D-Day: January 4th, 1987

I hope I have already established that I did not like nor get along with my dad. It may not seem that my life was too rough, but it sucked for me. It was all I knew. Anyway, the dividing point for my life occurred in January 1987. My mother had gall stones and, after months of pain, decided that she would have to have surgery to get them removed. The doctor decided to simply remove her gall bladder.

The night she told us (kids), we were all sitting at the dinner table, a rarity in our household. She told us she as going to have surgery and would be in the hospital for a few days after Christmas. Well my 8 year old brother bolted from the table. We all followed him back to his room and found him crying in the back of his closet. He said, "Don't go mommy, you won't come back!" Well, needless to say, that scared the crap out of all of us. But she simply couldn't stand the pain.

So early January, she went in for surgery. My grandmother came to stay with us during her absence. She went in to surgery and came out fine. No complications. She even got to keep her gall stones in a little cup (a real nice keepsake, don't ya think). Anyway, we were all relieved that this ordeal was over and things could soon get back to normal.

Mom came home from the hospital on a Saturday, January 3rd. A friend of hers brought us a movie over, Stephen King's Silver Bullet. She and I stayed up late watching the movie and talking. I remember talking about what I wanted to do with my life, and she told me how proud she was of me. Stuff I never really remember talking about before, but anyway. We finally went to bed.

The next morning, Sunday, January 4th, dad got up to make us breakfast. He and mom had been talking about needing to start taking us to church. I had been attending a church with a friend of mine, and they were thinking about trying it as well. Anyway, dad got up to go make breakfast. I don't remember what; he usually made pancakes or something like that. Mom slowly got up, seeing that she had a lot of stitches from her operation. She went to use the bathroom. I know that because I as walked down the hall and passed the bathroom, the door was open and I saw her sitting on the toilet. I remember thinking how odd that was and that I had never known her to do that before. But I continued to proceed down the hall until I heard a loud thud. I immediately turned around and found her on the floor. She had fallen forward and hit her head on the tub. I yelled for my dad. I can still feel the vibrations of the floor as he ran through the house. We got her off of the floor and on the bed. He immediatly called our neighbors (the Richardson's) to come help and then called the ambulance. A lot of what happened next was a blur. I remember her lying on the bed in a state of delirium. She would drift in and out of consciousness it seemed. She didn't know where she was or who my dad was some of the time, and then she would know who he was. When the ambulance arrived, it took forever for them to get in because of the strange way our hallway was. They determined that she was having a hard time breathing, administered oxygen, and then got her on the stretcher. Getting her down the hall and out the door was no easy task. But they finally managed it. They got her in the ambulance and then just sat there like forever. Finally the left. My dad went with them. By this time, half my family was at our house as well as many of our neighbors. I rode to the hospital with someone, but I can't remember who.

I arrived at the ER to find the rest of my family was there. My dad was in the back with the doctors. Everyone came to me and was giving me hugs to see if I was okay. I walked to the phone room where my uncle was trying to reach our out of town family members when someone came to get me. They didn't say anything, they just grabbed my arm and ecsorted me into the ER waiting room. Everyone was still crying, but this time it was different. And they were all looking at me. I wasn't just escorted into the room, but through the room. As I approached the big wooden door that led into the operating area, the one that read "Authorized Personal Only," I could hear my father screaming and crying. Suddenly, the last thing on earth I wanted to do was go through that door. But it opened anyway.

There was my dad, head buried in his hands, on the floor. He say me and ran to me and embraced me. No one said a word; no one had too. It was plain to understand what had happened. She was dead. I think I cried, I don't really remember. But if I did, it would be the last time for almost 10 years.

I shut down that day. I was known to be fairly out-going, fun, very hyper. Not anymore. I quit talking, became introverted, and reclusive. I learned to live alone even in a crowd. I withdrew to my "inner-sanctuary" within, which will play a large part in my future.

That has remained the hardest and roughest day of my life. Yet, as hard as being at the hospital was and hearing the bad news was. The most difficult part was going home and having to sit and watch my dad tell my little 8 year old brother and 4 year old sister. Life would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same.