Looking Back

So here I am now. It's been four years since my mom passed away. I feel like things are easier to handle now, but of course I have my good and bad days. I still have so many questions. So many "what ifs". I still carry so much guilt for her death...I mentioned before that she used to beg me to stay home and spend time with her, and I explained that the reason why I didn't was because I hated seeing her suffer. I look back now and realize how it must have looked from her point of view.

She spent every waking moment in that bedroom. Mind you, it was a small bedroom. She was constantly overwhelmed with endless pain and nausea. My dad was usually home, but there was only so much he could say or do to comfort her. All she wanted was a little extra attention. Just to know that I cared and that I wanted to be with her.

I see now that if I had maybe spent more time with her, even if we couldn't do much, it would have relieved her of some of the pain, in a way. Maybe if I had, she would have been happier, and would have had more motivation to eat right so she could get better faster. Maybe if that was case, her body would have been just a little stronger. Strong enough to handle what should have been a simple surgery. I blame myself so much for not checking on her sooner as well. She had just had surgery! Why didn't I go check on her first thing when I woke up that Sunday morning. Why didn't I think to find out if I could get her anything. Why didn't I just make sure she was sleeping comfortably? All I cared about was stupid Myspace......I hate myself for it. Maybe if I had found her hours earlier, there could have been a chance to save her. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But what good do maybe's do?

All I know is that now I do everything I can to not make the same mistakes with my dad that I made with my mom. My dad is all that I have left. I can't live with him, but I have to make sure that he is taken care of. I'm always nagging him about his health. I try to spend time at his apartment. I try to call him every day, even if it's just to tell him I love him and that I'll see him soon. Something tells me that these things do make a difference. You always hear about how people don't realize what they have, what they could have done, or how they could have showed a loved one that they cared, until it's too late. It was too late with my mom. But I'm closer with my dad now than I have been since I was a little girl. I can help him. I can make sure he knows that I care. And someday, I'll be able to show my mom again too. Someday, maybe I'll forgive myself. Maybe.

The Story I Hate Telling

It was Sunday morning, September 7, 2008. I woke up really early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to go downstairs and check my myspace. I remember being upset that a friend hadn't responded to a message of mine. After myspace I watched a little TV, and around noon I decided to go back to bed. My parents weren't up yet, I wasn't surprised because my mom had just gotten back from the hospital the day before and my dad was always tired from taking care of her. Just as I started dozing off my dad started calling me. I didn't want to get out of bed but his voice started to sound frantic. Something was wrong. I heard him say my mom was unconscious, that he couldn't get her to wake up and she wouldn't move. I ran to their room. My dad was shaking my mom's arm, calling her name. She was lying on her stomach and her face was buried in her pillow. My dad asked me to help him turn her over. I walked over to the bed and placed my hands under her shoulder and took her hand.....she was cold. Why was she cold. We turned her over, her lips were blue. Why are her lips blue. Her chest isn't moving. I start to shriek her name. I lay my head on her chest and I can't find her heart beat. I look up and my dad is just standing in the doorway staring at us. I tell him to call an ambulance, he doesn't hear me at first. Dad! He snaps out of it and runs to the phone. I look back at my mom. Her mouth is open. I want to give her CPR but there is some godawful feeling in the pit of my stomach, telling me it's too late. It can't be too late. My mom. I have to save her. I don't know what I'm doing but suddenly I'm tipping her head back and forcing my breath into her lungs. Her chest rises and falls with each breath but it's not working. I beg her to breath. Please God, please no. Please mom, please God no. Don't do this. Please mom, don't leave me. Mom, please breath. God please!

The next thing I know the paramedics are there and they are peeling me off of her, I'm sobbing and screaming and pleading for someone, anyone to help. I go to the bathroom and throw up everything in my stomach. I'm laying in the bathroom doorway as I listen to all of the voices but no one is speaking English. I can't understand anyone. Someone comes to ask me a question, I try to answer but nothing sounds right, everything is blurring. Eventually, the paramedics leave. They tell us people will come back to take the body. I'm not sure what they mean by "the body." Or I don't want to be sure. They leave and somehow I bring myself off the bathroom floor. I stumble back to my parents room and my dad is sitting on the bed next to my mother, stroking her hair. He keeps saying, "Oh honey. Oh Myra."I look at her. Lying flat on her back. She is wearing the nightgown I got her a few months back. It has cats on it. I crawl in bed with her and lay my torso across hers. I pick up her lifeless arm and place it around my shoulder, part of me knowing that any second I'll feel her squeeze me tight. Part of me knowing that she'll whisper that she's fine and we're fine and everything is fine. But it doesn't happen. I make a couple of phone calls to my older sisters. I no longer remember what I said or what they said. I know they came over. I only remember lying there with my mother's arm draped across me for as long as they would let me. When they came to get her I went back to the bathroom. I watched them pass by with a large black bag. I had the strongest urge to hurl myself at them and cling onto that bag for dear life...literally. That was my mother in there. How could I let them take her away? But I sat on that floor and watched them carry her down the stairs and out the door.

