Anniversary Number 21
Today is never an easy day for me, and it's been 21 years now. I'm only 35, but Today, I'm 14 again, wishing for another Yesterday. Hoping to wake from the nightmare my life became on December 9th, 1983. Here is a repeat of what I wrote just 366 days ago....
20 Year Anniversary
Post Date: Tue Dec 09, 2003
Today is the 20th anniversary of the day my childhood officially ended.
It's a day that changed my life forever. A day I don't think I can ever forget. Especially not those few unexpected moments, the shock, the disbelief, and immense sadness. Yet somehow, I don't remember crying that evening; not one wet tear. It was the day my mom had her stroke.
For years, I referred to it as the day mom had an aneurysm (a word I didn't know, I didn't know, and one I wish I didn't have to learn). But in later years I learned the generic term...STROKE! Tell someone your mom had an aneurysm, and you spend a good amount of time explaining what that is, and recalling a devastating time in your 9th grade year of high school. But tell them she had a stroke, and no real explanation is needed. I prefer to say stroke because it is easier on me, but I NEVER forget the brain aneurysm that nearly ended her life that very morning, while standing in the living room at my grandparent's home.
Mom lived 8 1/2 years longer than most people who suffer such an trauma, but she was never quite the same. Lucky for her, the brain damage took away almost all her bad memories, but it also took away her independence in life, and that was something she knew and it broke her heart to be that person. She was suddenly the child, and we were the grown-ups. She never stopped being my mom, though...not for a second.
I remember forging another note excusing me from school that day. (Having students working in the attendance office was probably one of the stupidest ideas ever implemented at my first HS; I hadn't spent a full day in school since maybe the first week of school, and this was the beginning of month four!) But this time, I had plans...a full weekend of fun with my best friend, Jeannette. After riding the public transit buses clear across Santa Clara county to meet up with Jeannette, I was upset to learn her mom had grounded her and forbid her from leaving for the weekend. Not like that ever stopped Jeannette, so we packed a bag and sneaked out while her mom rested on the couch. We hauled ass to catch the next bus, before her mom found out. It seemed like a long bus ride that day. Maybe it was because we had to sit in downtown longer than usual or maybe it was because we were so excited to get to my house to have fun. My mom wouldn't have said much about Jeannette's leaving against her mom's orders; she personally didn't like her mom all that much, and knew Jeannette was having a hard time adjusting. We would all have fun hanging out, listening to the new Michael Jackson album Mom had bought and stay up late laughing and giggling, while eating ourselves silly.
We lived in a little nook, just off the highway and an expressway surrounded by a large six-foot brick wall. That night, I remember walking along the expressway and under the freeway, and coming to that wall. It was sunset and it was really getting dark fast. Just a few more feet and we'd turn onto my street, and be just steps from home. When suddenly I heard this wailing, that to this day was unlike anything I have ever heard. But oddly, I knew in an instant it was my little sister. Being the tough tomboy she was, not much made her cry, and I knew something was dreadfully wrong. The three of us turned the corner at the same moment, facing one another, and she just looked at me, scared to death, and blurted out something about mom being in the hospital. Now us girls are notorious for pulling stupid pranks, but I doubted this was one of them. I didn't understand all she was saying, but we rushed upstairs just the same. The rest was and is a blur to me. I recall tidbits here and there, like calling my first boyfriend, and begging him to come over (he never did), and being chewed out by someone about not coming home from school on time, and having to call Jeannette's mom to come get her (it would be years before I saw her again).
Someone came and picked up us three girls and took us to the hospital. Mom looked like death, all bloated and bruised, and with tubes and wires in every conceivable place you could see, and probably some you couldn't. I remember sitting down with the doctor and hearing him tell us what an aneurysm is, and how she was lucky to be alive. "LUCKY?!!! Are you fucking crazy?," I thought. "When was she gonna come home, and how long until she was better?" That's when we were told we wouldn't know UNLESS she woke up.
One of us girls got the bright idea to call my aunt and my dad to let them know what had happened. How we wished we hadn't made that call. We never imagined it would mean we would have to move to L.A. to live with dad. (That's a whole other story!) One crazy week later, we were packed up and loaded in a van headed for our new life. We kept hearing how it would only be 6 months until mom was better and could take care of us, and that gave us hope. It also made us angry to have to leave our friends and everything we knew, when we'd surely be back before long.
As time passed, that hope faded, and the following November, mom was finally well enough to visit us, so her and Kim came down to stay for a few days.
And that's when I knew.
