My Memories Of My Life

The past two years have been the hardest in all of my seventeen years of living. Choosing a topic is both easy and difficult due to how personal it may become. However, the highlight of the past two years belongs to my family life, and the actions of a certain former member that has affected the lives of many in my family. This person was in my life for over a decade up until around May of 2016, where the year truly kicked off for the family.

When I was seven, I intentionally woke up my parents with a loud thump. It was my first night in America, as well as my first night ever away from my grandma. Among many things, my grandma is my best friend; she's the one I vent to, cry to, and laugh with. On the night my parents announced that my grandma decided she wouldn't be flying with us to our brand new home, a tear immediately formed from the side of my eye. But it disappeared as quickly as it had formed. The last thing she gave me was a handful of her favorite candy, trying to give me a little more of her heart. As she touched my hand, I felt her unconditional love for me through her countless wrinkles, and for the second time, the same tear started to form, but again, nothing shed.

The relationship between my grandmother and I was great in the beginning, but one day something happened that made it take a turn for the worse. Not too long ago, my grandma came to live with my family and I. At the time, my mother was pregnant with my little brother, so it would be two new additions to our family. When she came, we had a great bond and got to know each other. But then an argument we had changed everything and our bond wasn’t the same after that day.

The relationship between my grandmother and I was great in the beginning, but one day something happened that made it take a turn for the worse. Not too long ago, my grandma came to live with us. At the time, my mother was pregnant with my little brother, so it would be two new additions to our family. When she came, we had a great bond and got to know each other. But then an argument we had changed everything and our bond wasn’t the same after that day.

While childhood seemed like a breeze, my adolescent years were anything but that. Adolescence, the transition between childhood and adulthood beginning with puberty, is a time full of physical and psychological changes both positive and negative. During this time individuals are in search of their identity, a task that can yield a lot of confusion. The question of who am I lingers in the back of adolescent minds and the answer anything but simple. This struggle for an identity and one’s place in society can lead to stress. Through exploration and soul searching, however, one might find their identity. For me, this question seemed impossible to answer, however, I always had a strong desire to fit in and be liked by others. Reading through the different developmental theories in the text, I started to compare them to events in my own life and noticed many significant similarities.

One of my utmost embarrassing childhood memories would have to be the time when I was in kindergarten and Mrs. Cancelor (our teacher) was allowing everyone to take a restroom break. I went to the restroom did my business, talked as usual. We were all headed back to class, I plopped down at my desk and continued to do our school work as we were told to do. I just let one loose in class; it was silent, although it was not what I thought it was. I stood up and prayed nothing was displaying on the backside of my butt. I wandered up to Mrs. Cancelor and said, “Teacher, I think I pooped on myself?” “Honey it’s alright, just go to the restroom and clean up, she said calmly.” She called my mommy and told her what happened. Ten minutes later… my mommy shows up with clothes for me to change into. She asked, “Baby what happened?” I said, “mommy I thought I just had to fart but it wasn’t a fart.” My mother tried extremely hard not to laugh at the moment of my distress. She then gave me an enormous amount of love and told me to have a good day at class.

My family has played a big roll in what makes me, me. After God, family is number one in my life. I believe that without them, I simply wouldn't be who I am today. My immediate family has shaped me into the women I have become. They love me, and want the best for me. I have an uncle who truly means the best for everyone and everything, however, that isn't what he necessarily gives us. He messes up, and has made some terrible decisions. Just like anyone, right? His story is different. Let's start off by saying he has five boys, with three different women. He has abused not only his body with drugs and alcohol but also relationships, leading to separation from all of his kids and the women who he thought he had loved at some point in his life. He has spent many years in jail, coming out more depressed then when he went in. He was left living on the streets with no shelter and no food or money to provide for himself. His life is lived in depression. His oldest son, Cole, passed away in 2016 from an overdose on drugs. I believe if he had a better father figure in his life, his life would have been set on a better path. Cole was someone who was so loving, and the day I found out he had passed, I was devastated. I didn't want to believe that someone so great had made a mistake and accidentally took his life because of it. I will always look up to Cole because of his love for others, and regret the decision he made on March 4, 2016.

