The first time I heard his name I thought I was going to die. My friend, C, had just gotten her license and we were driving to another friends house when he yells from the back seat, “Hey is that Sean Farrar?!” C comes screeching to a halt, and we’re all choked by the seat belts that are supposed to protect us. “Where?!” she sounds almost like her tires did on the asphalt. “Oh, guess it wasn’t him” our friend laughs… Now I thought C and I were close, at this point in high school, I thought we were best buds, but you know how teenage girls can be. The point is, I’d never heard about this guy before and obviously C has a major crush on him. “Farrar,” I say, “what the hell kind of name is that?” C doesn’t hear me. The next day at school (or next week, It’s been a long time, folks) My friend W comes up to C and I and introduces me to the infamous Sean Farrar. He’s not my type, so I give him a friendly smile and not much else…
The next year when we were Juniors in high school, I was feeling the usual “my best friends ditching me for a boy” blues, even though I had a boyfriend, so what did I care, right? Anyway, we were in band, and I guess C had pressured Sean to join so she could spend more time with him. C was like that. Her whole family got involved in Sean’s life and it looked like things were getting kind of serious. I tried to make nice with him, I tried to impress him with my nice truck and stereo system and string bikini. Lol Hey! I was a teenage girl…ANYWAY Our band took a trip to San Francisco that year. Me, C and two other friends were rooming together… there is a whole other story that happened right here, but I’m not going to get into it. It has nothing to do with the point of this post. To make a long story short, C and I had a falling out over Sean and she told me we weren’t friends anymore. It broke my heart and I HATED Sean. As far as I was concerned, he had broken me and C up. Senior year, C moved to Texas and I heard through the grapevine that Sean was moving with them.
Senior year, the guy I was dating was having a party. I got all dressed up and picked up my friend K and we were off! When we got there though, I was greeted by my man in the driveway. “Now, don’t let this ruin your good time, but C is here.” Ugh. I guess she was here visiting. I had already had a run-in with her earlier that summer where I wound up talking a bunch of shit on her and Sean…So I say “fuck it, I belong here more than she does” and walk in. My friend W, the one who initially introduced me to Sean, comes up to me “Dude, dude, I found another guitarist for our band! Sean Farrar!” I’m like “Goddamnit, W, first of all I HATE that guy’s guts and second, doesn’t he live with C in Texas?” W says “Nah, check this out, they broke up and he never went. I asked him if he had any beef with you and he said no.” I give him a look like ‘Well you already asked the motherfucker so what can I do about it?’
I make my way to the back yard where everyone was smoking a joint. I, however, did not partake in high school. Oh no, I was a good girl. Now, not so much. Lol I see that Sean is sitting the absolute furthest away from C he can be. I look over at C and say Hi, to which she gets up, storms through the house and out to the front porch. “Ooh kaay” I say. Didn’t realize I upset her so badly… Ha! What an ego I had. I decide to follow her and find her crying, waiting for her mom to pick her up. I ask her what’s wrong and she says “I didn’t know who was going to be here.” And I start to apologize sarcastically for being at my man’s house and she says “Not you, Sean!” and she tells me how they broke up and all that BS and her mom comes and picks her up and that’s that.
Relieved, I return to the party in the back, walk right up to Sean and slap him hard on the knee. “What the fuck?!” is his response, but he’s smiling a little. I said “That was all your fault, she was upset because of you!” I say fake crying. I was such a bitch. That little slap on the knee, rather that small moment between Sean and I, I’ve since referred to as “Tag. You’re it.” I don’t remember much else about that night but after that, Me, Sean and W made dates to jam regularly. Problem with that is, W loved the ladies and if he could make plans with a chick after school, then it wound up just being me and Sean at our little “Jam sessions” and very rarely did a guitar make it out of its case. Now nothing was going on, we just hung out, listened to music and talked. I was still seeing someone, so I wasn’t trying to start anything.
Sean’s parents were divorced and his dad had started seeing someone who lived in Fresno, so he made regular trips up there on the weekends, taking Sean’s siblings with him. So naturally, all the parties were at Sean’s house. I went to all of them, in support of my “band mate” but I always had my man with me. Except for one time when I went alone and spent the night stealing Sean’s belt and flirting with him shamelessly. He was drunk, so I figured it didn’t matter. Hanging out after school led to instant messaging and emails later on at night and I really started to get to know Sean.
