Bury the hatchet.

Somethings have happened this week that have made me think back to a hard time in my childhood.

I was about 10-11 years old, Savannah's age I guess. My parents invited an Indian (Navaho) to live with us. I was super excited. She was Karens age. They decided that it would be hard for karen to have to share a room with her, so I got to do it. Great, no complaints. She came and I was the ultimate hostess, for a while. But servitude grows old and it didn't take too long until I was ready for her to go on home to Arizona.

We started to fight. I never wanted to have my friends over to the house because I knew that her and her friends would be in my room speaking some language that Ididn't understand. I tried really hard to be anywhere else but home. My relationship with my Mom REALLY suffered. They called her to be my primary teacher. She bent over backward trying to make me happy. I remember that she would order all kinds of cute handouts and charm bracelets to make me smile. I wasn't having any of it. I very clearly remember the Sunday we came home and she asked me if I hated her. I broke down crying, she did too. I just wasn't myself anymore. It was about this time that the Bishop asked if our family would be willing to have her back for another year of school.

My Mom came into the bathroom while I was washing my hair in the tub. (I'm quite certain I could not pull off that tricky maneuver anymore.) She asked me what I thought. I remember feeling so guilty. I didn't want to be the reason that she had to stay on the reservation. That she wouldn't get a highschool diploma. More tears. I felt very selfish. I love my Mom. She looked at me, smiled and said, "It's not really working for me either." I felt so releived that she could understand how I felt. She let me know that Dena would be fine. She would be placed with another family. She would be able to graduate. I, however, belonged to this family. I needed to be happy in my home. Phew, releif.

I knew that Dena was mad at me. She knew it was because of me that she would be going somewhere else. I have always felt bad that we couldn't be friends.

Jump forward twenty years. My Grandpa and Grandad just passed away. The phone rings one night and to my complete surprise it's Dena on the phone. She started out the conversation by saying that she was so glad I would take her call. She wasn't sure I would ever want to talk to her. I assured her that I would always be happy to talk to her. We were able to catch up with each other for a bit. She told me that she's doing great. I told her about the goings on in the family and about my sweet kids. She was really calling about a recipe I submitted to the family cookbook. (I guess my Mom gave her a copy) I didn't realize until I hung up the phone that I had been carrying a burden for all these years. It felt so great to be able to talk to her like friends. I know she has forgiven me and I have forgiven her.