Mom was now 40 years old, but had the mental capacity of a 7 year old on a good day. She was tough as nails, and survived something that SHOULD have killed her, but she would never be the same, and neither would we.
20 Year Anniversary
Post Date: Tue Dec 09, 2003
Today is the 20th anniversary of the day my childhood officially ended.
It's a day that changed my life forever. A day I don't think I can ever forget. Especially not those few unexpected moments, the shock, the disbelief, and immense sadness. Yet somehow, I don't remember crying that evening; not one wet tear. It was the day my mom had her stroke.
For years, I referred to it as the day mom had an aneurysm (a word I didn't know, I didn't know, and one I wish I didn't have to learn). But in later years I learned the generic term...STROKE! Tell someone your mom had an aneurysm, and you spend a good amount of time explaining what that is, and recalling a devastating time in your 9th grade year of high school. But tell them she had a stroke, and no real explanation is needed. I prefer to say stroke because it is easier on me, but I NEVER forget the brain aneurysm that nearly ended her life that very morning, while standing in the living room at my grandparent's home.
Mom lived 8 1/2 years longer than most people who suffer such an trauma, but she was never quite the same. Lucky for her, the brain damage took away almost all her bad memories, but it also took away her independence in life, and that was something she knew and it broke her heart to be that person. She was suddenly the child, and we were the grown-ups. She never stopped being my mom, though...not for a second.
I remember forging another note excusing me from school that day. (Having students working in the attendance office was probably one of the stupidest ideas ever implemented at my first HS; I hadn't spent a full day in school since maybe the first week of school, and this was the beginning of month four!) But this time, I had plans...a full weekend of fun with my best friend, Jeannette. After riding the public transit buses clear across Santa Clara county to meet up with Jeannette, I was upset to learn her mom had grounded her and forbid her from leaving for the weekend. Not like that ever stopped Jeannette, so we packed a bag and sneaked out while her mom rested on the couch. We hauled ass to catch the next bus, before her mom found out. It seemed like a long bus ride that day. Maybe it was because we had to sit in downtown longer than usual or maybe it was because we were so excited to get to my house to have fun. My mom wouldn't have said much about Jeannette's leaving against her mom's orders; she personally didn't like her mom all that much, and knew Jeannette was having a hard time adjusting. We would all have fun hanging out, listening to the new Michael Jackson album Mom had bought and stay up late laughing and giggling, while eating ourselves silly.
We lived in a little nook, just off the highway and an expressway surrounded by a large six-foot brick wall. That night, I remember walking along the expressway and under the freeway, and coming to that wall. It was sunset and it was really getting dark fast. Just a few more feet and we'd turn onto my street, and be just steps from home. When suddenly I heard this wailing, that to this day was unlike anything I have ever heard. But oddly, I knew in an instant it was my little sister. Being the tough tomboy she was, not much made her cry, and I knew something was dreadfully wrong. The three of us turned the corner at the same moment, facing one another, and she just looked at me, scared to death, and blurted out something about mom being in the hospital. Now us girls are notorious for pulling stupid pranks, but I doubted this was one of them. I didn't understand all she was saying, but we rushed upstairs just the same. The rest was and is a blur to me. I recall tidbits here and there, like calling my first boyfriend, and begging him to come over (he never did), and being chewed out by someone about not coming home from school on time, and having to call Jeannette's mom to come get her (it would be years before I saw her again).
Someone came and picked up us three girls and took us to the hospital. Mom looked like death, all bloated and bruised, and with tubes and wires in every conceivable place you could see, and probably some you couldn't. I remember sitting down with the doctor and hearing him tell us what an aneurysm is, and how she was lucky to be alive. "LUCKY?!!! Are you fucking crazy?," I thought. "When was she gonna come home, and how long until she was better?" That's when we were told we wouldn't know UNLESS she woke up.
One of us girls got the bright idea to call my aunt and my dad to let them know what had happened. How we wished we hadn't made that call. We never imagined it would mean we would have to move to L.A. to live with dad. (That's a whole other story!) One crazy week later, we were packed up and loaded in a van headed for our new life. We kept hearing how it would only be 6 months until mom was better and could take care of us, and that gave us hope. It also made us angry to have to leave our friends and everything we knew, when we'd surely be back before long.
As time passed, that hope faded, and the following November, mom was finally well enough to visit us, so her and Kim came down to stay for a few days.
And that's when I knew.
Mom was now 40 years old, but had the mental capacity of a 7 year old on a good day. She was tough as nails, and survived something that SHOULD have killed her, but she would never be the same, and neither would we.
posted by Zette at 11:00 PM
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