One day, while IM’ing, Sean says to me “I’m listening to a song that reminds me of you.” I was already kind of crushing on him and that just made it worse…he also told me about something he’d read where you take two coins, one in each hand. One represents you and the other represents someone you have a relationship with. You toss them in the air and however close they land indicates the level of friendship/love or whatever…it sounds totally corny, but still. He said he did it, thinking of me and one coin landed on top of the other. I thought that was amazing! Come on, I was a 17 year old girl!! Lol I loved shit like that, and took my horoscope very seriously! In fact, when I decided I liked Sean and I wanted to break it off with the guy I was seeing for him, I had some chick at school read my tarot. Sigh…..kids.
Halloween 2000, Me, my friend K, Sean and his friend all hung out together. I had totally ditched my man, but didn’t tell him I was hanging out with Sean because I knew I was going to break it off with him, I just didn’t know how to tell him. This would be the third time I’d broken up with him for another guy. Anyway, Sean’s friend left and I took K and Sean home… I dropped K off first and then spent over 2 hours sitting in front of Sean’s house talking. I learned so much about him and thought he was an amazing person who had been sold short his whole life. Everything I thought I knew about him when he was dating C was wrong. I was falling HARD. This boy was getting under my skin in ways I’d never felt before.
November 1, I’m hanging out at Sean’s, W has ditched us for a female AGAIN. We’re chillin, talking, and I decide to go get my guitar our of my truck. As I’m walking down the driveway with Sean, my man pulls up. Oh shit. It’s not like we were doing anything, but still. I could tell by the look on his face that he thought something was going on. I walk up to the window, he is visibly upset. He wants me to get in the car, so I tell Sean I’ll meet him inside. We talk it out, I tell him I am interested in Sean and that nothing is going on, I was trying to figure out how to tell him without hurting him so badly. He recounted the two other times I’d done the exact same thing. He asked why I didn’t love him. I told him he wa attractive and sweet and an awesome boyfriend, we just didn’t click. Sounds dumb, but that’s the only explanation I could give. I felt horrible. He was such a nice guy, but I couldn’t get Sean out of my head. He left, and I went back into Sean’s… “you’ll never guess what happened!” but he knew. I wish I could say I ran to Sean and we kissed passionately…but as you read my posts, you’ll realize that is simply not our style. I’m sure we just exchanged smiles, and went about our business.
The next couple weeks, I hung out with Sean every single day. His Dad was a welding inspector for Disneyland, so we got to go for free. I took my truck so we could leave earlier than the rest of his family and spend a little time together. When we left, we went to Del Taco and had dinner. I remember there being some incident involving a sesame seed… lol Anyway, later on that night, I told him I had a band competition out of town and I couldn’t hang out with him the next night. He replied by saying something to the effect of “you don’t have to tell me, it’s not like we’re a couple.” TSK! I was hurt! I’m thinking “well then why the fuck am I spending all my time with your ass?!” I can’t remember what transpired immediately afterward… it was through email, I think I told him I was hurt, and he kind of snapped back at me saying if that bothered me and I didn’t want to be with him he “wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.” DAMN that hurt my feelings so much. But next time I saw him, he had printed me a card to say he was sorry, and that he did consider us a couple. It was official. November 12, 2000 Sean and Shalene become an item. Aren’t our names cute? The novelty never wears off… Especially when people mistake us for twins. Lol Know what else? At this point, we still hadn’t even kissed!
Two weeks later, we were sitting on the couch at my house watching a movie. I looked over at Sean and smiled. “What?” he asked smiling back. I say sheepishly “I want to tell you something, but I’m scared.” He says “Me too. You go first.” I take a deep breath and say “I think I’m falling in love with you.” He laughs and says “Well I was going to say that I could see myself marrying you and being with you forever.” My heart soared…
June 20, 2005 Sean and Shalene become Mr. and Mrs. What the hell kind of name is Farrar.
