Even though I clearly remember all the sanity me and my little family went through. I never wanted them to know their mother just up and disappear on them. I took a deep breath and was about ready to tell them the whole truth. They already knew too much. But right before I could speak, I became suddenly unspoken-less. They gave me this look, not a look of sadness, more like a look of pride and honor. They both huddle close to me and gave me a hug. The words that came from their mouths next. I 'll never forget
My parents both grew up in a small south Georgia town called Pelham. My mother, Nancy, was the daughter of a farmer and a seamstress. She was the oldest of four girls. My father, Howard, was also the son of a farmer and a house wife. My dad was the ninth of eleven children. Mom and dad were high school sweethearts through out their high school days. They got married August 15, 1971. They will be celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary this next month.
The ride home had been the most excruciating car ride of my life. Grasping this all new information, coping with grief and guilt had been extremely grueling. As my stepfather brought my sister and I home, nothing was to be said, no words were leaving my mouth.Our different home, we all limped our ways to our beds, and cried ourselves to sleep with nothing but silence remaining. Death had surprised me once
I was born in Escondido, California on March 10th, 1998 to my amazing parents Dennis and Brandi Shenenberger. My parents have always liked to say that I’ve been difficult even before I was born due to the fact my mother had to be put on long-term bed rest to prevent her from going into pre-term labor. Since I was the oldest child and the second oldest grandchild on both my maternal and paternal side I was undoubtedly spoiled as a child.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
Fast-forwarding through car rides and waiting rooms with only certain scenes not distorted, a doctor with the straggly beginnings of beard asking for the power of attorney, a police officer handing me a handful tickets related to the accident, and finally a hospital room whose oppressive lemony scent didn’t quite match dirty yellow of the walls. Ribbons of my mothers clothes littering the bed and floor where they had to be cut off, and ultimately my mother, pale as the thin cotton sheet beginning to blot red in certain spots that they had wrapped her in. I pulled my chair to the side of the room not littered with machines inextricably tied to my mother, and we stared at each other for a long while before she finally took my hand in the capacity that she could around blood and embedded glass shards on the back of hers and gave me a calm humorless smile that said more than
On the day my father died, I remember walking home from school with my cousin on a November fall day, feeling the falling leaves dropping off the trees, hitting my cold bare face. Walking into the house, I could feel the tension and knew that something had happened by the look on my grandmother’s face. As I started to head to the refrigerator, my mother told me to come, and she said that we were going to take a trip to the hospital.
My grandmother died when I was thirteen; her funeral was simple. No mention of magical powers or anything crazy that my mother would be embarrassed about or that my brother would glance over at me, raising his eyebrow. When we dug through her seemingly endless mountains of belongings, my mother told me that I could keep a few of her possessions. I took the things...
In March of 1998, my father was rushed to the hospital because of a heart attack. I remember getting home from basketball practice without my mother home. Instead, my sister was there with her children. The fact that my sister was there was familiar to me, but something did not seem right. My sister stayed with me and did not tell me what happened. Later that night, after my sister left, the news that followed would prepare me to encounter the most defining moment of my life.
When he first left I felt a burning inside of me. I wanted him to come back, for everything to go back to normal. I couldn't comprehend how someone who cared so much about their children no longer showed up. I can't reason with any explanation. A father's love should be unconditional, he's to guide his children in the right path while being a part of their growth. His absence has hurt me, deeply. People who found out I don't see my father would react as if it were normal and unimportant, but until you have felt that part of your life ripped from you, it is difficult to understand how much it actually affects a