A Quiet Victory

I got home Saturday night after my daughter’s Cinco de Mayo party and grabbed the mail out of the mailbox. After fawning all over my two wiggly Labs who in their minds hadn’t seen me since last year, I shuffled through the envelopes. My monthly statement from the good old IRS was there. You see, a number of years ago Al and I were really stupid and had a few tax issues that finally caught up to us and we were paying them in monthly installments. Car payment sized installments to be honest. I think we only started our payment plan about a year before Al passed away. For a variety of reasons for the past two years I’ve had some fairly large tax refunds owed to me. But I owe them. You guessed it, they take my refunds. I knew they’d do it again this year and that when they did, it would finally pay off my debt. So when I opened that envelope to see the words “Amount Due: $0.00” it wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise is how it messed with my emotions. I was really happy and even held the statement towards the sky and said out loud, “We did it honey! Finally! We did it and can start seeing some light at the end of the tunnel.”

And then it hit me. This was a shared victory that only I could celebrate. It hurt that Al wasn’t here to feel that same relief and sense of accomplishment. To see that statement and give me one of those giant bear hugs of his. So like a bitter pill that will make you feel better in the long run, I swallowed it up. And I started to think about what I’ve been able to do on my own. There was nothing when Al passed. No savings, no retirement fund, no little pot of gold life insurance policy. Just a lot of debt. We’ve always been paycheck to paycheck people and I really didn’t know how I was going to do this in the beginning. But I did it. Me. All by myself. Me, who had previously only been on my own for less than six months between moving out of my parents home and in to a place with two friends after graduating from high school. I did this. I pay my mortgage every month; I worry every month as I figure out how I’m going to pay my bills but I do it. And now I can look ahead and use that money I pay out to the IRS every month and start paying down other bills.

Maybe I’ll be able to breathe a little easier. Maybe I’ll be able to buy a car eventually and be able to make the payments without struggling. Maybe that light at the end of the tunnel just got a little brighter. Maybe that light was always there but I kept closing my eyes. They’re open now. Wide open.