To be continued…….for many years to come. :)
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Cute little shits
When I was little, my family always had dogs, but I was never allowed to have cats. My mom would tell me she hated cats because they had claws and they were mean, etc. So I grew up believing that I too, hated cats. Come to find out later, my mom didn’t want cats because they jump fences easier than dogs and the prospect of having to scoop our beloved kitty’s flattened corpse from the street was not something she was terribly interested in. Anyway, fast forward to my senior year of high school. I had been under the impression that cats had no personalities (this was a topic of heated discussion with one of my friends) and despite the fact that I had met a few friendly cats over the years, I resolved that I was merely just a “dog person.” Then I met Beau. He was a beautiful, striped, behemoth of a cat that radiated personality. He didn’t run away when I bent down to pet him, he stretched his back in a big arch and started pulling himself along the carpet with his claws, purring. I thought it was the cutest thing. Beau and his counterpart, Reggie, belonged to my husband’s family, although when I first encountered the cats, we were just friends. I decided when I got my own apartment I would have a big fat cat of my own. Ha, little did I know…
My husband and I were living in a little travel trailer parked on his family’s land (whole ‘nother post there. Lol) and spending most of our time at his Mom’s, which was only a few yards away from our door. At that time, she had 3 cats: Sassy, a Siamese who ONLY liked my mother in law; Neo, a big fluffy white cat that had been rescued from a drug lab; and Sammie, a tiny mean-as-fuck black cat. These cats were originally “indoors only”- until my MIL got an asshole roommate who insisted the cats be let outside. (Mind you, we lived in the middle of NOWHERE, and there were coyotes and mountain lions galore.) Luckily, the cats didn’t get eaten, but Sammie and Neo wound up pregnant in no time. They gave birth within a week of each other. Sammie had 2, Neo had 5. All together there were six white kitties and one black one. Sammy was so protective of her kitties, if you got anywhere near her box, she’d fuck you up. Neo could care less about hers and they wound up joining Sammie’s litter.
One day a few weeks after the kittens were born, I was at my MIL’s sitting on the floor with my arm propped up on the couch. I heard a noise coming from the box and when I looked over the black kitty popped his head out. He was trying to escape but having kind of a tough time of it. I decided not to help him because I felt that struggling would make him stronger. He finally made it out of the box and slowly crossed the room; his jelly legs quivering with inexperience. He made it over to me but he wasn’t done yet. He sunk his fledgling claws into the couch and began to make the 18” ascent to the seat. I watched him, resisting the temptation to give him a boost. Once at the top he walked over, put one of his tiny paws on my shoulder and said, “Ee-er.” I melted. I was his.
I became insanely protective over my little Bam kitty. When we took the other kitties to my MIL’s work to try and pawn them off on unsuspecting people (heh, karma catches up to me on this one) we took Bam with us so he wouldn’t feel left out. Everyone thought he was adorable because he was fluffy and he got passed around from person to person…One lady walked away with him and I about had a fit! When our time was up in our little travel trailer and it was time to move on, I packed my things, grabbed Bam and we were off…That was over six years ago. My, how our family has grown!
The next year, my husband and I had our own apartment and we were working at the same place, opposite shifts. My mother in law called me at work one day and asked,
“Do you guys want another kitty?”
“No! Well…..no we can’t. What color is it?”
“Black.”
“Oh god….mmm…Let me see what Sean says.”
Later, when Sean gets to work…
“So your mom called me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She wanted to know if we wanted a kitty.”
“What color is it?”
“Black.”
My MIL told me that she found these two kitties at her work and they had been abandoned. They were too young to eat solid food, so they had to be bottle fed. My sister in law had already chosen the grey and white kitten, and when I got there it was easy to see why. The little black one was the ugliest baby animal I had ever seen in person! He had these giant, alien eyes and huge ass jack rabbit ears. Still, he was a kitten and having to bottle feed him appealed to my maternal instincts. I looked at my new baby and said “Sean is going to be so mad; He’s so ugly.” Sean wound up doing most of the bottle feeding and it wasn’t until after we had named him Banky Edwards that we found out he was a little girl cat. Lol Her first vet visit was hilarious. When the vet gave her the vaccination shot, she looked up at him very matter of factly and said “Weeor!” Even he laughed and said “Well!” She’s our little miss attitude. Thankfully, she grew into her features as she got older.
