Saying Goodbye

During the last quarter of the school year, I decided to have my class write personal narrative stories. One of the strategies that we focused on as writers was the technique of zooming in on a "small moment" in time. We studied how other writers craft small moments into longer pieces--sort of like describing a scene in a movie.

Being the natural storytellers that they are, they did a beautiful job with their pieces! We spent the last week of the school year publishing. Normally, I would start the year off with personal narratives, but I decided to close the year with this type of writing. I'm so glad I did! There were pieces that made us laugh, some that made us cringe, a few that made us hold on to every little detail...I'm so glad that we spent our last days before summer sharing stories that are so close to our hearts.

The kids inspired me to finally pen part of the story about my stepfather's death. I've tried several times to write it in years past, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. More and more I saw them take risks in their writing...why couldn't I? I shared with them how hard it had been for me in the past to write about this topic.

This piece is simply a snapshot in time. It only describes the day (moment) that I found out about my stepfather passing away. I do plan to write about the accident, but this was my starting point. What started off as being a piece to model for my students in writers workshop became somewhat of a personal challenge for me--I'm glad that I'm able to refer to it as an accomplishment.


Saying Goodbye

When I was seven years old, I was involved in a traumatic car accident when my stepfather, Arthur Shubrick, fell asleep at the wheel and ran off the road into the path of another vehicle. My cousin Tabatha (who we call “Tapa”), only nine months older than me, was also in the vehicle. My recovery time in the hospital was nearly two months. Only a few memories about that experience are clear. I had probably been in the hospital for almost a week (it seemed) when I found out that “Shubrick” (as we liked to call him) did not survive the car crash. I think I will always remember that moment as if it happened yesterday.

My mom was visiting with Tapa and me. She was sitting on the edge of my bed as we talked. Her closeness always allowed me to smell the sweet of her perfume, even after she left. It was always easy for her to make us smile. That day, she brought in our favorite chips, Cheese Puffs. I loved the way they tasted, but after eating too many, I couldn’t feel my teeth come together! I had to use my finger as a toothpick! As we talked and told jokes to help us forget about not being home, the loud ringing of the phone brought us back to the reality of the cold hospital room. It was near my bed. Mom picked up the brown phone from the receiver and put it to her ear in slow motion. “Hello”, she answered in a whispered tone. “Uh, huh. Yes, I understand. Uh, huh.” I sat stone-still and chewed slowly, pretending not to listen to her conversation. After a few more “uh, huhs”, my mom thanked the caller and slowly returned the phone to receiver.

A few moments of silence passed. All three of us seemed to be frozen in position as if we were waiting on someone to pick up where we left off. The crackle of my mom’s voice made me nervous.

“Um”, she started, clearing her throat. “I have something to tell y’all.”
I started in on a new cheese puff, careful not to crunch too loudly. “Shubrick did not make it through the car wreck. He died.”

My mouth stopped moving. My tongue froze and pressed the cheese puff against the roof of my mouth. I felt it disintegrating on my tongue, getting soggier with every microsecond that passed—that’s how time seemed to pass. I forced myself to start chewing, but only to avoid saying anything. A painful knot in my throat would not let me swallow the cheesy blob with ease. After what seemed an eternity, the words my mom said made sense. I pulled my knees in closer to my chest to give myself a cradle. My mom moved in closer to me, but I couldn’t smell her perfume anymore. The room was stale and cold. I could only feel the coldness of the sheets against the goose bumps that covered my body.

“Are you okay?” my mom asked, putting her arm around me.

“Yes,” I lied. Tapa sat with tears in her eyes, motionless. I felt guilty because my tears were stuck somewhere in my body, which probably made Mom believe me about being okay. I wanted to be strong for her. “What happened?” I nudged on, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.

“Shubrick fell asleep while driving and crashed into another car…head on. He broke his neck after hitting the steering wheel really hard and the doctors couldn’t save him.”

I began to sob, uncontrollably. My knee-cradle fell apart. Mom cried with me as she pulled me in closer to her. Her words, “the doctors couldn’t save him”, stung. It hurt more knowing that I would never see the father that I longed for, ever again.