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| Me and my sister looking ghostly at Tonto National Well. Look how big my feet were, even back then. |
In honor of my blog's 10th anniversary, here is a very long post I wrote in 2006 about my mom dying. I don't remember the exact date that she died, but it was right before Halloween:
She looked sick when she woke me up for school and I told her so.
"I know. I'm not feeling well, but I don't have any more sick time left. I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."
I
waited until I heard her leave the house before I got out of bed. I had
on the same brown polyester bell bottoms and mustard colored shirt with
the big collar that I had worn the day before. I wanted to wear it that
day too and I was afraid my mom would catch me.
* * * *
When
I got home from school there were at least five cars parked outside our
house. My grandma told me that my mom had had a stroke on her way to
work. She was alive but in intensive care at the hospital. My mother had
been in and out of the hospital for uncontrolled high blood pressure
most of my life. I could tell this was different. Usually, my grandma
came over and took care of us when my mom was in the hospital. Sometimes
she would go at night when we were asleep and we would wake up and
notice that someone had cleaned the toaster and know that meant my
grandmother was there.
This time though, there were aunts and
uncles and cousins and talk of my mom's sister coming from Chicago and
my mom's brother coming from California. This time there was a lot of
food and everyone was being nice to me. This time I knew something was
up.
* * * *
The next day my aunt and uncle flew into Sky
Harbor. My mom was out of intensive care already, but they were going to
stay for a while anyway. That night they went to see her at the
hospital with my sister. Erin was sixteen and the only one of us allowed
in the hospital. The rest of us stayed home with my grandma.
My mother died during
Medical Center. I'm
sure of it. We were watching and a patient flatlined and right then I
knew my mom was dead too. If my family had come back from the hospital
and told us everything was fine, I may not have even remembered that
moment. It's only when a bad feeling is confirmed, that it becomes a
moment.
* * * *
I went to school the next day. No one
thought it was a good idea. I went anyway. If I could just do everything
the way I always had, things would go back to normal. I'd come home
from school and play with my friends and then at 5:30 my mom would drive
up in our little white Toyota that we had named, Helen Wheels. She
would make dinner and we'd eat it while watching
The Andy Griffith Show and then later,
Little House on the Prairie would come on and even later than that we would go to bed and sleep until my mom woke us up again.
I
told one girl at school that my mom died - Leanne Heaton. I made her
promise not to tell anyone else. After lunch my teacher called me
outside to talk about my loss. I was so mad at Leanne Heaton. I even
wrote about it in my journal with the use of several underlines and
exclamation points.
* * * *
My next theory was that my
mother wasn't really dead at all. It was just a ruse to give her some
time alone to rest and get better. Maybe if I was really good, everyone
in my family would let her know that it was okay and she would come back
again. It was very hard to behave because I was angry and I hated all
my relatives - they were telling me what to do and they weren't my mom. I
constantly reminded myself to be good. I would repeat it in my head
like a mantra. When I walked to school I would think, "Be good, be good,
be good, be good..." When I was going to the bathroom I would sit there
a little longer to have some time alone so I could really concentrate,
"Be good, be good, be good, be good."
But I was not good. I was
greedy and angry and disagreeable. We were moving with my aunt to
Chicago. She lived in a suburb called, Alsip. It was on the southside
and had gigantic water towers painted red, white and blue for the
Bicentennial next year. I was excited to see a basement and snow. I
imagined that Alsip would look like places on TV.
Some of my
aunts bought me wool sweaters in preparation for Midwestern winters. I
hated wool. The sweaters itched and choked me at the neck.
"You'll
appreciate those when it's below zero outside," one of my aunts assured
me. But I never appreciated them, even in January.
My aunts took
me shopping right before we left. I asked for anything I thought I
could get. They bought me a teen magazine with John Denver on the cover.
I loved John Denver and was sure that when I grew up, I would move to
Colorado and live off the land. Be good, be good, be good, be good, be
good.
* * * *
None of us kids attended my mom's funeral.
It was a decision made by my older sister and we all went with it. Her
thinking was that she didn't want our last memory of my mother to be of
her dead in her casket. It only helped to support my theory - If I
didn't see her dead, then it wasn't true.
I went
trick-or-treating on Halloween. I have no idea what my costume was that
year. I didn't do any tricks - no burning bags of poo, no ding dong
ditch 'em and no stealing my brother's candy. Be good, be good, be good,
be good.
The day after Halloween, I watched my uncle sweep up my
room. It was hard to see a pile of my toys, stuffed animals and the
ribbon I got for the best Bicentennial themed drawing of a Minuteman all
mixed with dust balls and thown into a green plastic garbage bag.
* * * *
In
movies and books, people were always saved at the last minute. The
knight in shining armor showed up right before the princess married the
hideous ogre. I was sure that's what would happen to me. I stepped up my
mantra on the drive to the airport, even moving my lips at the risk of
teasing from my brother and sisters. Be good, be good, be good, be good.
It
wasn't too late. She could be waiting at the airport. My mom might be
at the gate, with our dog and our cats that we supposedly gave to
different neighbors. Supposedly. She would take us home and we would
burn my wool sweaters together while I showed her my John Denver
magazine.
On my very first plane ride, I simultaneously wondered
if the new kids we would meet in Chicago would still be able to hear the
Arizona stations on our radio and if my mother would be waiting in the
terminal at O'Hare.