As early as I can remember my grandparents, whom my sisters and I called Mum and Pa were and are the most important people in my life. I have two sisters, my twin Kristine and my younger sister Debbie. I don’t have many memories of my dad and the one’s I do recall aren’t really nice ones, he was an alcoholic who wasn’t home much and when he was my mother and him would argue and end with him hitting her. Growing up I always felt that my mom favored my twin Kristine (not much as changed) and that my father favored Debbie, so where did this leave me. We lived in a suburban city and most days and nights my mother worked second and third shifts, probably so she wasn’t home when our father returned late at night drunk. My parent’s situation left the three of us alone quite often if it wasn’t for our amazing grandparents. Similar to the way I felt about the favoritism being shown was the same way my sisters felt about the relationship I had with our grandparents. The numerous occasions I ran away from home to a phone booth to call my grandfather to come get me, staying at their house for days just being happy and feeling special. We didn’t live in the best houses, I remember one home that used to be my fathers aunt and uncles house when we walked home from school with friends they would want to know what house and at first my sister and I would just say “oh it’s down there”. Finally, when I was in seventh grade my mother left our dad and we moved in with my grandparents.

The oldest memory I have is of the blurry figure of my mother as she cradles me close to her chest and sings me a lullaby that is off key. This off-key lullaby is my oldest and most fond memory. A memory that fills me with warmth when I think of it. Those moments have since ceased as I have grown up. My mother no longer holds me to her chest and sings me to sleep. Most of the time she is not home, but far away and tapping at her keyboard as she works endlessly to provide for us. This has been a fact since I was three years old. When she first started traveling to different cities, states, and countries for work, I was wracked with intense feelings of loss for my mother who, even though I knew would be back within a week, was taken from me by an outside force. I would stand by a window in my silent house and watch as her car left our similarly quiet neighborhood. These feelings of loss have become dull with the years of exposure. My mother used to ask me every so often, “Grace, do you feel I’m leaving you too much?”

The relationship between my grandmother and I was great in the beginning, but one day something happened that made it take a turn for the worse. Not too long ago, my grandma came to live with my family and I. At the time, my mother was pregnant with my little brother, so it would be two new additions to our family. When she came, we had a great bond and got to know each other. But then an argument we had changed everything and our bond wasn’t the same after that day.

Piglet, from Winnie the Pooh, once noticed that, “even thniyluough he had a very small heart, it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude.” I feel my childhood favorite perfectly highlights that we always have time in our lives to reflect and praise God with gratitude. Today people are so preoccupied with how much have, they forget the actual value of people and experiences. I try to be satisfied with what I have because I know I am very blessed compared to most people on the Earth. This holiday season I am especially thankful for all aspects of my “family.”

In the society that we are living in now everyone expects something for the other person. Mostly people want to hear what they want to hear, people want others to accept what they are saying is right and others are wrong. We as part of this society often set the standards for what fits and what doesn’t fit our expectations. People have some kind of conflict with someone in daily basis and that’s the reality, sometimes people are having a conflict with their family and sometimes with their friends. One particular event that I remember from my life is when my whole family was sitting together with my uncle’s and cousins. My dad started a conversation about education and how todays kids are not doing what they are supposed to or they are not working as hard as they supposed to which lead to a much greater conversation. Everyone had their own personal approach to the situation. In every conversation everyone tries to be right and they try their best to stick what they have said and think that the other person is wrong.

Most of what I remember of my life is tainted with a glistening, crude feeling that overwhelms all my senses. My memories are filled with fondness, but, at the same time, underneath, in the core, is an unimaginable feeling that cannot be described by any other words than a shadowy torment. It was not immediate, and I have not experienced it my entire life, but all that I remember of my life is filled with it. It is a pain so twisting, so cruel, that it has unraveled my entire life.

The idea of forgetting what happened in my small town never allowed me to recognize that I was very scared during those years of my life. On the contrary, I have been always looking at the good side of the situation. Obviously, this happens because I do not want to go to that place of pain again. I prefer avoiding that pain by talking about the good experiences that have come from that frightening situation: I lived in Bogota, I met many people, I came to the US, etc. However, the reality is that I did not address the fear directly, I just avoided the elephant in the room, but I know it has been always present.

It was mid-January, and spring was approaching. Just as the seasons were changing, so was everything in my life, but it was going to be for the better. My journey began eight years ago in my early teens. I was physically and mentally abuse by my own parents. My physical abuse came from my father and the emotional abuse from my mother. As I was in this abusive relationship with my parents I felt alone and lost. I felt like I couldn’t go to anyone for confront. My trust from them and others was fading away.