Three years, new jobs and one apartment later…
My friends had just gotten a new cat, their third. They kept joking, telling us we needed a third cat to keep it even. Sean was adamant that we did not need a third cat. A few months went by and every so often I’d try to talk him into the idea of getting another cat to no avail. For a while, my SIL was living with us and one day while Sean was still in bed, she and I decided that we were going to go to the shelter “just to look.” So I woke Sean up to tell him where we were going and I said we’d send him picture messages if we saw anyone cute. He reluctantly decided he would rather go look for himself. He liked my friend’s cat Baxter, a striped long-hair, and wanted to find a similar wild-looking feline.
The shelter by our place is a dump, and as bad as I feel for those animals, I knew Sean wouldn’t be comfortable there, so we went to the shelter in the next town over. We walked in and asked if they had any kittens. The ACO at the counter said they had a “few” and led us to the cattery. There were a TON of kittens…SIL and I looked around in all the cages, but Sean had already made a decision. While all the other kittens were being rambunctious in their pens, one calm little guy stood out from the crowd. He was grey and black striped with little kitten fluff around his face. He was adorable. The ACO took him out of the cage and handed him to me. I said something about him being so calm and she laughed and said “Watch out, he’ll bite your ears.” I passed him to SIL and she passed him to Sean. I could tell this was going to be Sean’s new baby. We couldn’t take him home because they had to vaccinate and neuter him before he could leave and it was Saturday. The ACO had me fill out some papers, pay the fee (that my SIL so kindly contributed to) and gave me directions to the vet I would be picking him up from on Monday. The rest of the weekend seemed to take forever.
On Monday, it seemed like work would never end! When it was finally time to go get our precious little Buddha, my coworker suggested I take a box with me. Nah, he just got neutered! He’s going to be groggy and no trouble at all. Ha! You’d think this was my first cat or something…I get to the vet and when they bring him out he seems pretty docile. As I’m walking out to the car he starts spinning in my hand trying to get free, then he proceeds to claw the shit out of me. Luckily, work is right down the street so I beeped my coworkers (as in, “where you at?”) and told them I would need that box after all. Lol After Buddha was all situated in his box, we made the 20 minute journey home. He meowed LOUDLY the whole way (something he still does in the car) and I kept meowing back so he didn’t think I was ignoring him. You know in that 20 minutes, this tiny kitten managed to claw and bite his way out of the box that’s designed to hold 10 reams of paper? Struggle for strength, indeed! I swung by Sean’s work so he could see Buddha before I took him home. He gave him a shoelace to play with and people coming in and out of the shop wanted to pet him and hold him. I know he’s mine, but I really believe he is one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen. His markings are perfectly symmetrical; he’s big, lean and strong. He can jump up to 7 feet. He’s amazing.
It took quite a while for Bam and Banky to get used to the idea of having a little brother. They were older (Bam 4, Banky 3) and weren’t much for playing rough or running around. Two of Buddha’s favorite things. We had a long adjustment period after we brought him home. Banky dealt with the change by screaming like a human child anytime he got near her. Bam tried to keep his distance, but made sure we knew he wasn’t happy by growling and then taking a fat shit on our rug in front of all our friends. That wasn’t embarrassing or anything. As time went by, the oldies relaxed a little more; well as much as they could, considering Buddha would stalk and attack them when they least expected it. All the cats had their spots they went to for privacy. Especially Buddha who took ownership over everything new introduced into our apartment: bags, boxes, cat toys, everything. Buddha quickly became Sean’s favorite, and still is today.
A year and a half after we adopted Buddha, we moved into a new apartment. It was the same one we lived in before, but remodeled with a reverse floor plan (I can’t tell you how many times I got confused looking for my silverware in the wrong drawer.) We were in our new place for a couple months, and lots of things were changing in our lives. I had been in a little bout of depression due to the stress I was under over finances and I was having a hard time pulling myself out of my funk. I had been trying to sell my truck for months, but since the economy was so bad, nobody was interested in buying an old gas-guzzler that needed a lot of TLC. Sean and I were making plans for the money we would eventually get and I half-jokingly expressed my interest in getting a small dog, possibly a Chihuahua for the cats to beat up on. Sean, the more rational one, was doing his best to deter me from wanting a dog, but the more he protested, the more I talked about it. I probably wouldn’t have done it though, because getting a dog from a reputable breeder can be extremely expensive.
