Meet Louise Patterson. She is dead. She has been dead for a while. And she is in Hell. Join our foul-mouthed hero as she embarks on a Hellatious adventure; Filled with demons, ghosts, dreams, magic, temp jobs, wardrobe malfunctions, and quite possibly redemption.
When I was very young, I remember my maternal grandmother telling me that my grandfather had such a hard time when he turned 35 that it became a bit of legend in the small town of Seaford, DE where they lived. Everyone knew that “Pop-Pop” had just had a big birthday and his reaction to it was pretty foul. Pop-Pop was one of my most favorite people ever. I didn’t get to know him until he was much older, and to me he was bigger than life. Self-confident to the point of being a bit of a bastard, a caustic wit that some found to be borderline insulting but always had me rolling on the floor, and he was the only member of my immediate family who was a businessman instead of clergy (my interest always lied in business. The clergy seemed entirely too full of poverty and humility for my taste). He was my hero, and the thought of him having a hard time turning a particular age was so foreign to me I couldn’t wrap my head around it.Now of course, I know. Each of us have a number in our head that will make us freak out when that number becomes our age. It probably lies between 30 and 50. But regardless, it’s somewhere in the middle. Once we reach “middle-aged” by whatever standard we’ve set, the words “Happy Birthday” becomes much more ominous, at least for that one year. Middle age is not for the weak of heart. In fact, middle age sucks.
My 40th year was the worst of my life. Not turning 40, that was fine. But that year I found my self-esteem and identity truly tested. It is not that my life, as every other person’s on the planet, did not have plenty of tragedy, trial, and tribulation, previously. I had failed relationships, sickness and death around me, a few times when I was so broke I considered selling blood for cigarette money, and lots of other things that just come with being a breathing entity on the planet. However, when things happened to me or around me, I would react based on who I thought I was, which had always been a strong, independent, intelligent woman who can talk her way through a keyhole and who could fall into a pile of shit and come up with an ice cream cone. That version of me could handle anything that comes down the pike.
Until I reached what I considered “middle-age”, I was invincible. In the year that I was 40 I had a bunch of firsts. My daughter, who was my first-born and will always be my baby was grown up and moving out to live on her own. I was laid off from the non-profit that I worked for due to a bad economy, and my husband of 10 years left me for another woman. I had spent my entire career being the young executive who came in and opened up new revenue streams or developed innovative ideas to save money. Now I was the 40 year old who was put out to pasture. In my 20’s I was the ingénue who made married women nervous and hold on tight to their husbands. Now I was a 40 year old with mascara tears running down my face while knocking on my best friend’s door with an overnight bag and an old, old story. My little girl, instead of being set free to experience the excitement of being on her own, was in fact being set adrift, all alone, while the foundation that was supposed to support her and be her safety net was crumbling behind her.
I wanted to bounce back. I wanted to be strong and independent and all of that stuff. I wanted to just overcome and be victorious. But my heart was shattered and my brain could not process what was happening to me. These things didn’t happen to the version of me that I had built in my own head. And then my demons came out to play. They sat on my bed at night and discussed my fate while I was lying there sleepless and sobbing. “Maybe she’s done” they’d say. “Maybe this is who she’s been all along. A loser, with no job and no prospects, unloved and alone.” On top of that, I also felt horrible guilt, as though somehow all of this was not only warranted but deserved. Maybe I was paying back all the bad karma I had incurred back when I thought that life was not preordained, and that I could be anything. As though dreaming of a greater destiny in my youth was somehow a sin. That is, of course, ridiculous. But guilt and regret became my constant companions.Meanwhile, my mother who has been battling cancer off and on my entire life, had a relapse. My father and I decided that I would come home to help him take care of Mom. Back in the cone of unconditional love that I have enjoyed by having the parents I was blessed to receive, I began to heal. However, I also now had to face aging parents, one of whom had been deemed terminally ill. Now my life was filled with things like “living wills” and “pre-arranged funerals”.
So, several years have gone by now. My mom is still with us and some days I believe that she will outlive me. My children are happy and settled. I have a job that I love and I have renewed dreams and inspirations. Turns out that middle-age doesn’t suck as much as I originally thought. However, this is what I think I’ve learned through this experience. Being in the middle of life means literally being caught in between two very powerful influences. Many of us are dealing with aging parents or parental figures. We also have children, whether they are our own or those of someone else that we feel close to. When we see those younger than us setting out to conquer the world, and making the same stupid mistakes we made, feeling the same sense of invincibility that youthful arrogance affords them, we begin to take stock of our lives. Even those who are ushered into their late 30’s to early 50’s with much less drama than I just described still take a moment to reflect on what they could have done better or not done at all. Each of us have burdens of regret that we are forced to carry to the top of the proverbial hill right before we establish that we are “over” it. Being “over the hill” also means that we now go to more funerals than weddings, we have to plan to lose those people that we consider grown-ups, and we have to prepare to become matriarchs and patriarchs of our family units. When you mix regret and death, you have a cocktail for an epic identity crisis that can result in anything from clinical depression to simply having a bummer birthday.The good news is that mid-life hands us as many fabulous lessons as puberty does. At this time, we get to experience forgiveness on a whole new level. Especially how to forgive ourselves. We also learn to let go, letting go of the past, letting go of old dreams to make room for new ones, or actually letting go of people. Whether that means letting go of children who are now adults and will start their own adventures or letting go of those who brought us to this point and are now transitioning themselves. We learn to see ourselves in many different roles. Many of us don’t find our groove professionally until we get to this age, as well as becoming grandparents, or being caregivers. We start to realize that having 40 or so years under your belt can inspire all kinds of things like creative pursuits, an entrepreneurial spirit, or a renewed relationship to a higher power. We deal with relationships differently, from the married couple now having to deal with empty nest syndrome learning to rekindle their romance, to single folks like me figuring out how to be happy with or without someone else. This is a time to take stock of our lives, but not with regret. Instead we should honor our past with tremendous reverence and gratitude. Then quietly unpack our baggage and leave it at the top of the hill. That way, instead of trudging down the other side weighted with heavy hearts, we can spread our arms out wide and fly, soaring into our own old age with grace and beauty.
I wrote “Awake In Hell”, a book about a middle-aged woman who dies and finds herself damned for eternity. It uses humor, foul language, and a unique vision of Hell to illustrate how I felt about reaching mid-life. When my protagonist finds herself in a temp agency along with its enigmatic staff, she discovers the most amazing thing...redemption.I hope you enjoy the second half of your life as much as I am enjoying mine. I hope that my story gives you something to think about, or comforts you, or at least makes you think “there but for the grace of God”...and I offer it to you with a renewed heart full of conviction and thankfulness.
-Helen DowningAuthor, Awake In Hell
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