(no subject)
I woke up this morning with two things in my head: One, lyrics to a song... 'Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July...' and Two, the image of my biological father holding my brothers limp body while he lay in the hospital dying. The cheeriness of the song conflicted with the white walled image in my mind but somehow they both seem suiting. As soon as I wake these are the things that come to me on this day; a little bit of happiness as well as memories of a tragedy.
Today is the anniversary of my brothers drowning. He was ten months old, was bathing in the bathtub. I remember the day, or at least pieces of it though I was only three years old. I remember sitting on my parents bed waiting for the police to arrive and for my father to come home. I remember that their blankets were rumpled and I remember repeating the story my mother told me I was supposed to relay to the police over and over in my head. I remember what my brother looked like under the water but I'm not sure if that was something I fabricated at the time in order to believe or understand the story myself or if I actually saw him there. The investigators that re-opened the case when I was fifteen felt that my mother had showed my brother to me after the fact but I really don't know how they came to this conclusion. She was crazy, she was doped up, but I don't think she was entirely heartless, or at least that's what I like to believe. She's crazy but she's wounded as well. I always try to keep this in mind.
Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July...
I ran into my mother yesterday afternoon. James and I took Zoe to the carnival and as we walked onto the grounds I heard someone near us say, 'Hi Zoe!' I didn't recognize the voice at first and my automatic response was to lean down and whisper, 'Say hello Zo-zo' before I looked up and realized it was my mother. I didn't really know how to handle the situation so I continued walking as if I hadn't noticed her at all. She was there with her foster mother, Mary Shepard, as well as a little girl who was probably a child from Mary's home. My mother followed about forty feet behind us for a few minutes pointing Zoe out to the young girl but didn't harass us beyond that. I was grateful because I half expected her to make a scene-- She's never entirely stable at all, let alone around this anniversary. No one in my family is. It was the Fourth of July weekend last year that I last spoke to her and the terrible mess at the river transpired. One year ago today. It doesn't seem that long.
People dancing, people laughing, a man selling ice cream singing Italian songs...
My brother was in the hospital for two weeks before he died. He was on life support and when the doctors finally told my biological father that it was no use and he'd have to make the decision to 'pull the plug' he was crushed. He held my brother and cried and then my brother died in his arms. He died right there as my biological father was desperately trying to come to terms with the situation. Mikal Bram say's that he's thankful for this because he doesn't think that he would have been able to handle making that choice, he'd always have that 'what if' tugging at his heart strings. My brothers lungs had just filled with water too much, he couldn't breath air.
Eicay varé, eisé nardé, can you dig it, yes I can, and I've been waiting such a long time, for Saturday...
So today... Today, today, today. I'm going to take Zoe to the parade downtown so we can see the fire trucks and the little old men in their funny hats and their tiny cars. I'm going to take her to the Barbeque at the recreational grove and then, perhaps, if she isn't exhausted, I'll take her to the carnival once more so she can have the chance to ride on the dragon roller coaster ride that used to be my favorite when I was too short to ride on any of the 'big kid' rides myself. I'm going to desperately attempt to enjoy myself and give this day a new emotion, paint it a new color in my heart.
Perhaps tonight when I watch the fireworks instead of dwelling on the fact that my brother never had the opportunity to see such a fiery display of beauty bloom in a night sky above him blocking out the stars. I will instead be happy with the fact that this is the third time Zoe has experienced it and there will be many Fourth of July's after this for her to watch those flying sparks fall.
(My cousin, when she was young, was so scared of the fireworks the first time we went to watch them with my family here up north. She hid in the car for a long time and then finally, when she came out she asked me if I would go with her to catch the stars... She thought all the fire and sparks were stars as they descended downward before blinking out. She wanted to catch stars)
Tonight I'll be catching stars with my daughter and rejoicing in the life that grows inside of me. A fire dancer like my friend, Donna. Tonight it will feel like a Saturday in the park...
Another day in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July, another day in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July, people talking, really smiling, a man playing his guitar, and singing for us all...
Thank you, Chicago.
Today is the anniversary of my brothers drowning. He was ten months old, was bathing in the bathtub. I remember the day, or at least pieces of it though I was only three years old. I remember sitting on my parents bed waiting for the police to arrive and for my father to come home. I remember that their blankets were rumpled and I remember repeating the story my mother told me I was supposed to relay to the police over and over in my head. I remember what my brother looked like under the water but I'm not sure if that was something I fabricated at the time in order to believe or understand the story myself or if I actually saw him there. The investigators that re-opened the case when I was fifteen felt that my mother had showed my brother to me after the fact but I really don't know how they came to this conclusion. She was crazy, she was doped up, but I don't think she was entirely heartless, or at least that's what I like to believe. She's crazy but she's wounded as well. I always try to keep this in mind.
Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July...
I ran into my mother yesterday afternoon. James and I took Zoe to the carnival and as we walked onto the grounds I heard someone near us say, 'Hi Zoe!' I didn't recognize the voice at first and my automatic response was to lean down and whisper, 'Say hello Zo-zo' before I looked up and realized it was my mother. I didn't really know how to handle the situation so I continued walking as if I hadn't noticed her at all. She was there with her foster mother, Mary Shepard, as well as a little girl who was probably a child from Mary's home. My mother followed about forty feet behind us for a few minutes pointing Zoe out to the young girl but didn't harass us beyond that. I was grateful because I half expected her to make a scene-- She's never entirely stable at all, let alone around this anniversary. No one in my family is. It was the Fourth of July weekend last year that I last spoke to her and the terrible mess at the river transpired. One year ago today. It doesn't seem that long.
People dancing, people laughing, a man selling ice cream singing Italian songs...
My brother was in the hospital for two weeks before he died. He was on life support and when the doctors finally told my biological father that it was no use and he'd have to make the decision to 'pull the plug' he was crushed. He held my brother and cried and then my brother died in his arms. He died right there as my biological father was desperately trying to come to terms with the situation. Mikal Bram say's that he's thankful for this because he doesn't think that he would have been able to handle making that choice, he'd always have that 'what if' tugging at his heart strings. My brothers lungs had just filled with water too much, he couldn't breath air.
Eicay varé, eisé nardé, can you dig it, yes I can, and I've been waiting such a long time, for Saturday...
So today... Today, today, today. I'm going to take Zoe to the parade downtown so we can see the fire trucks and the little old men in their funny hats and their tiny cars. I'm going to take her to the Barbeque at the recreational grove and then, perhaps, if she isn't exhausted, I'll take her to the carnival once more so she can have the chance to ride on the dragon roller coaster ride that used to be my favorite when I was too short to ride on any of the 'big kid' rides myself. I'm going to desperately attempt to enjoy myself and give this day a new emotion, paint it a new color in my heart.
Perhaps tonight when I watch the fireworks instead of dwelling on the fact that my brother never had the opportunity to see such a fiery display of beauty bloom in a night sky above him blocking out the stars. I will instead be happy with the fact that this is the third time Zoe has experienced it and there will be many Fourth of July's after this for her to watch those flying sparks fall.
(My cousin, when she was young, was so scared of the fireworks the first time we went to watch them with my family here up north. She hid in the car for a long time and then finally, when she came out she asked me if I would go with her to catch the stars... She thought all the fire and sparks were stars as they descended downward before blinking out. She wanted to catch stars)
Tonight I'll be catching stars with my daughter and rejoicing in the life that grows inside of me. A fire dancer like my friend, Donna. Tonight it will feel like a Saturday in the park...
Another day in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July, another day in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July, people talking, really smiling, a man playing his guitar, and singing for us all...
Thank you, Chicago.