The rest of that day....rest of the week...is a complete blur. I barely remember picking out flowers and a casket. Hardly recall getting ready for the funeral. I spoke and I sang her favorite song, "You're Not Alone". My older nephews and a few of my very close guy friends who knew my mother well carried her coffin to the hearse. We put her in the ground and that was it.

Really, I would say that the rest of that entire year was a blur. I'm pretty sure I was on auto pilot the majority of the time. I was also under a lot of medication. When I was fourteen I was diagnosed with this muscle disorder called fibromyalgia. I had spent the last four years seeing this primary care doctor who stuffed me with a new prescription every visit. Sleeping pills, pills to help me wake up, pills to calm me, pills to help me focus, pills to relax my muscles, pills to stop the pain, pills to make me happy, pills to help the pills that were supposed to make me happy. It was ridiculous. I couldn't stay awake in my classes. My teachers and friends were very sympathetic at first but after a couple of months it got old. They were tired of my crying, tired of my excuses for missing class. People forgot and I didn't get any better. I was a part of my school's Vocal Ensemble and another audition group that did music dance and theatre. After Christmas, I dropped out of the second group. I couldn't handle it anymore and frankly, the director really didn't want me anymore since I wasn't really contributing any good energy. I sort of stumbled my way through the rest of my senior year and did not end up graduating. After high school though, slowly but surely, I started to feel again. I started to wake up and find my way back into life. I got my GED, moved out of my parent's house, enrolled in college and vowed to make up for all the lost time. And here I am today four years later. Still finding my way back.

Here and Then Gone

My mom started getting really sick when I turned about fourteen years old. It started out with simple things like stomach aches, loss of appetite, fatigue, etc. It seemed like no matter how many tests they did or doctors she went to they couldn't figure out what was going on. We eventually found out that she had type 2 diabetes and although it would take a little effort to make some diet changes and she would need to take insulin medication, we were relieved that it was something manageable. She felt better for about a year and then things really went down hill. She started getting sick all the time and we soon found out she had breast cancer. She was to go through a series of radiation treatments first, and if those didn't work then we would go to chemotherapy.

Turns out the radiation wasn't strong enough and the cancer spread to her lymph nodes under her left arm. She began chemo treatments and also had the first of two biopsies and mastectomy of her chest. She started losing her hair and decided that she would rather just shave it off. We actually had a shaving party and she let all of the grandkids come over and each take a turn with the buzzer. It was an extremely long and difficult journey ahead, but she was optimistic and we were soon shopping for colorful scarves and hats and all kinds of breast cancer paraphernalia. As the weeks turned into months she became very ill. Eventually she couldn't work, and could hardly leave the house. She spent the vast majority of her time in her room trying to read or watch movies or sleep to escape the endless nausea from the chemo treatments. Her immune system had completely shut down and she couldn't find the energy to be optimistic anymore.

I began spending as much time as I could away from the house. I couldn't stand to see her suffering. She cried all the time now and I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to take away the pain, or so I thought. She begged me to stay home sometimes, but all I wanted was to be anywhere where I didn't have to hear her or see my mother deteriorating before my eyes. I now know that she thought I didn't care....she thought I had no sympathy for her, but the truth is is that I just couldn't handle it. I was confused and lost and angry and sometimes mistakenly let her see it...

I knew she was sick. How could I not? But never once in the entire time that she was going through this did the thought of losing her ever cross my mind. I knew she would get better, she had to. It just seemed logical. I knew she was suffering, and I knew that she was sad and felt like she had no chance to heal, but I told myself it was in her head...that if she wanted to get better she could make it happen. She also wasn't taking care of her diabetes. She hardly ate and when we could convince her to, all she wanted were things that make her blood sugar sky rocket, which made her all the more ill.

Turns out....things did eventually get better. We were nearing the end of two years of chemotherapy. She had lost the entire left side of her chest. She came home from the doctors one day and seemed happier than I had seen her since before the diagnosis. She sat me down and told me that her last treatment was scheduled and they had done a scan and found no more cancer. She would be done. She would start healing. We- could start healing. I was so excited to have her back. She was still sick, but she smiled now. She talked about what we could do when she got better, trips we would take, places we would go. She told me she would never miss another performance. About a month went by and she was scheduled to go in for re-constructional surgery so she would look normal again...it wasn't a big deal, basically just plastic surgery.

She went in on a Friday....came home Saturday and other than being pretty sedated from the anesthetics, incredibly happy....then I found her Sunday morning...gone.

Opposites Attract

I wanted to tell a little more about my parents and how they met.

