The Story of Me- Part 2

Okay it is time for part 2 of the story of me. It is very hard to know what to write about. I won't bore you with details of starting kindergarten, which I really don't remember anyway, or of my first few years at school. I will fast forward from newborn to the next major event in my life, the death of my dad. I have written about it before and it is a painful thing for me, but it is part of my life, so here goes. I don't remember when he was diagnosed, I am sure that I wasn't told. After all how do you tell an 8 year old that her dad is dying of cancer. I guess the easy thing to do is just not talk about it, and that was how my mom decided to handle this with me anyway. I am sure that my older sisters knew. M was 16 and T was 19, I don't know if D knew right away or not she was only 10, she turned 11 the month before he died. My memories of my dad are so fleeting, I look back at pictures trying to remember, but even that isn't working anymore. I have a few memories that I will cherish forever. He was the one who nicknamed me Sam-bo. That nickname stuck and my sisters and neices still call me that.

He had a lot of good days and he was at home for most of his illness. He had a few stays in the hospital, which we went to go see him faithfully. He called us every night to tell us goodnight. I remember one Easter we got all dressed up, went to church and then to the hospital so dad could see us in our Easter dresses. I also remember the last time I saw him alive. It was on a Saturday and he was in the hospital. They had called the family in, at the time I did not know that, but I realize now that was why everyone was there. Anyway my mom had taken us to see dad and my granny came and picked up D and I to spend the night with her so my mom could stay with my dad. He looked awful. He was in and out of it, his skin looked yellow. It was scary as a child to see your parent like that. We did not stay long. My granny took us to her apartment and we spent the night and the phone rang the next morning and before my granny answered it I told her that dad had died. Sure enough it was my mom calling to tell my granny. I don't even remember crying, although I am sure that I did. The next few days are all a blur. There were so many people at our house and we had to go to the viewing at the funeral home. I don't remember ever going to a funeral home before that it was weird, everyone talking in hushed tones, asking you how you are. Your deceased father laying stiff in a coffin. Things an 8 year old should not have to deal with, things I still don't hink I have really dealt with. I just keep it pushed far back in my mind and every now and then I will let it get to me.

The funeral was even more surreal and then there was the graveside service (burial). I remember standing there and the school bus going by and I wished I was on it. It was wierd to go back to school. We had missed a few days and everyone just kind of looked at you like something was wrong when we went back. People treated me different, for a little while anyway. Children don't know how to deal with death. Things at home were different too. My dad was gone, sudddenly mom was a single parent, raising us by herself. So she moved my granny in next door to help her out. Shortly after my granny moved in I moved in with her. I had it made at my granny's. I had her undivided attention and I had my own room and my own phone and my own TV, what else could an 8 year old want. It was a good thing that I moved in with granny, after my dad's death my mom decided that she wanted to relive her teenage days. You see she was married at 16 and a mommy by 17, so she did not get to live out her wild teenege days. Anyway I was very glad to have my grandmother to help raise me, she sheltered me from a lot.