Most times when I think about my past, I’m always brought back to the time when my whole world just stopped. May 2, 1981, 6:30 p.m. to be exact. And at 6:31 p.m., when it all started up again, I was 15 years old, and a motherless child.
I am fully aware that I am not the first human who never knew her father, whose single mother died young, and then was left in the hands of someone who just couldn’t hold all the weight. I know there are far too many of us. But, I am the one who, through my pain, discovered my poetry. My words offer a chance to see into me. My story has scars, it may scare some people, and it may make many people uncomfortable. These words on paper helped me discover that no matter what the reaction, it’s ok to remember and give your memory a voice.
I remember even though I knew she had stopped breathing,
I still put my finger under her nose, I knew, for the last time.
Two weeks in a coma and now, there was no air.
I remember walking quietly into the little pink bathroom and letting the giggle leave.
Was laughing just a nervous reaction? Or did part of my sanity just escape from my lips?
I remember getting up and just running.
Thinking only–where am I going to go?
I remember knowing that if I go back into that house,
I do not belong.
I remember watching them lift her out of the bed.
I remember watching them place her on the stretcher.
I remember watching them cover her up.
I remember them leaving with her and not me.
I remember I was 15, and my mother was gone, forever.
I remember now I have to live with all I can’t remember.
Registration Number TXu 2-306-672