Memorial Day '79- A Day to Remember

She didn’t respond. Her back was to me so I walked closer and said, “Momma” again, but still no response.

Here is my childhood room and the furniture that remained in it. Momma slept on that bed after the fire. This is where I found her on that fateful Memorial Day. The photo is of me and my granddaddy from years before. I had grown up but the room remained unchanged when I moved into my sister's room as a very young teen.

I bent over to shake her awake and when I touched her, her skin was so cold and clammy. As I turned her over she felt rigid, her face was disturbingly distorted, and her hands were so swollen to the point that I couldn’t see her rings. I ran out of the room as fast as I could. Deep down I knew she was dead. Admitting it was something I didn’t want to face. I was alone in the house with her and horrified. I remembered what I had said the night before: “Get the f___ out of my room! I hate you and I wish you were dead.”  That sentence replayed in my mind; over and over.  I hated myself for saying those words to her and I honestly thought I had killed her.

I went into the kitchen and called my dad at the lake. I told him something was wrong and I couldn’t wake momma up. He argued with me saying she was just passed out and began to get irritated as I went on and on,  telling me I could handle it. At that point, I began to beg him to come home telling him that something was really wrong with momma. He finally agreed to come home and we hung up. I called Cheri to tell her something was wrong and I wasn’t sure what it was but that I couldn’t go tanning. I went and sat on the floor in the den and turned on the TV. “All My Children” the soap opera was on. I sat on our blue shag rug in our sunken den staring at the television trying not to think about anything. Maybe if I wiped it from my mind it would go away as if it was not happening. Cedar Creek Lake, where our lake house was, was about an hour away from our family home. I just had to make it for an hour then I wouldn't be alone anymore.  My father would be with me then. Not knowing what to do, I just rocked back and forth gently and waited for my dad to arrive.

Oddly the next thing I can remember is that a fire truck, ambulance, and possibly a coroner arrived at my house. I don't even recall daddy coming in but he must have and he must have confirmed that momma was dead. I have no recollection of any of that though.  I am not sure exactly who came first or in what order but it certainly caused a commotion in the neighborhood. As had happened a few weeks earlier when she started the fire, the neighbors were outside on their front lawns concerned and curious about what was happening. Luckily a friend gathered me up and we went to Pizza-Getti to get something to eat. The familiar restaurant was a comforting place for me.

The guilt I felt for saying those last words to my momma was staggering.  In my teenage mind, I knew I couldn’t share those words with anyone. Ever. I knew they would think I was horrible and that I had killed her. And I really thought my words might have killed her. Thoughts began to enter  my mind that maybe I got up in the middle of the night and murdered her. The evil thoughts were relentless.  I pushed it all down. I pushed it down deep. I pretended none of it happened or was happening.  But logically, I knew it had.

After I returned from Pizza Getti  momma's body was gone and the commotion had calmed down. They had taken her to a funeral home on Military Parkway. Friends of my parents were at the house making plans I guess. That time is a blur . All I remember is these words playing over and over in my mind : “Get the f___ out of my room! I hate you and I wish you were dead.” and picturing the hurt and pain on momma's face when I said them to her. No matter how hard I tried , nothing would stop that tape from playing in my head, then rewinding and playing again. Over and over.

I remember various people trying to comfort me but I would not let my guard down. Ever. I never cried in front of one person. It was extremely hard, but I was determined not to show any emotion. I resolved to be nothing beyond stoic. But to keep that up  I needed to get away and be alone although that is what I feared the most was being by myself. The fear that people would see me for who I really was made me want to bolt.  I feared those around me could see the thoughts racing in my mind. It was such a horrible feeling. The wounded little girl inside of me wanted  her daddy to hug her and tell her it would be okay and that it wasn't her fault. But my daddy couldn't be that for me, he became even more emotionally remote than before, ignoring me and shutting me out. I'm sure he was fighting his own demons.  The isolation, lonliness, and fear were exhausting.

At some point, I slipped away by myself and went to the funeral home. No one was really paying attention to me anyways.  A lady who worked there asked me if I wanted to see my mom. I said, “Yes.”  Thankfully she left me alone and as I looked at my mother in the casket, I  finally broke and lost all control completely falling apart.  I remember just throwing myself at the casket, hitting it with my arms, pleading and begging  forgiveness. I hit the casket so hard I bruised both of my arms.