My Life story....
I used to think I was a princess.
I used to wear a ballerina outfit with a home made tutu my mom made, sparkly and girly. Looking at me now you would probably think that had never happened. But it did. I used to be happy. My family used to be like everyone else. My mom was a stay at home mother, my father was vice president of a company, both my brothers were excelling in sports, and I was completely oblivious to the real world. When I was in second grade my parents finally told us something they had been hiding from us for almost several years.
When my parents sat us down to tell us the news, at first I thought it was a surprise. Little did I know it was a surprise just not one a seven year would expect. My father was diagnosed with Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. Cancer. At first I didn’t want to accept, until I saw my father lose his hair, then lose weight to the point where he was almost a skeleton. That is something a child should never have to see her father go through. Ever since we were told he tried to spend as much time as possible with us. He taught my brothers as much as he could, how to build a mechanical airplanes and fly them, helped them with their homework, how to change tires, and other essentials in case things were to turn for the worse. He even built me a dollhouse, he asked me what my dream house would look like and tried to make it come true. He wasn’t able to finish it due to the chemotherapy and slowly not being able to do anything.
My 10th birthday had passed and I thought my dad was Superman, he had gone through chemotherapy, was socializing with family, though he got tired fast things seemed as if he could get through anything. As time got closer to my brothers birthday my father became worse. He ended up being bed ridden and needed a nurse to help my mom full time. Eventually they moved him to a gurney bed since it was easier to help with his daily needs. I spent a lot of time in my parents room watching movies with my dad while he laid there clinging to life. July 27th 2000 was my brothers 12th birthday. Family was over to celebrate with what little happiness our family had left in us. My father had to stay upstairs since he was took weak to walk or even sit up.
On July 28th 2000 at 12:35 am my father passed away and lost his battle to cancer.
I remember sitting there on my parents bed watching as he took his last breath. And just sitting there staring at him till paramedics came and pronounced time of death. My mom had to change him into his Michigan State sweatshirt, khaki pants and loafers. His favorite articles of clothing he wanted to be cremated in.
The funeral was a blur. I remember my brothers and I speaking at it, but not what was said. People treated us differently. I lost all my friends because it wasn’t normal for a family to have one parent or divorced parents in Catholic school. The minute we got back to school they shoved us into counseling. I sat in a white room on a beige couch while a former nun told me how I should feel. I just sat there staring at the wall behind her. I didn’t say a word for the three years they had me in that program.
As time went on the only family I had was a few relatives and less then 5 cousins. No one showed up to my graduation from 8th grade. My older brother was graduating the same day and same time from High School and was class valedictorian. Of course I understood why it would be more important to attend his ceremony over mine, I would have done the same thing. But standing there knowing that none of my family was there because my aunts and uncles backed out last minute, is how I’ve felt since I was 10. People came and went in our lives. One of neighbors took my older brother under his wing after our dad passed. His name was John. He was in his mid 40’s, kind, and caring man who wanted to see my brother succeed in life. He helped my brother with his first car, driving, and if you ever needed to talk he was there for us. When we moved out of the house my father passed in we saw less of John. But he always kept in touch with us making sure everything was ok even when Rick( my older brother) went of to college.
When I was 16 I had to break the news to Rick. Rick was away at UCSB when I called to inform in tears that John had passed away in sleep. My brothers words still haunt my memories. He didn’t believe me. He said yelling over and over again that I was lying and it was a cruel joke for me to play. My mom didn’t want to explain to him because she was dealing with the loss herself. I stayed with him on the phone for a long time repeating it wasn’t a joke and that he needed to come home.
Ever since Johns death Rick stopped coming home. He said there was no reason for him to. My mom wasn’t a good enough reason. I wasn’t a good enough reason. At that point in my life I had no one. My mother locked herself in her room most days since my father had died. With both my brothers out living on their own and my mother always in her room, I had no one. Yes I had friends which was new to me, i still didn’t want them to know my home life. I had one best friend. Someone who I thought had my back for years to come. I told her everything and her family treated me like one of their own. I’ll never forget their kindness. For me there is a line you never cross. I would never go for someone who caused so much chaos or toxicity in my friends life and say “fuck it lets hook up.”
i never could fully trust her which is what helped contribute to our friendship failing. I always felt i had to watch my back after that with everyone. And yes I became angry and started being a bitch as a way to keep people at bay. I understand why there would be backlash from the things I said, but not everyone’s innocent. I know the people I consider “friends” were calling me names behind my back and talking shit. Only one of my friends had the balls to sit me down, say what was said, and apologized face to face for it. I’m not one to hold a grudge. Maybe I used to be, but people grow up. The sad part is that the others don’t have the courage to sit down and talk one on one. I’ve tried many times and there’s not much more I can do or handle.
At least I’ve tried.