I've decided to write a book! I've had the intention to do so for many years, and for some reason, I chose last night to start.
This book will be a fictional book based on a true story. It is my mother's story.
As I have mentioned before in previous blog entries, my mother's parents died when she was just five years old.
When I wrote this last night, I "thought" I knew the facts. After reading it to Mom, I'm going to be changing things up a bit.
It's funny how you think you know your parents history, but when you sit down with them, and ask them to relate the details of their life, it comes out so different.
I guess I decided to write this book now, because my Mom is getting older, and has diabetes. Her blood sugar levels are through the roof and her blood pressure is all over the place, and quite frankly, I'm scared.
My father's not doing as well either. His blood pressure is very high, and he fears he might not be around much longer.
Did I mention that his parents died when he was a kid as well? Maybe I'll write about his life, too.
I'm wanting to capture their life histories, so future generations can come to know them, and so I can get to know them better as well.
Life is so short. Just yesterday, I found out that two of my acquaintance's loved ones had massive strokes. They don't know if they will make it. I hope I still have enough time with my parents to gather and compile their memories.
I'm going to be interviewing my Mother's Aunt, who could pass away any day from old age. In fact, I think I'll call her tomorrow.
I will be interviewing my mother's siblings as well, and find out their take on things.
This is going to be a lot of work, and I'm afraid I'll drop the ball. Please don't let me, keep me motivated to push on. This is very important to me!
So I thought I'd give you a preview, the beginning of her story. I'll give you the second (more accurate) take soon.
Here it goes:
There I was standing on the side of the road at the young age of five. I wasn’t alone. My neighbor was holding the hand of my little brother Stu who was three, and had my baby sister Suzie cradled in her arms.
Our lives had forever changed. We would never be the same. All of the innocent childhood pleasures I had previously experienced would not be found again. Yes, I would again experience moments of joy and laughter, but those feelings never lasted. Eventually loneliness and a longing for my parents love would seep into my bosom. This was my burden to carry for the remainder of my days.
No child should have to suffer the loss of their parents. The pain of that, does something to you. It creates an emptiness inside you, that can never be filled. The thing that tormented me the most, and continues to do so, is one single word-- “why.” Just a simple word, and yet for me, this became an all consuming, bitter question. Sadly, too familiar. This word would haunt me for the rest of my life, and would invariably stir up a wave of immense emotions within myself.
I could feel the tears swelling in my eyes, but I would not let them see me cry. I didn’t want anyone to see the pain I was feeling inside. I was trying so hard to be big. I had to be strong for my siblings. They would need me to be there for them, just as Mommy and Daddy had been there for me.
“WHY?”
This question was searing my heart at that very moment. I was so scared, so lost. My whole world had shattered into a million little pieces.
I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday, the sun was shinning in a sky so blue. There were a few clouds here and there, and the gentle breeze made my baby sister’s dress flutter against her tiny body. She was crying, and the neighbor lady was trying to sooth her with a bottle.
I didn’t realize it then, but what she was craving was my mother’s breast. Now when I look back on it, I think she was suffering just as much as I.
My brother Stu eventually let go of the lady’s hand and had sat down in the dirt to play with rocks. Every so often he would try to throw one across the street. He didn’t say much, but he seemed confused, and would sputter the words “Mama, Dada” in the tone of a question.
It felt like we were standing there for hours, time went by so slow. The sun had started to beat down on us, and the breeze no longer kept us cool. Just when I thought I could no longer take the sun’s penetrating rays, a long brown station wagon rounded the corner.
I could see a man driving, and a woman in the passenger seat. Their faces were familiar. We had visited them just a year ago in Tucson. They were my Aunt and Uncle, and although I didn’t remember their names, I did remember all of their children. It was nice to see a family member, but I was apprehensive about living with them. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to find a place to cry where no one would see me. What I really wanted, I couldn’t have.
We would now be a part of their family. This transition would be a difficult one for me. I would be going from the oldest of three to a middle child of eight.
The car stopped just in front of us. The sound of the car doors closing penetrated my being. As they walked up to greet us, I could see the tears swelling in their eyes. They reached down and gave me a hug. It felt awkward and uncomfortable. I felt fear pulse through me.
They didn’t say much, maybe just a hello. They guided me around the vehicle to my seat. I remember climbing into the large car. It was hard for me to reach the seat. When I sat down, the seat was scorching hot from the heat of Yuma, a place which I would come to infinitely dislike.
So there you have it, my first page. Feel free to comment and add any suggestions you might have.