Our 3 year wedding anniversary was on a Friday, and not being terribly romantic people we decided to just make a steak dinner at home. Early in the evening, we got a call from someone who wanted to buy the truck! Long story short, the guy decided to buy it and we were happy to be rid of that stress. After the truck was gone we had a few errands to run before we put dinner on. Walking down the sidewalk to our carport, I stopped quickly with a short gasp.
Sean “What? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, “Kitties!”
I pointed at a group of kitties playing with their dad on the grass. As dumb as it sounds, I’ve never seen a group of kitties playing in “the wild” before. I mean, I’ve seen pictures like that in calendars, but never in person. It was one of the cutest things I’d seen in a while. The kitties were making little squeaky noises and the daddy cat would hide behind a tree and jump out and wrestle them to the ground. We had to walk by them a few more times that night and every time I stopped and pet them. One little kitty got stuck up in a tree and was mewing frantically. He was right in front of my face, so I grabbed him and put him on the ground with his family. I said out loud how cute the little babies were and a voice from behind me said “Take one home with you, please!” there was a lady peering over her patio fence. I told her they were sweet, but I already had three and they might not be happy. We went back home and Sean could see I had kitties on my mind. We talked about the pros and cons, and surprisingly, Sean was reassuring me that one more cat “couldn’t hurt.” I thought for sure he’d be totally against it! As it turns out, he just didn’t want a dog, so he thought I’d shut up about the Chihuahua if I had a kitten in the house.
After dinner, we decided to go back and really look at the kittens. There were three left, and the owners had dibs on one of them. I saw a little grey and black spotted kitty that kind of reminded me of Buddha and I picked her up. We stayed outside talking to the owners for a while and she asked me if I decided to take her home. I looked at Sean and said yes and away we went. Once we got into the apartment, we just set the new kitty on the floor and walked away. We thought if we made a big deal out of it the other cats would get upset, and our plan worked. There was hardly a fuss when we introduced Bella into the family. The only problem was she was crawling with fleas and had a worm problem. We decided for the safety of the other cats to quarantine her in our bathroom. We set her up a bed on towels and gave her some food and water and a snuggle buddy. I felt bad because I couldn’t get her into a vet until late the next day, so she spent a long time locked in the bathroom. She meowed so much while she was in there that when she was finally allowed to come out, she didn’t meow for a couple months!
Once we got her healthy she could roam around our place and explore her new home. Buddha had mixed emotions over the whole thing. On one hand, he was no longer “The Kitty” and had to share our attention with yet another feline. On the other hand, he had a new toy. I was concerned about how rough Buddha was with Bella, but I felt if I protected her, he would be discouraged from playing with her all together, and she would become a soft little scaredy cat. So, I let Buddha beat up on her as much as he wanted. He would pin her down and bite her and she would be making these noises like she was mad as hell! When he would get up and walk away, she would chase him down and make him play some more (Mind you, Buddha was like 6 times her size at least!) for a while, he couldn’t get any peace, the kitty was hot on his heels day and night.
Something happened after we brought Bella into the family. The oldies, Bam and Banky, actually started to relax. You’d think having 4 cats in a small apartment would be stressful to these highly independent creatures. These days, it’s not uncommon to see all 4 cats sleeping on one couch. Sean and I have up to 3 in bed with us at night. Bam prefers to sleep where he can really stretch out, since he’s a bit on the heavy side. If you’re giving out treats or cat nip, they’ll surround your feet until all you can see is ears and tails!
One thing that comes with having a clan so large is people calling me the “crazy cat lady.” That’s funny to the point of insulting. I realize we have a large number of animals in a small space but we take good care of them so that’s our business. I just take it in stride because usually the offending parties don’t have cats, or they don’t have companion animals at all and I have my own judgments about that. I feel bad when people with allergies come over and do my best to keep the cats away and the fur on my couch to a minimum. But to the people who dislike cats: Seriously, if you have a problem with cats, don’t try to hang out at my apartment. It’s stressful to have to round my cats up and keep them away from picky guest when they live there and are used to doing certain things. Also, if my cats (especially Bam) come up to you, that’s a huge compliment, but I guess some people can’t appreciate that and it makes it hard for me to appreciate them. Sorry that sounded so snotty, it’s honestly how I feel. Cat people out there know what I mean.
