Treasured Pain

Everything, living or dead has its time.  That is how this earthly plane works.  In our youth, we are oblivious of it, all things live forever, and everything that is always will be.  As we age, we experience loss.  Some losses are easier than others are, like when a favorite toys breaks and cannot be replaced.  That memory fades quickly as we find a new favorite toy.  The memory of the old waits inside the boxes we place in our heart, only needing the right key to open it for a few brief moments.  We smile as the box is gently opened, rushing back the memory for a few glorious seconds.  Warmth rushes over our skin, in that single moment our heart is light, and there is a tiny breeze of happiness.  Then the lid of the box slowly closes as the memory fades back into the box and placed yet again on the shelves of our heart, waiting for another day, another key, another lost feeling to reopen it to us.  Other losses are harder, like when our best playmate moves away.  We don’t understand yet what moving away means, like we don’t understand dying, but we know what was will not ever be again.  When we go outside to play, they will not be there, only the remnants of our memory, remnants of our time with them.  Like the toy, that memory is placed in a box in our heart, awaiting the key, the time the place to reawaken our heart to it.  Then there is death, the worst loss of all but this story is not about death.  It is about a Ho Ho. 

This week, it was announced that the company who manufactures Ho Hos will be closing their business.  They made Wonder Bread and Twinkies as well, but for me it was all about the Ho Hos.  These are the memories that will be placed in a box in my heart, and likely, there will be boxes for my children as well.  It all started when I met Tiffany at The Battered Women’s Shelter.  I've always liked Ho Hos, but for us it would become our comfort food in times of trouble.  It was a bad time for us both.  Money was hard to come by and pleasures were few.  We drew happiness from each other, drew upon each other’s strengths, and made each other’s weakness into strengths.  She was my Yin and I was her Yang.  We were opposites in so many ways but we brought out the best in each other.  We got each other through the worst times in our lives.  In this, there were Ho Hos. 

I’ve lost count of the number of Ho Hos we ate, but tragedy went something like this.  Whenever one of us was broken, who ever had enough food stamps at the time came over with six things and it always started with Ho Hos.  It was rare we shared those with the children, though they did beg.  There was one child who was successful in getting the precious Ho Hos.  That was my daughter Christina.  Neither Tiff nor I could resist her but we had to sneak it to her.  This ritual was between Tiff and I, it was our time to regain balance in our lives, time to curse the fates and time to plan how we were going to get out of this mess.  We had a way to eat them, too.  The pain we felt was too great for milk, so we would eat them with Coca Cola while the frozen pizza awaited its time in the oven.  We began by peeling off the candy chocolate coating from the cake.  We tried very hard not to disturb it, because as the Ho Ho unfolded, so did our pain.  We peeled away the chocolate as tears fell from our eyes.  Sometimes it would take a very long while because we had to catch our breath in between the sobs.  Somewhere between the sobs, there was always a joke that would allow us to continue eating our Ho Ho.  When the Ho Ho no longer had its coating, we unrolled the cake.  That was tricky because the idea was not to break the Ho Ho.  Anyone who has ever tried to unroll one knows how difficult that is to achieve.  Of course, we ate the broken Ho Ho anyway, we had more.  We repeated this with the Ho Hos until there weren’t any more tears to cry.  There would be more tears, but not now.   About this time, the pizza was ready and it was time to feed the children.  While we released our pain, they got a pizza picnic in the living room if we were talking in the kitchen, or they would eat in the kitchen if we were talking in the bedroom.  If we were in our bedroom, the conversation was indeed grave and we were the ones having a picnic.  We let the children gorge on pizza, soda, and cartoons while we healed our wounded heart. 

After we ate the pizza, we would take a break while we continued to talk. The pizza was the anger of the situation that brought us heartache.  Soon it would be time for Lawson’s Chip dip and chips.  That was the acceptance part of the healing.  From there, it would be the butter pecan ice cream, which represented the planning part of the healing.  This was where we dug ourselves out.  By this time, we were often exhausted and we settled in for a sleep over.  The crisis that had brought us together now had a plan for resolution and it was time to go back being mothers again. 

So this announcement marks another passing, another something who’s time has come.  It is likely another company will buy the brand and continue to make Ho Hos, but it will not be the same.  Tiffany and I have grown apart and are no longer friends, our children have grown, and though they shared endless hours of play and sleepovers, they never talk to one another either.  That is how life goes.  People come into your life with a purpose and leave for a reason.  I haven’t eaten Ho Hos in many years, even in times of trouble because without Tiffany it just isn’t the same.  Today that box in my heart opened and out flooded the memories.  I can’t recount the heartaches that brought us together specifically, but I remember the love of two very good friends eating Ho Hos, peeling the chocolate and unrolling the cakes.  I remember laughing through the sobs and I remember playing with my children instead of crawling into bed to hide from the world.  Tiffany made me a better person, a stronger person.  Ho Hos made it a memory I will always treasure.