I Chronicles 29:11 "Thine, O LORD, is the greatness, and the power, and the glory, and the victory, and the majesty:for all that is in the heaven and in the earth is thine; thine is the kingdom, O LORD, and thou art exalted as head above all."

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

The Story of a Girl (Part III)

Kindly click here to read part two first.

It was dark outside, and cold, even though it was only 6 PM. That January had been like most in northeast Ohio. Snowy and cold. My Dad was at the hospital again with my Mom. The three of us kids were home, parenting ourselves. Watching tv, reading, doing homework.

Since Mom had been in the hospital, I had given up every extracurricular activity I had been involved in, and started being the 'Mom'. I had this drive to make sure things were done, the house was clean, the others had been fed, that Sister was ok. I had worked doing laundry and dishes, and doling out comforting words. And hiding from my friends that things had been different at home.

No one knew what I had been going through these months. Sister and I had promised each other not to tell anyone at school. It wasn't their business. It didn't need to be announced from the loud speakers. We could handle it. We were handling it.

I watched a single snow flake land on the window, and slide the length of it, melting. I started thinking that's how I felt. That I was slowly sliding away, melting. And no one noticed.

A telephone call diverted my thoughts from the window.

It was my Uncle. How was I doing? I was fine. I had a lot going on at school, and should probably be doing something with my books. He had just wanted to call and tell me I should be at the hospital. That my Mother was very sick and would probably die, and she wouldn't know I loved her because I never went to the hospital to visit her. And that it would be too bad if something happened and it was too late to let her know I loved her. So I should go there more often.

Shocked, I had no reply. Only hurt, disgusted silence. So I hung up.

I immediately tried to think over and over in my mind what I had done wrong. Could it be true? Did my Mother ask him to call me and tell me those things? Was she sicker than I realized? Why wasn't anyone telling me what was going on? Was my Mom going to die? I was trying my best to make sure things were ok here at home. I had been to the hospital a lot. Or so I had thought. Maybe I should be there now.

Then the tears came. Hot, fat, bottled up tears. Tears that had been held in for the sake of others. Tears that should have been cried weeks ago. Holding those tears in all that time had not changed the truth one bit. My Mother was going to die.

So I crawled into my Mom and Dad's bed and waited. Waited for Dad to come home so I could tell him what happened. Not that he would do anything. Confrontation was not his strong point. But he would comfort me, reassure me. Tell me Mom knew I missed her and loved her. She did know that, right? I was doing my best to fill her shoes. I was trying hard.

That day instilled in me the idea that grow-ups just didn't understand, didn't want to understand, and were not to be trusted. I vowed I would not tell even one teacher, not one authority figure. Not even if she died. I also made an unconscious vow to never reveal my true feelings about anything.

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