I was born March 12th, 1997. Brown hair, hazel-eyed baby who was welcomed by a warm hearted mother, hardworking father, crazy sister, and a crybaby brother, but they didn’t stay that way for long. We lived in a brick house. I barely remember much but there were many stories and plenty of pictures. We were a happy family.
My father walked into my room, and his brown eyes held tears. I never have seen my father cry. He took a deep breath and walked in. Predicting he was here to get me up for school, I kept my eyes slightly open; I hated school. I knew he was in there to wake me up. I always faked being asleep; it was another typical morning. “Alex,” he said with a bit of sorrow in his voice. “Your mother...” He paused and took another breath. I stopped playing and looked up at him. My mother had left my dad once again few months ago and today was her birthday. I was sad that I had forgotten, but I wasn’t too happy with her. The last time I had seen her she tried to keep me against my will and stay with her in Bryson, where drama fills the air. I looked up to my dad, and my brother walked to the door panel. His eyes were blood shot. “She’s dead, princess.”
My mind stopped. She couldn’t have been; I had just seen her last month! Sad part is I didn’t cry hearing the news; I just couldn’t understand how that was possible. My brother ran over to me and cried on my shoulder. I sat there listening to my brother weep.
Christopher was type of guy who gave the impression that he could handle anything; he was a crybaby when we were younger but now… He was someone else. That day he cried and cried. I didn’t. I was still trying wrap my head around that my mother had died when I was only twelve. I faked crying so I wouldn’t seem to be heartless. I was very hurt. I wanted to cry, but my body wouldn’t let me. September 1, 2009 was the date they put on her death certificate, a day before her birthday.
Dad sat there pale and showed no emotion. I didn’t try to strike up a conversation; I knew if I did, my dad wouldn’t understand how I was dealing right now. He just sat there staring at the TV. The black screen glistened and shined; I couldn’t take the pressure anymore.
“Hey Marley!” I grabbed his collar and locked the leash, his blond hair shined as the wind brushed through it. We walked up the road around the road, down the road--just everywhere until my feet felt like I was walking on hot rocks. His tongue was hanging out. As we walked back up the road I saw mothers, mothers of all kinds from bees to humans. I even thought of flowers such as dandelions that spread their seeds in the wind. Everything dies but always for a reason.
When I got home my dad was in the kitchen making cube steak, which was mine and his favorite. My brother was in his room; he hadn’t come out for days other than to get food or use the bathroom; maybe he was suffering harder than us.
My mother wasn’t the best mom to Christopher, and my dad wasn’t the best either, yet they loved Chris; he was the first born. After Brittany came into the world almost two years after him he had to grow up more and it was hard. Chris used to fight with mom a lot and yell at her, but since she left it was different. There was no arguing just complete silence of the clock ticking away. Brittany had moved out at fifteenth and had been around the block living with others and just doing her thing for years. My sister had a child named Junior; we didn’t see them much but it was nice to see them. “Nana!” he would shout and it would break my heart.
Months had gone by and everything was still the same. The silence creeped along the rooms and filled us all with depression. I was getting bullied, my brother couldn’t find a good job, and my dad was getting weaker. It was all going down the drain.
“Are you hungry?” My dad spoke up as I tried to fix a site I downloaded music from.
“No dad, I’m good.” After working on it for hours I was finally done and then the unthinkable happened. My dad’s teeth grinded against each other in pain as if his chest was about explode; his eyes were bloodshot and moving everywhere. “Stop dad this isn’t funny!” I pleaded but he kept on. I reached and grab his head as it fell unconscious.
My sister always said she was a phone call away, so I grabbed the phone as soon as I could and called her. “Brittany, something’s wrong with dad!” I yelped my mind was out of control. If this was a trick I would have loved for it to end.
“Call 9-1-1 and do what they say I’m on my way.”
She had hung up so I did what she said. “Hello what’s your emergency?” The lady’s voice spoke.
My voice was dying out like my dad’s last breath. “Something wrong with my dad. I live 100 north church road in Old Fort.” I cried, hoping she would do something fast.
“Okay, ma’am, can you prop his head and put him on ground?”
Putting the phone down, I tried and tried but he was too heavy for a small thirteen-year-old. “I can’t, I can’t please help me!” That’s when the ambulance came. They rushed through the door, pushing me outside into the cold.
It was never cold in March, but it had been so cold it snowed few times which was crazy. I never took notice of how chilly it was till that day. As the rain poured there was nothing else for me to do but cuddle up on the porch swing and cry. I cried so much that I couldn’t see. Even when my brother came back home and tried to comfort me, I pushed him away, scared of who it might be.
“Did they leave you out here with no jacket?” His voice got deeper.
I simply nodded and kept on crying. I couldn’t stop. I had witness the only person left I loved die in front of me it was heart breaking.
My brother pushed through the door, and I heard yelling like, “Sir you can’t be in here,” and my brother cursing at them. He finally came out with a pink jacket my mom had bought me a long time ago for Christmas. It never fit; it was way too big, but now it was snug. My papaw let us in his truck; even though it was cramped it was really warm. My brother didn’t cry this time; I don’t know if he was hiding it or what.
When they finally got my dad in the ambulance, they said they were taking him to the nearest hospital. They had gotten him breathing again, but not on his own. I was happy he was alive; for the most part, he deserved to live. Even though, after my mother had passed six months before, he had promised me, “Alex, I’m not going to live very much longer.” He had said with no pause.
“Dad don’t say that you will live a long time!” I looked at him unpleased.
“I’ll live till your 18th birthday; I promise that far.”
I had shaken my head.
It was ten days after my birthday--my thirteenth birthday. He had to live; he promised. I reassured myself that he was going to live. He may have only had fourteen percent of his heart working, but I knew he would fight through it, like he always did.
It poured harder. My brother and I had taken my dad’s car and drove down the hill to rest a our minds a little, but as soon as we did we got a call saying that our dad had lost consciousness again and they were rushing him to Asheville. My brother pulled out of the parking space, almost hitting a car, but he didn’t even seem to care as the old man flipped him off. I didn’t care either.
We were right behind the ambulance, my brother staying right behind it and me looking out the window praying to God that Dad would make it: “Please god, let my father live. He’s a good man and I need him to be here when I turn eighteen.” I wept as God wasn’t answering my prayers. How can someone you adore and care for die? I had already lost my mother. I had been bullied and told she died because of how ugly I was; it wasn’t fair. God wasn’t fair.
When we got to the hospital, we waited to see him, which felt like days.
“Grant family?”
My papaw nodded at the man in the blue.
“I’m sorry-”
My brother stood up “No don’t be sorry and go fix him! He’s not dead, he’s not dead!” He kept repeating the last part.
“I’m sorry, sir, we did all we could. Um would you like to see him, little girl?” He stared at me.
“No she wouldn’t, you sick bastard!” My brother was furious yet crying.
My sister grabbed me, crying, and told me how when I called her she was eating a banana and choked on it.
I couldn’t help but giggle a little.
My brother didn’t seem too amused.
“Chris, don’t act that way.”
She whispered to him, but I could faintly hear it.
“She was there, Brittany, when he died.”
She nodded.
The thought of my dad dying is just a horrible dream now that repeats every time I hear about someone’s parents or see them. It has been five years since my mom died and it has been four years since my dad died, and I turn eighteen in seven months. It’s not a blessing for me like most; it’s when my dad’s promise truly breaks. I miss him dearly and since that rainy day on March 22nd, I stopped believing in Jesus and my faith in anything else.