So now we’re set. Me, Sean, Bam, Banky, Buddha and Bella are one big happy family. But seriously. No more cats. :)
My husband and I were living in a little travel trailer parked on his family’s land (whole ‘nother post there. Lol) and spending most of our time at his Mom’s, which was only a few yards away from our door. At that time, she had 3 cats: Sassy, a Siamese who ONLY liked my mother in law; Neo, a big fluffy white cat that had been rescued from a drug lab; and Sammie, a tiny mean-as-fuck black cat. These cats were originally “indoors only”- until my MIL got an asshole roommate who insisted the cats be let outside. (Mind you, we lived in the middle of NOWHERE, and there were coyotes and mountain lions galore.) Luckily, the cats didn’t get eaten, but Sammie and Neo wound up pregnant in no time. They gave birth within a week of each other. Sammie had 2, Neo had 5. All together there were six white kitties and one black one. Sammy was so protective of her kitties, if you got anywhere near her box, she’d fuck you up. Neo could care less about hers and they wound up joining Sammie’s litter.
One day a few weeks after the kittens were born, I was at my MIL’s sitting on the floor with my arm propped up on the couch. I heard a noise coming from the box and when I looked over the black kitty popped his head out. He was trying to escape but having kind of a tough time of it. I decided not to help him because I felt that struggling would make him stronger. He finally made it out of the box and slowly crossed the room; his jelly legs quivering with inexperience. He made it over to me but he wasn’t done yet. He sunk his fledgling claws into the couch and began to make the 18” ascent to the seat. I watched him, resisting the temptation to give him a boost. Once at the top he walked over, put one of his tiny paws on my shoulder and said, “Ee-er.” I melted. I was his.
I became insanely protective over my little Bam kitty. When we took the other kitties to my MIL’s work to try and pawn them off on unsuspecting people (heh, karma catches up to me on this one) we took Bam with us so he wouldn’t feel left out. Everyone thought he was adorable because he was fluffy and he got passed around from person to person…One lady walked away with him and I about had a fit! When our time was up in our little travel trailer and it was time to move on, I packed my things, grabbed Bam and we were off…That was over six years ago. My, how our family has grown!
The next year, my husband and I had our own apartment and we were working at the same place, opposite shifts. My mother in law called me at work one day and asked,
“Do you guys want another kitty?”
“No! Well…..no we can’t. What color is it?”
“Black.”
“Oh god….mmm…Let me see what Sean says.”
Later, when Sean gets to work…
“So your mom called me.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She wanted to know if we wanted a kitty.”
“What color is it?”
“Black.”
My MIL told me that she found these two kitties at her work and they had been abandoned. They were too young to eat solid food, so they had to be bottle fed. My sister in law had already chosen the grey and white kitten, and when I got there it was easy to see why. The little black one was the ugliest baby animal I had ever seen in person! He had these giant, alien eyes and huge ass jack rabbit ears. Still, he was a kitten and having to bottle feed him appealed to my maternal instincts. I looked at my new baby and said “Sean is going to be so mad; He’s so ugly.” Sean wound up doing most of the bottle feeding and it wasn’t until after we had named him Banky Edwards that we found out he was a little girl cat. Lol Her first vet visit was hilarious. When the vet gave her the vaccination shot, she looked up at him very matter of factly and said “Weeor!” Even he laughed and said “Well!” She’s our little miss attitude. Thankfully, she grew into her features as she got older.
Three years, new jobs and one apartment later…
My friends had just gotten a new cat, their third. They kept joking, telling us we needed a third cat to keep it even. Sean was adamant that we did not need a third cat. A few months went by and every so often I’d try to talk him into the idea of getting another cat to no avail. For a while, my SIL was living with us and one day while Sean was still in bed, she and I decided that we were going to go to the shelter “just to look.” So I woke Sean up to tell him where we were going and I said we’d send him picture messages if we saw anyone cute. He reluctantly decided he would rather go look for himself. He liked my friend’s cat Baxter, a striped long-hair, and wanted to find a similar wild-looking feline.