My mom grew up in New York. She had two older brothers and they were they only Mormons (LDS) in their entire school. Her mother was an immigrant from Germany, and was the only grandparent I had when I was born-though she died when I was two. My mother moved to Utah with her family when she was an adolescent.

My dad grew up in California. He had two older sisters and was raised in a tightly knit Christian community. He began showing symptoms of mental illness after high school and ended up moving to Utah.

My mom ended up marrying and having three children. She was married for over twenty years when one day her husband sat her down and explained that he was having an affair and wanted a divorce. She was devastated-obviously. Her kids were out of the house, she had just hit forty, and had no intention of dating ever again.

My dad came to Utah, and within the first few months he was converted and baptized into the LDS church. He smoked at least a pack a day, and drank more than just socially, but somehow felt it was right. So he set out for change.

One of my mom's girlfriends had been begging her to go to an adult singles dance at on of the LDS church buildings. My mom wanted nothing to do with it but after a while, was worn down and finally said she would accompany her friend, though she would do absolutely no dancing, and was purely there for moral support. As she sat along the wall she watched the other couples dancing and laughing, wanting nothing more than to just go home and be alone herself. Then the unthinkable happened. A man came up and asked her to dance. First thing she noticed- he REEKED of cigarette smoke. She really didn't want to dance, especially with him, but he seemed nice and she felt bad so she said yes. As she danced with him she learned that he had just moved to Utah and didn't know anyone. When he asked for her number, she had told him that she wasn't interested in dating. He told her that he understood, and all he was really looking for was a friend. She thought about it for a second and figured there was no harm in friendship, and he did seem like a nice guy despite the smoke smell. A few days later she received a call in the middle of the night from a hospital in Park City. My dad was working at one of the ski resorts at the time and had a bad fall down one of the ski slopes. Her number was the only contact information they found in his wallet and asked if she could come pick him up. She  did and spent the next few weeks taking care of him. The rest just sort of happened. They fell in love, he proposed, she said yes, and a year and a half later she had me. The end.:)

Um....I like cats.

So since most of my other posts have been/are going to be a bit heavy....I wanted to post something a little...fluffier.:)

I love my cats. I've had many over the years. I love dogs too, actually I just like animals. (What girl doesn't...?) But seriously, if I never marry and have children, I already know my fate. I will be the crazy cat lady who takes in every helpless feline she finds wandering around out in the cold......anyway..

About two years ago, my dad and I found out that if I kept living with him, his federal housing would be taken away because I was working and technically made enough to pay more rent than what we were paying. We decided it would be best to split up so he could still get assistance, not to mention that he was lonely because I was never home to spend time with him. He moved into a 55 yr old+ apartment complex and has since made lots of friends. I moved into my own place for about 7 months and realized that I wouldn't be able to pay for school and the apartment and later moved in with my sister so I wouldn't have to pay as much rent. The reason I explain all this is because my sister's daughter is allergic to cats so when I moved in with her, I had to give one of my cats away and the others my dad took. Long story short, I miss them. When I get my own place again, I'll take them back.:)

Here are the kitties I still have, though there have been many others....:)

 This is Toby! We actually put him down a few months ago....he had diabetes and we weren't able to find a suitable treatment for him. It was heart breaking but we know he is much happier now. I found him at a library.:) I used to hang out there a lot growing up and one cold winter night as I walked in the building there was this little tabby cat hanging out by the doors, apparently he had been trying to sneak in whenever people came in or out and the librarians kept throwing him out. He was there when I went in and was still there two hours later when I went out. We took him home and put up flyers but no one claimed him so he stayed with us.:) I miss him.

 This is Chiko. He is the strangest cat I've ever met....and I've seen loooots of kitties... He is very silly and has big googly blue eyes and a very pink nose. He is pretty short and round and super soft. He is the most playful kitty I have and has a slight cat nip addiction...he'll always have a special place in my heart because my mom picked him out of a litter outside the shelter two months before she died.

This is Paxil and he is my baby. I've had him since I was nine and witnessed his birth from one of the other cats we had. I originally named him Socks- I'm not sure why since he has no sock marks on his feet...later on, my mom decided we should name him Paxil, after the anti-depressant pill, because he would cuddle with her when she was sick and she said he calmed her down.


I don't care what anyone says...I love my cats. And I know they love me back.:)

Tribute for Andy

All through middle school and high school I had a really great friend named Andy. He and I met my seventh grade year and immediately hit it off. He was a very silly kid and loved to joke around and have fun. He had a way of making me feel really good about myself when none of my other friends did. He would never accept a bad attitude and always tried to cheer someone up when they were down. 

I remember we used to hang out in my back yard each summer. We'd have water fights or lay on the trampoline and watch the stars. We used to write really long notes back and forth and exchange them at school. He was really great to just talk to about life and anything that happened to be going on. We used to say that we adopted each other as brother and sister. He really helped me when I found out that my mom was really sick, and would always come over to my house when I was having a hard time. The last year or so of high school we weren't as close though, we both had boyfriends and girlfriends- and everyone knows how much they take up your time when you're in high school- and I also started to do a lot of theatre and he wasn't really into the artsy stuff. (Though he never missed a performance.)

