"Grandma has cancer".
Only a small part of me was scared. This is Grandma. She's a fighter. She's full of life and fire. She's strong, much stronger than I am. I was filled with hope and faith that she would survive this, that we would have so many more laughs and experiences together, memories to create. I did not prepare for the worst, because it would not happen, not to her.
She wasn't getting better. She was having a hard time breathing, eating and then surviving. Mom flew out to help take care of her. We flew out a short time later. Grandma and Grandpa's new house felt empty without her there. I couldn't feel her presence in her untouched things.
We went to the hospital, took the elevator up to her room. Mom prepped us, telling us not to cry. We needed to be happy. She also had us clean our hands with the hand sanitizer outside Grandma's room. The door opened and there she was, laying in a bed. I could see her eyes over the oxygen mask she wore. I stopped breathing, shocked at how quickly she was fading. The words that I had rehearsed flew from my head as I could only stare at this different yet same woman. She didn't look like herself. She was so thin and fragile. Her hair was a solid white. I wanted to hold her hand even though I was scared that it might break. I could tell that she was trying to smile, her eyes wrinkling. But, I could also tell that she was in pain. Her face was pale. Everyone spoke in a calm and somewhat hushed voice, stating only the positive. How could I tell this woman the truth? How could I tell Grandma, a woman who has never defined herself by age, this sassy and lively, John Wayne loving, independent heroine that I am going to miss her dearly? Grandma was my second mother. She woke me up in the morning, made me breakfast, picked me up and drove me to activities, taught me music, held my hand, stayed up all night to help me write English essays, and sang me to sleep. She's steady, always there and now I was facing a future without her.
I couldn't stop the tears. They burned down my face as I looked at her and tried to smile. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hold her close as she had held me. I knew at that moment that it was the last time I was going to see her. It was a matter of time and I wanted it to go slowly. I wanted it to rewind. It was too much, seeing her like this. The only words that escaped me were to ask, "May I play for you, Grandma?"
The nurses wheeled Grandma out of her room, down the hallway, to the lobby. It was hard to smile as it was plain to see how uncomfortable she was, but she continued to glow, her eyes sparkling. She smiled, her eyes squinting above the mask. I suddenly got nervous, even though I had played in front of her a thousand times. Here, I was sitting in front of the woman who had kindly corrected my mistakes, her hands next to mine on the keys. I tried to relax and started to breathe through my nose and out my mouth like she had taught me. The music began to flow through me, like a stream that I couldn't and didn't want to control. I played Pavane Pour Une Infante Defunte (Pavane for a Dead Princess) by Ravel. Fitting since it was the last song she had started to teach me how to play. Fitting, because in a way, this was my song, my words for her. It is a bittersweet song, beautiful and light. It sounds similar to Debussy's music. My eyes glazed over as I started to cry, the music speaking the words I never said, the love I never shared. I could not see the keys any longer; it was all a large colorless blur.
Grandma had said that the piano creates music with an inner beauty; 'music makes the creator more beautiful, beautifies the soul of the listener, and makes the world a more beautiful place.' Music is our escape; it was what your feelings sound like, a love in search of words. She taught me how to express myself and to love to express myself.
The song ended so quickly. I finished, hands shaking, emotionally spent. I could tell that I had pleased her as she spoke her genuine thanks for the song and clapped for me. I had apologized countless times during the piece, muttering 'I'm so sorry' as I stumbled my way through the most emotional parts, countless tears splashing the keys. My heart was aching.
We continued to talk in her room and Grandma had enough energy to joke around and laugh with us. But, it was not long before she tired, her face weary once again. It was time to leave. Only a hint of sadness lingered as Grandma spoke of seeing me soon, full of hope that in reality was dangling by weak, short strings. I slowly left, nodding my head in doubtful agreement. I was really going to miss her.
I wanted to stay, but had to fly home for volleyball tryouts. Sarah and I ended up being on the same team and we practiced together. One night, after practice, I turned on my phone and listened to my messages. One was from Mom. She was still in Minnesota taking care of Grandma.
"Hey girls, Grandma is going now. If you can, please call me so that you can say your goodbyes and be here on the phone with us."
My heart was racing as I quickly called back and Mom was crying. Grandma was already gone and I missed saying goodbye, telling her that I love her one last time by an hour. I felt numb. I felt nothing, and then, suddenly, I was overwhelmed with feeling. I started bawling, sobbing into my hands. I felt my tears drip into my hands. I felt hot liquid escape my nostrils and mouth. Sarah sat next to me and after I shared the news with her, we held each other and cried in the school gym.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Monday, October 27, 2014
Grandma and Grandpa's House: Shocked and Terrified
After our haunted house experience, which we deemed an overall success, we decided to go to a professional haunted house. It was on a farm. You waited in line to get on a haunted hay ride that drove you to the haunted house. Grandma, Grandpa, Sarah, Kristi and I all piled up on the wagon. It was my first haunted house experience and I was freaked out when the wagon started moving. Kristi was on my left and Sarah was on my right. We passed by gory stages of crazy surgeons and killers on the loose. We saw ghosts and demons running alongside the wagon. I was so scared that I thought I was going pass out, but I was too proud to admit that I couldn't handle the haunted house scene. I started feeling queasy just as someone with a chainsaw jumped on the wagon. He started to saw parts of the benches that we were sitting on. It was too much; so, I quickly turned to Kristi, feigning concern for her when I was the one that needed help. I spent the rest of the ride looking at her and trying to tune out the scary stuff going on around me. As soon as it was over, I jumped off and refused to go into the haunted house with Grandma and Sarah. I waited outside with Kristi and Grandpa, drinking hot chocolate and trying to calm my nerves while they went through. Apparently, Grandma laughed and clapped through the whole thing. At the end, when a man started chasing them, Sarah took off and left her. I can just imagine Grandma slowly walking away from him, giggling all the way.
Grandma loved feeding people. We would often have church members come over for dinner. We would often run out of room on her small kitchen table. So, after she served one dish, she would remove it from the table and bring another over. One time, she hurriedly brought one of the salads and realized that she had forgotten the tongs; so, she grabbed it with her hands and dumped it on each plate while muttering, "My hands are clean. My hands are clean."
One night, we had Don over for dinner. He and Mom had been dating for a little while. Grandma made chicken. While she was serving, she asked, "Do you like breast, Don?"
Grandma didn't have many clothes and what she did have was raggedy and stained. Mom said that she would sometimes be embarrassed by Grandma's stained outfits but that she later realized that Grandma didn't have clothes because she spent her money on them. She spent her money on their music lessons, riding lessons, ice skating lessons etc. Grandma often wore a Mickey Mouse sweater with two large stains, one on the sleeve and one on the stomach. I think Mom has that sweater now.
Grandpa's driving was terrifying. I often prayed for safety as I sat in the front seat of his white Lincoln. One day, he turned to me and asked if I wanted to drive. He took me to an abandoned parking lot and switched spots with me. It was the first time I got behind the wheel and it was our secret. I got to drive back and forth in the parking lot for half an hour or so. He would have me practice accelerating and slowing down. We practiced parking. I loved it.
I used to read Frances the Badger books. They were about a naughty little badger who would often get herself into trouble. She had tea parties and picnics and ate boiled eggs out of egg cups. Grandma made this a reality for me. She hosted a tea party for me; I got to invite some of my friends over. We ate cucumber sandwiches and drink out of tea cups. She took us on a picnic in a beautiful field. She also bought some special egg cups so that I could put my boiled eggs in them. She gave us little spoons to crack them with. It was fun, experiencing new things with Grandma. We read Hank the Cowdog books. Grandma also bought some of the tapes so that we could listen to it while we drove. We also loved reading George and Martha books about two silly hippos who experience new things together and play tricks on each other.
I used to read Frances the Badger books. They were about a naughty little badger who would often get herself into trouble. She had tea parties and picnics and ate boiled eggs out of egg cups. Grandma made this a reality for me. She hosted a tea party for me; I got to invite some of my friends over. We ate cucumber sandwiches and drink out of tea cups. She took us on a picnic in a beautiful field. She also bought some special egg cups so that I could put my boiled eggs in them. She gave us little spoons to crack them with. It was fun, experiencing new things with Grandma. We read Hank the Cowdog books. Grandma also bought some of the tapes so that we could listen to it while we drove. We also loved reading George and Martha books about two silly hippos who experience new things together and play tricks on each other.
We got used to Grandma and Grandpa's house rules. They were strict, but so was Mom; so, it wasn't a huge adjustment for us. Grandma was put in charge of a primary class at church and she was having a hard time keeping the kids in line. I had heard her discuss this problem with Grandpa a few weeks in a row. She had started talking about it with Sarah and I, asking what our teachers had done when we were in primary. I went to the bathroom as they talked in length about it. As I came back, I didn't know that they had switched to a different subject. They were talking about a fun activity Grandma could do with her class. She was going to simulate 'holding to the iron rod' and wanted the kids to hold onto pieces of string with blindfolds over their eyes. She wanted to have people whisper to them, both good and bad spirits, either encouraging them to hold on or telling them to let go. When I came back into the room, Grandma and Sarah were talking about what the evil spirits could say to them. I sat down and, still thinking that they were talking about punishing the primary students, heard Grandma harshly whisper, "We can just say, 'God doesn't love you! Just give up! Give up!' " I was stunned! Grandma was strict, but she had never whispered that to me when I was naughty. I suddenly felt really bad for the troublesome children but was scared to say anything, worried that Grandma would say something similar to me if I objected. I was especially shocked because Sarah was nodding with Grandma, both looking excited to say such things. Thankfully, as they kept talking, I realized my mistake and explained to them how bothered I had been. Grandma laughed hard. We sat around the table crying and laughing for a long time.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Grandma and Grandpa's House: Acceptance
I slowly got used to life in Minnesota. Even though I missed the mountains, I grew accustomed to the tall water towers in every city. I got used to the Minnesotan lingo and even started using some of the phrases we used to mock. I stopped hoping for snow days; Minnesotans are not phased by massive amounts of snow. I wore socks to bed and bundled up for school for months on end, including some summer months. There were really only two seasons in Minnesota: winter and road construction. I learned about wading/kiddie pools. I learned about the importance of hockey and hunting. I learned that tractors are usually the reason for traffic jams. I started to appreciate how beautiful Minnesota is, with the many lakes and endless farms. Everything was lush and green, so different from Utah.
I got used to being away from Dad, JD, and Esther. Es was attending college in Rexburg, Idaho and working part-time. She was busy but happy. JD was living with Dad in Orem, Utah. I have little memory of life pre-separation and thankfully, my Minnesota life wasn't as consumed with post-separation war as it had been when we lived in Santaquin, UT. Dad was hard to talk to, making it easier for me to accept how little he called. His calls always revolved around talking about how Mom didn't really love me, how much he was hurting, how my rightful home was with him and JD, and how she would burn in hell for destroying us. I would like to say that it was shocking that he so readily said these things, but it wasn't. He was so different than what I remembered. Sometimes, I would dust off my old memories and replay them, memories of him coming home and kissing Mom before dinner. Memories of waking up early to watch cartoons and say goodbye to him as he left for work. Memories of him teaching me how to weed and plant my little garden. Memories of him making fresh tea with the peppermint from our yard. Memories of sitting on his lap in church. Memories of seeing his car on our road and holding onto his handles as he drove up the driveway. Memories of late night snacks that he would share with all of us. Memories of a seemingly happy home with two happy parents.
After they separated, my friend taught me that my wish would come true if I made it at 11:11. I spent the day running around the old Santaquin house, counting all of the clocks. I also counted the ones in our cars. I counted a total of 10 clocks and so, I made this wish:
I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together.
I later revised it to:
I wish my parents were back together times 10.
10 years later, I caught myself saying it in my head while in a college class. It shocked me to realize that my wish had become habitual.
Our yearly summer visits to Utah were rough. To be fair, it must have been extremely difficult for Dad. He wasn't Dad anymore, but an entertainer. We didn't have a routine with him anymore and we no longer lived near our old friends. When visited him in his two bedroom apartment, we quickly realized how little we had spent with him when they were married. His work schedule took him away from us for hours at a time and we suffocated in the hot confinement of his apartment. We hated it and so did he. JD wasn't really there. He was physically there, but he rarely spoke and never left his room. He played computer games late at night, all night and then he slept all day. He always looked the same, unhealthily thin and pale with gray circles under his eyes. Every now and then, he would open his door and talk to us. It was always the highlight of the summer, talking to him, hearing him. He was so angry and unhappy. I think that anger is what kept him alive, helped him survive those depressing years. This new and unhappy Jeremiah overtook my memories of him. I couldn't remember what he was like before all of this happened.
Esther would come to visit us in Utah and in Minnesota. I didn't realize until I was older that she was forced to be an adult at a very young age. She always had a job and took care of herself. I think she knew that she had to; she didn't have a choice. She was the cool older sister and I quickly loved everything that she loved. It seemed like she always had a new hair color every time I saw her. She bought me my first CD, a Dido CD. I listened to it on repeat. She took me on a sister date; we went shopping and ate at Los Hermanos. I still have the blue sweater that she bought for me on that date. I remember watching her clean the downstairs bathroom of our Santaquin house. She had been trying to record Torn by Natalie Imbruglia on one of her tapes but had only gotten a partial recording. I remember hearing her cheer, because she finally caught it in time and recorded the whole song.
Santaquin became a memory. It wasn't home anymore but a past life. I stopped writing letters to my friends, stopped visiting them when I was in Utah. I stopped praying that everything could go back to the way it was. I looked forward to coming back to Grandma and Grandpa. I had moved on and loved my home in Minnesota.
I got used to being away from Dad, JD, and Esther. Es was attending college in Rexburg, Idaho and working part-time. She was busy but happy. JD was living with Dad in Orem, Utah. I have little memory of life pre-separation and thankfully, my Minnesota life wasn't as consumed with post-separation war as it had been when we lived in Santaquin, UT. Dad was hard to talk to, making it easier for me to accept how little he called. His calls always revolved around talking about how Mom didn't really love me, how much he was hurting, how my rightful home was with him and JD, and how she would burn in hell for destroying us. I would like to say that it was shocking that he so readily said these things, but it wasn't. He was so different than what I remembered. Sometimes, I would dust off my old memories and replay them, memories of him coming home and kissing Mom before dinner. Memories of waking up early to watch cartoons and say goodbye to him as he left for work. Memories of him teaching me how to weed and plant my little garden. Memories of him making fresh tea with the peppermint from our yard. Memories of sitting on his lap in church. Memories of seeing his car on our road and holding onto his handles as he drove up the driveway. Memories of late night snacks that he would share with all of us. Memories of a seemingly happy home with two happy parents.
After they separated, my friend taught me that my wish would come true if I made it at 11:11. I spent the day running around the old Santaquin house, counting all of the clocks. I also counted the ones in our cars. I counted a total of 10 clocks and so, I made this wish:
I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together.
I later revised it to:
I wish my parents were back together times 10.
10 years later, I caught myself saying it in my head while in a college class. It shocked me to realize that my wish had become habitual.
Our yearly summer visits to Utah were rough. To be fair, it must have been extremely difficult for Dad. He wasn't Dad anymore, but an entertainer. We didn't have a routine with him anymore and we no longer lived near our old friends. When visited him in his two bedroom apartment, we quickly realized how little we had spent with him when they were married. His work schedule took him away from us for hours at a time and we suffocated in the hot confinement of his apartment. We hated it and so did he. JD wasn't really there. He was physically there, but he rarely spoke and never left his room. He played computer games late at night, all night and then he slept all day. He always looked the same, unhealthily thin and pale with gray circles under his eyes. Every now and then, he would open his door and talk to us. It was always the highlight of the summer, talking to him, hearing him. He was so angry and unhappy. I think that anger is what kept him alive, helped him survive those depressing years. This new and unhappy Jeremiah overtook my memories of him. I couldn't remember what he was like before all of this happened.
