Quiet Mountain Essays
Copyright © 2009
Never Give Up
by
Mona Rigdon
Those who knew me in high school, knew the me that I thought I was – the me I thought I would be
forever. I was self-confident, self aware, and self-assured . I assumed that I would go on to excel in
college, breezing through classes, law school and the bar exam. I imagined my professors and
communities having so much confidence in me that I would have unending support for my fledgling
political career (that would one day make me the first woman president, of course!). I was serious,
and sensitive. I counted myself as a good friend – someone others could always count on in a pinch.
I envisioned that somewhere down the line, I would nurture the perfect example of well-behaved
children who would be so smart and beautiful that they would be much more popular than I ever
was. I would be able to save them from all heartache. I would have a knight in shining armor for a
husband, and he would treat me like a princess.
At nineteen, I met my new rebel boyfriend, complete with eyebrow piercings and long hair (my mom
called him the pirate). Keith was an activist as well, with plans to speak up for treating the
environment better, and for civil rights. I still had a plan to climb the political ladder and make a big
difference in the world - to change things one law at a time.
I married Keith at age 20, young, naïve, and wearing a blue plaid maternity dress at the Justice of the
Peace office. A few months later, my son Tristan was born. I held him in my arms and could
imagine nothing more important or wonderful than being with him and loving him. I had become a
mother. In a few short months, I had been completely transformed. I pushed my grand career
aspirations aside, and got comfortable in the small two bedroom house we rented from my husband's
grandmother. I worked at Zales, selling jewelry, and I did very well.
Keith was in college, we were both working, and we were making it I was happy, and Tristan was
perfect. My life couldn't be better. I marveled at how the simplicity of it all seemed to be enough for
me, and I wondered at how long it would last. I expected to feel the desire for a little more
complexity, drama, and maybe even the limelight. Instead, I felt the nesting instinct as I prepared to
give birth to a fresh, sweet daughter. Alyssa arrived, along with an extra measure of joy, and a
heaping helping of hectic (but still no longing to become governor).
Within a few months I found out that I was pregnant again, only to miscarry when Alyssa was ten
months old. I was devastated, and experienced a kind of grief I never knew existed. At that time, I
couldn't imagine running my family on my own, without my husband close by and supportive,
much less running a state or a nation.
A very short time later I was pregnant again.. I didn't know whether or not to trust again my body,
or God, to nurture my body and child. Thankfully, I found that His love was much stronger than my
faith. I gave birth to my third child, Jasmine. Four pregnancies in four years, three babies. I could
handle three babies, couldn't I?
I finally got myself somewhat established in my chosen career as a paralegal, working for my
paralegal class instructor. I wasn't an attorney, but I was helping people in trouble file bankruptcy
and wipe the slate clean to start over. That had to count for something, right? I struggled with the
expectation that my relationships with clients should be impersonal, in order to facilitate having time
to see more clients and make more money. Sometimes people really needed to hear that someone
realized they were good folks in a bad situation, not just that they had $24,000 in unsecured debt,
and a home and a car for which they were in arrears.
During the course of working in bankruptcy law, I became pregnant again. It became all that I could
do to get up in the mornings and get to work. Just getting out of bed became draining. I could not
play with my babies after work with the same vigor and enthusiasm. I didn't feel like going to visit
friends or family. Something was wrong. I ended up in the hospital with premature labor, over
fifteen times. Gabby was laying on my ureters, blocking the urine flow. I could no longer urinate,
and my kidneys swelled. I required bilateral stints to help this problem, but they didn't solve the
problem. The stints caused bladder spasms, and I got kidney stones that blocked them. After
replacing them, and adding a nephrostomy tube for my left kidney, things got a smidgen better, but
I was still on bed rest. I lay sleeping all the time. My sweet son, then six years old, would notice the
nephrostomy bag full of urine and dump it into a bucket, take it to the bathroom and flush it. Then
quietly make sure I had fresh water and a waiting snack, so I wouldn’t have to get up upon waking.
After six and a half months of bed rest, Gabby graced us with her presence. A helicopter was waiting
on the roof of the hospital to take her to the nearest children's hospital neo-natal unit. She wouldn't
be very big, and her lungs would be underdeveloped, we had been told. Yet, she shocked us all by
weighing-in fine, and with obviously good lungs, as indicated by her wail upon her entry into this
world.
I have always wanted to be a good student of the world, to learn what it had to teach me, to find
lessons where others missed them, and to pass those on where I could. I have wanted to make a
difference in the world since I was a little girl. I went back to school to pursue law, so as not to give
up on my dream. Meanwhile, I started leading boy scouts. Imagine that! Yes, serious and plain, little
old me, afraid of spiders and snakes…working with burping, tooting, bug-eating, smart mouthed
boys, teaching them to tie knots, start fires, use pocket knives, and to be brave! I got very involved in
my scouting activities, and earned my Woodbadge beads. I learned quickly that not only did I not
have the perfect kids, nor possess the tools to raise the perfect kids, but that no one else did either. I
haven't been able to save my kids from heartache, but I have been lucky enough that I have been
able to love them through it successfully, and to help them heal.
Between all the scouting activities, planning and training, not to mention college classes, I found
myself again. I work with scouts for my son, but I also work with scouts for myself. Perhaps I can't
make a difference one law at a time right now, but I can make a difference one child at a time. I
recently added working with youth at my church to my list of activities, as my son moved on from
cub scouts to boy scouts; however, I still serve on the Cub Scout pack committee. I am also on staff
for various camps and leader training events. I did it for Tristan, and for all the little girls who would
one day need good men to marry. Now I do it for me, and for the future of our country.
I cannot change our laws, but I can influence our future voters' values, and hopefully make a
difference in our world. I can also work my way to law school, even if it is only one, two, or three
classes at a time. I cannot change the laws - but I can change my own attitudes, aptitudes, and in
turn, hopefully make a difference in the lives of my children, and of other children, in some lasting
way. Somehow, this has become more important to me than being recognized for my superior
courtroom techniques, or ability to run a successful campaign. I am the girl least likely to give up. I
never have and I never will.
Contributor's Notes...
Mona Rigdon lives in Texarkana, TX, with her husband Keith and four children Tristan, Alyssa, Jasmine, and
Gabby. They are her first loves. Besides Boy Scouts, she is also active in Girl Scouts, and St. Luke's UMC
Youth Program. Her writing career began in 2008, with a short article published on a website; as an artist, she
views writing as another artistic endeavor. She was recently published in the "A Cup of Comfort" series; and
writes content for several websites, including Demand Studios, Inc. Ms. Rigdon is working on a book entitled
For the Love of Art, about teaching children to love and appreciate art as a tool for self-expression.
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