The shelter by our place is a dump, and as bad as I feel for those animals, I knew Sean wouldn’t be comfortable there, so we went to the shelter in the next town over. We walked in and asked if they had any kittens. The ACO at the counter said they had a “few” and led us to the cattery. There were a TON of kittens…SIL and I looked around in all the cages, but Sean had already made a decision. While all the other kittens were being rambunctious in their pens, one calm little guy stood out from the crowd. He was grey and black striped with little kitten fluff around his face. He was adorable. The ACO took him out of the cage and handed him to me. I said something about him being so calm and she laughed and said “Watch out, he’ll bite your ears.” I passed him to SIL and she passed him to Sean. I could tell this was going to be Sean’s new baby. We couldn’t take him home because they had to vaccinate and neuter him before he could leave and it was Saturday. The ACO had me fill out some papers, pay the fee (that my SIL so kindly contributed to) and gave me directions to the vet I would be picking him up from on Monday. The rest of the weekend seemed to take forever.
On Monday, it seemed like work would never end! When it was finally time to go get our precious little Buddha, my coworker suggested I take a box with me. Nah, he just got neutered! He’s going to be groggy and no trouble at all. Ha! You’d think this was my first cat or something…I get to the vet and when they bring him out he seems pretty docile. As I’m walking out to the car he starts spinning in my hand trying to get free, then he proceeds to claw the shit out of me. Luckily, work is right down the street so I beeped my coworkers (as in, “where you at?”) and told them I would need that box after all. Lol After Buddha was all situated in his box, we made the 20 minute journey home. He meowed LOUDLY the whole way (something he still does in the car) and I kept meowing back so he didn’t think I was ignoring him. You know in that 20 minutes, this tiny kitten managed to claw and bite his way out of the box that’s designed to hold 10 reams of paper? Struggle for strength, indeed! I swung by Sean’s work so he could see Buddha before I took him home. He gave him a shoelace to play with and people coming in and out of the shop wanted to pet him and hold him. I know he’s mine, but I really believe he is one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen. His markings are perfectly symmetrical; he’s big, lean and strong. He can jump up to 7 feet. He’s amazing.
It took quite a while for Bam and Banky to get used to the idea of having a little brother. They were older (Bam 4, Banky 3) and weren’t much for playing rough or running around. Two of Buddha’s favorite things. We had a long adjustment period after we brought him home. Banky dealt with the change by screaming like a human child anytime he got near her. Bam tried to keep his distance, but made sure we knew he wasn’t happy by growling and then taking a fat shit on our rug in front of all our friends. That wasn’t embarrassing or anything. As time went by, the oldies relaxed a little more; well as much as they could, considering Buddha would stalk and attack them when they least expected it. All the cats had their spots they went to for privacy. Especially Buddha who took ownership over everything new introduced into our apartment: bags, boxes, cat toys, everything. Buddha quickly became Sean’s favorite, and still is today.
A year and a half after we adopted Buddha, we moved into a new apartment. It was the same one we lived in before, but remodeled with a reverse floor plan (I can’t tell you how many times I got confused looking for my silverware in the wrong drawer.) We were in our new place for a couple months, and lots of things were changing in our lives. I had been in a little bout of depression due to the stress I was under over finances and I was having a hard time pulling myself out of my funk. I had been trying to sell my truck for months, but since the economy was so bad, nobody was interested in buying an old gas-guzzler that needed a lot of TLC. Sean and I were making plans for the money we would eventually get and I half-jokingly expressed my interest in getting a small dog, possibly a Chihuahua for the cats to beat up on. Sean, the more rational one, was doing his best to deter me from wanting a dog, but the more he protested, the more I talked about it. I probably wouldn’t have done it though, because getting a dog from a reputable breeder can be extremely expensive.
Our 3 year wedding anniversary was on a Friday, and not being terribly romantic people we decided to just make a steak dinner at home. Early in the evening, we got a call from someone who wanted to buy the truck! Long story short, the guy decided to buy it and we were happy to be rid of that stress. After the truck was gone we had a few errands to run before we put dinner on. Walking down the sidewalk to our carport, I stopped quickly with a short gasp.
Sean “What? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, “Kitties!”
