Reflection On Collisions

That was until I started noticing the signs. The glares from across the room, the directly “indirect” comments, and worst of all, the constant echoes of their quarrels in the late hours of the night. I often .wondered how their vocal chords could stand angrily barking for what felt like years every night. The realization of what was happening didn’t settle in until I saw Father’s car reverse down the driveway, never to return again. I looked straight into the depths of my mom’s eyes, not even detecting a speck of a single tear, but instead a little gleam of hope. I could tell she knew life would be better, and if she believed that then I didn’t understand why I couldn’t either. Adjusting to the new lifestyle was easier for me than my brother; he was always my dad’s favorite. I, on the other hand, always took my mom’s side on arguments, which slowly created a rift between Father and my relationship. It came to a point where I had stopped visiting altogether. My life had turned upside

Unexpectedly, my father called and with an unsteady voice explained, “I had to take your mother to the emergency room, and she is now being admitted to the hospital.” At age 13, this phone call began the most dreadful time of my life. Prior to this event, I was exceedingly dependent on my parents and even struggled with separating from them. In the beginning of my mother’s hospital stay, my familymy parents and two, younger sisters were constantly divided. My father stayed in the hospital with my mother, while my sisters and I would switch between caring family members and friends. Eventually I grew tired of different environments and decided that staying home alone was the far better option. As a result, I appreciate independence and know how to solely maintain a home.

“Mom, please help!” I shouted through the house. Through the eyes of a ten year old getting ready for school, I hear my father gasping for air, I ran to his aid in panic. Discovering him in sweat and discomfort, I watched him in terror clutching his hand so tight in a fist across his chest dissolving in pressure and pain. My mother getting ready for another long day of work and my two older brothers already gone for school, I felt all alone. I acted quickly trying to do as much as a ten year old knew how to but, I soon realized it was out of my hands the body covered in sweat with hands that were clenched a second ago went limp his forehead and gaze felt cold and vanished . I lost my father. I felt helpless as my mother called 911 for help. I laid next to my father and promised that I never want to feel this helpless again.

My dad had to pick up more hours at work to be able to pay for all the gas for all the miles of travel we had to do for doctor’s appointments. On top off that, he sometimes had to take off work just to take her to certain ones in case they didn’t have afternoon appointments. As months and months of consultations went by, I saw the light in my mom’s eyes getting duller. Although there was one day I remember seeing the blue in her eyes glowing again. It was early October, and I accomplished something I never tried to before. I didn’t particularly like baking and never tried to make a cake in my life. Ultimately, I overcame the challenge and made my mom a cake for her birthday. As I watched her eyes stumble upon the cake, I saw her face light up and tears start rolling down her cheeks. That was one of the last good moments I had with her and I’m glad it was her birthday, despite the fact that it was her last one alive. Later on that month, I witnessed my mother struggling to write me a note for school. “I can’t feel my hands or fingers” she exclaimed. My heart sank into my chest as it felt like I was just hit with a cinderblock. I

After a long pause, my mom spoke up and said, “oh honey. He is at the store. I should probably call him.” Is everyone going to be okay, I thought. I really wish this wasn’t happening right now. I rushed downstairs and sat on the couch impatiently. Then, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Dad, I thought happily, but no, it was Matt. Atleast he is okay, I tried to think. My mom was on the phone with my dad and was hugging me at the same time.

My father tends to joke about serious subjects. So, when he told me that my mother had been involved in a car crash, I didn’t believe him until he repeated it several times. I don’t think anyone in our family has been the same ever since. We’re continuing to deal with the aftermath four years later, and I’ve just begun to accept that it will never be over. Sometimes I go to sleep thinking that she’ll be back when I wake up, the same old Mom, but I’m always disappointed. The stages of grief aren’t linear. I keep going

I couldn’t bare the idea of losing her. I tiptoed downstairs as silently as possible while frantically scanning the house. I spotted light coming from under the kitchen door which had been left ajar. Hearing hushed screams, I made my way towards it. It sounded like my mother so I peaked inside only to see my father menacingly towering over the kitchen counter and my mother on the other side. I was frozen and just kept looking at them. I shouldn’t have because when I looked closer I saw the hatred in each other’s eyes and something I thought I would never see in my mother’s reddened eyes … tears. My dad’s fists were tightened to the point where his knuckles where white and his face was hard while he spat every single word with venom. I don’t know how my mother managed, but she met his glare and kept her stance while looking equally mad. I couldn’t hear what they where saying at that time because I was so surprised. This scene, I can never unsee. I can’t tell how much time I stayed there watching them, but I deduced that what seemed to be like forever was maybe a few minutes. Thankfully they were so engrossed in their conversation, that they didn’t notice

