It began about two years ago for me. Work had hardened me. The load felt unbearable, and the new duties, insurmountable. Days began to blur one into the other, and the hours took their toll on my mind.
Right about that time my husband retired from his job. He'd earned it, believe me. Putting in around seventy-two hours a week, working short-handed at Monro Auto as their manager for many years, had not given him much time for relaxation and enjoyment.
There would be no more alone time for me, however, when I was home. He would always be there. No more coming back from work to an empty house for a few hours of quiet time. There would be someone every minute of my day either at my job or my home. I became resentful. I felt I had no outlets except anger.
I wasn't the same person I'd been, the "caring Karen" that everyone knew. I became short-tempered, quick to judge, a bit mean with those around me, co-workers, but especially my husband. I admit it. I felt I lost a little of "me."
I wasn't giving myself grace or self-realization to allow those feelings to come and then also to flow away. I held onto them tightly, not liking myself much, and getting swept up in the attitude that so many others had after covid times anyway. Maybe I would change once I retired. But did it need to take that long?
Until recently. Until I began my journey of finding Mr. Rogers. It began oddly, at the end of his own journey: at the gravesite of this simple, wonderful man. On a sunny afternoon, my husband and I drove to the town where Fred Rogers was born and buried. It took only a few moments to locate the mausoleum where he rested. I got out of the car and took my time walking to the front of it, looking through the glass door and seeing his name etched upon the stone. Fred McFeely Rogers. I knelt on the marble stairs and wept. I cried for this dear soul and all he'd meant to me in my life. I cried for myself too as I felt something breaking inside of me.
There were little nick knacks and painted rocks left for him. I, too, left some small tokens: a little cardinal and butterfly pendant. The symbolism of those two items for me was profound. They sustained me during the loss of my own parents a few years before.
After that day, I wanted to learn more about Mr. Rogers and his life. I began to read books written about him and watch videos of his life. I found a simple yet powerful faith, an attitude of love, and an aura of kindness surrounding every word uttered about him. Yes, I'd watched his television show when I was younger and I adored him and his precious neighborhood of make-believe. But I'd never delved so deeply into what this man stood for.
I had met him briefly in 1972 when I lay in a ward at Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. It had been a dreary day and my parents were unable to be with me. Encased in a large plaster body cast which covered me from neck to above my hips, I felt sorry for myself, frightened, and unsure of what lay ahead. The school year before had been a nightmare. Boys had been making fun of the way I walked. They hadn't known, well, I hadn't known either, that I had scoliosis, curvature of the spine.
I felt ugly, misshapen, odd, and alone. My mood was as dark as the rainy day. There was a lot of commotion going on in the hallway. It seemed that a special visitor was there for us. Since I couldn't move, I had to be content to wait and see what the hoopla was all about. Then he came in. It was Mr. Rogers. In the red sweater we'd all known him for. He stopped briefly at every child's bedside in our ward. And when he came to me, the oddest thing happened: he put his hand on the rail of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. "What a pretty girl," he said, giving me that charming, sweet smile. I know I smiled back, feeling a little starstruck.
How did he always know what to say to everyone? I feel this man had a deep connection to God. It's as if the Holy Spirit moved through him and the right words at the right time would come from within. His words changed my life. No longer was I homely and different. I was pretty. Mr. Rogers told me so.
And now in my life, I hear him speaking to me once again on this journey to finding Fred. He says the words to me again, and this time they are meant for another purpose. What a pretty girl. I'm not bound by my angry feelings, the ones that make me ugly inside. I take his lessons with me daily on my job and around others. I remember the best lesson: kindness. It takes nothing for me to apply Mr. Rogers lessons to daily life. My journey may take the rest of my life, but it won't be a lonely one. For I have Fred Rogers in my heart now. I carry his beauty, faith, simplicity, and goodness close.
Thank you Mr. Rogers for the compassion you once gave me. I will try to spread it to others.
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