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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Note: I deliberately did not use any paragraph breaks to emphasize how 50 years passes in the blink of an eye. Please let me know if this works or if it’s distracting.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Blink?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Marcia J. Wick<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>August 2023<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 737<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It’s been 50 years since my high school graduation. How can that be? In the blink of an eye, half a century of my life has transpired. After high school, I completed four years of college and earned a journalism degree. I moved from Colorado to western New York to take my first job as a small town newspaper reporter. I met and married a local deputy sheriff. After four years of reporting, I was hired as the Communications Manager for a national office furniture manufacturer in the area. I sported high heels and traveled on an expense account to showrooms in Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, and New York City. I divorced the controlling cop. I was promoted and got a nice raise; I was sexually assaulted by the security guard at my workplace when I went in to work alone on a Saturday. I battled PTSD, quit my job, and moved back home with my parents. The guard was sentenced to 12 years in prison. Once in Colorado, I discovered I was pregnant-not as a result of the rape, but because I stopped taking the birth control pill after the trauma and then I sought solace in the arms of a trusted friend the night before I left New York. I was fighting to recover; I lacked the resources to raise a child; I had an abortion. Once again, I moved, this time from Colorado to northern California. I was hired by another furniture manufacturer. Coming from rural New York, I struggled to adjust to the urban lifestyle in the San Francisco Bay Area. I met and married the nephew of my employer. Even though my husband worked for his relatives, they laid him off shortly before our wedding. We trimmed the guest list; I quit the company; I launched my own desktop publishing business; I worked part-time for an advertising agency. Soon, I gave birth to a daughter. I managed to build up my business to provide a full-time income allowing me to quit the ad agency. I gave birth again to a second daughter. Ultimately, we moved from the bay area back to Colorado where a three-bed, two-bath house was way more Affordable. My husband didn’t adjust to the move. He drank too much and couldn’t keep a job. I divorced again. For the next 20 years, I raised my daughters as a single parent, without child support. I held yard sales to pay for their back-to-school supplies and clothes. My progressive vision loss forced me to stop driving. I abandoned my business after 10 years, unable to discern the print on the page. I applied for Social Security Disability Insurance. Eventually, I went back to work in the public school system, providing me time off when my daughters were out of school for the winter and summer school breaks. I dated now and then; one of the men I dated sexually assaulted my older, then nine-year-old, Daughter. My younger daughter battled other demons. Her mental health issues required medication and long-term residential treatment. Both of my children fought hard to recover. I managed to hold onto the house and see both of them graduate from high school. Dare I say it? I met another man and married again-once my children were living out of the home independently. At age 60, I retired with reasonable security for the first time in my life. I began caring for my aging parents-they succumbed in their 90s. During that time, my older daughter graduated from college and married, gifting me with two grandchildren. My younger daughter works (mostly) steadily and seems happily settled with a female partner. My third husband is a grumpy, hard-of-hearing, old man depressed following quadruple bypass surgery two years ago-but this one’s a keeper. Thanks to a small inheritance from my parents, we’re remodeling that house I managed to hold onto. I’m planning to age-in-place at home. In one week, I’ll gather with my high school friends to celebrate our 50<sup>th</sup> high school reunion. As an “old” woman with my second guide dog for the blind and a grumpy husband by my side, I’ll make light of my life’s journey. Likely, conversations will be shallow. I’m not sure I want my school friends to know all the trauma and turmoil I’ve endured over half a century. On the other hand, will they be transparent about the challenges they’ve faced in their own lives?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>