Synchronicity

by Sheri O'Sullivan

(written in 1986 in Portland, OR)

Moving as often as I did in my childhood—I attended seven schools in 12 years—opportunities for long-lasting friendships were rare. In 1971, I was a whining, self-centered, pregnant nineteen year old when a friend introduced me to Doti Boon. She saved my life.

Recently, my daughter and I traveled to our former hometown to attend the baptismal ceremony for Doti’s twin grandchildren, Dylan and Vanessa. I had been named as godmother to Vanessa, and my daughter, Crystal, agreed to accompany me on the trip to attend the ceremony (see photo above). This journey, seeing people again who only remembered me as my former incarnation (a melancholy woman filled with self-pity and drinking to mask her physical and emotional pain), seemed a passage of rites for me as well.

At nineteen and disillusioned with my circumstances, I’d spent many afternoons sitting at the dark cherry wood dining table in Doti’s kitchen. Watching Doti and her friends play Scrabble and listening to them talk, I discovered the kind of woman I wanted to be, and how I wanted to live my life. Other women who stopped by just to say hello or return a borrowed book often stayed and joined in our marathon discussions of favorite authors, politics, movies, or the art of oral sex.

The telephone rang several times an hour. A kettle of water simmered on the stove for coffee or herbal tea and in the refrigerator there were jugs of soda. Frequently, there was a bottle of wine, which most likely I'd brought with me.

Doti’s two young sons, Bob, 7, and Bart, 8, with their friends in tow, periodically wandered into the kitchen to forage for food before returning to the swimming pool, skateboarding, or just hanging out.

Occasionally, Doti’s relatives arrived with their children and friends and suddenly thirty-five people were staying for dinner. I had heard the expression ‘Grace under pressure’ and thought I understood its significance. I was wrong. Whatever the hour, the number of drop-ins, or the crisis, at Doti’s house there was always a way to stretch a meal, add a plate, supply a bed, and offer a shoulder.

Doti’s house was the warmest, safest haven I had ever known. Discussions and debates were not merely encouraged but anticipated, welcomed guests. Shared experiences inspired others to unburden their own painful, shamed memories. The alliances and friendships formed over that polished table have lasted lifetimes. This was the sort of home I wanted for my children.

When my daughter, Crystal, was born, I knew I wanted Doti to be her Godmother. And when my son, Jesse, was born Doti agreed to be his Godmother as well. It gave me a sense of security, knowing if something happened to me, my precious children would be raised in Doti's loving home.

And a funny thing happened: while Doti mentored my little girl, she also mentored me. Along the twists and turns of my life’s rocky ride: divorces, breakdowns, rapes, addictions, and suicide attempts, this very special woman always stood ready with open arms, honest answers, and a sanctuary. When my life was hell, when each day seemed another nail in my soul, and death beckoned to me nightly, Doti gently counseled me. From difficult, painful experiences comes tremendous personal growth. Face your fears, she challenged. Don’t give up. You CAN survive this.

I didn’t always listen. A perpetual victim, I clenched my jaw, swallowed several ounces of Southern Comfort, and cursed the heavens. “I may be stronger than I think I am,” I’d yell at the universe, “but I’m not nearly as strong as YOU think I am! Give me some peace! Leave me alone! I can’t take any more of this bullshit!”

Of course I was wrong. I did survive all of it and much more. Even as I draped myself in melancholy and self-pity – as if I were a confirmed member of some wretched souls’ caravan wandering the streets of heartbreak resigned to repeating destructive, desperate pleas for love – I did learn. Because throughout my torturous journey of trips across the Golden Gate to end my pain, the nightmares of the sexual torture I suffered as a child, to the self-shaming I tried to hide with alcohol, Doti was there to remind me. When you love yourself, when you live with forgiveness, and when you do the things you really want to do, whatever you need to be happy will come to you. And she was right. All those lessons I had so painstakingly avoided learning became my preservation: choose your battles carefully, make your commitments wisely, and live your life with love.

It’s been said we are born with two lives; the one we learn with and the one we live with afterwards. On this side of maturity, my life is a blast – a challenging adventure filled with courageous people, victories over fear, and always more lessons to be learned. And you know, the part I thought would be the hardest – the forgiving part – is easier than I’d ever imagined.

And so, on a balmy summer afternoon in a Santa Clara suburban backyard, I officially became Godmother to Doti’s granddaughter, Vanessa Rose. I am honored. It is a privilege to share my love, inspiration, and guidance with this adorable child. And for me it is synchronicity; a blessing from so long ago comes full circle. An opportunity for me to open my arms, my heart, and my life to a godchild. I look forward to this exciting experience and to sharing the true secret of success in life: live with love, practice forgiveness, and aspire to make your dreams come true. I had a very good teacher.

Peace and blessings to you