I never knew that he was depressed. I still don't really know what drove him to hang himself. It might have been family problems, though they always seemed so close; or maybe it was a bad relationship with his girlfriend...whatever was going on I couldn't tell through his usual smile. He was always the one to keep me from being down on myself. He always had a positive perspective to point out, always looked at the silver lining, always saw all the good things in people, and never pointed out the flaws. 

I hadn't talked to him for quite a few months, we had only just graduated from high school. I was staying over at a friends house when she called me to come look at the computer. She had stumbled across Andy's obituary. I couldn't believe it. We went to his funeral and I could hardly look at him. It wasn't my Andy, it was a cold stranger with a sad face. I wouldn't remember him like that. I will always remember him as happy. I'll remember his contagious laugh and smile, and all the kind words and wisdom beyond his years that he shared with me. 

Memories with My Extended Family

I said before that growing up with 12 nieces and nephews was a lot like having a bunch of siblings that I didn't live with, but treated as such. I thought maybe I could post a memory about each one of them...

My Sister Dawn's Family:

Corbin (Now Age 21)- When we were little, everyone that saw Corbin and I together thought we were twins...we were both complete toe-heads (crazy white hair) and had very similar facial features which we've now grown out of. We were born only six months apart and my mom always used to say that Corbin was supposed to be hers, but that he was goofing around up in heaven and missed the boat down to Earth, so he was born to my sister instead. I remember playing on the same soft ball team when we were little and just playing in the grass in the outfield instead of participating in the game.

There's me on the right, and Corb is the first one down the slide...

Robbie (Now Age 24)- Robbie was the big brother I really never wanted...ha. He was a big bully and treated me exactly as he would an annoying little sister. He was a lot like his father, very insensitive and big into sports. He never cried, and if he did he sure wouldn't let anyone see. I remember being at Lake Powell and trying to make him let me help dig a fire pit. He ended up accidentally hitting me in the head with the shovel and I had to get stitches, he still said I was being a baby...how's that for brotherly love? He also just got married last month and has a little girl that is almost two years old.

Hailey (Now 15) & Kenlee (12)- Hailey has always been a little diva. She loves to be the center of attention and switches from idolizing me to completely rebelling against me. Kenlee is sweet, most of the time. She can get pouty when she doesn't get her way, but what little girl doesn't? I live with Dawn now, and it's only her and the girls and I since both boys have moved out. I remember babysitting the girls when they were little and playing dolls with them. We'd make houses for them and the girls would always be angry with me because my house turned out better, so I'd always trade them or re do theirs.:) Now-a-days we share everything from clothes to make-up, they confide in me but really don't take anything I say seriously...which is okay.

My Sister Deena's Family:

Nicolas (Now 19)- Even though I was close with all of my nieces and nephews at some point, Nic has always been my baby brother. We fought, we cried, we laughed and we loved each other to absolutely no end. He even lived with me for quite a while when we were both in elementary school. I remember doing some really awful things to him though....like pouring mud into an empty Sees Chocolate box and convincing him to eat it....and putting make up and girl clothes on him and making him try to convince my friends that he was a girl.....yeah- I was pretty bad. But now that I think about it, he really never got upset with me. And even though I took advantage of his naivety, I adored him and took anyone else down who even thought of hurting him- I was extremely protective. I was heart broken when he moved to TX, and did all I could to be there for him when his Dad passed away...(see previous blog). He is married now....which is still so crazy to me. But I'll always see him as my baby bro...

Adam (12) & Mathew (10)- Adam is just a sweetheart. He completely idolizes Nic and says he will never be too old to give me hugs and kisses. He is an awesome athlete and I remember teaching him how to make my special top-ramen. Mathew is a crazy bundle of energy. He is always smiling and laughing and never complains about anything....I remember being at my house and watching him swim in the kiddie pool in our yard, Nic and I forgot to put sunblock on him and Deena was not happy with us when she got back from work. 

Below L to R: Mathew, Adam, Corbin, Nic (About 2010)

My Brother Doug's Family:

Jessica (Now Age 22)- Jess and I were two of a kind and yet completely opposite at the same time. We both loved to sing and dance, and were convinced that when we grew up we would have our own music group called Heart-to-Heart and be famous and travel the world. Though we loved to do things together, we were also competitive! I always felt like I was trying to catch up with her. I remember she spent four hours with me on the trampoline once teaching me how to do a front flip. This photo is actually from that very day.:) She's been married for almost three years now.

