Maybe I'm Crazy

Memories

One of my early memories, a real one this time, wasn't quite as good as those simple recorded videos. Actually it was really terrible. One of those moments where you wonder how everything could ever possibly go back to normal again. I was seven, my sister Hanna was five. At the time, my parents had been divorced for about 2 years. My mom had moved us out of our family home, and because of everything that had happened, she was going back to school and working. We lived with my grandma, Mary, my mom's mom. I know that it wasn't how my mom had pictured her life going, but I loved living with my grandma. Despite the circumstances that brought us there, I still look back on most of that time with happiness and a feeling of safety.

My mom became pretty vocal about her distaste for my dad. I know she didn't mean for me or my sister to hear those things. Most of the things that we heard, we probably heard as a result of being two nosey and curious children, up past our bedtime and listening in on conversations that we were never supposed to hear. Regardless of how these facts met our little ears and little minds, they did.

My dad was granted partial custody of my sister and I, in what had turned out to be an ugly battle. We were staying with him for a night, but because of the conversations that I had heard my mom and grandma having, I was scared. I knew that my dad would never hurt me, or my sister, but from the way that everything seemed from my perspective, he was the worst person alive at that time. I didn't want to be around him. It made me sick to my stomache knowing I had to go and be with my dad that did drugs. My dad that left our family high and dry.

That night, my dad took us to dinner at my grandparents house. I loved going over there, but lately with everything that was happening it just didn't feel the same. We sat around the table, probably eating steak and potatoes. Everything was going fine, I felt eyes on me all the time. Mainly my grandmas, clearly concerned with the two of us and how we were affected. She did her best to make everything feel normal. Her efforts were almost too much though. Hanna and I knew everything, so her attempt to normalize the situation made thing worse. Nothing was normal. Even dinner couldn't end normal.

My grandpa was an alcoholic. We sat around the table eating. Papa always with a crumpled up paper towel in hand. His face always beat red from the alcohol. Always wiping away the sweat dripping down his face, because he couldn't eat anything without massive amounts of horseradish.

The more he drank, the more he wanted a fight, he wanted conflict. My grandma was always there, a calm presence trying and trying to cool his temper. Sometimes it would work, but this time it didn't. The time that it needed to work, the time that there were impressionable minds watching.

For some unspoken reason, there always seemed to be an animosity between my dad and my grandpa. There was some conflict between them that me and my sister couldn't quite put our fingers on. That night, my grandpa became mean, and then my dad became mean. They were fighting verbally, and I can't quite remember what it was about. My grandma starting crying begging them to stop, me and Hanna sat quietly with our heads down. Eventually my dad got up yelling all the way to the door, me and Hanna following behind. My grandpa jumping up from his place at the table. We moved out of the way and into the car. I can't remember anything else but the sight of my grandpa lying on the cement driveway, blood coming out of his mouth, struggling to stand. As we sped off, I saw my grandma standing there, shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. Looking defeated.

Me and my sister woke up that next morning in a home that no longer felt like home to us. Like little kids do, it was probably early when we awoke. Also as little kids do, we were immediately hungry, there was no sign of my dad, but something was cooking on the stove. It smelled terrible, unnatural and somehow, no matter how young I was, I was able to connect the dots and I immediately knew exactly what it was.

I was very little the first time that I ever smelled Meth. To this day, that disgusting smell still permeates my nose from time to time.I went and knocked on my dads bedroom door, leaving my sister Hanna in the living room to wait. Nothing. I knocked again and still nothing. His door was locked. I didn't want to be in that house for one more second. Using the home phone, I called my mom, who immediately hung up and rushed over to get us. We waited, two scared little girls who had seen more than we ever should have.

When she showed up, she was in momma bear mode. She made sure that the two of us were ok, and before we could blink, she was stomping to the back room and knocking my dads door straight off its hinges. We heard yelling, and before we knew it they were within eyesight. My dad was angry, and my mom was too. Until then, I had never seen him get violent. He pushed my mom, hard enough to cause her to fall back and create a hole in the wall. I was shaking, completely helpless and speechless. Sitting there stunned, the only thing that broke my trance, was my little sisters voice, on the phone. My five year old little sister had dialed 911.