NOTE: To protect the identity and confidentially of everyone involved with the exception of Aunt Zoe all names and when possible locations have been changed.
I don’t think at the time my 11-year-old mind understood I was grieving, however as I look back I went through a grieving process with Aunt Zoe. Now as I reflect I wonder if it was a more difficult process than the two that would follow years later. I don’t remember waking up and expecting her to be on the davenport waiting for me or calling home and thinking she would the answer the phone like I would years later. In all honesty I don’t even remember uttering the words “I miss Aunt Zoe.” Mom and I or grandma and I never had the “I miss Aunt Zoe talk.” However, I know now I exhibited all the characteristics of a grieving child, especially an only child.
With Aunt Zoe gone, mom went to work full time. She started working at the local newspaper. Unfortunately, the only shift available at the time was 6:30 at night until 2 or 3 in the morning. Long after I was in bed. I got home from school, mom and I had dinner together and she left for work while I stayed home alone. Grandma would call to check on me throughout the night. By this time she had retired. Grandma had worked the graveyard shift for 30 years and up until the day she died she had never gone to bed before 1:30 in the morning. As far as I know anyway I was the only grandchild who call up my grandma at midnight just to say hey. Mom got up in the morning to make sure I got up for school. If the weather forced her, she would take me to school. She would go back to bed when she got home.
With the exception of Whitney all the neighbor kids had moved away. We went through a series of new neighbors in the house on the other side of us. While Whitney was still right next door we had drifted apart. She was becoming quite the girl and I wasn’t. I longed for a sibling, especially a sister, preferably a big sister. I wanted a role model, someone I could look up to.
Since I didn’t have any sisters I came up with my own. I became obsessed with a TV show about five tight knit sisters. Back in the day we had VCRs and I would record the show during the week and spend time with my sisters by watching it repeatedly throughout the week. With mom at work, I had plenty of time to do that. I watched it so much that I had the dialogue memorized. Just like any little sister who looks up to her big sister I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to wear their clothes and have their personalities. I said and did the things they said and did.
We still had Buffy and we got another dog who I would name after a character of the show.
It was the summer before fifth grade and I still played on a softball team. The other team would still back up when I was up to bat. I’m sure I also went to the pool. At some point the local swim team would discontinue. I don’t remember when or even for what reason. They may have had a hard time finding a coach.
School started in the fall. I was starting middle school and it was in a different building than the previous schools I had attended. At the time in order to take the bus to school a student had to live I believe five miles from the school. We lived right at four and half miles away so I wasn’t eligible to take the bus. When weather permitted I rode my bike.
Even though I was involved in other activities my priority was still spending time with my sisters. Mom being gone at night made it easy to do that.
We still went to church. At this point the church had moved to Cherokee and was renting a place to meet until we could get our own building. I continued being the tomboy among all the girls or perhaps I should say ladies. That Christmas mom made her first of what would become many attempts to make a girl out of me when all I opened up was dress clothes. I tried to be grateful for my gifts, but I broke down when we got to the farm for Christmas dinner and I saw the fun stuff the kids were playing with. Mom told me later that I was just at an awkward age and she didn’t know what else to get me.
In the fifth grade I brought home the first of what would be many Ds on my report card. Mom had no idea how much time I was spending with my sisters until she went to the school for a parent teacher conference and every one of my teachers wanted to confer with her. She tried to discipline me by not letting me watch my show. However, her being gone at night didn’t make it easy to enforce. As I look back, she should’ve taken me to my grandma’s before she went to work. She did ask to see my schoolwork for a little while after that. My grades were so bad in fifth grade there was concern as to whether or not the school would permit me to move on to the sixth grade. I was allowed to move on with restriction. If I wasn’t making it in the sixth grade, back to the fifth I would go. I did not have to return to the fifth grade.
As if fifth grade didn’t bring enough problems, we were faced with another when I started stuttering on about 80 per cent of my words. The kids at school didn’t make it any easier. The school wanted me to see a speech therapist. My mom just prayed and claimed in Jesus’ name I don’t have a speech impediment. I did see a speech therapist for four years. In the fifth through the eighth grade I spent one study hall a week with a speech therapist. Whether or not my mom knew I was in speech therapy remains a mystery. All I can tell you is we never talked about it. She never asked me how it was going. We didn’t practice the speaking exercises that I did with the therapist. I was dismissed from speech therapy after the eighth grade when I was stuttering on less than five per cent of my words.
At about this time Saturday morning basketball started. It was similar to little league over the summer. Our team was coached by two players from the high school varsity team. It was my opportunity to hang out with ladies older than I was so I was all for it. The local sports reporter captured a shot of me with my tongue sticking out shooting a layup. It was put on the front page of the sports section in the newspaper and captioned my Air Jordan impression. My mom loved it so much that she framed it and hung it on the wall.
Even though she hated I was tom-boy she loved my athletic ability. She kept the schedule for my games and wrote my stats next to it at the conclusion. One time I hit a grand slam. As far as I remember, that’s the only time I did. She wrote grand slam in capital letters with stars around it and put it on the fridge. Perhaps to her it was the straight A report card that other parents displayed on their fridge. Somewhere in the midst of all of this I started playing tennis. It was something I took to heart and picked up right away.
My show only lasted a season and a half and by this time it was off the air. I still had the recordings which I kept for quite a while, however my watching did lessen. My longing for a big sister would carry on for many years. I would attempt to befriend ladies older than I was. Everyone from the high softball team, to the high school students my mom worked with, to whoever the big sister was on the latest family show on television and of course the girls at church.
I attempted to communicate my loneliness to my mom. One Christmas I told her all I wanted was a sister making it sound like all she had to do was go to the store and buy me one. One day in school we were doing a group project. For some reason the teacher put us in a group based on how many siblings we have. I was the lone only child and did the group project by myself. I tried to talk to mom about it later. She shut me up quickly and told me to stop feeling sorry for myself.
My first breakdown came one evening washing the dishes while mom was at work. Out of nowhere I began to wonder about my dad. I had never met the man. I didn’t even know where he lived. If I couldn’t have a sister I at least wanted my dad. That is the first time I remember having a good cry. I found a picture of my mom and dad and started carrying it with me.
Even with my show off the air my grades didn’t improve in the sixth grade. The insults started shortly thereafter. Perhaps it was her motivational tactic. Mom never went to another parent teacher conference and didn’t respond to the letters the school sent home. I would learn from grandma years later that she told mom I can’t raise myself and she needed to talk to my teachers. After that they would never discuss my education.
There wasn’t much improvement in my grades going into junior high. Both my math and science teachers had asked for a conference. She didn’t go explaining that she would be embarrassed if Aunt Patty or one of the parents from church saw my grades. After that she told me she and God had talked about it and if I didn’t want to do well in school it was my own problem and after the seventh grade she never looked at my report card again.
I continued playing sports in junior high. If the academic policy about having to maintain a 2.0 GPA on a 4.0 scale had been enforced I never would’ve been eligible to participate. It became apparent I was losing interest. I lost motivation and wasn’t as good as I once was. Unfortunately, the coaches also had their favorites and it was obvious I wasn’t among them which didn’t help the situation.
By this time Whitney had moved away when her dad got a new job. Mom had gotten a day position at the paper and was now working 9-5. In all honesty, I don’t remember going through an adjustment period having her home all the time when I was used to not having her there.
Most evenings we watched TV and/or a movie together usually with dinner in our lap. Just about every Friday was pizza and movie night.
Starting at about 9pm every night I would go to my room, which didn’t have a door for some alone time. I would usually listen to music.
It was the summer after eighth grade and I would take this battle into high school.
Joy through the mourning 