Esther would come to visit us in Utah and in Minnesota. I didn't realize until I was older that she was forced to be an adult at a very young age. She always had a job and took care of herself. I think she knew that she had to; she didn't have a choice. She was the cool older sister and I quickly loved everything that she loved. It seemed like she always had a new hair color every time I saw her. She bought me my first CD, a Dido CD. I listened to it on repeat. She took me on a sister date; we went shopping and ate at Los Hermanos. I still have the blue sweater that she bought for me on that date. I remember watching her clean the downstairs bathroom of our Santaquin house. She had been trying to record Torn by Natalie Imbruglia on one of her tapes but had only gotten a partial recording. I remember hearing her cheer, because she finally caught it in time and recorded the whole song.
Santaquin became a memory. It wasn't home anymore but a past life. I stopped writing letters to my friends, stopped visiting them when I was in Utah. I stopped praying that everything could go back to the way it was. I looked forward to coming back to Grandma and Grandpa. I had moved on and loved my home in Minnesota.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Grandma and Grandpa's House: Silliness and Young Love
Grandma's dry-heaving was sadly entertaining. We had heard the stories of how our uncles would tease her, making her gag. There was usually a booger involved or talk of one. Grandma couldn't handle that subject. Just the mention of one was Grandma's nightmare. She would immediately start to retch. Now, to describe Grandma's retching...It was much more than you would imagine. She would not only make the sound and movement of vomiting, but her whole body would be taken over by it, repeatedly jerking forward and upward. And while she was doing this 'vomit dance', she would start whooping. I have no idea why she whooped. She just did. Her whooping would start to come out faster, louder, and higher.
My first experience with this was when we were eating hamburgers for dinner. They were delicious; so, Grandma asked Grandpa where he bought the meat from.
"I got them from the booger shop," replied Grandpa, giggling.
"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!!! Dennis! Whoop! You know better!! Whoop! Whoop!"
It was amazing how quickly Grandma's brain would shut off when she got tired. Her bedtime was at 8:00 PM. By 8:03 PM, she couldn't speak without stuttering on words or completely saying the wrong thing. One night, when we were getting ready for bed, she tried to quiet us down so that she could read us our nightly story.
"Girls! You need to be quiet before I can fart the....I mean start the story!"
We burst out laughing and she tried to battle against it, but she couldn't. She started to smile, her eyes wrinkling in the corners, and then giggle and then we were all crying from laughing so hard. We howled and groaned as we held our sore stomachs. We would find out later that she also told one of her students to, 'fart here'. Though she kept a straight face and didn't laugh then, she randomly laughed in the middle of her very next lesson while thinking about her previous blunder.
Grandma knew everything. She was this book that you could open and read. She knew something about every subject. She was also full of ideas and dreams. I loved reading her. She was there for my first church talk and my second and third. She was there for my school presentations and speeches. If she didn't know much about a subject, she would spend the day researching and learning. She would then come back, show me all of her sources, and teach me.
Grandma loved romance. She loved reading about it and watching it in movies. Grandma rarely let me see her room. It was crowded, piles and shelves of books, binders, and papers everywhere. Her room looked like something you would see in an episode of Hoarders. I don't know how she slept in there, because I couldn't even breathe. She had music everywhere and papers with her scribbles. She wrote notes on everything. There were receipts with her notes on them, notes about students, music, and religious topics. And then, smack in the middle of this mess was her bed. She dusted off the top of one of her shelves and handed me some books. One said, Harlequin Romance, at the top and then the title: A Girl Named Rose. This was the first of many Harlequin Romance books that I read. I almost always read Betty Neels' books, because Grandma and I preferred her writing. Hers was more old-fashioned, the kind where they finally kiss at the end after they get engaged. Betty Neels had a very similar story for each of her books. There was almost always a plain and quiet nurse who worked for a handsome but intimidating and sometimes rude Dutch doctor. They were always Dutch. They often had long and complicated names that I couldn't pronounce: Sybren Werdmer Ter Sane, Fulk Van Hensum, Coenraad Van Essen, and Gerard Van Doorninck. I loved them despite their simple layout and I read them often.
She showed me her movie collection. She had boxes full of tapes that she had recorded them on. Each movie had multiple movie titles scribbled on the front. She had hundreds and could describe them in detail when I would ask what a certain one was about. I fell in love. I loved the classic romances of the 1920's-1960's. I fell in love with Jimmy Stewart, Lawrence Olivier, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Fred Astaire, Rock Hudson, and James Dean. We suffered through Gene Kelly's bad acting to witness his perfect dancing. We sang alongside Judy Garland and pretended to dance like Ann Miller. We wanted the comic timing of Doris Day and the witty attitude of Katharine Hepburn. We loved watching Vivien Leigh, Maureen O'Hara, Greer Garson, Olivia de Havilland, Jean Arthur, Joan Fontaine, Cyd Charisse, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jane Powell on the screen of Grandma's small TV.
We memorized their songs and lines. She watched me as I practiced walking gracefully. We had tea parties where we talked like ladies. It was so fun! Some of our favorite movies to watch: The Harvey Girls, His Girl Friday, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers, Meet Me In St. Louis, Gone With The Wind, Singin' In The Rain, An Affair to Remember, The Pirate, That Hagen Girl, Gigi, Pillow Talk, The African Queen, Roman Holiday, To Catch a Thief, How to Steal a Million, The Philadelphia Story, The Quiet Man, Easter Parade, You Can't Take It With You, How to Marry a Millionaire, Brigadoon, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer, Some Like It Hot, Charade...
My two favorites that Grandma showed me have to be Tammy and the Bachelor and Margie. They're both similar, sweet and funny. Tammy is about a simple and naive girl (Debbie Reynolds) who falls in love with a refined man who doesn't notice her at first. Margie is about a bright but odd high school girl (Jeanne Crain) who has a crush on her French teacher and one of her popular peers. She also has constant trouble with her pantaloons. I loved watching these two with Grandma. We would giggle and re-watch scenes just to giggle some more.
My first experience with this was when we were eating hamburgers for dinner. They were delicious; so, Grandma asked Grandpa where he bought the meat from.
"I got them from the booger shop," replied Grandpa, giggling.
"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!!! Dennis! Whoop! You know better!! Whoop! Whoop!"
It was amazing how quickly Grandma's brain would shut off when she got tired. Her bedtime was at 8:00 PM. By 8:03 PM, she couldn't speak without stuttering on words or completely saying the wrong thing. One night, when we were getting ready for bed, she tried to quiet us down so that she could read us our nightly story.
"Girls! You need to be quiet before I can fart the....I mean start the story!"
We burst out laughing and she tried to battle against it, but she couldn't. She started to smile, her eyes wrinkling in the corners, and then giggle and then we were all crying from laughing so hard. We howled and groaned as we held our sore stomachs. We would find out later that she also told one of her students to, 'fart here'. Though she kept a straight face and didn't laugh then, she randomly laughed in the middle of her very next lesson while thinking about her previous blunder.
Grandma knew everything. She was this book that you could open and read. She knew something about every subject. She was also full of ideas and dreams. I loved reading her. She was there for my first church talk and my second and third. She was there for my school presentations and speeches. If she didn't know much about a subject, she would spend the day researching and learning. She would then come back, show me all of her sources, and teach me.
Grandma loved romance. She loved reading about it and watching it in movies. Grandma rarely let me see her room. It was crowded, piles and shelves of books, binders, and papers everywhere. Her room looked like something you would see in an episode of Hoarders. I don't know how she slept in there, because I couldn't even breathe. She had music everywhere and papers with her scribbles. She wrote notes on everything. There were receipts with her notes on them, notes about students, music, and religious topics. And then, smack in the middle of this mess was her bed. She dusted off the top of one of her shelves and handed me some books. One said, Harlequin Romance, at the top and then the title: A Girl Named Rose. This was the first of many Harlequin Romance books that I read. I almost always read Betty Neels' books, because Grandma and I preferred her writing. Hers was more old-fashioned, the kind where they finally kiss at the end after they get engaged. Betty Neels had a very similar story for each of her books. There was almost always a plain and quiet nurse who worked for a handsome but intimidating and sometimes rude Dutch doctor. They were always Dutch. They often had long and complicated names that I couldn't pronounce: Sybren Werdmer Ter Sane, Fulk Van Hensum, Coenraad Van Essen, and Gerard Van Doorninck. I loved them despite their simple layout and I read them often.
She showed me her movie collection. She had boxes full of tapes that she had recorded them on. Each movie had multiple movie titles scribbled on the front. She had hundreds and could describe them in detail when I would ask what a certain one was about. I fell in love. I loved the classic romances of the 1920's-1960's. I fell in love with Jimmy Stewart, Lawrence Olivier, Cary Grant, Gregory Peck, Fred Astaire, Rock Hudson, and James Dean. We suffered through Gene Kelly's bad acting to witness his perfect dancing. We sang alongside Judy Garland and pretended to dance like Ann Miller. We wanted the comic timing of Doris Day and the witty attitude of Katharine Hepburn. We loved watching Vivien Leigh, Maureen O'Hara, Greer Garson, Olivia de Havilland, Jean Arthur, Joan Fontaine, Cyd Charisse, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jane Powell on the screen of Grandma's small TV.
We memorized their songs and lines. She watched me as I practiced walking gracefully. We had tea parties where we talked like ladies. It was so fun! Some of our favorite movies to watch: The Harvey Girls, His Girl Friday, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers, Meet Me In St. Louis, Gone With The Wind, Singin' In The Rain, An Affair to Remember, The Pirate, That Hagen Girl, Gigi, Pillow Talk, The African Queen, Roman Holiday, To Catch a Thief, How to Steal a Million, The Philadelphia Story, The Quiet Man, Easter Parade, You Can't Take It With You, How to Marry a Millionaire, Brigadoon, The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer, Some Like It Hot, Charade...
My two favorites that Grandma showed me have to be Tammy and the Bachelor and Margie. They're both similar, sweet and funny. Tammy is about a simple and naive girl (Debbie Reynolds) who falls in love with a refined man who doesn't notice her at first. Margie is about a bright but odd high school girl (Jeanne Crain) who has a crush on her French teacher and one of her popular peers. She also has constant trouble with her pantaloons. I loved watching these two with Grandma. We would giggle and re-watch scenes just to giggle some more.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Grandma and Grandpa's House: Batty
We dubbed our new house, The Bat House. One day, when we came home from a trip, we found a bat in our family room. It was hanging from one of Mom's curtains. Three girls and a bat is not a good combination. It's a horrible combo! We were frantic. I was beyond terrified and took Kristi upstairs to hide while Mom and Sarah figured out a game plan. We knew that they had attempted something when we heard the screaming. Loud bangs and deafening shrills came from below. The vacuum was being used. I heard cloth rip and more screaming, and even some flapping. And then, a sickening crunch. I ran downstairs just in time to see half of a bat sticking out of the vacuum tube before the rest of it was swallowed. I guess Mom had taken out the vacuum and figured she would vacuum it up. You're hoping that she gets it at the butt and that it slides down the tube. But no, Mom got the bat in the middle of its back! Imagine a vacuum tube in the middle of the spine, the body unwilling to be sucked down. And then, all of a sudden you hear this atrocious snap and the bat gets sucked into the tube. It literally folded into itself and flew down the tube.
Earlier that year, we had a bat in Grandma and Grandpa's house. I was brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed, when Sarah and Kristi started screaming from the peach room we stayed in. There was a bat circling the inside of our room. It was terrifying, especially because we didn't realize that there were bats in Minnesota. I was scared that it would bite me and suck my blood. I had only seen them in movies, the vampire ones. We yelled for Grandpa, sure that he would have some intense, massive weapon to protect us with. He nonchalantly walked up the stairs to us, a tennis racket in his hand. He quietly walked into the room, apparently unaware of the deathly creature that enveloped it. Without a word, he stood in one corner and lifted the racket above his head. We stared, eyes wide. The bat circled a few more times and then flew right into the racket and dropped to the ground! It was a miracle! He then put it on the racket and took it outside.
Our cousins, Alex and Ivy, came to visit us. It was Halloween and we wanted to put together a haunted house. It was going to be easy, because Grandma and Grandpa's house didn't need any changes to make it seem haunted. We didn't need to make cobwebs or add dust. We didn't need to make it look old or install flickering lights or squeaky doors. We made the parents and grandparents wait outside while we put everything together. It was decided that Alex would walk them through the music room and I would be at the piano, playing some scary music as he introduced his vampire self. The only scary tune I knew was the theme to Jaws. We cut a hole into the top of a cardboard box. Sarah jumped in and stuck her head out. We put potatoes around her head and found one of Grandma's silver platter lids. We were going to serve them her head. She would stare with an apple in her mouth. We peeled grapes and put them into a bowl for them to feel. At different times, we would take turns jumping out at them as they walked through. Mom and Aunt Barbara went through. They loved it and even acted scared for us. Then it was Grandma and Grandpa. Everything was going well; Sarah, who had the hardest job of holding still and looking dead, was giving an amazing performance. But, when Grandma came through, it all changed. Grandma started clapping after we scared her. She wanted to congratulate us on doing a good job. She squealed loudly, shrieked when we jumped out at her. Her yell came out in a huge, "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" Then, it was Sarah's time to put on a show. We lifted the lid for the grand reveal and after a few 'whoops', Grandma burst out laughing. She was so excited and happy and told Sarah that she was doing a good job between laughs. Sarah tried to hold on, but she couldn't and spat out her apple to laugh.
"Grandma! You're not supposed to laugh!"
After a successful night of scaring people, Alex and I sat at the top of the stairs. The house was dimly light, dark except for the front porch light. We were talking about what we wanted to do for next year's Halloween when something flew over us. You could feel the air move. I knew immediately that it was a bat and I whispered to Alex that we should get out, explaining that there was a bat. He didn't believe me.
"No, Lei! It's a large moth. That's all it is!"
It was the perfect end to our Halloween night.
Earlier that year, we had a bat in Grandma and Grandpa's house. I was brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed, when Sarah and Kristi started screaming from the peach room we stayed in. There was a bat circling the inside of our room. It was terrifying, especially because we didn't realize that there were bats in Minnesota. I was scared that it would bite me and suck my blood. I had only seen them in movies, the vampire ones. We yelled for Grandpa, sure that he would have some intense, massive weapon to protect us with. He nonchalantly walked up the stairs to us, a tennis racket in his hand. He quietly walked into the room, apparently unaware of the deathly creature that enveloped it. Without a word, he stood in one corner and lifted the racket above his head. We stared, eyes wide. The bat circled a few more times and then flew right into the racket and dropped to the ground! It was a miracle! He then put it on the racket and took it outside.
Our cousins, Alex and Ivy, came to visit us. It was Halloween and we wanted to put together a haunted house. It was going to be easy, because Grandma and Grandpa's house didn't need any changes to make it seem haunted. We didn't need to make cobwebs or add dust. We didn't need to make it look old or install flickering lights or squeaky doors. We made the parents and grandparents wait outside while we put everything together. It was decided that Alex would walk them through the music room and I would be at the piano, playing some scary music as he introduced his vampire self. The only scary tune I knew was the theme to Jaws. We cut a hole into the top of a cardboard box. Sarah jumped in and stuck her head out. We put potatoes around her head and found one of Grandma's silver platter lids. We were going to serve them her head. She would stare with an apple in her mouth. We peeled grapes and put them into a bowl for them to feel. At different times, we would take turns jumping out at them as they walked through. Mom and Aunt Barbara went through. They loved it and even acted scared for us. Then it was Grandma and Grandpa. Everything was going well; Sarah, who had the hardest job of holding still and looking dead, was giving an amazing performance. But, when Grandma came through, it all changed. Grandma started clapping after we scared her. She wanted to congratulate us on doing a good job. She squealed loudly, shrieked when we jumped out at her. Her yell came out in a huge, "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" Then, it was Sarah's time to put on a show. We lifted the lid for the grand reveal and after a few 'whoops', Grandma burst out laughing. She was so excited and happy and told Sarah that she was doing a good job between laughs. Sarah tried to hold on, but she couldn't and spat out her apple to laugh.
"Grandma! You're not supposed to laugh!"
After a successful night of scaring people, Alex and I sat at the top of the stairs. The house was dimly light, dark except for the front porch light. We were talking about what we wanted to do for next year's Halloween when something flew over us. You could feel the air move. I knew immediately that it was a bat and I whispered to Alex that we should get out, explaining that there was a bat. He didn't believe me.
"No, Lei! It's a large moth. That's all it is!"