My step-mother utters in hysterics, “The ambulance is taking your father to the hospital. It is not good. You have to come now.” I arrive at the hospital, panic-stricken, only to be met with a sobbing nurse and step-mother. They tell me he is gone. My heart shatters in a million pieces.

The door slams as she goes in, and I can hear muffled sobs behind the thin walls. I turn to my dad and see tears glistening on his cheeks—for all his dislike of my brother, he hates seeing my mother so broken. There is no light, now, as Mom grows silent. Dad rises from his chair to go to bed, giving me a hug as he walks away.

As I turned for the stairs, I saw nothing but darkness. I heard my dad's breath of relief and my sisters whispering moms asleep! I quietly went up the stairs and cracked the door open just to make sure she was all right, my eyes widened with disbelief as I saw her perfectly motionless body.  I picked up her arm and it dropped with no reaction. I stood there, staring at her, trying to shake her helpless body.  I noticed foam coming from her mouth. I ran for my dad, as he went up, I listened to him saying “Gina… Can you hear me?” The sound of panic in my dad’s voice threw me into a state of uneasiness. As I watch him carry her to the bathroom to clean her off and  wake her up, I tell myself I knew it. It wasn’t stress, It wasn’t casual drinking, it was her abusing the substance. I was able to confront the truth about my mom, and now it was her

It had been two month since I decided to live with my dad after his divorce. Actually, I’d never want them to break apart. I loved both much. But, I didn’t know what on their mind. Parents sometimes were complicated just like childish. I inhaled deep breathe for many times and I really didn’t know for how many, and once again I saw my dad kept an eye one me. But I didn’t care, not really care. I hated this situation so much. I missed my mom.

Claire and I had just come home after tennis practice. When we walked into our apartment we saw that our mom had made a huge fancy meal for us, and I had a small feeling that something was up. My mom looked at me with eyes that looked somehow guilty, but everything seemed fine I guess. After we finished eating we were very tired, so Claire and I went to our separate rooms. Not long after laying down, my dad came in and told me we needed to talk about something. He wanted to talk to me and Claire separately, so we walked downstairs to a private community room in our apartment. He had never done this before and I didn’t know what was wrong, so my heart began pounding loudly in my chest. When I sat down and he told me the news, the pounding stopped. My heart sank. He said that our family couldn’t afford to go to Cathedral anymore, so my sister and I would have to switch schools and attend Sartell High School that year. I walked upstairs slowly afterwards and fell on the floor in my room. I stared at the ceiling waiting for Claire to be told. I don’t think I really believed what my father said to me at the time. I tried not to think. I just

Coming off the bus from my first full week of middle school, I vividly remember the abnormal absence of cars in the driveway. Using the spare key under the “welcome” mat, I opened the door only to find an empty house with the lights still on, TV running, and cold leftovers. As an eleven year-old coming home to an unusually vacant house, panic flooded my body. Immediately, I sprinted to the home phone and frantically dialed my mother. The dissonance rings that followed as I hit the call button seemed to last a lifetime; my breath drew still as those consistent buzzes stopped and my mother's comforting voice answered “hello”. The pounding in my chest ceased, yet worry still overpowered my conscience. She explained that she and my father had to abruptly leave to

The ride home from school was as chilling as the ice on my car windows. My parent’s angry voices seemed to reverberate off the walls of my minivan and into my small confused head. The rest of my night was filled with “why would you do that's” and “what were you thinkings”. Finally my parents ended their repetitious rants and allowed me to adjourn to my bedroom; I couldn’t stop thinking about my father, whom I thought I’d be making happy. I thought I was supposed to do! I thought that my dad had all of the answers but in that moment I think I realized that he didn’t. For eleven year old me this was a shock, it turned my world upside down and I had to find someplace else to put my trust in; to get my answers

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping