You Are My Only Sunshine

Chapter 4: My Grandparents Know Better

Chapter 4

My Grandparents Know Better

The counselor’s office brought back a lot of unwanted memories. Every time he mentioned depression, I found myself snap to attention. He sat there and asked me questions, mostly about my mom, even though I didn’t want to answer them. And I made it obvious that I didn’t want to, too. I fed him short answers, nothing too close to what I was feeling… I made sure to just tell him the facts.

                I drove home and was thankful that my dad wouldn’t be back for another hour. I slipped into the house, ignoring my grumbling stomach and headed straight for my room. It was still dark, my blinds were closed, my clothes were scattered around, and my bed was still unmade. I shut the door behind me and crawled under the inviting covers.

Then I found myself simply staring at the wall. The thought of doing nothing was sad, and I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t motivated to do anything at all. I’ve gotten this feeling and done this before, but it’s never felt this bad. This reminded me of my mom.

                I didn’t want to think; but I couldn’t help the thoughts that cluttered my mind.

                Mom had depression; I even remember how I had figured it out. She didn’t want me to know, so she and dad tried their best to hide it from me. But it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.

                I remember that some days just weren’t her good days, or majority of them weren’t. She’d come home almost every day and go to her room. Then she would burrow under her covers and stare out the window, her eyes glazed over, watching the day fade away. She never looked happy and usually had this sad look in her eyes. I’d come in sometimes, wondering if she wanted to play with me, or something along those lines. Sometimes it took her awhile to realize I was in the room, let alone that I had talked to her. When she would she’d snap out of it slightly. I could still see the glazed look in her eyes though, and she would make up an excuse, something along the lines of being tired.

                I’d hear her cry sometimes.

I was too afraid to get up and go by her.

                Adults aren’t supposed to cry, I’d thought.

                One day when I was in my own bed and I heard her crying, I remember that I wanted to go in her room, to lie in the bed next to her and hug her. To ask her why she was sad and explain to her that I had a bad day also, that Blake, a mean boy, had broken a jump rope I had been using on purpose during Recess. But I never gained the courage.

                I’d hear my dad go into her room and start talking to her. He usually would calm her down so that her sniffles became less recurrent. I’d hear him talk about good things; vacations, their wedding, grandma and grandpa’s hotel.

                Grandma and grandpa’s hotel…

                I made that thought go away, a pang hitting my heart. I couldn’t think of that right now, I couldn’t. It hurt too much.

                Once she died, when I was thirteen, I had overheard my relatives talking of her. Curious, I stayed, and within a few minutes I learned that what she had wasn’t simply depression, but a medical form of depression. Bipolar Disorder.

                I might even have that.

                I heard the door slam, signaling that my dad was home. I listened to him do the things he usually did. Set down his keys. Walk to his room. Put away his shoes and jacket. I heard him near my door and shut my eyes when I heard the knob turn. He stood there for a moment, watching me I imagined. Then, after a while he shut the door, leaving me alone again.