Joshua (Age 19)- Josh and I have always gotten along. I can't recall one single fight. He has always been super laid back, happy to do whatever I wanted to do. Though we would get pretty competitive playing Pokemon Stadium on the N-64! I remember when we were about nine years old, we decided that if we weren't related we would get married and we had a pretend ceremony in my back yard. It wasn't romantic, we just wanted to live together so we could play all the time! He is currently on an LDS mission in Cambodia.

Taylor (17)- Taylor is the sweetest, most musically gifted kid I have ever known. He tries to please absolutely everyone and is so sensitive to the needs of others. He plays the piano and guitar and bass by ear, and also has a lovely voice. He also used to be a wonderful athlete, particularly with baseball, but has recently had some heart problems and now isn't allowed to play sports of any kind. As you could imagine, for someone who has played sports his entire life, this was a huge blow. He is doing well though and stays involved in his music.

Jake(15) & Alexis (12)- Jacob has an interesting past. When he was little he had extreme behavior disorders. He was diagnosed bipolar and had severe ADHD (attention deficit hyperactive disorder) by the time he was five. He would go from being completely calm and happy as can be to having screaming fits, saying that he was going to kill his parents and run away. He had to see a lot of doctors but since he was ten or so he has completely grown out of it. You would never know now, he is a very mature and happy boy and is also heavily involved in sports. Lexi is a mini Jessica. She loves to sing and dance and has won a few national dance competitions in Vegas and New York. She is quiet, but still loves to perform.

That's everyone!!

Wrong Crowd

Most kids have one of two recollections of grade school. It's either a horror story, or the best time of their life. Or like me, it's a little of both.
Elementary school was fine. I had lots of friends. We might not have been in the popular crowd, but I had fun and didn't really care to be the center of attention. I chased boys, got in fights, obtained many-a-grass stain and kicked butt in kickball.:)

Then came middle school. Here is where I met some of the worst friends I would ever have...I should put a disclaimer and say that in recent years they have matured and apologized still keep in touch, but I'll never forget some of the things that happened back then. First there was B. We started hanging out the summer before middle school. She always seemed so confident. I wanted to be just like her. She always had the nicest clothes, hair and makeup, but whenever I tried to imitate her style, I'd only be ridiculed for it. I was sort of like her poor mangled mutt that she could play with but never truly care for....she would make sure I knew how "cute" she thought my efforts were, and that it wasn't my fault I just couldn't be as good as her. She had a way of making me feel like she was the only friend I could ever have, and would build me up just enough so I'd stick around trying to gain her approval, but always made sure I knew that I was inferior to her. Still, I thought she was my best friend and spent all my spare time with her.

Granted, not all the time with her was bad. We had fun, I just always left her house feeling down on myself. I had acne, I was lanky and never had the right thing to say. People thought she was gorgeous, always had nice hair and skin, and laughed at everything she said. She also used to make comments on how my house and family weren't as good as hers...how my parents never had good food to eat, how they were older and couldn't do as much and how my dad walked funny...She even said one time after showing me the new clothes that her mom got her for the start of school, "Karlie, it's too bad your so skinny and don't fit into any of my clothes. I'd let you borrow some of them and then you'd look nice too!" She also used to convince me to do weird things that would make me look better, like putting deodorant on my face saying she read an article that said it would clear your acne. I was so desperate, I would always fall for it, and she'd roll on the ground laughing. Or, she'd tell me to make the ugliest face I could possibly come up with and then pull a camera out before I could move, and the next day all of her other friends had seen it.

Early on I had also met B's cousin, K. She was our age and went to the same school as us. K was also a little awkward like me, I felt at ease around her and didn't think I had to try as hard. We started hanging out without B and I found that K had also spent her life in B's shadow, never quite matching up to her "excellence". It was nice to have someone who understood what I'd been through and who made me feel like I was good enough. As time went on though, K also started to take advantage of my passive personality and began to treat me exactly the was B had. It was so easy to do something wrong and have one or both of them angry with me, I'd apologize for days before I'd be accepted back into the circle. These wrong doings consisted of things like curling my hair on B's birthday, which meant that I was trying to outshine her on her special day and that was a terrible thing to do to your best friend. Or with K, accidentally spilling tomato juice on her shirt.

B had a way of making you say or do exactly what she wanted you to. One day in seventh grade, after we had had talent show auditions which K and I had both tried out and sung songs, B called me. She kept saying how awful K was, how terrible of a singer she was, and kept asking if I agreed with her. She wouldn't drop it until I said yes and when I finally did, she said she had to go. A minute later, K called me. She sounded like she was crying and said that B had just told her that she didn't do a good job and how mean she was. I tried to comfort her saying that we both knew that B could say really mean things sometimes and how we shouldn't worry about what she thinks because she doesn't know anything (though I should have followed my own advice.) Once I had made K feel better, she hung up. Another minute later B called me back and said she thought her mom was having a heart attack and asked me to come over right away. I immediately hung up the phone and ran to her house, when I got there I went inside and K shut the door behind me. They were both there and had 3 way called me to try to get me to say bad things about each of them so that they could prove how awful of a friend I was. K blocked the door while B verbally tore me to pieces, when I became hysterical with tears they finally let me leave and I ran home to my mom. My mom would tell me to stay away from them since they always had me in tears, but I would always go back.

