Changed For Life
Beverly Meetze
Eng318 @ Ashford University
April 4th, 2011
Changed For Life
The scream
still reverberates in my memory, and my wrists still feel the burn. Santa was
coming, so we must get ready for bed! My belly was full of cake, cookies, and
hot chocolate; and my ears still rang with the melodies of Christmas carols and
the laughter of family and friends. I
was dressed in my red nightgown, my arms were tied behind my back, and I was
lying on the hard, brown furry lined floor with my ear pressed to the floor so
hard as if I would become one with the floor. I just had to hear what was going
on downstairs, since I had been ushered off to bed in preparation for Santa’s
trip down our chimney. My bed was a
Holly Hobby blanket and a pillow on the floor between Moma’s bed and the wall
underneath a window facing the street where I could view the chipped paint and
smell the odor of age that clung to this house. I was ten years old and knew
full well that a fictitious Santa was not coming down our chimney. Daddy was
Santa, and I knew it. But, Daddy would not play Santa this particular night, or
any night after.
The sirens and lights lit up the
night with a wail to echo the original scream. With my hands still behind my
back, and my brother now kneeling beside me; I watched as the gurney entered
our house. As we watched from our window, the neighbors stood in their red
glowing yards and watched. It seemed like hours passed before the men with the
gurney carried my Daddy from the house on that gurney. Moma raced behind them
and climbed into the truck with Daddy and the men. One man walked around to the
front of the truck and the truck rushed down the road. Instead of a sleigh led
by a red-nosed reindeer bringing a fat, jolly man with gifts, a carriage took
away my fat, jolly man sirens screaming in the night led by a red flashing
beacon. It screamed, “Merry Christmas, you silly girl – Remember me”! We
watched as the neighbors disappeared into their homes, and then our sister came
to untie us and explain that scream to us! The scream had been one word,
“Moma!”, and had been filled with fear – the kind of fear you would expect if
someone had fallen and hurt themselves. It is the kind of scream you never can
forget. It is the kind of scream that changes the landscape of your life within
a blink of a second. It is the kind of scream remembered in your dreams and
reminds you of all you’ve lost. Somewhere between midnight and dawn I must have
dosed off and walked in my sleep. Or the night just became a blur in the mind
of a ten year old, because the next thing I remember is waking up at
Grandmoma’s house the next morning without my hands tied and sleeping in an
actual bed. My life changed drastically on that Christmas Eve, and it was not
because of something I got for Christmas, but something I lost that Christmas.
As I recall,
Christmas continued as usual with some obvious differences: Daddy was not
there, gifts were opened at Granddad and Grandmoma’s house (who did not have a
chimney), and Moma’s eyes and face resembled the lights of the ambulance for
many days and weeks to follow. The turkey and dressing did not look different,
and the cinnamon of the pumpkin pie still permeated the house, but people
forgot to laugh. I was ten, and did not fully understand that my Dad was not
coming back to me. He had bought me a beautiful two-story doll house with a
green roof. The house was hinged on one side, and opened to view the entire
house – left side and right side. The furniture was bundled and ready for me to
distribute, but something else caught my attention – a rustle and a meow. All
of a sudden a gray kitten ran from under the tree and landed in my lap. I was
told years later that my dad had gone the day before to pick up the kitten and
left it with Grandmoma so I would not see her before Christmas Day. I named her
Merry, and cherished her throughout that long day.
After that Christmas my brother
returned to his boarding school, my sister graduated high school and moved on to college, and I no
longer was tied up at night or made to sleep on the floor. But the most
important change was that life had to go on without this strong, outgoing, ever
present personality. My dad was larger than life. His belly really did shake
when he laughed, and his eyes really did twinkle. He knew how to make a room
rock with laughter with his ever present jokes. His eyes not only twinkled but
also reflected the sky on a clear, bright, sunny day; and his personality
echoed that brightness. I cannot remember my dad ever crying or being angry (at
least not at me). He could turn those baby blues on me, and I would feel a
world of love and security emanating from him. But all, that changed on that
Christmas Eve. Moma, who had never been my champion, became quiet, sullen, and
withdrawn. She stayed in her room, ignored house work, and ignored the phone,
the bills, and me. It often felt as if I was the only person in the house
because while her body was present, she was not. It was as if Daddy had taken
her with him, and in fact that is probably what she had wished for (I know I
had).
Before Daddy
died, I would ride to school with Daddy, eat breakfast with him before school,
and then entertain him after school or watch television with him. I did minor
chores around the house like folding clothes, doing dishes, dusting on the
weekend, and occasionally cleaning up after Moma’s recent pet. But, after Daddy
died, sadness sagged our little house to the foundation, the stove became an
ornament, the freezer entertained pot pies and T.V. dinners, cleaning became
the norm for me from the age of ten to fourteen. I vacuumed, washed clothes,
cleaned every room, dusted, swept and mopped, took out the trash, and brought
in the mail. After a while I even delivered the checks to the bill collectors.
I became an adult in a few short months. I continued my education because: 1)
it was the law and 2) because I loved school and would not think of skipping
out on school. But, at home laughter was not tolerated and life just seemed to
stall. While Moma became quiet and sad, I became angry and secretly turned my
back on God. I blamed Him for taking my father, and asked why he did not take
my Mom instead. I listened to everyone’s words telling me that God had taken my
Dad because he was needed as an angel. As a child, I could not understand that
logic because Daddy was my angel, and how dare God take him from me. I could
not understand why God had brought Daddy into my life when I was three, only to
take him away seven very short years later.
Changes were
not strange to me, even for such a young girl. I had been adopted by this Dad,
been loved and protected. He gave me and my family security, but he was sick.
He struggled through one open heart surgery after another. He smoked, he
laughed, he loved, and he shared all he had with two children who had no one.
Then he died, and changed those two children’s lives again. It was not his
fault, or God’s. But, I wanted someone to blame, and turned out my Mom wanted
someone to blame too. I blamed God; Moma blamed me and my brother. Five years
and two months after daddy died, I tried to run away from home and Moma tried
to kill herself with pills. And, life changed one more time.
No comments:
Post a Comment