AnnaBananuhzBlogger: 2009

Thursday

My Story The Drive (Pt. 2)

The Drive

Driving down that highway not much was being said, I could see his tension, by the grasp on his steering wheel. Sometimes memories are best remember by the small things that happen. Not the actual event at hand, but by the surroundings. I remember the exact moment. The exact place. The merge heading north to Marysville, 70 and 65. Thats when he said the words that make me shiver on this morning. I can feel the coldness of the cab of his truck. The roughness of the motor of his little yellow Chevy pickup truck as it struggled to move fast, though the road never seemed to advance. "If she makes it through this Anna, I will have to divorce her. I cannot take this anymore..." I jolted in my seat, hands in my lap. The sound reverberated through me like a red hot pinball starting in my head...down my throat, resting in the pit of my stomach............. IF.

I was fairly sure although the sensation was great, that I had not moved. The dryness in my open eyes had told that me after blinking a few times. A voiced crept through that cold cab after a few moments of processing. "okay...".

I had not been sure, but without thought, I was fairly sure the voice was my own. The hot ball in my stomach lay dormant. The fire was cold. The rest of my trip to the hospital was quiet. Eucalyptus sillouette flashing by the highways edge kept my blank thoughts, comforting me. Why could I not cry now? Im sure a protection mechanism created by my own body had kept the tears back. The "IF" had definately got a reaction out of me, why was it not consuming me now? Or had it and I was in too much shock to realize it? Somehow that "if" was bigger than I wanted to believe. Perhaps I knew that "if" was all to present...perhaps my heart had already accepted she wasnt going to make it at all.

Arrival and time inbetween is lost. My faded black jeans were holey in the knees, the lady beside me read a newspaper, a kid was on the floor playing with cars. He loudly zoomed past my feet, glaring at me occassionally, obviously knowing he was irritating me. But why could I not remember how I got there. I can still remember the old ER like it was still standing today. I sat closest to the door back to the Emergency door entrance. I stared around the room. I could see faces of the sick, and faces that were even far off better than where I was at the moment.

This whole world was happening around me and not one face seemed to realize where I was, or where I had been in the hours prior. Except one face, the lady with the paper, who frequently peeked at me from the corner of her eye. I adjusted in my seat. She did too. I got up to get a drink at the fountain. Pointy paper cup, metallic water...one drink that would last over the next hour, I'd assume. I dumped it after the first sip. Time held no frame here. In my mind a ice bluish, clincal atmosphere holds me. I sat in a seat facing the doors, nervously awaiting my fathers face to peer through to let me back. Little did I know how long that wait would be.

The hole in the knee of my jeans held my attention for alittle while, how it got there I have no memory of. But why in this moment does it intrigue me so? I picked until i had a small ball of it in my hand. I glanced up to meet the stare of the same woman. I looked away, to look back and see her still peering at me over her the top of her paper, glancing over glasses that I felt the urge to push back up with a pointed finger. I felt this woman could see my thoughts. The house, the paramedics, the sounds. The horrible sounds. I felt a sense of shame. I shivered and shifted again.

The doors came open and I was at attention again. My dad. I can barely remember his face at this point. How much time had passed? We walked through the doors and the sounds were different, low murmurs and hums of voices throughout the halls. Beeping. The beeping was loud and annoying in my thoughts. My mind had been so quiet and dull. These sounds were different. Somehow my reality had shifted. I looked around for any familiar face to only find faces peering back at me much like the woman had in the waiting room. Over glasses, over papers...conversations stopping, backs turning. Why did this bother me so?

I turned a corner still occupied by the faces, to a hand on my shoulder redirecting me. It was my dad. I refocused and turned. There she was. I stopped. My breath had stopped. My mind jolted again. A wave of flush washed over me head to toe. My chest was clenched by an invisibile force. My heart crumpled. I felt the urge to fold. This was her, but this was not. I stood beside her still focused, had I not breathed yet? Her hand reached out to me, I retracted. A wave of anger flew over me. The tears came. I looked at my dad, I saw his reaction too. He had the same angry face I felt showing through on my own.

I turned to my father, buried face to his chest and wept. I glanced back at her pale white sweaty face. Pink bucket on her lap heaving heavily under her struggling breaths, her bed in a sitting position. Hands to her side in obvious effort to breathe, she stared at the ceiling. At a time like this, she stares at the ceiling, when my focus was completely on her. At some time I had turned fully facing her, I had not felt myself move, but this is how I stood. Squared, fists tight. I stared at her.