It was the perfect end to our Halloween night.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Grandma and Grandpa's House: Scandesota
It was shocking, being immersed into a different culture. We always assumed that all of the states were similar. We were wrong. There were vast differences between the people of Minnesota and Utah. It was like we were in Scandinavia when we talked to locals. Phrases like, 'dontcha know' and 'you betcha' were riddled with Swedish accents. It was like we were in The Farmer's Daughter and our world was surrounded by clones of Loretta Young. It was like we were in a spa, talking with a muscly masseuse with long, blonde braids.
When we first arrived, Grandma took us to a bakery. She was excited to have us try some fresh treats. At the end, the cashier asked what kind of a 'baig' we wanted; did we want a plastic 'baig' or a paper 'baig'? While we started walking to the car, Sarah asked, "Grandma, what's a baig?". Grandma burst out laughing, scaring all of us. She explained that it was an accent, that the cashier asked what kind of a bag we wanted. We were confused. Why didn't they just say bag like the rest of us?
"I pledge allegiance to the FLAG of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." I used to shout the word, flag, so that everyone could hear it. I didn't like that they said 'flaig' and refused to say it with them. I informed my friends that they were saying their words wrong, the ones that ended with 'a' and 'g'. I tried to teach them to say it correctly, but it was surprisingly hard for them. They couldn't say it the way that I did; they only accomplished saying it in a posh manner, 'baug'. Some of them even held their heads higher as they attempted to say it the way that I did. One friend really thought about it and asked, "Well, what do you call a bagel? Do you call it, boggle?"
In Utah, I was surrounded by Mormon families. I didn't realize until later that it created extreme pressure for some of my friends, everyone being LDS. I remember one of the girls in my class saying that she was Mormon, even though she wasn't. She said that she just wanted to fit in, because everyone else was Mormon. One of my classmates said that he couldn't play with someone because they weren't Mormon. This is by no means what the religion teaches; it's the religious culture that can be scary. I had never heard of an Atheist before, until one kid in my class refused to say The Pledge of Allegiance. He explained that he was an Atheist, that he didn't believe there is a God, and that he doesn't think it's right for him to say it when he doesn't believe it. I told Grandma about my Atheist friend and was surprised when she simply nodded. Grandma told me about her friends and explained that not only was it doable, to have friends from different religions, but that it was good for me.
I met a lot of her friends. She had so many that came from different backgrounds and religions. One thing I learned from watching Grandma and her friends was that they loved to learn. She wanted to know everything! She wanted to learn about different religions and lifestyles. She had mountains of cookbooks in her study with recipes she experimented with. She consumed books on culture and art and romance. She wanted to see the world, taste it. She thirsted. She was brilliant. She took us on her adventures. She took us to museums and old book stores. She bought us bags of books to read. She let us wander to pick what we wanted to read. She took us to the library and left us to our own devices as she sat nearby. She let us dream. She took us to gardens, flower gardens. She took us to rivers and had us wade in them. She took us to new and different restaurants, ones where you had no idea what you were ordering or eating. She took us to the farmer's market often; we walked by every stand and asked people what they were selling and how they made it. She took us to farms. She took us driving, showing us landscapes and architecture. She took us to concerts. She would hastily apply her lipstick, rubbing a little on her finger to put blush on her cheeks. She would rustle through the rows to her seat, her over-sized, tattered coat trailing behind her. She was dedicated. She wanted us to learn. She wanted us to thirst.
I used to ask Grandpa to play for me. We would take turns playing. I loved it when he would come and sit near me while I played. He would often fall asleep while I played through Grandma's music. We didn't have to say anything to each other. I would start to play and soon enough, he would make his way to the music area and sit down. When we moved to the other house, he would tell me that he missed my playing. He said that I could come over whenever I wanted and play on their piano. It was nice to be missed. He plays the clarinet so beautifully. We used to sit around him and listen to him play. It was magical. The best part of him playing was that it felt like he somehow left us, that when he played, he had an experience. You could close your eyes and listen to him for hours. Even though I was taking music classes at school, he gave me clarinet lessons on the side. He always told me that I needed to work on tightening my mouth, that he had to work on it a lot when he first started playing. The tighter the mouth, the better the sound. One time, my teacher complimented me on my playing and asked if I had learned from anyone. I explained that my grandpa works at the university and that he gave me some pointers. I later found out that my teacher was one of Grandpa's students when he first started working at the college.
Grandpa wanted to take us to the park. We piled up in the car and went on our way. We were headed for 'the hide-and-seek park'. This was where Mom and her siblings used to play. They played hide-and-seek here, hence the name. Grandpa said that we had one stop on the way and pulled in front of a doughnut shop. Yes! I love doughnuts!! I wasn't prepared to have that love tested. Grandpa took us in and we bought a dozen of them. We got six exciting ones. Maple, jelly-filled, sprinkled, cream-filled. There were six regular, glazed ones. It was an exciting time; our mouths started to water. We sat at a table in the park and Grandpa informed us that we weren't allowed to leave the park until we finished the whole box. We were stunned, but still on an excitement high. I thought it would be easy. I downed my first three easily. But, the fourth doughnut was difficult. The stickiness in my mouth wasn't pleasant anymore. I started to get thirsty. The fifth doughnut was even worse. I started to gag. Sarah and Kristi had admitted defeat, but I wanted to keep going. Holding my stomach, I brought the sixth to my mouth. It was the second to last doughnut. I started to chant in my head, like I was about to cross some finish line. But, I couldn't do it. I felt like throwing up and I knew that this sixth doughnut would tip me over the edge. Grandpa smiled and grabbed the last two doughnuts and ate them. We didn't play in the park. We wanted to go home.
I think Mom was scared to leave us with Grandma and Grandpa. She had a hard time growing up with them and she left the house as soon as she could. She told us that Grandpa liked things to be quiet. She told us that sometimes, he gets impatient and when he's angry, he yells. She wanted us prepared. She figured that, though he was older, he would still be the intense father she grew up with. Thankfully, he wasn't. He still liked for things to be quiet; so, we stayed out of certain areas in the house. And, I can remember only two instances that Grandpa really yelled at us. One time was a misunderstanding; he thought Sarah was disobeying him when she was actually obeying what Grandma told her to do. He later apologized to Sarah for his yelling. The other time was when I was watching TV instead of helping Grandma in the kitchen. He was gentle with us. He was kind and patient. Grandpa drove us everywhere. He, like Grandma, wanted us to experience everything. I remember dreading some of our meals, because he brought home creepy-looking meat and smelly cheese. He tried to get us to eat blood sausage one night. I couldn't do it. He was infamous for his treats. He loved making pound cake and would often make two, one for our house and one for him. He loved going to the bakery and would often let me pick what we'd bring home. He asked me about school and friends and music. We talked every day. He was actually interested in my life and who I was and wanted to be. It was different, having a man accept who I am. The men in my life always wanted more of me, more that I couldn't and wouldn't give. It was nice to have someone be there for me; Grandpa's stability helped me survive. I knew I could count on him. I knew that he was on my side. He didn't make me choose between Dad and Mom; he wanted me to choose my own path. I knew that he loved me and that it was unconditional, and that was a first. His love didn't depend on if I did what he wanted me to. His love was real. I wish my mom had grown up with him like that.
One of my favorite memories of living by Grandma and Grandpa was that after we moved into the house next door, he would shovel the snow every day after it snowed which was usually every day of the week. He shoveled a pathway from their house to ours. He even shoveled through neighboring yards, making a safe and clean path for us to walk down the block to our bus stop. I don't think he really asked them if he could shovel through their yard; he just stayed close to the edge of it and created the path for us. He would sometimes drive us if it was really cold, keeping us warm in his car until the bus came. It was reassuring, waking up and seeing him outside shoveling for us. For a while, he couldn't find his regular hat; so, he'd wear this bright pink fisherman hat while shoveling. He was a dedicated man shoveling in a neon hat.
When we first arrived, Grandma took us to a bakery. She was excited to have us try some fresh treats. At the end, the cashier asked what kind of a 'baig' we wanted; did we want a plastic 'baig' or a paper 'baig'? While we started walking to the car, Sarah asked, "Grandma, what's a baig?". Grandma burst out laughing, scaring all of us. She explained that it was an accent, that the cashier asked what kind of a bag we wanted. We were confused. Why didn't they just say bag like the rest of us?
"I pledge allegiance to the FLAG of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." I used to shout the word, flag, so that everyone could hear it. I didn't like that they said 'flaig' and refused to say it with them. I informed my friends that they were saying their words wrong, the ones that ended with 'a' and 'g'. I tried to teach them to say it correctly, but it was surprisingly hard for them. They couldn't say it the way that I did; they only accomplished saying it in a posh manner, 'baug'. Some of them even held their heads higher as they attempted to say it the way that I did. One friend really thought about it and asked, "Well, what do you call a bagel? Do you call it, boggle?"
In Utah, I was surrounded by Mormon families. I didn't realize until later that it created extreme pressure for some of my friends, everyone being LDS. I remember one of the girls in my class saying that she was Mormon, even though she wasn't. She said that she just wanted to fit in, because everyone else was Mormon. One of my classmates said that he couldn't play with someone because they weren't Mormon. This is by no means what the religion teaches; it's the religious culture that can be scary. I had never heard of an Atheist before, until one kid in my class refused to say The Pledge of Allegiance. He explained that he was an Atheist, that he didn't believe there is a God, and that he doesn't think it's right for him to say it when he doesn't believe it. I told Grandma about my Atheist friend and was surprised when she simply nodded. Grandma told me about her friends and explained that not only was it doable, to have friends from different religions, but that it was good for me.
I met a lot of her friends. She had so many that came from different backgrounds and religions. One thing I learned from watching Grandma and her friends was that they loved to learn. She wanted to know everything! She wanted to learn about different religions and lifestyles. She had mountains of cookbooks in her study with recipes she experimented with. She consumed books on culture and art and romance. She wanted to see the world, taste it. She thirsted. She was brilliant. She took us on her adventures. She took us to museums and old book stores. She bought us bags of books to read. She let us wander to pick what we wanted to read. She took us to the library and left us to our own devices as she sat nearby. She let us dream. She took us to gardens, flower gardens. She took us to rivers and had us wade in them. She took us to new and different restaurants, ones where you had no idea what you were ordering or eating. She took us to the farmer's market often; we walked by every stand and asked people what they were selling and how they made it. She took us to farms. She took us driving, showing us landscapes and architecture. She took us to concerts. She would hastily apply her lipstick, rubbing a little on her finger to put blush on her cheeks. She would rustle through the rows to her seat, her over-sized, tattered coat trailing behind her. She was dedicated. She wanted us to learn. She wanted us to thirst.
I used to ask Grandpa to play for me. We would take turns playing. I loved it when he would come and sit near me while I played. He would often fall asleep while I played through Grandma's music. We didn't have to say anything to each other. I would start to play and soon enough, he would make his way to the music area and sit down. When we moved to the other house, he would tell me that he missed my playing. He said that I could come over whenever I wanted and play on their piano. It was nice to be missed. He plays the clarinet so beautifully. We used to sit around him and listen to him play. It was magical. The best part of him playing was that it felt like he somehow left us, that when he played, he had an experience. You could close your eyes and listen to him for hours. Even though I was taking music classes at school, he gave me clarinet lessons on the side. He always told me that I needed to work on tightening my mouth, that he had to work on it a lot when he first started playing. The tighter the mouth, the better the sound. One time, my teacher complimented me on my playing and asked if I had learned from anyone. I explained that my grandpa works at the university and that he gave me some pointers. I later found out that my teacher was one of Grandpa's students when he first started working at the college.
Grandpa wanted to take us to the park. We piled up in the car and went on our way. We were headed for 'the hide-and-seek park'. This was where Mom and her siblings used to play. They played hide-and-seek here, hence the name. Grandpa said that we had one stop on the way and pulled in front of a doughnut shop. Yes! I love doughnuts!! I wasn't prepared to have that love tested. Grandpa took us in and we bought a dozen of them. We got six exciting ones. Maple, jelly-filled, sprinkled, cream-filled. There were six regular, glazed ones. It was an exciting time; our mouths started to water. We sat at a table in the park and Grandpa informed us that we weren't allowed to leave the park until we finished the whole box. We were stunned, but still on an excitement high. I thought it would be easy. I downed my first three easily. But, the fourth doughnut was difficult. The stickiness in my mouth wasn't pleasant anymore. I started to get thirsty. The fifth doughnut was even worse. I started to gag. Sarah and Kristi had admitted defeat, but I wanted to keep going. Holding my stomach, I brought the sixth to my mouth. It was the second to last doughnut. I started to chant in my head, like I was about to cross some finish line. But, I couldn't do it. I felt like throwing up and I knew that this sixth doughnut would tip me over the edge. Grandpa smiled and grabbed the last two doughnuts and ate them. We didn't play in the park. We wanted to go home.
I think Mom was scared to leave us with Grandma and Grandpa. She had a hard time growing up with them and she left the house as soon as she could. She told us that Grandpa liked things to be quiet. She told us that sometimes, he gets impatient and when he's angry, he yells. She wanted us prepared. She figured that, though he was older, he would still be the intense father she grew up with. Thankfully, he wasn't. He still liked for things to be quiet; so, we stayed out of certain areas in the house. And, I can remember only two instances that Grandpa really yelled at us. One time was a misunderstanding; he thought Sarah was disobeying him when she was actually obeying what Grandma told her to do. He later apologized to Sarah for his yelling. The other time was when I was watching TV instead of helping Grandma in the kitchen. He was gentle with us. He was kind and patient. Grandpa drove us everywhere. He, like Grandma, wanted us to experience everything. I remember dreading some of our meals, because he brought home creepy-looking meat and smelly cheese. He tried to get us to eat blood sausage one night. I couldn't do it. He was infamous for his treats. He loved making pound cake and would often make two, one for our house and one for him. He loved going to the bakery and would often let me pick what we'd bring home. He asked me about school and friends and music. We talked every day. He was actually interested in my life and who I was and wanted to be. It was different, having a man accept who I am. The men in my life always wanted more of me, more that I couldn't and wouldn't give. It was nice to have someone be there for me; Grandpa's stability helped me survive. I knew I could count on him. I knew that he was on my side. He didn't make me choose between Dad and Mom; he wanted me to choose my own path. I knew that he loved me and that it was unconditional, and that was a first. His love didn't depend on if I did what he wanted me to. His love was real. I wish my mom had grown up with him like that.
One of my favorite memories of living by Grandma and Grandpa was that after we moved into the house next door, he would shovel the snow every day after it snowed which was usually every day of the week. He shoveled a pathway from their house to ours. He even shoveled through neighboring yards, making a safe and clean path for us to walk down the block to our bus stop. I don't think he really asked them if he could shovel through their yard; he just stayed close to the edge of it and created the path for us. He would sometimes drive us if it was really cold, keeping us warm in his car until the bus came. It was reassuring, waking up and seeing him outside shoveling for us. For a while, he couldn't find his regular hat; so, he'd wear this bright pink fisherman hat while shoveling. He was a dedicated man shoveling in a neon hat.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Introducing Grandma and Grandpa's House
INTRO
We were supposed to stay in the neighboring house, but it was still being repaired. Apparently, Grandpa's last tenants destroyed the place, kept animals in the house that peed and pooped all over the carpets. They were smokers too, which definitely didn't improve the overall smell of our little cottage. In the meantime, we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's. The stairs seemed steep as we climbed our way up to the rooms. Peering back as we reached the top, I could see that there was a little loft area above the stairs where they kept suitcases. I always wanted to sit there, maybe make myself a little bed and sleep above the stairs. Straight ahead was the bathroom with a clawfoot tub. I'd never seen one of those before. Bathing in that tub made me feel like I was traveling back in time, possibly in some classic movie starring alongside Cary Grant. To the immediate left of the stairs was Grandpa's bedroom. It's the one Mom used while growing up. We weren't allowed to go in there. Grandpa's office was to the right of it; the office was always ice cold, his little black fan buzzing nonstop. I never understood why he had to have his office 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house. Minnesota weather definitely suited him. And right in-between Grandpa's office and the bathroom was my Aunt Sunny's old room, the room all of us were going to share. It was a bright color; I think it was peach.
