Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts

Sunday, January 28, 2007

In Memoriam

I finished that paper for English. Let me know what you think! (Or, family members- if I screwed something up!)

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My six-year-old sister sat in the navy blue leather seat, grasping the arms tightly. Our two cousins, E---- and J-----, took off, pushing the seat’s back, and [Shrewd] went flying down the hall, giggling uncontrollably. I laughed and ran alongside them. “Me next!” I cried.

They stopped right before they careened into the wall, and I climbed up onto the seat as soon as it was vacated by my sister. I braced myself for the ride, excited. Just then, my mother came out into the hall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she cried, confiscating our ride. “Your grandmother’s wheelchair is not a toy! Get back into the room before you wake everyone up!”

I know, even if I don’t remember, that I was four years old that day. I’d picked out my pretty Easter dress that Mummy had made me, with the big flowers. [Shrewd] had a matching dress. She remembers when we got these dresses, and how excited she was about the whole affair. She wore her dress to school, despite our mother’s cautioning, and had tripped on the playground and ripped it. Luckily Mummy was good at fixing dresses as well as making them.

You can see in the pictures that my short, curly hair was in pigtails, like always; I wore pigtails almost every day because my hair was too short and sparse for anything else. I remember that I liked pigtails, but I wanted thick, long hair. We were at my grandmother’s nursing home, having my birthday party, because Grandma was too sick to come to our house in Epsom. Grandma couldn’t even leave her bed. We were all gathered in her room, Mummy and Daddy and Aunt J---- and Uncle D-----, and my little tow-headed brother who was not yet two, and Grandpa [my last name], of course. All because it was my birthday.

I remember the wheelchair was returned to it’s proper location, and I climbed up and sat in it like it was a chair, because I hadn’t been allowed to ride in it. [Shrewd] rode in it, but not me, and that wasn’t fair because I was the birthday girl. But Mummy shooed me over to the bed. “It’s time for cake, pumpkin,” she said, “I’ll put it on Grandma’s tray so she can see it, okay?”

I used the arm rest as a handle and pulled my white knee, covered in tights, up onto the hospital bed sheet, then crawled over to curl up next to Grandma. Her hair was very thin and I could see dark spots on her scalp, like scabs or something. She was very pale, because she was sick and stuck in the hospital room. There were flowers, and balloons because it was my birthday, but it still felt and smelled like a hospital. Grandma smiled at me, and I smiled back, and Mummy set the cake down on the TV tray. It was so pretty! I was born in October so the big rectangular cake had a beautiful fall tree with red, orange, yellow, and brown leaves, and all the leaves were M&M’s with just those colors, and some of the M&M leaves had fallen to the ground around the tree’s base. There were five candles on it, four because I was four and one to grow on. Everyone gathered around and sang, and then Grandma helped me blow out the candles.

I didn’t know then that she was in the nursing home because she had brain cancer and only had a short time to live. I didn’t know she was going to die, and it would be the first time my sister would see Daddy cry and ever after she’d have problems with death; I didn’t know that [The Brother] would never remember her, and I didn’t know that I would have only one memory of her, ever, and that would be of sitting next to her in my beautiful dress that my mother made and of her helping me blow out the candles on my big, beautiful birthday cake with M&M leaves.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Stormin' Yer Brain

We're supposed to write a paper for English on "a significant event in your life, but preferably one which does not have an immediate significance that's obviously apparent and one which you don't even understand the significance of when you start writing." Wait-- if I don't understand the significance of it, how do I know it's significant at all?

But I brainstormed. I can't pick any of the really significant moments in my life because they're too personal, and the significance is too obvious. So here are my ideas:

-My fourth birthday party, which I mostly remember from stories but which I have two vivid images of-- climbing up next to my ailing grandmother in her nursing-home bed to have her help me blow out the candles on my M&M cake, and getting chastised by my mother for playing with the wheelchair.

-When my mother discovered that I thought "that's gay" meant "that's stupid" and she sat me down and explained to me about homosexuality and tolerance

-Getting my mouth washed out with soap for saying "that sucks" when I was eleven

-The daughter of Miss Martha, my daycare lady, telling me about the concept of reincarnation as we cleaned up Cheerios that were spilled on the kitchen floor, then making a sandwich with three slices of bread so it was extra big

-My now-friend, at the time just an annoying kid at daycare who was way too smart for his own good, teaching me to play chess and not explaining all the rules, so he could surprise me with them and he'd win

-Shrewd and the other older kids at Miss Martha's making fun of me, so I cried and they called me a crybaby, and left me behind on the front lawn when they went off and played together

-The first time I wrote a story about a mutant, when I was eight, and how I showed it to my grandmother and she was shocked that I'd even be interest in things like that, since I didn't seem like the type (heh)

-Going to a Catholic mass with a friend in second grade, and then afterward having my mother tell me why she didn't believe in Jesus.

Loquatia votes for the fourth birthday. Opinions?

Friday, January 5, 2007

Forgetting A Soul

When I was in high school I wasn't as shy as I am now. But I was still very shy, and as a result I tended not to talk too much. I wasn't a particularly memorable person. This always bothered me. Part of my beliefs includes the concept that when you die, your soul lives on on the earth as a part of all those who remember you. When people forget you, you start to fade away. I know this sounds weird to most people but it's just how I feel. But this means that being remembered is important to me.

One day senior year I came home crying, because I knew I was supposed to get teacher recommendations for my college applications and I couldn't think of a single teacher who would remember me well enough to be qualified to write such a note. The lack of the recommendations didn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that I would leave at the end of the year and no one at that school would remember who the heck I was. I tried to confide in my mother, and she gave me a spiel about living for yourself, and doing good for yourself, not to be remembered, but she never understood my faith. But my Latin teacher had me for four years and still forgot my name, so I thought, there's no way anyone will remember me.

There's a point to all of this. My sister went to visit her high school math teacher yesterday, to talk about student teaching, and she called me afterwards to tell me that the teacher at the front desk had seen her write her name to sign in and said, "There's been a lot of X's that have gone to school here. Are you related to anyone I might know?"

"Well, my brother is [The Brother]," she began. "I don't know him," the teacher replied. "My sister is [Basiorana]," Shrewd offered. "OH! I know HER! She had the COOLEST jewelry! You have to tell her Ms. J says hey!"

Ms. J was my art teacher. And while it seems my actual artistic skills didn't make that much of an impression, apparently my jewelry did. So I guess I won't be forgotten after all. Or at least my accessory choices won't be.