Back in the spring of '79

On the special day of my high school’s “red and blue” game (the passing of the torch to the next group of cheerleaders, officially marking the end of my school days) my mother almost burned down our house. My closest friend, Peri, had stopped by my home to pick up something for me and the house was on fire. As she ran into my family home, she found my mother naked in the front room. She managed to put a robe on my mother, grabbed a few things, and went to a neighbor’s house to call the fire department and then my father. After making the calls, she discovered my mother was no longer with her. My mother had gone back into our burning house. As Peri went in to get her, my mom told Peri she wanted to die. She had given up.

Embarrassed about the situation, and after the commotion had died down, I went home. My dad had since come and gone. He had returned to our lake house and it was just me and my mother. I remember I was still in my cheerleading uniform from the earlier ceremony; it would be my last time to ever wear it. This signified the end to so many things; my childhood, my school days, cheerleading, and as you can only imagine, so much more. Although I didn’t realize that at the time, it was also very close to the end of my mother’s life.  I guess her words to Peri were true, she just wanted to die. She had given up. To be honest I think I gave up that day too. I had given up my burning hope that she would quit drinking and that my dad would come home. I think I knew the situation was hopeless and I didn’t know how much longer any of us could go on. I didn’t know if I could take much more. Humiliated and embarrassed by what had happened are the only words I have to describe what I felt. Thank God it was Peri who found her, that was bad enough, but not as bad as if it had been someone else. Peri was my best friend. I had tried so hard to keep her alcoholism a secret. Now the neighbors knew. They not only knew but they saw how truly bad it was. I was overwhelmed with shame. I thought her behavior reflected what type of person I was. That was a heavy burden to carry for an 18 year old girl. I stood up and walked to my mother’s  doorway and watched her. Literally, she was out of her mind. The mattress to her bed had been destroyed by the fire, leaving only the frame and headboard. I guess she didn’t realize that because she had sheets and was trying to make the bed as if there was a mattress. She would throw the sheet over the frame, trip over it, fall, then get up and try again. I stood there watching nervously, chewing on the tip of my thumb (something I had done as a calming mechanism for years). At times I would laugh nervously because it was just so disturbing and I didn’t know what to do. She was not even aware I was there. I felt invisible and so alone. For the first time, bitterness and contempt started to rise within me and I hated her. I was so tired of everything; taking care of her, pretending I was okay, pretending my parents were okay, and this list could go on. After she had fallen into the frame again I was scared she was going to really hurt herself. I went to help her to her feet and guided her to my old bedroom from when I was a child. I put her in my old bed.

This the actual childhood room where I put my mother the day of the fire

 Covering her with a blanket, I walked toward the door and turned off the light. As I shut the door, I took one last look at her. I went to my room to get ready for whatever plans I had settled on for that night.  Later as I was leaving, I walked into the room to check on her and just to make sure she was breathing. My “normal”. Each day, for as long as I can remember, before I left the house and when I got home, the first thing I did was to make sure she was alive.