I spent all three years of middle school following them around, letting them ridicule me and then telling me how special I was and how it was all just fun and games, I would always forgive them, I just thought that this was how friendships worked. I also had just accepted that I wasn't smart or funny or pretty, and that any hope I had of fitting in fell in with being in their company, and that if they liked me, so would other people. It led to depression and I started hurting myself. I was never suicidal, but I knew people who cut themselves and I wondered if it helped. I only did it once, my mom caught me and slapped me across the face, angry that I would ever be to stupid, but quickly followed by hugging me as tightly as ever, telling me I needed to get away from these friends and how I deserved so much better.

In tenth grade I auditioned for West Side Story. My friends thought it was stupid and made fun of the choir/theatre kids and me for wanting to associate with them. The deeper I got in to rehearsals though, the more I realized how much I not only loved the theatre, but how wonderful these kids were! They made me feel so great about myself- they were noisy and silly and never tried to be "cool". They didn't care what anyone thought, it was an entirely new concept. I was always laughing instead of crying, and finally decided to stop hanging out with the girls I had let tear me down for so long. I also realized I LOVED to perform! I had already been on dance company and grew up singing in my shower or alone in my room, but joining the school musical, I found that I was actually really good at it! I started taking theatre classes, auditioned for the vocal ensemble and the productions company (singing, acting, dancing), and found a whole new world filled with fun, talented, artistic people just like me. I no longer felt awkward, but completely accepted. I kept in touch with people like B and K, but never had the desire to be part of their group. I was happier, and they knew it. Since then I think they've both realized what a good friend they had and what they lost by driving me so far away. It's a good thing I did leave that crowd too, later on in high school they all got themselves into some pretty bad situations- crazy parties, lots of drama...I'm glad I missed out.;)

Not Your Typical Family/Losing Donny

I have two sisters and a brother. Well, half anyway. They have a different father than me. My mom divorced their dad a few years before she met mine. They are much older than me, my closest sister is 18 years older than me. I have 13 nieces and nephews, two of which are older than me. I mostly just think of it as having 13 more siblings.

One of my favorite people in the world was my sister's late husband, Donny.

Donny had always had health issues, but never let on that he wasn't feeling well. I remember him letting us shoot him in the leg with his insulin. He never even winced. We thought he was invincible until one night, a few months after our trip to Texas, we received a phone call at 4:00 AM. It was my sister telling us that Donny had passed away during the night. She said that he had had pneumonia and had been very ill for the past few days. She had decided to wait until the next morning to take him to the ER if he wasn't better, and woke up to find him not breathing. What had actually happened was that while he was sleeping he lost consciousness and threw up, he wasn't awake to sit up so it stayed in his mouth and eventually suffocated him. Apologies if this is graphic, but it's true. My sister tried to give him CPR but there was nothing left to be done. My nephews, ages 11, 4, and 2, woke up to see their father carried out in a body bag at age 37.

Fights to Remember

Like most parents, mine fought. Not all the time, and not so much as I got older, but I can still remember a few particularly bad ones. They usually revolved around my dad's habits. Mind you, he was never into anything stronger than whisky or cigarettes...but my mom was not okay with it. First of all, you have to understand my parents were LDS, or Mormon. My mom was raised in the church and my dad was converted in his late thirties. Now my dad had smoked cigarettes all of his life, and when he married my mom he promised to try to quit, especially since they eventually wanted to get married in an LDS temple, which you cannot have habits like smoking in order to be worthy to go to one. When I was born he definitely made strides toward quitting. He'd make it anywhere from few months, to even a year or two. If and when he got caught sneaking a smoke though, my mom was absolutely furious. Then, there was drinking. My dad was not a 'drunk', not even a little. But, on occasion, if he did drink he would get drunk and my mom hated that too. 

My dad is also manic depressive, which is a serious mental illness that borders schizophrenia. Drinking made this much worse. It would make my dad go manic and that made him say and do funny things that put himself and those around him in danger.

----New Years Eve, approx. 1997

Tonight started out very fun. We played games and drank sparkling cider, we watched the ball drop on TV, and then my favorite part- we went outside and banged on our pots and pans and shouted "HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!" The neighbors don't even get mad because everyone makes noise tonight. Now, I'm laying in my bed with my mom. Daddy is out in the hall way and he's been walking and talking funny because of what he drank, my mom says. He just fell down but my mom says she doesn't want to help him because it's his own fault. She says he ruined the holiday and she is crying. I don't know why she is upset, I think he is kind of funny even though I liked it better before he got this way. But she is very mad at him and says he has to sleep on the couch for a while. I'm tired and I just want to sleep and want mommy to stop crying.

