience dictated, which was not often.

Mother had learned not to pry into my affairs; yet I suspected she didn't believe the stories I told her about my job as a commercial artist in Dallas, when the truth of the matter I hustled beer in a ‘Lounge,’ the Texas euphemism for a saloon, or bar. She’d say something like, "That's nice dear, I'm happy you are doing what you like to do, dear."

Mother had written a short note that she was ill. I didn’t consider anything unusual about her infirmity, as she had taken ill on a regular basis from the day my father left us high and dry and penniless; yet she always got over her fits of depression or whatever took her down at the time.

I was in and out of relationships, always looking for a man I could form a meaningful relationship, but finding only ‘Mr. X,’ or other women’s jilted lovers looking for a shoulder to cry on, or straying husbands cruising for one night stands, the pale line on their ring finger a testament to their integrity. But, what did I expect, s...

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...ntage for her service, and send me whatever was left; maybe that would mellow their opinion of me; but I wouldn’t bet on it.

I sold my car to a private party for nearly double what a dealer might have given me. I decided to keep the van, and use it as a camper to save on lodging expenses. I was excited about my prospective journey. Hell, I didn’t have a clue what lay ahead on that road; I had never traveled beyond the state of Texas!

I filled the tank with gas, and at the break of one fine day, with a tear in my eye, leaving family and friends––I, alone––a twenty-four year old woman driving an old Volkswagen van of questionable mechanical condition––headed for the California desert via the Southern Route, my ultimate destination: a place no one had even heard of, a town not even on the map, and to me a world away.

My, my, who would ever have thought!