Die In Your Arms

Chapter 4 - Memories

I was running around my living room, making my Barbie Dream Car spin around with her in it. Every time she flew out I would try and catch her in mid-air. I was only 10 years old, I didn't really care about a lot of things. I started feeling dizzy, then I threw up all over the floor. That was the 5th time that week I had thrown up. "Maybe you should sit down, sweetie. Take little sips of water." my mother told me. I sat down on the couch, grabbing the cup full of water, I overheard my mother on the phone. "Yes, Dr. Dotson?" she asked. "Yes, Alexa threw up again. That's the 4th or 5th time this week! I'm really worried, that appointment I made, it's at 5 right? Okay thanks." she hung up the phone and rushed to me, hugging me. "You'll be okay," she whispered.

I put on my big coat and boots and sat in my fathers truck. It was a red Toyota, it had the strong smell of him that I loved. I sat it the front seat with my mom and we drove to the doctor. Of course the stomach virus was going around, that's all, I thought to myself. We walked in and the doctor grabbed my hand. "We're gonna give you a check-up, okay?" she asked me. "Okay!" I smiled. I'd always loved checkups because I was always a 'good girl' and got suckers.

What I thought would just be urine in a cup turned into blood-work. I cried in pain at the sharp needle piercing my arm. It hurt way more than the ear piercings I had gotten. I squeezed my mothers hand, whispering, "I'm scared." She hugged me. "It'll be over soon."  

When we got the results I snuck around the corner, listening to their conversation. "She has adenocarcinoma, the most common stomach cancer-" I gasped at that silently. I had cancer? My hair is going to fall out, I thought. I played with a strand of hair that'd soon be gone. I couldn't have cancer, I've never thought it was that. I put my ear up to the door once again. "Come back Monday, if it spreads we will have to take her to the Children's Cancer Hospital." The only time I've had to go to the hospital was for a sprained ankle. I didn't want to go.

The next few days I clung to my mother, waking up from nightmares of me on my deathbed. I would have the same dream and wake up screaming. I had woken up one morning to a clump of hair laying on my pillow. It was mine. I gasped and clung to it, praying it was not mine. I found a hat and put it on, I was in the house and my mother thought it was silly. She pulled it off and gasped, I unclenched my fist full of hair and fell to my knees crying. "Mommy, I'm really scared." She picked me up and held me tight, not planning on letting go. I squirmed out so I could breathe. I had cancer, I had to own up to it.

September 29, 2006 

That morning I woke up from my nurse, at 11 I was more aware of what was going on. She turned on the news, I rubbed my eyes and tuned in. "2 locals were driving to their homes when a drunk driver hit them!" I focused on the two locals.  

It was my mother and father.  

I bit my sleeve and muffled my sobs, but it didn't help. I sobbed so hard that I couldn't see through my tears. They were dead. I was basically and orphan. "Please," I begged through sobs. "please don't take me into an orphanage." Dr. Dotson wrapped her arms around me. "I'll take you in as my own," she whispered. And she did.

I walked into the funeral home, the two caskets beside each other. My father used to sneak behind the house and pulled out a cigar and light it up, inhaling the smoke. I would hide away and peek out the window, knowing it was bad for him I had no clue what to do. If I told my mother and he was drunk, he'd get me alone and beat me. So I never said anything, until one day I tattled and got my beating, hearing fighting downstairs. I was scared so I would hide under my bed. "This is my fault," I would whisper. I was only 8 then and I didn't know what I was in for. Sometimes when I would get dizzy my father would say, "Got some of my weed, did ya?" and my mother would slap him and make him live in a motel for 3 days.  

Sometimes I heard slapping and hitting, sometimes punching. I would hear a person falling to the ground screaming, even swearing. I knew all I could do was hide until it was all over. I remember hiding in my closet as my drunk father ran up to the room screaming, "Where are you?! It's beating time!" I'd squeeze my eyes shut with my knees wrapped up in my arms.

At the funeral I wanted to close his casket, and I sobbed at my dead mother. Everyone would say, "She was a daddy's girl." And sometimes they would add, "Them tears she's sheddin' ain't for her mother."  My tears were for my mother, not for my cruel father. I heard more and more comments about my tears and I stopped.

When I heard them all, I dried my tears and ran out, never coming to the other funerals.

But the day I met Emily Grace will need its own chapter because it was a huge chapter in my life.