Tres

Recently, I was pruning my jewelry design studio, sorting the pieces that I wanted to keep, removing those that needed to be re-designed or taken apart for the beads, or simply discarded.  In the fragments, I came across an elegantly simple, three-ringed, hand-fabricated silver bracelet. It's one of those inseparable, intertwined designs that look like the five Olympic rings when an attempt is made to pull them away from each other. Every time I rediscover it, I am reminded of the friend who gave matching bracelets to me and another friend at Christmas a few years ago to symbolize our 35-year bond as indissoluble comrades in search of meaning in our lives.

We first met at Callier Center, now a part of UTD and Southwestern Medical Center, where the County School for the Deaf was once housed.  Our friendship started in the lunchroom, when there was time to share stories about difficult children, parents, co-workers, and supervisors. I was the Language Consultant to these teachers and was often left out of many of the discussions, either because of my schedule or by virtue of the fact that I was a supervisor and therefore the object of conversation. But, as nine of the teachers and I became pregnant at the same time with our first children, we forged closer relationships based on common sources of nausea, indignities of rapidly changing bodies, and tears and fears about what was to become of our marriages, and eventually us.

All nine teachers retired simultaneously to give birth and remain at home. I persevered as a part-time consultant with Callier, but continued to meet them for occasional lunches. Mary Ann, Julie and I were the first to confess to each other how much harder it was to be at home with our babies than work with other peoples' children.  We had degrees in child development, yet were completely shredded to the bone when our two-year-olds shrieked, "You are NOT the boss of me!" We three phoned one another often for encouragement, for reminders of 'self' lost among dirty diapers, noisy toys that played inane tunes, and chaotic feeding rituals. Mary Ann was forced to purchase a new phone to get an operable 5.   Julie and I both had several 5s in our phone numbers.  Both women knew I was pregnant with my second baby before I did as I cried sentimentally on a three-way call, describing Captain Kangaroo as a virtuoso when he sang "The Star Spangled Banner" with Mr. Moose. They both laughed saying, "Girl, you are going to have another boy!" And I did just that.

Eventually, our talks formalized with every Saturday breakfast or afternoon tea, and we called ourselves 'Tres.' We shared the funny, the sad, the dirty, and the bad. We talked about our men, our mothers, our children, and friends. We knew about every disease, flaw, and hurt each had. Some of our wounds were mutual, some quite unique. We told deeply held secrets and light-hearted stories. We went to the weddings of each other's children and now marvel as they nurture their own.

I twirl the three-ring bracelet in my hand again today and realize that sometimes a sterling relationship is like steel and sometimes it is as fragile as brittle newsprint. But it was and is always entwined. Their stories are my story, and it's in the sharing that we find the strength to be women.