We were supposed to stay in the neighboring house, but it was still being repaired. Apparently, Grandpa's last tenants destroyed the place, kept animals in the house that peed and pooped all over the carpets. They were smokers too, which definitely didn't improve the overall smell of our little cottage. In the meantime, we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's. The stairs seemed steep as we climbed our way up to the rooms. Peering back as we reached the top, I could see that there was a little loft area above the stairs where they kept suitcases. I always wanted to sit there, maybe make myself a little bed and sleep above the stairs. Straight ahead was the bathroom with a clawfoot tub. I'd never seen one of those before. Bathing in that tub made me feel like I was traveling back in time, possibly in some classic movie starring alongside Cary Grant. To the immediate left of the stairs was Grandpa's bedroom. It's the one Mom used while growing up. We weren't allowed to go in there. Grandpa's office was to the right of it; the office was always ice cold, his little black fan buzzing nonstop. I never understood why he had to have his office 10 degrees colder than the rest of the house. Minnesota weather definitely suited him. And right in-between Grandpa's office and the bathroom was my Aunt Sunny's old room, the room all of us were going to share. It was a bright color; I think it was peach.
As I continued to explore the upstairs, I couldn't help but notice that it smelled like dust and old people. I can't explain that smell, but I know that you know what I'm talking about. Spiderwebs hung in every room, unashamed spiders dripping from them. It was like some horror film, probably one they'd play on Halloween. I fled from the spider-infested upstairs and made my way to the kitchen. I walked through the piano room, where Grandma held her music lessons. There were shelves of books substituting walls that somewhat separated this room from the next. Mismatched chairs lined one side of the room; Grandma's students and parents sat in them during the lessons. One corner of the room was dedicated to toys, massive amount of toys and more books. A lot of the toys were old, probably ones that my mom used to play with. There was a castle and trucks and farm animals. There were dolls, not like the barbies I grew up with. These were small, fitting in the palm of my hand. They had yarn for hair, their wooden bodies browned from age and play. Grandma's piano took up most of the room. I had never seen a grand piano before. We had two upright ones in our old, Santaquin house. It was beautiful, the way it curved, the grooves in the legs. It was detailed with vines. It was old. There were chips in the wood and on the keys. I fell in love. Peering underneath, I could see boxes full of music and others with neglected toys.
The next room to walk through was the family room. There was an old TV against one wall with a VCR on top and rocking chairs near the opposite wall. My sisters and I would spend movie nights sitting in front of the TV with Grandma and Grandpa behind us in their chairs. Like the other room, the walls had shelves of books, several ceramic pots and instruments sitting on top. There was an open doorway to the kitchen. Looking to the right, the stove was full of stacked pots with different vegetables steaming. To the left was a little nook with a round table. Though the rest of the house seemed cluttered, this room was clean and open. This was where we would spend many nights laughing and eating.
This kitchen was where I would learn how to jar pickles. We would go to the farmer's market, we went there at least once a month, and pick out baby cucumbers. We picked bunches of dill from Grandma's garden and we would jar. We got to write our names on the jars so that when we opened it the next year, we knew that we were eating something we created. This was where we would learn that Grandpa likes having at least 4 vegetables as sides for dinner. He bought a ton of stacking pots so that he could steam them all at the same time. We learned what peasant bread is while at the table. Super hard, but really yummy bread. I'm surprised that I didn't lose any teeth trying to eat it. One night, I was determined and refused to back down as I tried to take a large bite out of the bread. I pulled hard with both hands, my teeth deep as I ground them in, and I won. But, so did the bread as my head flew back and hit the wall. I rubbed my fresh bruise as we laughed. This was where I would beat Grandpa in an eating contest. I ate 13 tacos. Surprisingly, Mom wasn't too proud. This was where we would eat our after-school snacks, often huge Great Harvest Market cookies that Grandpa would sneak to us after being scolded by Mom. This was where we would do our homework with Grandma sitting next to us, brainstorming for our projects. This was where I would learn how to peel and cut an apple while holding it in my hand. We learned how to properly set a table. The fork goes on the left; an easy way to remember is that 'fork' has 4 letters and so does the word, 'left'. The knife, spoon, and glass go on the right side of the plate. They all have 5 letters. We learned how to decorate the table with flowers from the garden. We learned how to sharpen kitchen knives. I made my first pound cake with Grandpa. We made many pies in the kitchen: cherry, apple, peach, rhubarb - freshly picked from Grandma's garden, and strawberry. I learned of Grandma's love for dish towels. She had many for each day of the week. She collected them. They were usually white with a beautiful image hand-sewn into the middle. One week it would be different puppies and the next week would be different colored flowers.
There was a window in the nook. Sitting at the table, you could peer outside into the backyard. You could see Grandma's 2 apple trees, her lilac bushes, and the old trampoline that had missing springs. It was so old that sometimes a spring would fly off while you jumped. It was scary! Grandma had a clothesline that she would use occasionally, even though she had a dryer. I think she just liked doing something that she used to do, something classic like hanging your clothes outside and letting them air dry. It took some getting used to, living in the house that Mom grew up in, playing in the yard that she had played in. I used to walk in Grandma's garden a lot. She had her own flower garden right next to the vegetables. Though her flower garden was organized, it looked wild, like something out of a prairie. The flowers looked like they would be the ones Willoughby picked for Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. It was romantic, like a place I would lay in to read books. There were Monarch butterflies everywhere and it smelled delicious.
I learned how to mow. I was thankful that Grandpa didn't make me drive a tractor; I was terrified from the stories Mom had told us. He had several lawn mowers that refused to start. It was somewhat embarrassing having to constantly yank the lawn mower while people drove by. So, you learned to not let go of the bar that kept the mower running, even if your hands were sore and you wanted a break. No breaks! I learned to not wear my best tennis shoes while mowing. I learned that rushing the mower showed. And, I learned that the one, small streak of grass that I missed would be noticed.
Grandma and Grandpa's cellar was basically a dark dungeon of death. The triple D! Every now and then, Grandma would have me open the kitchen door to grab something off of the cellar steps. Usually it was a jar of green beans. I would grab it as fast as I could and slam the door behind me, scared that something might happen to me while on the dark stairs. One day, I was feeling adventurous. I convinced Sarah to explore with me. So, we slowly crept down the stairs, extremely aware of the ascending cold and darkness that overwhelmed us. Once we reached the bottom step, we walked into a more open and naturally lit room. There were windows on one of the walls. There were shelves of jars everywhere. As we started to sigh relief, we noticed something that looked like bones on the ground. We stepped closer, eyes wide, grasping each other. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, we both screamed. It was a small skeleton! We ran upstairs as fast as we could, scared that something might grab us at any moment. We told our grandparents about what we found, and, despite our fierce warning, Grandpa went downstairs to see what we were talking about. Thankfully, he came back alive! He explained that it's the skeleton of a rabbit that snuck in through one of the outside entrances to the cellar. Without food and water, it died down there. Even though I believed him, I never went down there again.
Mom was there as often as she could be. She was busy. It was a hard adjustment, not having her home. But, our days were filled with school, chores, and fun at the dinner table. I got used to quick spurts of time with Mom. She'd come and eat dinner with us. She'd see us occasionally after school for a couple of minutes. She'd kiss us goodnight, waking us up to do so if we were already asleep. Grandma and Grandpa started bringing us to a buffet every Friday. It was a fun outing and it meant that Grandma got a break from cooking. Sometimes, Mom would eat with us. I loved it when she would.
The next room to walk through was the family room. There was an old TV against one wall with a VCR on top and rocking chairs near the opposite wall. My sisters and I would spend movie nights sitting in front of the TV with Grandma and Grandpa behind us in their chairs. Like the other room, the walls had shelves of books, several ceramic pots and instruments sitting on top. There was an open doorway to the kitchen. Looking to the right, the stove was full of stacked pots with different vegetables steaming. To the left was a little nook with a round table. Though the rest of the house seemed cluttered, this room was clean and open. This was where we would spend many nights laughing and eating.
This kitchen was where I would learn how to jar pickles. We would go to the farmer's market, we went there at least once a month, and pick out baby cucumbers. We picked bunches of dill from Grandma's garden and we would jar. We got to write our names on the jars so that when we opened it the next year, we knew that we were eating something we created. This was where we would learn that Grandpa likes having at least 4 vegetables as sides for dinner. He bought a ton of stacking pots so that he could steam them all at the same time. We learned what peasant bread is while at the table. Super hard, but really yummy bread. I'm surprised that I didn't lose any teeth trying to eat it. One night, I was determined and refused to back down as I tried to take a large bite out of the bread. I pulled hard with both hands, my teeth deep as I ground them in, and I won. But, so did the bread as my head flew back and hit the wall. I rubbed my fresh bruise as we laughed. This was where I would beat Grandpa in an eating contest. I ate 13 tacos. Surprisingly, Mom wasn't too proud. This was where we would eat our after-school snacks, often huge Great Harvest Market cookies that Grandpa would sneak to us after being scolded by Mom. This was where we would do our homework with Grandma sitting next to us, brainstorming for our projects. This was where I would learn how to peel and cut an apple while holding it in my hand. We learned how to properly set a table. The fork goes on the left; an easy way to remember is that 'fork' has 4 letters and so does the word, 'left'. The knife, spoon, and glass go on the right side of the plate. They all have 5 letters. We learned how to decorate the table with flowers from the garden. We learned how to sharpen kitchen knives. I made my first pound cake with Grandpa. We made many pies in the kitchen: cherry, apple, peach, rhubarb - freshly picked from Grandma's garden, and strawberry. I learned of Grandma's love for dish towels. She had many for each day of the week. She collected them. They were usually white with a beautiful image hand-sewn into the middle. One week it would be different puppies and the next week would be different colored flowers.
There was a window in the nook. Sitting at the table, you could peer outside into the backyard. You could see Grandma's 2 apple trees, her lilac bushes, and the old trampoline that had missing springs. It was so old that sometimes a spring would fly off while you jumped. It was scary! Grandma had a clothesline that she would use occasionally, even though she had a dryer. I think she just liked doing something that she used to do, something classic like hanging your clothes outside and letting them air dry. It took some getting used to, living in the house that Mom grew up in, playing in the yard that she had played in. I used to walk in Grandma's garden a lot. She had her own flower garden right next to the vegetables. Though her flower garden was organized, it looked wild, like something out of a prairie. The flowers looked like they would be the ones Willoughby picked for Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. It was romantic, like a place I would lay in to read books. There were Monarch butterflies everywhere and it smelled delicious.
I learned how to mow. I was thankful that Grandpa didn't make me drive a tractor; I was terrified from the stories Mom had told us. He had several lawn mowers that refused to start. It was somewhat embarrassing having to constantly yank the lawn mower while people drove by. So, you learned to not let go of the bar that kept the mower running, even if your hands were sore and you wanted a break. No breaks! I learned to not wear my best tennis shoes while mowing. I learned that rushing the mower showed. And, I learned that the one, small streak of grass that I missed would be noticed.
Grandma and Grandpa's cellar was basically a dark dungeon of death. The triple D! Every now and then, Grandma would have me open the kitchen door to grab something off of the cellar steps. Usually it was a jar of green beans. I would grab it as fast as I could and slam the door behind me, scared that something might happen to me while on the dark stairs. One day, I was feeling adventurous. I convinced Sarah to explore with me. So, we slowly crept down the stairs, extremely aware of the ascending cold and darkness that overwhelmed us. Once we reached the bottom step, we walked into a more open and naturally lit room. There were windows on one of the walls. There were shelves of jars everywhere. As we started to sigh relief, we noticed something that looked like bones on the ground. We stepped closer, eyes wide, grasping each other. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, we both screamed. It was a small skeleton! We ran upstairs as fast as we could, scared that something might grab us at any moment. We told our grandparents about what we found, and, despite our fierce warning, Grandpa went downstairs to see what we were talking about. Thankfully, he came back alive! He explained that it's the skeleton of a rabbit that snuck in through one of the outside entrances to the cellar. Without food and water, it died down there. Even though I believed him, I never went down there again.
Mom was there as often as she could be. She was busy. It was a hard adjustment, not having her home. But, our days were filled with school, chores, and fun at the dinner table. I got used to quick spurts of time with Mom. She'd come and eat dinner with us. She'd see us occasionally after school for a couple of minutes. She'd kiss us goodnight, waking us up to do so if we were already asleep. Grandma and Grandpa started bringing us to a buffet every Friday. It was a fun outing and it meant that Grandma got a break from cooking. Sometimes, Mom would eat with us. I loved it when she would.
When we first came to Grandma and Grandpa's house, we were broken. Our parents had just gone through a messy separation and divorce. We were confused and we were scared. We had never left the state of Utah before and we didn't want to leave. It felt odd to not have my dad or my brother, JD, with us. It was just the three girls and Mom in Minnesota. It was still a fresh feeling, having one parent instead of two. We weren't used to spending time with Grandma and Grandpa. We saw them sometimes on holidays, but we never spent time with only them. The holidays were filled with my aunts and uncles and cousins. And here, I was going to be spending every day with just Grandma and Grandpa.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Awakening: Open Mind, Open Heart
I'll never go back. I can't go back.
I stopped going to church regularly over 3 years ago. Besides the few times I would go when visiting family, I did not attend. My thought process was that I had a lot of unanswered questions that I felt were never going to be answered. I felt that the church didn't have answers and that I had to accept that. I couldn't accept that. It's hard to explain, my needing to have my questions answered. Put simply, I could not rely on faith, because I did not have it. So, I left thinking, "I'll never go back. I can't go back."
In high school, I started to lead a double life. I think I had always led part of a double life while growing up. My parents separated when I was 8. I was shocked. My mom had taken us out for a treat and when we came home, he was gone. My dad had packed some of his belongings and moved out. After that day, my life crashed; I felt myself crashing down into a 10 year spiral of depression, anger, stress, and lies. I will not go into detail about my childhood post-separation, because I spent a lot of it as a confused and sad little girl. I don't like to revisit it. But, high school. High school was where I wanted to be free. I wanted the freedom that my friends had, but I had a strict home. So, I lied. And surprisingly, it came easily to me. I really think it's because I used to tell my dad what he wanted to hear when he asked about my mom. I wanted him to be proud of me; so, among other things, I would lie and tell him that I was on his side when in reality, I didn't want to be on a side.
In high school, I was a leader in the church and I loved it. But, I didn't have a firm testimony. I wanted to party with my friends, and I didn't understand why I couldn't do both. So, I secretly did both and I felt liberated. I grasped that freedom hard, so hard that I didn't care about or even realize the consequences of what I was doing. I didn't realize how unhappy it would make me feel, opening up this double-life jar of lying to everyone closest to me just to get these quick, short moments of 'happiness'. I became someone, something that I never want to be again. I lost relationships and friendships, because I was out of control. And after it all, after looking at all of the broken, scattered pieces of myself, I was left with nothing but the want of a new beginning.
College. BYU-I was fun! I got to make my own decisions and I answered to ME. I got to spend time with LDS members who are my age, a vast improvement to the one LDS girl back home in my grade. But, I still felt different. I still had questions that I was scared of asking. I still had issues that I thought I already knew the answers to, answers that didn't sit well with me. And, besides that, I felt myself turning back into the person I was in high school. I didn't want to be that person anymore, the person who didn't follow the teachings but pretended to. I didn't want to pretend anymore. I didn't know if I would ever recover from it, especially because I still struggle with being truthful about how I feel. At that point in my life, I felt that having all of these rules I had to follow as a member of the church made me judgmental of other people. And I hated that, mostly because I constantly felt judged. While I hated dealing with people like that, I had to hold myself accountable for doing the same thing. So, not only was my testimony weak, but I was weak. I stopped going to church 3 years ago. I turned my back on it and didn't think I would return.