----Approx. 1997

Mom found more of daddy's drinks in the cupboard tonight. He has been drinking them without telling her and she is screaming at him. He is screaming back because she took all of his bottles and dumped them in the sink. He says she is pouring money down the drain. She is calling him names that I'm not allowed to say and telling him he needs to leave our house. I start crying because I don't want daddy to leave, I want him to stay and tuck me in tonight. I really hate it when they fight and I don't like it when they scream so loud at each other. My mom says he is drunk and if he doesn't leave she will call the police. She pushes him too the door and I try to tug on her shirt to tell her to stop it but they aren't listening to me. My dad is shoving my mom back and hits her on the head. I think it was an accident because he is saying he is sorry and he didn't mean to but now my mom is even more upset and she is walking out of the house. I tell her to stop and not to leave me but she is already gone. Now I am crying even more and daddy is trying to calm me down. He says not to worry and we will find mommy and bring her back home. Daddy calls the police and says that his wife is missing. After the police come and they are about to leave in their cars with the lights to look for her, my mom comes back into our driveway and tells the policemen she just went out to sit in the car and that they can leave and everything is fine. We go to sleep in my bed and daddy is sleeping on the couch again.

----Approx. 1998

My mom tells me she needs to have a talk with me. She says that some of our neighbors have heard her and daddy fighting and they have called the police and told on them. She says that a social lady is coming to talk to me to see if I am being well taken care of. I think this is silly because I am the best taken care of girl in the world. My mom and dad fight a lot lately, but they still love me and they always make up in a couple of days. Mom says if the lady thinks that her and dad fight too much that they will take me away to live with someone else, she says the lady will ask me questions about them and if I am happy. She says that I need to be careful what I say. I tell her not to worry because I love her and I am happy and I don't want to leave her and daddy. She says she is sorry. I don't know why she says this. The lady comes, she is nice and we talk and she leaves. We never hear from her again and I get to stay with mom and dad.

----Approx. 2001

I'm walking home from school. I have just turned into my circle when I see my dad sitting in his usual spot on our porch. He is disabled so he can't work. I don't mind because it means he is always home when I come home from school. He doesn't see me when I turn the corner into our circle and when I see him my stomach drops. I think I see him bring something to his lips but I'm not sure. He finally sees me and stands up sort of quick. He waves as I walk through our gate. I walk over to give him a hug and kiss and yep...there it is. The smell of cigarette smoke. I don't say anything as I walk in the house but I have tears in my eyes as I walk up the stairs to my room. I can't believe it. It's been, what? Two years now? I thought he was done...he promised. I try to forget about it, maybe I smelled wrong. And saw wrong. Maybe he wasn't, maybe the smell is from the neighbors. When my mom comes home, I can't help it, I mention what happened earlier, but tell her I'm not sure. Her face turns to stone and she calls my dad to come upstairs. "Robert. Tell me the truth. Have you been smoking?" My dad looks like a deer in the headlights. "Damn it Robert, have you been smoking?" Silence. "No..." "Tell me the truth! Don't you dare lie to me!" Pause. "Yes." All hell breaks loose. In an instant my mom is on a rampage, searching every nook and cranny until she finally finds two Camel packs buried underneath some towels in the laundry room. First things first, she's flushing those suckers down the toilet. Next comes the screaming. I go to my room because I want no part in what's about to go down. She is packing up all my dad's expensive cologne and tossing out off the balcony. I hear the glass shatter. She is storming through the house screaming about how selfish my dad is and how could he and she can't trust him and he doesn't love us...he is trying to defend himself saying today really was the first day he broke down, that he hadn't been lying to her and he was going to stop after he finished the packs. Obviously this is no consolation to my mom. A few hours later my mom has calmed down. She and I are watching Diagnosis Murder on TV and my dad is downstairs listening to the radio. I want to go down and tell him I still love him even though I'm hurt, but then my mom will be upset at me. It's going to be a long week.

----

For the record, my dad has been smoke free for about ten years now. He also doesn't drink anymore, though he still attends regular A.A. meetings. I think he does it more for the company rather than the actual support. My dad says the reason he stopped smoking was because I had told him, probably shortly after that last cheery memoir, that if he smoked again I wouldn't talk to him until I was 21. Well, I'm 21 now, I can't remember saying that to him and I probably wouldn't have stuck to it (I just felt so bad for him and my mom always got angry enough for the both of us). Anyway, fights like those happened semi often as a child, and though it could have been much worse, I'll never forget them. Though my mom often threatened divorce, I don't think she would have ever left my dad. They loved each other so much. He was just dumb sometimes, men do dumb things, and she was easily angry with him. I don't think they could have lived without one another though, and I know he misses her more than he lets on.

