Wonder(ful) Women

By Cassandra Handley

It’s National Women’s History Month, and as such we should all take a moment and praise those incredible women who have shaped our lives for the better. We should take special notice of our foremothers who so passionately and steadfastly laid the groundwork for gender equality, enabling women to vote, own property, pay taxes (yes, paying taxes is something to be grateful for), work in the same capacities as men (though, equal pay is another story), among many other wonderful accomplishments.

In addition to our incredible foremothers, I revere my grandmothers, mothers, mother-in law, sister-in-laws, step-sister, and especially my sister, Vanessa– who I have idolized and emulated since I emerged from the womb.

And though Vanessa has mentored me, chronically given me solid and sober advice, and been there as a beacon in my darkest times, there is another woman who has touched both Vanessa’s and my life in such a simple, yet profound way.

This woman, Nelly*, completed the simple act of driving my sister and I to and from church every Sunday. Vanessa and I have been, for most of our lives, dedicated to our religion. And because our mother never cared to join us and our father lived in another part of the state, Vanessa and I would venture off to church each Sunday with Nelly.

It began when I was twelve years old or so. The phone would ring at approximately 8:20 on Sunday morning. Church began at 9 a.m. and it took about 30 minutes to get there. Vanessa and I would take turns peeking out the window for Nelly’s old, but safely-functioning gray Volvo. It’d arrive in our rock driveway by 8:30 and without a honk, Nelly would patiently wait there until we had descended the stairs and locked up the house.

We were never pressured to go to church and it was our choice to go, so I don’t know why Vanessa and I liked going to church so much. Maybe it was the messages we’d hear, or maybe the community filled with people we adored. Maybe it was that Sunday was our day off; really our only free day of the week when we weren’t required as the designated caretakers of our two very young brothers while our single mother worked full time. Perhaps, maybe it even was the structure we craved from our religion’s gospel, a yearning for order since our lives were so uprooted and complicated by an absent mother and a father who seemed so far away.

Vanessa and I had been forced to grow up quickly, make difficult decisions early on in life, and act as the surrogate mothers to two young boys, our brothers. Going to church was our respite from acting like we were 45, when we were really only 14. And Nelly was our ticket there, since neither of us drove.

Talking the whole way there and back, Nelly would ask us about school, boys, life in general– something our parents rarely did. We would freely talk with Nelly and she would freely tell us about her week. The inside of the car was so safe, a small bubble where we were freed from the restraints of our daily lives.

Nelly was married, with no children and her husband wasn’t interested in accompanying her to church. She had been trying for children for a long time, but with no result. She was alone and we were alone. So as we drove together and then sat on the second row of pews together, we became a little family of misfits. While the majority of the congregation sat with their family close by, the three of us, and when Vanessa went to college, the two of us, would act as the companionship we needed, firm rocks of love, despite feeling so very alone in life.

Even though these Sunday morning trips were really our only time spent with Nelly, we knew she was always there for us. Not only to provide rides in our time of need, but she was there to let us know that we were cared for and were not alone.

She was exactly the person we needed, at exactly the time in our lives that we needed her. She would sometimes infer that she was happy to be around us, because it eased the sadness she felt by being without her own children.

Upon arriving home after church, Vanessa and I would get back to our routine of combining youth with adulthood; juggling telephone calls with boys, participating on sports teams, and doing homework, with cooking for, bathing, disciplining, and meeting the ever-constant needs our brothers. We did this with the knowledge that come the following Sunday, we would, again, have the opportunity to go to church and just breathe.

Shortly after I moved to New York City for college, and Nelly no longer had a ride or pew companion, I got the news that she was pregnant. Vanessa and I rejoiced knowing that this had been a desire of hers for a long, long time. And even though we were gone, she still didn’t have to sit alone on the second row at church. Instead, in just a short while, she would likely have coloring books, toys, and bottles all strewn about.

Selfishly, I like to think a divine hand was stopping her body from becoming impregnated, because she was looking out for us for the time being. Maybe she had been divinely called to guide us. And once Vanessa and I were gone, she was now divinely called to be a mother. Either way, not a day goes by that I don’t think about how her small act so significantly altered and bettered my life.

*Name has been changed to protect privacy.

Cassandra Handley

Cassandra Handley
Boston, MA
Cassandra Handley is the founder and editor of Hopscotch and is a fashion copywriter for J.Jill. She was previously an editorial associate for Vanity Fair magazine and currently resides in Boston with her husband, Brian.