Then, something changed in me. I'm not sure what it is. I think it might be that I want a family in my near future, and I constantly worry about what I'm going to teach my children. Leaving the church didn't make me an Atheist or anti-Mormon. I still believe much of what I was taught in the church. I think it started when my sister, Sarah, told me that she's going on a mission. I was stunned when she told me she wanted to go. It was hard for me, because we have always been so close. We're the closest out of all of my siblings; we're best friends. And, after I shared my struggles with the church to my family, she had revealed to me that she was struggling too. I knew that when I left, I would feel alone, because all of my family members are still active in the LDS church. I prepared myself for it. I even went a little overboard with my preparations. But, I did not prepare for someone to not only understand my side of things, but agree with them. I was elated to find out that I was not alone. But then, just as quickly, I was alone again. Though she had struggled, she persevered, worked on herself and found her testimony. I am so happy for her. She's a different person now, more content with who she was, more real. Despite my fear of loneliness, I love who she is and how happy she is. And, her new found happiness made me wonder what had changed. So, we talked; we talked a lot. We discussed all of my issues and questions. We talked about how angry I was, angry because I felt like people blindly followed/accepted teachings that didn't have answers, that didn't make any sense. We talked for a long time and Sarah didn't have all of the answers. She still understood and agreed with a lot of the problems I had. But, the difference now:
"Lei, I don't understand why we can't do certain things. I don't understand or have an answer to it, but I want to go to the temple. I want to be married in the temple, and in order to do that, I have to let those things go and accept it. If God doesn't want me to drink coffee, then I won't. If He doesn't want me to go to an R rated movie, I won't. If He doesn't want me to get a tattoo, I won't. I also have to accept that people are human beings. The church is always true. The doctrine is true. You have to let go of how some of the people are..."
The difference is that she accepted it. She accepted that there are a lot of little things she doesn't understand and probably won't ever understand. She accepted that people make mistakes, but that's their decision.
During one of my family visits, Esther had the sister missionaries over for dinner. They shared a message that struck me. I had started to open my heart to the church again. And, this message brought everything into perspective.
Doctrine and Covenants 64:9-11:
9. Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
10. I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.
11. And ye ought to say in your hearts - let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds.
I was blown away, stunned that this, out of everything they could have shared, they shared this. I felt my anger start to melt away as I knew that this message was for me, that God sent this message to me. Peace replaced the anger and resentment that I had felt for the last 3 years. And, I didn't realize how tiring it was to be so angry. I need to forgive.
A few months later:
I still have problems and issues, but I want to resolve them. I think that's the difference from what I did before. This time, I WANT TO RESOLVE them and I am motivated. I am keeping on open mind and an open heart. I have always said that I do not want to go back to church until I am in a good place. As I said before, I want to be firm; I want to be strong. I want to hammer out these issues so that I don't keep them inside, because I've already done that, and I don't want to go back there. I talk to Sarah every week. Each week, we have a new prompt - usually it's a question that I have - and we discuss it after we both do research. It's been going well.
I talked to TJ about going back. His response was that he's been wanting to go back to church for a long time.
I have started to have a testimony again. It is small, but it is mine and it is real.
I know that God is real. I know that He hears me and answers me. I know that He loves me.
I stopped going to church regularly over 3 years ago. Besides the few times I would go when visiting family, I did not attend. My thought process was that I had a lot of unanswered questions that I felt were never going to be answered. I felt that the church didn't have answers and that I had to accept that. I couldn't accept that. It's hard to explain, my needing to have my questions answered. Put simply, I could not rely on faith, because I did not have it. So, I left thinking, "I'll never go back. I can't go back."
In high school, I started to lead a double life. I think I had always led part of a double life while growing up. My parents separated when I was 8. I was shocked. My mom had taken us out for a treat and when we came home, he was gone. My dad had packed some of his belongings and moved out. After that day, my life crashed; I felt myself crashing down into a 10 year spiral of depression, anger, stress, and lies. I will not go into detail about my childhood post-separation, because I spent a lot of it as a confused and sad little girl. I don't like to revisit it. But, high school. High school was where I wanted to be free. I wanted the freedom that my friends had, but I had a strict home. So, I lied. And surprisingly, it came easily to me. I really think it's because I used to tell my dad what he wanted to hear when he asked about my mom. I wanted him to be proud of me; so, among other things, I would lie and tell him that I was on his side when in reality, I didn't want to be on a side.
In high school, I was a leader in the church and I loved it. But, I didn't have a firm testimony. I wanted to party with my friends, and I didn't understand why I couldn't do both. So, I secretly did both and I felt liberated. I grasped that freedom hard, so hard that I didn't care about or even realize the consequences of what I was doing. I didn't realize how unhappy it would make me feel, opening up this double-life jar of lying to everyone closest to me just to get these quick, short moments of 'happiness'. I became someone, something that I never want to be again. I lost relationships and friendships, because I was out of control. And after it all, after looking at all of the broken, scattered pieces of myself, I was left with nothing but the want of a new beginning.
College. BYU-I was fun! I got to make my own decisions and I answered to ME. I got to spend time with LDS members who are my age, a vast improvement to the one LDS girl back home in my grade. But, I still felt different. I still had questions that I was scared of asking. I still had issues that I thought I already knew the answers to, answers that didn't sit well with me. And, besides that, I felt myself turning back into the person I was in high school. I didn't want to be that person anymore, the person who didn't follow the teachings but pretended to. I didn't want to pretend anymore. I didn't know if I would ever recover from it, especially because I still struggle with being truthful about how I feel. At that point in my life, I felt that having all of these rules I had to follow as a member of the church made me judgmental of other people. And I hated that, mostly because I constantly felt judged. While I hated dealing with people like that, I had to hold myself accountable for doing the same thing. So, not only was my testimony weak, but I was weak. I stopped going to church 3 years ago. I turned my back on it and didn't think I would return.
Then, something changed in me. I'm not sure what it is. I think it might be that I want a family in my near future, and I constantly worry about what I'm going to teach my children. Leaving the church didn't make me an Atheist or anti-Mormon. I still believe much of what I was taught in the church. I think it started when my sister, Sarah, told me that she's going on a mission. I was stunned when she told me she wanted to go. It was hard for me, because we have always been so close. We're the closest out of all of my siblings; we're best friends. And, after I shared my struggles with the church to my family, she had revealed to me that she was struggling too. I knew that when I left, I would feel alone, because all of my family members are still active in the LDS church. I prepared myself for it. I even went a little overboard with my preparations. But, I did not prepare for someone to not only understand my side of things, but agree with them. I was elated to find out that I was not alone. But then, just as quickly, I was alone again. Though she had struggled, she persevered, worked on herself and found her testimony. I am so happy for her. She's a different person now, more content with who she was, more real. Despite my fear of loneliness, I love who she is and how happy she is. And, her new found happiness made me wonder what had changed. So, we talked; we talked a lot. We discussed all of my issues and questions. We talked about how angry I was, angry because I felt like people blindly followed/accepted teachings that didn't have answers, that didn't make any sense. We talked for a long time and Sarah didn't have all of the answers. She still understood and agreed with a lot of the problems I had. But, the difference now:
"Lei, I don't understand why we can't do certain things. I don't understand or have an answer to it, but I want to go to the temple. I want to be married in the temple, and in order to do that, I have to let those things go and accept it. If God doesn't want me to drink coffee, then I won't. If He doesn't want me to go to an R rated movie, I won't. If He doesn't want me to get a tattoo, I won't. I also have to accept that people are human beings. The church is always true. The doctrine is true. You have to let go of how some of the people are..."
The difference is that she accepted it. She accepted that there are a lot of little things she doesn't understand and probably won't ever understand. She accepted that people make mistakes, but that's their decision.
During one of my family visits, Esther had the sister missionaries over for dinner. They shared a message that struck me. I had started to open my heart to the church again. And, this message brought everything into perspective.
Doctrine and Covenants 64:9-11:
9. Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
10. I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.
11. And ye ought to say in your hearts - let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds.
I was blown away, stunned that this, out of everything they could have shared, they shared this. I felt my anger start to melt away as I knew that this message was for me, that God sent this message to me. Peace replaced the anger and resentment that I had felt for the last 3 years. And, I didn't realize how tiring it was to be so angry. I need to forgive.
A few months later:
I still have problems and issues, but I want to resolve them. I think that's the difference from what I did before. This time, I WANT TO RESOLVE them and I am motivated. I am keeping on open mind and an open heart. I have always said that I do not want to go back to church until I am in a good place. As I said before, I want to be firm; I want to be strong. I want to hammer out these issues so that I don't keep them inside, because I've already done that, and I don't want to go back there. I talk to Sarah every week. Each week, we have a new prompt - usually it's a question that I have - and we discuss it after we both do research. It's been going well.
I talked to TJ about going back. His response was that he's been wanting to go back to church for a long time.
I have started to have a testimony again. It is small, but it is mine and it is real.
I know that God is real. I know that He hears me and answers me. I know that He loves me.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
TMI
You would think that reading minds would be the ultimate super power. You're wrong; it isn't. Reading minds is incredibly tiring. In fact, I spend most of my time trying to not read minds. By having the 'power' to read minds, I am actually powerless. I have undying headaches that I can rarely control. I feel heartache, death, and fear that is not mine. I have nightmares that are not mine. I know what people think about when most of the time, I could care less. I throw all of my consciousness into building this wall to keep your thoughts out so that I can have my own for a second, a minute, an hour at best. If I focus hard enough, my wall won't crumble for a few hours. I am always exhausted, sometimes cranky if I have enough energy to be. No, reading minds is not a super power. Knowledge is not power.
Opening my locker, I take off my sunglasses and stare into the mirror I have propped up. I look less than average today. I have dark bags under my puffy eyes. I almost always have sunglasses on to hide them; I get tired of Mom telling me that I need to get more sleep. I lightly apply more cream to the dark circles in an attempt to look more healthy. It fails and I give up. I wish my eyes were a vibrant blue or a piercing green, but they are dark brown to match my hair. My curls are pulled loosely into a bun at the top of my head. I can see small ringlets escaping my bun despite my best efforts. My skin is pale and I wish I have the summer tan my peers do. Sighing, I close the locker and head to Pre-Calc.
Opening my locker, I take off my sunglasses and stare into the mirror I have propped up. I look less than average today. I have dark bags under my puffy eyes. I almost always have sunglasses on to hide them; I get tired of Mom telling me that I need to get more sleep. I lightly apply more cream to the dark circles in an attempt to look more healthy. It fails and I give up. I wish my eyes were a vibrant blue or a piercing green, but they are dark brown to match my hair. My curls are pulled loosely into a bun at the top of my head. I can see small ringlets escaping my bun despite my best efforts. My skin is pale and I wish I have the summer tan my peers do. Sighing, I close the locker and head to Pre-Calc.
Reading minds can be handy from time to time. I always know the answer to the questions Ms. Jensen asks me. I also know that she has it out for me, because she thinks I'm an over privileged and unappreciative brat. I know what my mom hopes to hear when she asks how I am doing at school. She also feels helpless when she is around me, because unlike me, she does not know what to say. I can sometimes avoid certain bullies (Peyton 'Evil Witch' Gene, Britney 'Obnoxious Wench' Clinton, Jeff 'Bad-Breathed Punk' Johnson) by hearing their thoughts before I see them. I know when someone is telling me the truth. I know what not to say.
The school hallways are a dark gray and the lockers are mustard yellow. Yes, mustard yellow! Nobody knows why they would choose the nastiest colors as our school colors. I wind in and out of the crowds of people in the hallway. Three things to always remember while walking through the halls:
1. Don't run. Weave. Weave in and out.
2. Put both backpack straps on your shoulders. Yes, wear a backpack the way it was designed to be worn. Don't worry about trying to look cool, because you look ridiculous when your backpack, and all of its contents, scatter all over the floor after bumping into someone. It also helps you get out of the crowd faster if you have two hands free.
3. Keep your head halfway between looking forward and looking down. This way, you don't have to look anyone in the eye and you won't be crashing into people by just staring at your feet.
Hearing the thoughts of the people I pass is just another reminder of how badly I want to get out of here.
"I am not going to make it to class in time to copy her homework."
"I have such a bad headache from that party last night." Oh yeah, I feel so sorry for you. NOT!
"Ugh. He still hasn't texted me and he's over there talking to her! I shouldn't have had sex with him last night!" Nothing says 'high school' better than a good love triangle!
"Practice today is going to be horrible."
"I've lost 3 lbs. already! This diet is going to work!"
"Is she actually looking at me?"
"Maybe I'll get laid today..." Gross!
I push away all of the thoughts and concentrate on my own. I hate it. I hate reading minds, because I want to live a life that is not overwhelmed by the thoughts of everyone else. And, looking at it logically, the cons definitely outweigh the pros. I don't want to hear what people are really thinking. I don't want to hear the perverted or depressing thoughts of the immature teenagers in my high school. I don't want to hear nasty insults before they come out of Britney's mouth, because hearing it once is already too much. I'm tired of being exhausted all the time, tired of never being able to think my own thoughts when someone else is close by. I want to lead a normal, boring life.
I walk down the aisle farthest away from the door, next to the wall of windows and sit down at my desk in the back corner. I drop my backpack onto the floor next to me and pull out my notebook and pen. I haven't used a pencil since the 8th grade. There's something about the smudging that really annoys me. So, I use pens and have for the last two years. I've learned to not write something down until I'm pretty sure I want it to be permanent. I flip through my notebook and see all of the scribbled out words and sigh. Okay, so maybe I haven't learned how to have an organized, clean notebook while using a pen. Looking up, I see that class isn't going to start for a few minutes, because I'm early. Only one hour, one hour before I'm free. I start to doodle drawings on a new page and I slip into my world of thoughts. I close my eyes as thoughts pass through me, envelope me.
"Jess, how about you answer this one?...Jess?"
Ms. Jensen's talking to me and I slowly come out of my world. I can hear that everyone is staring at me, hear what they're thinking about me.
"Caught again..."
"She's clearly messed up."
"She's probably on drugs..."
My eyes flick over the board at the front of the class. Ah, so we're learning about logarithms today. Glancing past the written examples on the board, I peer into Ms. Jensen's head and,
"3 is the exponent to which 2 must be raised to produce 8."
Ms. Jensen looks like she wants to wallop me, but she is intrigued as her eyes widen in surprise. I continue to listen to her thoughts.
"I swear she reads my mind."
I suppress a giggle and bow my head again as I go back to drawing in my notebook. I start to draw my favorite flower, hellebore. My grandmother called them Winter Roses, because despite the cold of winter, they still bloomed in her garden. She had dark blue ones that were so dark, they looked black until you were close. I remember drinking her homemade hot chocolate while staring at them from inside the warmth of Grandma's cottage. Most people walked by them, looking at the other plants she had in her garden. It was their loss. There was something special about these flowers that would bloom in the cold of winter and early spring. They are delicate, light to the touch, and yet so strong to bloom in such cold weather. My grandmother had told me one of the legends of the hellebore. Apparently they were born from the tears of a sad Jewish girl. She was crying, because she did not have a gift to give the baby Jesus, sprouting the Winter/Christmas Rose. I always wondered if the newborn flowers were her gift to Him, or if they were His gift to her.
I can finally breathe once the bell rings; it means that I can escape all of the noise. I pack my notebook and pen while everyone else rushes out the door. I open the side door at the back of the classroom and step out. It's starting to drizzle, which happens all the time in New Hampshire, especially in April. The air smells fresh and sweet. I look at the thick forest of trees at the edge of the grass and start heading that way. Time to clear my head and hopefully get rid of this headache!
Friday, June 20, 2014
Betrayal Poem
I wrote this poem during my sophomore year in high school. This was about a friend who was having a hard time with her close group of friends, one in particular.
How could you?
Best friends, pals, buds forever
We had forever
We had eternity
Sharing our lives, our secrets
Did you just forget?
I never told a soul
Never let your secrets leak
Defended you with all I had
Stood by your side.
What do you want?
You've betrayed me
You've killed me!
I cry for the first time
My soul now too weak
To cope with you
I hoped for you
Stood up and died for you
And this is how you pay me?
You betray me
Who else knows?
Should I spill like you?
Kill like you?
Subvert like you?
Hurt like you?
No, no.
My mind hurts too much
To think, at one time it was your touch
That could make me happy.
I cry for the first time
My soul now too weak
To cope with you
I hoped for you
Stood up and died for you
And this is how you pay me?
You betray me
Who else knows?
Should I spill like you?
Kill like you?
Subvert like you?
Hurt like you?
No, no.
My mind hurts too much
To think, at one time it was your touch
That could make me happy.