The Need to Provide

On September 7th of 2008 my mom died. A few years prior she had been diagnosed with severe diabetes and later breast cancer. She had been undergoing chemotherapy for two years and had actually been getting progressively sicker over the span of about six or seven years prior to that. When I was little, my mom was the hardest worker I knew. It seems like she jobbed hopped a lot from what I can remember. She never finished college and said that was why she was always stuck at some mediocre office job, working long hours for minimal pay. My dad has various mental and physical disorders and he was unable to work any job for longer than a few months, so my mom had to take on much of the bread winning alone. 

I feel like my mom always had this irrational need to provide with means she really didn't have. She always wanted us to have the nicest things and never wanted to hear that we couldn't afford to have what other families had. Just because my dad couldn't work and we lived in a trailer park didn't mean we had to live without. See, I also have to explain that before my mom met and married my dad, she was married to another guy whom she had my very much older brother and two sisters with. Back then, she and her ex husband had great jobs, a nice home, took nice vacations, and didn't ever have to penny pinch. I don't think my mom ever got used to going without everything she had before, so she was always trying to make up for us not having the bigger stuff by buying me lots of clothes and toys and other things I really didn't need. She liked to go out to eat and would get so angry with my dad if he ever tried to tell her that we couldn't afford something. 

She'd say, "Are YOU the one working 10 hour days to make this money? Then why shouldn't I be able to spend it on something nice for us or Karllen?! Why shouldn't I be able to go shopping or out to eat without thinking about the bill?"

My mom just wanted to badly to give me what she was able to give her other kids, and I think she felt so guilty, especially when she got sick and couldn't work anymore, that she couldn't pay for things other kids had. I didn't need really nice clothes or dance lessons or summer trips out of state, but she couldn't forgive herself or my dad for not having those options. What made it worse was that her other children, now all grown up with their own families, were far better off than we were, which really hurt her pride.

One particularly painful memory, not an easy one to talk about, is when my mom was arrested for stealing a pair of pants from a store. I was in fifth grade or so and I had been talking for weeks about these certain kind of pants that apparently every girl at school had. They were carpenter pants, the baggy ones with the different pockets on the sides. I wanted them so badly but my parents didn't have the money to take me shopping for any new clothes. One night my dad and I were waiting for my mom to come home and we got a phone call from her saying my dad needed to pick her up from the police station because she was caught stealing. She came home sobbing saying she just wanted to get me the pants. She knew how much I wanted them and she just happened to see them as she was picking something else up (it was at Walmart or Target or some other super market that it took place). She couldn't stand not being able to afford a pair of pants so she decided to take them. I felt awful, she felt worse. She had never stolen before and she just wanted to make me happy. It was such a silly thing to get arrested for which is what was so tragic about the whole ordeal. 

She was always trying to do more, never believing her time or love was enough. She was definitely not a bad person, which is why I hate sharing this story, she wasn't a criminal, she just wanted to give and have more than what was realistic for our situation.

So...Why Am I Starting a Blog?

So this is it. My first attempt at blogging. I'm sorry to say most of what I'm about to write about offers no firmly stated opinions of politics or global warming or profound insight on other interesting and debatable topics. It's just a story. Maybe not even that, maybe it's just a collection of some of my most fond and not so fond upbringings and childhood recollections. I don't want to write about this to pretend that my life is worth reading about or to assume that I have had more life experience than any other young adult, but I believe life is worth writing about, even if it is just so I can go back and learn from myself, for myself. What I've been through may seem completely insignificant to some and maybe more consequential to others; nevertheless I have never taken the time to really talk about what experiences I've had in the short amount of time I've been living and I think it might be at least beneficial to me to go back and examine my own story and maybe come back understanding myself a little more.

I guess I'll start with the present, a little about myself....

Currently I'm 21 years old. I have terrible vision, I love the smell of gasoline and I have trouble with the consistency of scrambled eggs...I love music and art and the theatre. I attend a community college and will soon be transferring to get my music degree, I'm thinking music education, and perhaps a second major in who the heck knows what else...maybe finance...or physical therapy. (Because they're so closely related.) I love to cook and read and listen to classic rock. I'm a huge Lord of the Rings nerd. I loooooove to sing and I do A LOT of community theatre.:) Sure, I'd love to be on Broadway, but I'm realistic and will be perfectly content if the biggest stage I ever perform on is Hale Center Theatre's...hey, at least I get paid to do what I love, if not as consistently as I'd like! I work as a bank teller and between school and work and rehearsal, I probably spend a total of 40 hours a week at home. I like being busy though. What else...? I am a member of the LDS church, I've been inactive until recently, but I'll talk about that later. Oh, and as for family which I will also go into depth about at a later post, I have two half sisters and a half brother who are all at least 18 years older than me, so I did grow up as an only child and already had a niece and nephew before I was born. I think that is quite enough for my first post so I'll leave it at that.:)