The voice that had emerged from me had not been my own. It was loud. It was furious. It was....honest. "I HATE YOU, How can you do this to us?.......". My dad's hands grasped my shoulders. Her face still facing the ceiling above never shifted. Never looking at me, her eyes closed. Her stature never changed. I got no answer. Overwhelmed by the severity of everything suddenly falling around me, I could not stand before her anymore.

My feet moved and yet my head stayed right in that room. Every word I wanted to say overwhelmed my thoughts. Had I been reciting my anger aloud? I do not know, all I can remember is hitting those same doors with the same anticipation I had entered them. Anxious to walk through them....my mind dulls and I cannot remember much else of my night......

Its funny how the mind can play tricks. I can remember the wood grain of the old hospital doors. I can remember the people, not so much faces. I can remember the blue of the walls, the hum of my fathers truck engine. I can remember that ball of jean balled into my fist walking back down that hall. But I cannot remember leaving that hospital. I cannot remember going home or the long drive to get there. Im sure my father or I had something to say. Why did those thoughts evade me now?

But yet, I can still vididly recall the throbbing of my feet the rocks had left or the shoes I wore. How can I remember the dishevled red of my hair as I stared sullenly into the mirror of the hospital bathrooms mirror? How can I remember the night shirt I still wore, wishing I had dressed warmer? Why could I not remember regretting my words? Why could I not remember wondering if she was going to pull through? WHY? Perhaps I already knew, but my body just hadnt disgested it just yet. My limbs hadnt gotten the news, just yet, that my life had just changed, forever.

My Story Preface/Intro (Pt. 1)

Okay so I have written some things in the past that I found therapuetic in doing so. I have written about some events in my life. And Im not even sure what I intend to do with them...But I decided I will put them up in my blog for now. I dont know if I want to use it as a creative tool to help other people or if it will simply stay, a blog. I had high marks in school for English and I do love to do it. I write more often than I think people may know. Also, I don't want to make anyone mad my publishing my writing, but I wanna share. I have alot of family on here, and my intentions are not to offend or upset anyone. I dont know why..nor do I know whats posessing me this morning. What I write is very personal nor is it a secret. But I want to get it out. I feel entitled to do so...so here is a introduction. Read on if you wish. The rest will go to blog as it progresses, mind you this is a rough draft.....

Anna

PREFACE

Funny how the mind flashes forward and back through memories that are clear as yesterday. When life holds no time frame. The pain and outside senses in tune, the coldness, the silence, the small sounds happening around. But the presence of time dissapates. Pushing your thoughts back and forth in a blinding and confusing recollection, that has you struggling for what is truth and what is not. You actually find yourself in a moment where you wonder if what your remembering ever happened at all. Then the truth creeps in like an unfriendly stranger, reminding you indeed, that the worse has happened.

I don't know what has jolted me out of bed this morning. Whats required me like a puppet to sit here at this keyboard and write. My fingers are flittering fast, as if attached to invisible strings, but cannot keep up with what is coming to mind. My mind has brought me here many times over the last two decades, but only one other rare occasion has it brought me here. I wrote, what ended up being a 7 page essay, I guess you can call it, about it. Not about the day my life changed, but about how the events following effected me. What started out a sad affectionate story, ended up angry. I posted that page online and had received email after email about how the story effected people. After a year I did not re-read that essay. I went back to it after a morning like this. It was gone. I had not relived that moment in a year, the web provider had discontinued the page. A morning like this, I found myself frantic. I had lost that moment. Once again what my mind had sifted as truth was once again a moment of wondering if it had ever happened at all.

As I write this...even now...I feel a sense of "am losing it?" Though I am fully aware, I am not. There are situations in life that are beyond anyones full ability to cope. I have coped. I live a full, functional, happy life. Yet mornings like this my fingers tremble. My heart pounds at the thought of it all, why so vivid now? Why does the loss of her leave me so fragile today? At a time where I am unsuspecting and unfairyly blind sided by it? I cannot make sense of it, so I write. It has helped in the past. I know not of the effect, if any, it will have later. Perhaps I won't lose this one. Panic and anxiety creep back in......even after almost 20 years later.

Monday