The Unknown Beast Poem
I wrote this my freshmen year in high school. This was about a childhood experience on my neighbor's farm. I'm pretty sure the prompt had specifics we had to follow for how we wrote the poem. I ended up being one of the few picked to perform in front of the class and I won. Enjoy :)
Think of something white and fluffy
Something soft, not roughly shaped
Something with colorless eyes
Varieties of its size
This something can jump, leap
This something is a sheep
I have encountered this untamed beast
And that is to say the least
You may be surprised
But I did collide
With a sheep
It happened one morning
The dawn with fingertips of rose
That I stood at the gate of the lair
No warning, no weapon, just clothes
This battle was totally not fair
Okay, so maybe I did have some warning
From my old neighbor Cory
"Right!" I had sarcastically replied
A sheep ramming me would be a sight
I arrogantly stormed into the cage
Not knowing the predator's rage
My back to Cory and the herd
The sudden flying away of the birds
I hear the pounding of feet
And my heart misses a beat
Cory flashes past
Running fast
His figure turning back to see
Not needing to outrun the sheep, just me
Falling behind I then realize
Today it's not Cory that dies
We head towards the gate of freedom
Regretting that we are not already freeman
A locked gate, we quickly decide
To run to a tree nearby
Just as I grab the branch
A sharp pang hits my back
I flail my arms like wings under the beast
Grimacing at the muscles I lack
The white wool blinds my eyes
The fuzz against my face
Finally in the tree
Around it the sheep still paced
I am panting
My body giving way
The beast still circling
This is really not my day
When the wild animal is on one side
We jump out the other, oh brother where art thou?
Making our way to the gate
Dreaming, hoping of being safe
Cory jumps over the fence, dirt flying up
I try so hard to follow, if only that was enough
Today I have the marks on my back
My brain not quite intact
The memory burned in my mind
From the experience, one of a kind
I still dream of the sheep
My fear increased
From the attack of the unknown beast
Think of something white and fluffy
Something soft, not roughly shaped
Something with colorless eyes
Varieties of its size
This something can jump, leap
This something is a sheep
I have encountered this untamed beast
And that is to say the least
You may be surprised
But I did collide
With a sheep
It happened one morning
The dawn with fingertips of rose
That I stood at the gate of the lair
No warning, no weapon, just clothes
This battle was totally not fair
Okay, so maybe I did have some warning
From my old neighbor Cory
"Right!" I had sarcastically replied
A sheep ramming me would be a sight
I arrogantly stormed into the cage
Not knowing the predator's rage
My back to Cory and the herd
The sudden flying away of the birds
I hear the pounding of feet
And my heart misses a beat
Cory flashes past
Running fast
His figure turning back to see
Not needing to outrun the sheep, just me
Falling behind I then realize
Today it's not Cory that dies
We head towards the gate of freedom
Regretting that we are not already freeman
A locked gate, we quickly decide
To run to a tree nearby
Just as I grab the branch
A sharp pang hits my back
I flail my arms like wings under the beast
Grimacing at the muscles I lack
The white wool blinds my eyes
The fuzz against my face
Finally in the tree
Around it the sheep still paced
I am panting
My body giving way
The beast still circling
This is really not my day
When the wild animal is on one side
We jump out the other, oh brother where art thou?
Making our way to the gate
Dreaming, hoping of being safe
Cory jumps over the fence, dirt flying up
I try so hard to follow, if only that was enough
Today I have the marks on my back
My brain not quite intact
The memory burned in my mind
From the experience, one of a kind
I still dream of the sheep
My fear increased
From the attack of the unknown beast
Monday, June 9, 2014
Always
I woke up early. I had showered before I went to bed so that my hair would be dry today. I slowly get out of the bed that I am sharing with my sister and birth-mother, Sa, and walk out of the room. I brush my teeth and walk out the door and into the car in my pajamas. TJ drives me to the other rental house.
I open the door and it is windy. The house is right on the beach and I can see the ocean as I walk up the front steps. I open the door and everyone is awake. They are eating breakfast, showering, talking, doing hair and make-up. I smile and find a place to sit. I am here because I am going to get my hair and make-up done professionally! I am so excited, because this is a first that I get the combo. I am also excited, because it's my wedding day.
My Aunt Mapuana is the photographer for our special day. Once I heard that she was going to take pictures as a wedding present to us, I looked through her photos on her facebook page and fell in love. She is talented. She arrives around 8:00 AM along with her make-up assistant, Kai.
I sit at the table. The wall to my right is all glass so that you can see the ocean at all times. The kitchen is to my left, my sisters sitting at the counter eating cereal. Randy comes and sits next to me and we talk while he eats his breakfast. He's nervous about his speech. I tell him that he can read it to me later.
Kai and Aunty start working on my hair. They're straightening it. They remember halfway through that they need to take a before picture. I look seriously into her camera, half of my hair straightened and the other half a frizzy ball of fluff hanging over it.
"You can smile."
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know if this was supposed to be artistic or not."
We laugh.
It takes them awhile to straighten the thick hair and then they are finally done. Kai wraps it in curlers. Aunty walks around, taking pictures of me while Kai does my makeup. She walks outside and takes pictures of the property and of my sisters. There is so much noise and movement. 12 people are staying in the house and now they are all trying to get ready at the same time.
My sisters and nieces are all done getting ready and they start to pose for pictures. I watch them and laugh with them as they make different faces. Their dresses are beautiful. I was nervous that the colors wouldn't go together. Many sisters and nieces means many different definitions of modesty and what looks best; so, I decided to let them pick out their own dresses and hoped that they would match. They did. The dresses were all different shades, but close shades, of the turquoise that I wanted. The flower girls are wearing bright pink and white and the bridesmaids are in turquoise/mint and white. All are wearing short dresses except for Sarah, my Maid of Honor. She has a long, flowy dress. It looks Grecian. They're breathtaking. I'm so happy that all of my family can be here for this special day. I briefly think about Jovan, TJ's cousin. She would have been in my wedding line. TJ and I thought about possibly making remarks in our speech about missing those who cannot be with us. But, he decided against it. It would be too hard for him to talk about her. Her passing was a devastation to the family and especially to TJ as she was his best friend and sister (technically cousin, but in his culture, they are brother and sister). Prior to this experience, I had only experienced my elderly family members passing away. Her death was a shot of reality, a strong dose that though it's cliche to say, life is short. Life is so incredibly short. And, life is hell. The day she died is the saddest day that TJ and I have ever experienced. I remember it well.
I woke up to TJ rubbing my shoulder. He was supposed to be at work, but he was in bed next to me, crying. Sobbing. I asked him what was wrong and he could barely speak.
"Jovan is dead."
I was overcome with shock. How could she be dead? He just spoke to her the other day. They had joked on the phone. All I could do was hold him and cry with him. I had never seen him so sad. I had never seen him cry this hard before. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move as he held me tightly to him. We talked to his grandmother on the phone and were assigned to pick Aleena up from school before we headed over to her house. I waited in the car as he went in Aleena's school to get her. She walked beside him and I watched as he told her. She looked at him and her face paled. She started to cry and they both cried as they walked to the car.
As we walked in the house, we were met by his mother and grandmother. His grandmother's cry is the saddest cry I have ever heard. It is heartbreaking. She yelled as she cried in his arms and I stood aside as I watched a family's pain as they embraced each other.
The girls laugh and I think about Jovan laughing with them.
They start to put flowers in their hair and my family members start to leave. They have to pick up things for the wedding and set up things as well. The only ones left in the house are: Sa, Baby Ave, Aunty Tutasi, Aunty Mapu, Kai, and myself. It gets really quiet as Kai finishes my makeup. She is almost done and I keep thinking about my lashes. She has yet to put any mascara on them and I get nervous, because I definitely don't want to be eyelash-less LOL! She says that she is almost done and pulls out fake eye-lashes and leans forward to put them on me. I relax.
I change into my wedding dress in the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is in soft curls, framing my face. My makeup is darker than usual, but fabulous. I love the eyelashes! My dress is perfect. There is a sequin belt that goes across the front, right under my chest. Underneath the sequins, the dress puffs out around me. I feel beautiful. Sa greets me when I come out and helps zip me up. I'm glad that she's here for this part. It just feels right to have her here, zipping me up, helping me with the final touches. The orchids that I had planned on putting in my hair were gone; so, she let me wear one of her combs. It has real flowers on it, beautiful and white. They smelled so delicious! I had never smelt anything so wonderful in my life. We pose for more pictures.
The drive to Temple Beach is short. I walk across the street, barefoot and holding my dress in the air. I walk down the sandy path to the beach. Everyone is there, waiting. Of course, I'm late.
"I'm here!!"
Everything starts to move quickly and I look around. There is a beautiful, simple hoopah at the end of the aisle. White fabric is draped from it and there are large leaves on it as well. TJ is standing there, waiting for me, and he looks so handsome. The men are wearing white shirts with khaki shorts and TJ is wearing khaki slacks. The florist walks to me and hands me my bouquet. I can tell that she is nervous as she says that she hopes I like the flowers. My bouquet is breathtaking. I stare at it and tell her that the flowers look amazing. It is a large, cascading bouquet with bright pink and white orchids. There are little bits of fern and green leaves mixed in. It looks better than I had imagined.
Music starts to play and I can hear a ukulele in the background. Eve and Roo start dropping purple orchids as they walk down the orchid-lined aisle. Eve looks very serious, wanting to do her job perfectly as she carefully places the flowers on the ground. Roo has a hard time balancing on the sand and starts to wobble off to the side of the aisle. Sarah is the first bridesmaid to walk down the aisle. She holds Roo's hand as they walk down the aisle together. The rest of the girls start to walk and my mothers stand next to me. Sa is on my right and Mom is on my left. This is perfect. I look around at everyone as we walk. I feel so much love and I look at TJ. He is smiling.
We hold hands and I ask if he has his ring. His eyes widen and he searches his pockets. Not only does he not have his ring, but he has no idea where it is. I worriedly turn to Uncle Aaron and he calmly tells me that we won't do a ring ceremony. Thank goodness! Uncle Aaron starts to talk...
Everything about this day feels right. Our families are here together to celebrate this new life with us.
I open the door and it is windy. The house is right on the beach and I can see the ocean as I walk up the front steps. I open the door and everyone is awake. They are eating breakfast, showering, talking, doing hair and make-up. I smile and find a place to sit. I am here because I am going to get my hair and make-up done professionally! I am so excited, because this is a first that I get the combo. I am also excited, because it's my wedding day.
My Aunt Mapuana is the photographer for our special day. Once I heard that she was going to take pictures as a wedding present to us, I looked through her photos on her facebook page and fell in love. She is talented. She arrives around 8:00 AM along with her make-up assistant, Kai.
I sit at the table. The wall to my right is all glass so that you can see the ocean at all times. The kitchen is to my left, my sisters sitting at the counter eating cereal. Randy comes and sits next to me and we talk while he eats his breakfast. He's nervous about his speech. I tell him that he can read it to me later.
Kai and Aunty start working on my hair. They're straightening it. They remember halfway through that they need to take a before picture. I look seriously into her camera, half of my hair straightened and the other half a frizzy ball of fluff hanging over it.
"You can smile."
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know if this was supposed to be artistic or not."
We laugh.
It takes them awhile to straighten the thick hair and then they are finally done. Kai wraps it in curlers. Aunty walks around, taking pictures of me while Kai does my makeup. She walks outside and takes pictures of the property and of my sisters. There is so much noise and movement. 12 people are staying in the house and now they are all trying to get ready at the same time.
My sisters and nieces are all done getting ready and they start to pose for pictures. I watch them and laugh with them as they make different faces. Their dresses are beautiful. I was nervous that the colors wouldn't go together. Many sisters and nieces means many different definitions of modesty and what looks best; so, I decided to let them pick out their own dresses and hoped that they would match. They did. The dresses were all different shades, but close shades, of the turquoise that I wanted. The flower girls are wearing bright pink and white and the bridesmaids are in turquoise/mint and white. All are wearing short dresses except for Sarah, my Maid of Honor. She has a long, flowy dress. It looks Grecian. They're breathtaking. I'm so happy that all of my family can be here for this special day. I briefly think about Jovan, TJ's cousin. She would have been in my wedding line. TJ and I thought about possibly making remarks in our speech about missing those who cannot be with us. But, he decided against it. It would be too hard for him to talk about her. Her passing was a devastation to the family and especially to TJ as she was his best friend and sister (technically cousin, but in his culture, they are brother and sister). Prior to this experience, I had only experienced my elderly family members passing away. Her death was a shot of reality, a strong dose that though it's cliche to say, life is short. Life is so incredibly short. And, life is hell. The day she died is the saddest day that TJ and I have ever experienced. I remember it well.
I woke up to TJ rubbing my shoulder. He was supposed to be at work, but he was in bed next to me, crying. Sobbing. I asked him what was wrong and he could barely speak.
"Jovan is dead."
I was overcome with shock. How could she be dead? He just spoke to her the other day. They had joked on the phone. All I could do was hold him and cry with him. I had never seen him so sad. I had never seen him cry this hard before. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move as he held me tightly to him. We talked to his grandmother on the phone and were assigned to pick Aleena up from school before we headed over to her house. I waited in the car as he went in Aleena's school to get her. She walked beside him and I watched as he told her. She looked at him and her face paled. She started to cry and they both cried as they walked to the car.
As we walked in the house, we were met by his mother and grandmother. His grandmother's cry is the saddest cry I have ever heard. It is heartbreaking. She yelled as she cried in his arms and I stood aside as I watched a family's pain as they embraced each other.
The girls laugh and I think about Jovan laughing with them.
They start to put flowers in their hair and my family members start to leave. They have to pick up things for the wedding and set up things as well. The only ones left in the house are: Sa, Baby Ave, Aunty Tutasi, Aunty Mapu, Kai, and myself. It gets really quiet as Kai finishes my makeup. She is almost done and I keep thinking about my lashes. She has yet to put any mascara on them and I get nervous, because I definitely don't want to be eyelash-less LOL! She says that she is almost done and pulls out fake eye-lashes and leans forward to put them on me. I relax.
I change into my wedding dress in the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is in soft curls, framing my face. My makeup is darker than usual, but fabulous. I love the eyelashes! My dress is perfect. There is a sequin belt that goes across the front, right under my chest. Underneath the sequins, the dress puffs out around me. I feel beautiful. Sa greets me when I come out and helps zip me up. I'm glad that she's here for this part. It just feels right to have her here, zipping me up, helping me with the final touches. The orchids that I had planned on putting in my hair were gone; so, she let me wear one of her combs. It has real flowers on it, beautiful and white. They smelled so delicious! I had never smelt anything so wonderful in my life. We pose for more pictures.
The drive to Temple Beach is short. I walk across the street, barefoot and holding my dress in the air. I walk down the sandy path to the beach. Everyone is there, waiting. Of course, I'm late.
"I'm here!!"
Everything starts to move quickly and I look around. There is a beautiful, simple hoopah at the end of the aisle. White fabric is draped from it and there are large leaves on it as well. TJ is standing there, waiting for me, and he looks so handsome. The men are wearing white shirts with khaki shorts and TJ is wearing khaki slacks. The florist walks to me and hands me my bouquet. I can tell that she is nervous as she says that she hopes I like the flowers. My bouquet is breathtaking. I stare at it and tell her that the flowers look amazing. It is a large, cascading bouquet with bright pink and white orchids. There are little bits of fern and green leaves mixed in. It looks better than I had imagined.
Music starts to play and I can hear a ukulele in the background. Eve and Roo start dropping purple orchids as they walk down the orchid-lined aisle. Eve looks very serious, wanting to do her job perfectly as she carefully places the flowers on the ground. Roo has a hard time balancing on the sand and starts to wobble off to the side of the aisle. Sarah is the first bridesmaid to walk down the aisle. She holds Roo's hand as they walk down the aisle together. The rest of the girls start to walk and my mothers stand next to me. Sa is on my right and Mom is on my left. This is perfect. I look around at everyone as we walk. I feel so much love and I look at TJ. He is smiling.
We hold hands and I ask if he has his ring. His eyes widen and he searches his pockets. Not only does he not have his ring, but he has no idea where it is. I worriedly turn to Uncle Aaron and he calmly tells me that we won't do a ring ceremony. Thank goodness! Uncle Aaron starts to talk...
Everything about this day feels right. Our families are here together to celebrate this new life with us.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
One More Day
I like to read depressing things. I like to listen to depressing music. I like to watch depressing movies. I have always liked to do this. I like to feel. So, while I was listening to One More Day by Vast (great song!), when I came across an article that was about a note someone found in an airport. The note was titled, "Read Me". He opened it and read:
I recently left an emotionally abusive relationship. After months of insults I won't repeat, false accusations, lies, delusions, broken mirrors, nightly battles…. I left. I know that I was being poisoned by each day that I stayed. So with a heavy heart, I left my lover of three years, knowing that I had already put it off too long. At first he begged, then he cursed, but eventually he packed his bags and faded out of my life like a bad dream. For the first few weeks, my body seemed to reject this. For three years I had seen the world through him - colored glasses. I didn’t know who I was without him. Despite the kindness of friends and even strangers. I could not help feeling utterly alone. But it was this sense of aloneness that set me free. Somewhere along the way, I let go. I released all of the painful memories, the names he had called me, the shards of him buried deep in my brain. I stopped believing the things he had made me think about myself. I began to see how extraordinary, breathtakingly beautiful life is. I meditated, drank too much coffee, talked to strangers, laughed at nothing. I wrote poetry and stopped to smell and photograph every flower. Once I discovered that my happiness depends only on myself, nothing could hurt me anymore. I have found and continue to find peace. Each day I am closer to it than I was yesterday. I am a work in progress but I am full to the brim with gratitude and joy. And so, since I have opened a new chapter in my life, I want to peacefully part with the contents of the last chapter. The end of my relationship was the catalyst for a wealth of positive changes in my life. It was a symbol, most importantly, it was an act of self-love. It was a realization that I deserved to be happy and I could choose to be. And so, in an effort to leave behind the things that do not help me grow, I am letting go of a relic from the painful past. I wore this necklace-a gift from him-every day for over tow years. To me, letting it go is a joyous declaration that I am moving forward with strength and grace and deep, lasting peace. Please accept this gift as a reminder that we all deserve happiness. Whoever you are, and whatever pain you have faced, I hope you find peace.
Namaste,
Jamie
Namaste,
Jamie
Friday, May 16, 2014
It's Normal
I had never met my birth-father before. My adoption was an open one; so, I had always talked to my mother about my birth-mother and birth-family. My birth-father refused to admit that I was his. So, he was not a part of my life. I rarely asked about him but sadly, I thought of him often. The fact that he hadn't wanted me made me more curious about him. It confused me, my thoughts. I didn't want to want to know about him. I didn't want to want to think about him. But I did. I used to wonder what he looked like. What are his passions/hobbies? What is his personality like? What does he think about? Does he think about me? Do I resemble him? Do I think like him? It was a constant circle of pain that I tried to push away. But, the more I tried to not think of him, the more I did.
I got the chance to meet him while I was in Hawaii. My family and birth-family were there as I had my family reunion and wedding in Hawaii. My birth-father and my birth-mother had met at the Polynesian Cultural Center and this is where I saw him.
The first time we visited the PCC, Sa (my birth-mother) saw him at the entrance. I had already started walking in; so, I didn't end up seeing him the first time. I had no idea that he still worked there. I was paranoid the rest of the day while walking through the different areas of the PCC. I kept thinking that I would see him or accidentally run into him. What would I say? I had thought about this moment often. I had thought up many different scenarios that changed depending on his emotion. Obviously if he was mad, I would react differently than if he were excited or happy or embarrassed. I think that is what I was scared about the most. What if he was embarrassed? I mean, I figured he'd be embarrassed. I would be embarrassed if I were him. I've made many mistakes in my life that I regret. I try not to think about them, because I sit in this pool of shame over what I had done in the past. People make stupid mistakes. But, he would have to face his head on. He would have to literally look at his mistake. I am his mistake.
We went a second time so that we could go with my other family members. The first time that we went was with my birth-family. The second time was with TJ's family and my own. I had already been walking through when my mom (Amber) caught up to us. She came late and had just come from the entrance. She said that she had seen him. She said that he was at the entrance and that if I hurried, I could see him. I wasn't sure what I wanted. I had previously decided that I wouldn't see him on this trip. The family reunion and wedding would be the happiest moments of my life and I didn't want anything to put a damper on such a happy occasion. I didn't want anything to go wrong during my trip, because I didn't want to look back and think of that. But, I started walking quickly to the entrance. My sisters and mom were behind me. As they followed, we discussed what we should do. First, someone was going to sneak a picture of him. But then, we didn't want to look creepy or draw extra attention to ourselves; so, one of my sisters was going to ask him if she could take a picture with him. I wanted to see him. But, I didn't want to see him. We decided that maybe I should take a picture with him. That way, we could see me with him in the picture. We could see the similarities between him and me more easily that way. Then, we saw him.
We had just walked up and my mom was looking around to find him. And then he was there. She pointed at him. I saw him. He was talking to a couple and helping them look at their map of the PCC. I just stared. I had so many emotions running through me so quickly that I could hardly breathe. I was giddy and hyper, feeling exhilarated. But, I was overcome by a deep sadness and tears started to swell in my eyes. This is my father. This is the man who has haunted me my whole life. This man could have been my dad. I blinked fiercely, refusing to cry. I then felt anger, angry that this was the way, the first time I get to see the man who made me. Angry that here he was and he had no idea who I am. Angry that he looked happy. I felt resentment creep in. But then, I felt pity. Despite the fact that I realized I still carry resentment of the past, I felt bad for him. And I am so shocked that I felt pity. I'm shocked that I felt anything at all. I had been so flippant in the past. I had brushed any feelings towards him aside as he had brushed me aside. I just wanted to cry. Looking back, I wish I had been more open about my feelings in that moment, but I was scared to say anything at all. I was scared that if I started to elaborate on my feelings that they would become real and that I would keep feeling more for this man that didn't want me. I turned to my mom as she asked me how I was doing. I didn't say much, because I honestly didn't know what to say.
"I don't know, Mom. I feel weird."
"I know. You must be feeling such a mix of feelings. It's normal, Lei."
It's normal.
He started walking away with the couple. They were heading to the Canoe Pageant. We followed. I couldn't stop staring at his back. He looked handsome. His skin was darker than I had imagined as was his hair. I wonder if he dyes it. He walked with purpose. It wasn't the lazy walk that I do. He walked like a proud man. He looked strong. His calf muscles were impressive. They sat and we decided to sit on the same row. Esther and her family and the couple were between me and my father. I kept trying to peek over at him, but I couldn't get a good look. Esther kept telling me to go up to him and introduce myself. I had told her that I didn't care. I don't think that I knew that I did care. I was pushing my feelings deep down inside of myself, trapping them. She said that if I didn't care that I should go up and say who I am. But, I didn't want to. I didn't want my first meeting with him to be like this. Even though I felt like I didn't care, I did. Besides trying to avoid having something sad happen during my happy wedding/honeymoon week, I surprisingly felt like I should respect him. I want to be prepared for our first official meeting, if it ever happens, and I think it would only be right for him to be prepared. If we meet, I want both of us to be informed; both of us need to want to meet. I was also scared about his reaction. I kept thinking that I didn't care, that this was his doing, but then I would suddenly feel torn about it. What if he said that he didn't know me, even though he did, and then just walked away? What if he didn't say anything at all and walked away? No, I wasn't going to tell him who I am.
It was time for the picture. Esther walked up to him and asked if we could take a picture with him. I didn't want him to look directly at me beforehand, because I didn't want him to realize who I am. Kristi held up the phone to take the picture. He put his arm around me. His arm was around me. I leaned in suddenly, naturally. I fit in the curve of his arm. He smelled good. He was warm. My arm slid to his back and I held him as he held me. We smiled for the picture, frozen.
After what seemed like an eternity, he patted my back. And I couldn't help but think that this man could have been the man who raised me. That embrace would have been a familiar embrace. Despite the past, it felt good to be held by him. I closed my eyes briefly, promising myself that even if he didn't know who I am, this was a moment I wanted to remember.
Even though it seemed to last long, it didn't. It ended much too quickly and he was letting me go. I could feel the breeze fall against my back, brushing over the part that his arm had occupied. I looked up at him and thanked him for the picture. He looked at me briefly, said that it was a pleasure, and then he was gone. Just like that, he was gone. I didn't want to watch him walk away; so, I immediately turned my back to him and sat down.
I had left TJ when I started running to the entrance. He sat across the river from me during the Canoe Pageant. He told me that he had watched as we took the picture with my birth-father.
"Lei, he knew it was you. He stared at you before he walked away. And then he came back and kept staring at you during the rest of the show."
He knew it was me.
I pushed my feelings aside again and was fine for the rest of the day. I would randomly think of him and briefly talk about how insane it was that I got to meet him. And then, I would carefully stuff him back into that little box inside of me. In the darkness of my room that night, I opened that box and I cried. I cried for the little girl who knew that her father didn't want her. I cried for the teenager whose thoughts were full of him. I cried for the married woman whose breath he took away as she stared across a sea of people to see him for the first time. And then, I collected myself. I blew my nose several times, wiped my tears, and forced myself to sleep. I would think of him another day.
I got the chance to meet him while I was in Hawaii. My family and birth-family were there as I had my family reunion and wedding in Hawaii. My birth-father and my birth-mother had met at the Polynesian Cultural Center and this is where I saw him.
The first time we visited the PCC, Sa (my birth-mother) saw him at the entrance. I had already started walking in; so, I didn't end up seeing him the first time. I had no idea that he still worked there. I was paranoid the rest of the day while walking through the different areas of the PCC. I kept thinking that I would see him or accidentally run into him. What would I say? I had thought about this moment often. I had thought up many different scenarios that changed depending on his emotion. Obviously if he was mad, I would react differently than if he were excited or happy or embarrassed. I think that is what I was scared about the most. What if he was embarrassed? I mean, I figured he'd be embarrassed. I would be embarrassed if I were him. I've made many mistakes in my life that I regret. I try not to think about them, because I sit in this pool of shame over what I had done in the past. People make stupid mistakes. But, he would have to face his head on. He would have to literally look at his mistake. I am his mistake.
We went a second time so that we could go with my other family members. The first time that we went was with my birth-family. The second time was with TJ's family and my own. I had already been walking through when my mom (Amber) caught up to us. She came late and had just come from the entrance. She said that she had seen him. She said that he was at the entrance and that if I hurried, I could see him. I wasn't sure what I wanted. I had previously decided that I wouldn't see him on this trip. The family reunion and wedding would be the happiest moments of my life and I didn't want anything to put a damper on such a happy occasion. I didn't want anything to go wrong during my trip, because I didn't want to look back and think of that. But, I started walking quickly to the entrance. My sisters and mom were behind me. As they followed, we discussed what we should do. First, someone was going to sneak a picture of him. But then, we didn't want to look creepy or draw extra attention to ourselves; so, one of my sisters was going to ask him if she could take a picture with him. I wanted to see him. But, I didn't want to see him. We decided that maybe I should take a picture with him. That way, we could see me with him in the picture. We could see the similarities between him and me more easily that way. Then, we saw him.
We had just walked up and my mom was looking around to find him. And then he was there. She pointed at him. I saw him. He was talking to a couple and helping them look at their map of the PCC. I just stared. I had so many emotions running through me so quickly that I could hardly breathe. I was giddy and hyper, feeling exhilarated. But, I was overcome by a deep sadness and tears started to swell in my eyes. This is my father. This is the man who has haunted me my whole life. This man could have been my dad. I blinked fiercely, refusing to cry. I then felt anger, angry that this was the way, the first time I get to see the man who made me. Angry that here he was and he had no idea who I am. Angry that he looked happy. I felt resentment creep in. But then, I felt pity. Despite the fact that I realized I still carry resentment of the past, I felt bad for him. And I am so shocked that I felt pity. I'm shocked that I felt anything at all. I had been so flippant in the past. I had brushed any feelings towards him aside as he had brushed me aside. I just wanted to cry. Looking back, I wish I had been more open about my feelings in that moment, but I was scared to say anything at all. I was scared that if I started to elaborate on my feelings that they would become real and that I would keep feeling more for this man that didn't want me. I turned to my mom as she asked me how I was doing. I didn't say much, because I honestly didn't know what to say.
"I don't know, Mom. I feel weird."
"I know. You must be feeling such a mix of feelings. It's normal, Lei."
It's normal.
He started walking away with the couple. They were heading to the Canoe Pageant. We followed. I couldn't stop staring at his back. He looked handsome. His skin was darker than I had imagined as was his hair. I wonder if he dyes it. He walked with purpose. It wasn't the lazy walk that I do. He walked like a proud man. He looked strong. His calf muscles were impressive. They sat and we decided to sit on the same row. Esther and her family and the couple were between me and my father. I kept trying to peek over at him, but I couldn't get a good look. Esther kept telling me to go up to him and introduce myself. I had told her that I didn't care. I don't think that I knew that I did care. I was pushing my feelings deep down inside of myself, trapping them. She said that if I didn't care that I should go up and say who I am. But, I didn't want to. I didn't want my first meeting with him to be like this. Even though I felt like I didn't care, I did. Besides trying to avoid having something sad happen during my happy wedding/honeymoon week, I surprisingly felt like I should respect him. I want to be prepared for our first official meeting, if it ever happens, and I think it would only be right for him to be prepared. If we meet, I want both of us to be informed; both of us need to want to meet. I was also scared about his reaction. I kept thinking that I didn't care, that this was his doing, but then I would suddenly feel torn about it. What if he said that he didn't know me, even though he did, and then just walked away? What if he didn't say anything at all and walked away? No, I wasn't going to tell him who I am.
It was time for the picture. Esther walked up to him and asked if we could take a picture with him. I didn't want him to look directly at me beforehand, because I didn't want him to realize who I am. Kristi held up the phone to take the picture. He put his arm around me. His arm was around me. I leaned in suddenly, naturally. I fit in the curve of his arm. He smelled good. He was warm. My arm slid to his back and I held him as he held me. We smiled for the picture, frozen.
After what seemed like an eternity, he patted my back. And I couldn't help but think that this man could have been the man who raised me. That embrace would have been a familiar embrace. Despite the past, it felt good to be held by him. I closed my eyes briefly, promising myself that even if he didn't know who I am, this was a moment I wanted to remember.
Even though it seemed to last long, it didn't. It ended much too quickly and he was letting me go. I could feel the breeze fall against my back, brushing over the part that his arm had occupied. I looked up at him and thanked him for the picture. He looked at me briefly, said that it was a pleasure, and then he was gone. Just like that, he was gone. I didn't want to watch him walk away; so, I immediately turned my back to him and sat down.
I had left TJ when I started running to the entrance. He sat across the river from me during the Canoe Pageant. He told me that he had watched as we took the picture with my birth-father.
"Lei, he knew it was you. He stared at you before he walked away. And then he came back and kept staring at you during the rest of the show."
He knew it was me.
I pushed my feelings aside again and was fine for the rest of the day. I would randomly think of him and briefly talk about how insane it was that I got to meet him. And then, I would carefully stuff him back into that little box inside of me. In the darkness of my room that night, I opened that box and I cried. I cried for the little girl who knew that her father didn't want her. I cried for the teenager whose thoughts were full of him. I cried for the married woman whose breath he took away as she stared across a sea of people to see him for the first time. And then, I collected myself. I blew my nose several times, wiped my tears, and forced myself to sleep. I would think of him another day.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
My Film
I took a lot of videos while in Hawaii, because I wanted to always be able to look back at those precious days. After the first day of filming on my cell phone, I decided that it would be pretty cool if I put them together in a long video. I want to do a documentary.
As we know, I'm a dreamer. So, this seemed like one of those projects that I usually come up with only to throw it away right after beginning. But, I have stuck with this. I really want to finish.
I've started to expand. I have the videos that I took in Hawaii. I've added photos from my childhood up to adulthood, up to the most recent ones I have taken. I started recording myself. I talk about all different aspects of my life. I sent emails to my families with questions and prompts. They are going to take videos of themselves and I want to use excerpts of them in my film. I can't wait! It's been one of the hardest projects, but the most rewarding. I have laughed while looking back at my childhood and I have cried. It's so amazing to experience this!
As we know, I'm a dreamer. So, this seemed like one of those projects that I usually come up with only to throw it away right after beginning. But, I have stuck with this. I really want to finish.
I've started to expand. I have the videos that I took in Hawaii. I've added photos from my childhood up to adulthood, up to the most recent ones I have taken. I started recording myself. I talk about all different aspects of my life. I sent emails to my families with questions and prompts. They are going to take videos of themselves and I want to use excerpts of them in my film. I can't wait! It's been one of the hardest projects, but the most rewarding. I have laughed while looking back at my childhood and I have cried. It's so amazing to experience this!
Shark's Cove
I woke up, ready to do something fun. It's Friday and it's one of the last days I'll be able to spend in Hawaii before going home to Idaho. We gather in the main house, TJ and I were sleeping in our own little cottage, and discuss what we want to do. It's decided that we're going snorkeling at Shark's Cove and I can't wait!
At this point, TJ is wanting some "TJ time". He gets anxious in larger groups and because we have his family, my family, and some friends all staying together with us, I understand why he wants to spend some time alone. He decides that he wants to go to Wal-Mart to buy souvenirs and then he'll relax at the house afterwards or walk to Hukilau Beach. He tries to convince me to stay with him, but I'm too excited about snorkeling and decide to go with the big group.
We decided to stop at Giovanni's on the way. We look at the different shops and choose out a cute dress for each of us, a gift from Mom.
We get to the beach and head down to the snorkeling area. There aren't as many people here as I had imagined and I get more excited that this special beach is more private. There is a reef wall that circles the swimming area. I can see some of the waves cascade over certain parts of the wall. It looks like a bunch of little waterfalls. There is a small entrance where waves can push through, bringing a small current into the surrounded swimming area. Once you are closer to this entrance, you can feel a strong current pushing you back towards the beach, but you barely feel it if you're closer to shore.
I can hear the different languages being spoken around me and I've gotten used to it at this point. There is a cute Korean family that seems to be arguing about their snorkeling gear and a cute European couple that is shrieking at the coldness of the water in front of me as I wade in. It takes a couple minutes for me to get used to the water and I take my time as the rocks are sharper. I see that Mike is farther out than anyone in our party, closer to the ocean entrance. Tara and Eve are next to me and it was not surprising to hear Eve's teeth chattering as she usually gets pretty cold when she swims. Sarah and Kristi arrive as I am up to my waist in the water and Kristi brings me some goggles and a snorkel from the car. The shoes she brought didn't fit me; so, I wore my flip flops and kept going with Sarah close behind me. I put my head in the water and see so much life. All of these beautiful fish are swimming around my feet. The rocks have urchins living in little crevices. I am in awe of everything I see. I reach my hand out and try to play with the fish that are swimming between my legs. Sarah is beside me and playing with the fish too. We swim farther in this shallow water, trying to avoid the sharp rocks around. We use our hands to push us ahead as our feet stay immobile. We surface as we get closer to one of the walls.
I turn to Sarah and say, "We need to come back tomorrow! This is so fun!"
I can feel that the current is much stronger as we are closer to the opening. It starts to push me and even though I am in shallow water, it's hard to fight against it. I get worried as I have had experience with strong waves in the past. I almost drowned before when I was a teenager, because I got caught in waves in California. I get somewhat paranoid about them now. I make sure that Sarah knows how I'm feeling.
"When you see a wave come through that entrance, make sure that you are in a good area. You want to be able to have your feet on the ground or you can position yourself against something. You don't want the current to carry you and throw you into one of the sharp rocks..."
She agrees with what I'm saying and we carry on. Earlier, we saw Mike climb up the side of one of the walls. He sits in a little pool at the top and is enjoying himself. He brought an underwater camera and is capturing pictures of the waves as they come over the top of the wall. It looks fun. We decide to join him.
It looks fun, because he gets to be there when the waves come. They are small ones, small enough where he relaxes as they roll over him and the wall. Sarah and I start to climb up and I was surprised at the sharpness of the wall. I slipped and was able to catch myself, but I had cut my foot a little. I decided to keep going. Small waves came as we climbed and the water felt good as it fell in little waterfalls over my feet. We finally got to the top and tried to find a comfortable spot to sit. It's hard, because I can't hold onto anything to help me sit. Sarah is adjusting to this much better than I. I finally lower myself, but it is uncomfortable. I am facing the open water, my back to the cove. Sarah is to my right and Mike to my left. They are both facing each other, one side to the waves and the other side to the cove. There is a larger rock that blocks most of Mike from the waves. When the waves come in, it breaks against the rock. We sit through a few waves, laughing at how fun it is, talking about how beautiful it looks to be there.
Suddenly, I see a wave that looks scary. It is much bigger than the others. I have been able to brace myself before, but I am scared. My position makes me nervous, because my whole body faces it, not just my side. I decide to stay and try to brace myself again, not wanting to re-position myself at the last minute. The wave is too strong. I feel myself fly onto my back, my legs up in the air. My eyes fly open out of fear and I can see all of this water rushing over me. It passes and I sit up slowly, my back in pain. Mike is right in front of me, holding my legs. I am shaking and so is he as he looks me over. He saved me. He must have moved quickly, because I had no idea that he had grabbed me.
"Are you okay?"
As he asks me this question, I see that behind him, a second and bigger wave is coming. As soon as he asks me this question, I know that I am not and we are not okay. It hits us. It slams against Mike's back and my stomach and I know that I am rolling over the wall, towards the cove. I can't breathe. I'm swallowing gulps of water, but I can't help myself. The water had hit my stomach so hard that I couldn't catch my breath before being swallowed in the wave. I am drowning. I know that I am drowning. I try to hold on, grabbing at sharp rocks. I am clawing, trying to hold onto something. But, I am losing. I keep lashing out, trying to find something to save me and then a voice.
"Just let go."
It was quiet, calm. Just let go. It raced through my mind to let go. Let go of the rocks, don't try to hold on. Go with the water, because fighting against it is hurting me more. I feel myself roll and roll as the water carries me. I feel my back against the reef and then my legs and my knee and then suddenly it's over. I stand up in water that is to my chest.
I look around and see people gathering on the beach, staring and pointing in my direction. I look to my left and see an Asian man staring at Sarah who is standing a few feet away from me in the water. I think he is going to help her, but instead he pulls out his camera and starts taking pictures of her. I am too confused to be mad and move on to look at her. She is bleeding. I can see cuts on her arms. Her eyes are wide and she is just standing there like me. I am frightened that another wave will come and I know that we are too weak to fight against a strong current. I don't want to be pushed into more reef. I make eye contact with Sarah.
"We need to get out of the water. We need to get out of the water now!"
I see Mike sitting on part of the wall. Sarah and I had made it back into the water, but he hadn't made it as far. The whole left side of his body has cuts and his knees are bleeding. He continues to sit there and he is pale. I turn to try to find Esther, Keyvan, and Kristi. My left leg aches and I am too scared to straighten it. My arms are shaking, my whole body is shaking. I see them far off to my right; they are oblivious to what just happened. They are face down in the water, looking at fish. I try to yell at her, try to get her attention. I later find out that my yells weren't loud at all and that when I yelled at Sarah and for Esther, it came out as a whimper.
"Esther, we need help."
An older, Australian couple is closer to me and hear me first.
"Are you hurt? Do you need help?"
"Yes, I need help."
They came to my side. Esther and Keyvan notice and swim over behind them. The Australians hold my hands and prop me up as they help move me to the beach. I forget about everyone behind me as my injuries start to ache. I look down in the water and see that my knee is bloody. White chunks start floating out of my knee and I feel nauseous and look away. My hands start to hurt and I see cuts on them. My right arm has cuts all over it. My right thigh has large cuts on it. I start to cry. I can taste blood and wonder if my nose is bleeding. I whimper as they walk me to the beach. A young man comes to my side. He asks if there is anything he can do. He trades places with the Australian woman and holds my left arm. He later on takes off his sandals and offers them to me, but I don't want them. I just want to get out of the water. Esther comes in the front of us and after conversing with the Australians, she is put in charge of swimming ahead to make sure that we are taking the best path in, the path that avoids the most rocks. The Australians begin to talk with me.
"Looks like your leg isn't broken! That's good news aye!"
"Can you step over this rock?"
"We'll lift your leg and you let us know if you can't do it..."
"Sometimes the water shakes us up a bit aye!"
"You're going to be alright aye! You're a bit shaken up, but you're going to be okay."
She stops me right before we reach the shore and stares me right in the eyes when she says that. She holds my face in her hands and looks right at me and tells me that I'm going to be okay. I don't see the Australians again.
I remember being helped out of the water. I can tell that my feet are cut as I feel the sand scrape against them. My whole body is still shaking and I continue to cry. Someone tries to pull my right tank top strap up and I feel a sharp pain. My shoulder has cuts. I can feel fabric brushing against the cuts of my thigh and know that my tank top is ripped.
People are staring at me and commenting, but I don't care. I'm too tired and scared to care. I'm scared about what happened, but I'm also terrified of the recovery process. When I was a little girl, I fell off my bike. My knee hit gravel. My mom quickly washed it off and took out as much gravel as she could. It obviously helped that she did it immediately after the accident, because I couldn't feel much pain. But, when we went to the hospital later, I could feel the pain as they took the rest of the gravel out. I knew that something similar would happen this time.
I sit weakly on a rock. The breeze hurts as it hits my fresh cuts. The Australians have been replaced by a muscly, short man. He tells me that he is going to help me. My mom helps put a bandage on my knee; I can't feel it. He talks to me about my wounds and tells me that they are not too bad, but that they will have to scrub them. I'm pretty sure that he talked about them using a toothbrush at one point. I am asked if I am ready to go but I'm dizzy. I start to feel warmth and the sun feels good. I can't concentrate on anything. My vision starts to fade. It doesn't get darker; I always thought that everything goes black when one is in shock, but everything got brighter. It was too bright to keep my eyes open for long. Everything is blurred and bright. I close my eyes for longer. I tell everyone that I can't see. My mom tells me that I need to stay seated and that it will seem annoying, but that people need to keep talking to me. There were so many voices around me. Kristi started asking me questions and someone else asked me questions too. I didn't want to answer. I kept saying that I just wanted to lay down. A nap would feel so good; I want to sleep. But Mom replied that I cannot sleep; I must stay awake.
Once I am out of shock, I can feel more pain. My cuts are starting to ache and I want to get into the car. The muscly man helps me on my left and Mom's on my right as we walk slowly up the hill to the car. I can hear people talking again. I hear pictures being taken. I am finally at the car and Mom stops me to take pictures of her own. Really?
"Lei, hold still, let me take a few pictures."
"Mom, stop. Don't take pictures! I'm injured!"
I start to cry but am thankful later when I look through the pictures and see the injuries that I couldn't look at before.
I finally get to sit in the car. I'm finally getting to rest and I lean my back against the seat. Even though it hurts all over, it feels good. Kristi sits besides me and cries with me. She rubs my arm and says that she's sorry it happened. My mom informs me that we are going to the fire station which is right next to the beach. Sarah and Mike were there. I walk in, eager to see them. Mike is sitting on a picnic table, getting checked by the firemen. Sarah is laying on the ground with a blanket over her. She had gone into shock. We decide to all head over to Kahuku Hospital; we don't want an ambulance. Mike and Tara get in their car and Sarah hops into the back with me.
We turn to each other, holding hands, and we start to cry. We both repeatedly apologize to each other. Kristi sits in the front and cries while watching us. While we were crying about everything that happened, a part of me was crying because this is my little sister. My little sister is hurt with scratches all over her and there is nothing I can do about it. I can't comfort her and I can't help her because I am hurt too. The windows get rolled up, because the air burns on our cuts. We continue to cry.
Sarah gets dropped off at the house. They said that her cuts weren't deep enough where she would need stitches. She gets out of the car and kisses me. She says that she wishes she could be there with me. We apologize to each other again and she goes in the house. Kristi and Esther are in charge of scrubbing her cuts.
We got to the hospital and I continue to cry. I am so scared of the shower that waits ahead. We walk up to the hospital and a woman comes out with a wheelchair. I sit and they bring me in. I keep thinking about the shower. As soon as we are in, I see Mike laying down as they are looking at his cuts. They have me lay down in a bed next to his, a curtain between us. I talk with him for awhile and he makes me feel better. We talk about his wounds and he tells me that he's going to get stitches. He then leaves to take his shower. I keep asking for drugs. I know that I'm going to need some for this shower! I am terrified. I always had this idea that I wouldn't take any drugs while giving birth. My mom and sister did it without drugs, and it was a nice tradition to carry on. My family doesn't like to use any drugs. While growing up, I used to have to drink garlic and vinegar when I was sick. I didn't know about ibuprofen or Tylenol or Advil. After this experience, I'm not sure that I will be 'going all natural' anymore...
Sheila is my nurse. She's awesome. She gives me drugs. She's awesome. While we wait the 20 minutes for the drugs to kick in, she looks at my cuts. She was trying to figure out how to get my clothes off with all of the cuts and I told her that we should just cut them. I didn't want any extra pain. She cut open my tank top and helped me take it off. She stops when she looks at my sports bra, saying that she feels bad ruining it. I told her not to worry, that I'd rather just buy a new one than try to squeeze out of it. She cuts it off. She looks at my shorts and we decide to take them off and not cut them. She puts me in a gown and the doctor comes in to look at my cuts. He says that I'm probably going to need stitches in one of the cuts on my knee.
It's time for the shower. We take the elevator to the second floor. We have to wait while the shower gets cleaned out from Mike's shower. I joke with my mom that we can run, I will run with her. We're suddenly in the shower room. It's this huge room with a chair that I can sit on while they wash me. I don't want to sit. I stand as they start with my legs and feet. They decide that to get it done as fast as possible, they will wash multiple body parts at once. Sheila bends down to wash my legs and feet while my mom grabs the shower head, starting to wash my back. I immediately start crying. I don't want to wait for the burning to start, I just want to let go and cry. I sob through the whole shower. I bawl while my feet burn as she washes out the sand. I scream when the water hits my upper shoulder, the cuts immediately stinging. My arms and legs ache as she rubs them. I feel raw and stupid for putting myself in this position. I can't wait for this day to be over. She tells me to wash the parts that aren't cut so that this can be my full shower for the day. I wash as quickly as possible so that I can get out. She pats me dry and the shower is finally over!
I was surprised that the shallow cuts hurt the most. I barely felt my knee at all during the shower, but I had felt the burning pain of my back being washed. My mom and the nurse inform me that the gash on me knee removed my nerves in that area. The shallow cuts scraped along my nerves; those would hurt more because I still had nerves there.
I was surprised that the shallow cuts hurt the most. I barely felt my knee at all during the shower, but I had felt the burning pain of my back being washed. My mom and the nurse inform me that the gash on me knee removed my nerves in that area. The shallow cuts scraped along my nerves; those would hurt more because I still had nerves there.
We sit back on the bed, dry and tired. Sheila slowly makes her way around my body as she starts bandaging up my wounds. She puts bandages on my back, my right arm and elbow, my left arm and elbow, and on my right thigh; she leaves my knee open. The doctor comes in. He's going to stitch one of the cuts on my knee. I have a huge gash, but there is not enough skin in the area for him to stitch it. He tells me that I will definitely have a scar there.
"The stitches aren't going to hurt, but this shot will. It will feel like a bee sting."
He was right. It felt like a bee sting, A REALLY LONG bee sting. He pulls the needle out only to stick it back in another spot. I don't hold in pain very easily. I usually yell when I am in pain. It helps me handle it. So, I yell.
"WHAT IS THIS?!?! AAAAAAHHHH! THIS IS THE LONGEST BEE STING! IT JUST KEEPS COMING! IT DOES NOT END!!"
Finally, it ends. He starts stitching my knee and I watch him. The first stitch hurts a little, but I can't feel any of the others. It's so interesting. Here he is, pulling my skin out and stabbing it with a needle. I'm shocked at how flexible my skin is. It's amazing! There is an extra flap of skin that he can't stitch and he cuts it off. I still don't feel anything.
Fast forward 3 weeks. My stitches are out and all of my cuts are healing well. I have two scabs left on my knee, the spot where I got stitches and the huge gash, but overall, I'm doing great! I can't wait to go snorkeling again, but I've learned my lesson: Do not climb on the reef walls.
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