I pointed at a group of kitties playing with their dad on the grass. As dumb as it sounds, I’ve never seen a group of kitties playing in “the wild” before. I mean, I’ve seen pictures like that in calendars, but never in person. It was one of the cutest things I’d seen in a while. The kitties were making little squeaky noises and the daddy cat would hide behind a tree and jump out and wrestle them to the ground. We had to walk by them a few more times that night and every time I stopped and pet them. One little kitty got stuck up in a tree and was mewing frantically. He was right in front of my face, so I grabbed him and put him on the ground with his family. I said out loud how cute the little babies were and a voice from behind me said “Take one home with you, please!” there was a lady peering over her patio fence. I told her they were sweet, but I already had three and they might not be happy. We went back home and Sean could see I had kitties on my mind. We talked about the pros and cons, and surprisingly, Sean was reassuring me that one more cat “couldn’t hurt.” I thought for sure he’d be totally against it! As it turns out, he just didn’t want a dog, so he thought I’d shut up about the Chihuahua if I had a kitten in the house.
After dinner, we decided to go back and really look at the kittens. There were three left, and the owners had dibs on one of them. I saw a little grey and black spotted kitty that kind of reminded me of Buddha and I picked her up. We stayed outside talking to the owners for a while and she asked me if I decided to take her home. I looked at Sean and said yes and away we went. Once we got into the apartment, we just set the new kitty on the floor and walked away. We thought if we made a big deal out of it the other cats would get upset, and our plan worked. There was hardly a fuss when we introduced Bella into the family. The only problem was she was crawling with fleas and had a worm problem. We decided for the safety of the other cats to quarantine her in our bathroom. We set her up a bed on towels and gave her some food and water and a snuggle buddy. I felt bad because I couldn’t get her into a vet until late the next day, so she spent a long time locked in the bathroom. She meowed so much while she was in there that when she was finally allowed to come out, she didn’t meow for a couple months!
Once we got her healthy she could roam around our place and explore her new home. Buddha had mixed emotions over the whole thing. On one hand, he was no longer “The Kitty” and had to share our attention with yet another feline. On the other hand, he had a new toy. I was concerned about how rough Buddha was with Bella, but I felt if I protected her, he would be discouraged from playing with her all together, and she would become a soft little scaredy cat. So, I let Buddha beat up on her as much as he wanted. He would pin her down and bite her and she would be making these noises like she was mad as hell! When he would get up and walk away, she would chase him down and make him play some more (Mind you, Buddha was like 6 times her size at least!) for a while, he couldn’t get any peace, the kitty was hot on his heels day and night.
Something happened after we brought Bella into the family. The oldies, Bam and Banky, actually started to relax. You’d think having 4 cats in a small apartment would be stressful to these highly independent creatures. These days, it’s not uncommon to see all 4 cats sleeping on one couch. Sean and I have up to 3 in bed with us at night. Bam prefers to sleep where he can really stretch out, since he’s a bit on the heavy side. If you’re giving out treats or cat nip, they’ll surround your feet until all you can see is ears and tails!
One thing that comes with having a clan so large is people calling me the “crazy cat lady.” That’s funny to the point of insulting. I realize we have a large number of animals in a small space but we take good care of them so that’s our business. I just take it in stride because usually the offending parties don’t have cats, or they don’t have companion animals at all and I have my own judgments about that. I feel bad when people with allergies come over and do my best to keep the cats away and the fur on my couch to a minimum. But to the people who dislike cats: Seriously, if you have a problem with cats, don’t try to hang out at my apartment. It’s stressful to have to round my cats up and keep them away from picky guest when they live there and are used to doing certain things. Also, if my cats (especially Bam) come up to you, that’s a huge compliment, but I guess some people can’t appreciate that and it makes it hard for me to appreciate them. Sorry that sounded so snotty, it’s honestly how I feel. Cat people out there know what I mean.
So now we’re set. Me, Sean, Bam, Banky, Buddha and Bella are one big happy family. But seriously. No more cats. :)
Bam and Banky enjoying a little nap.
Buddha and Bella battling it out.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Here we go
One day I was minding my own business…
Ahhh life is sweet. I’m all warm and cozy, floatin’ around in my little habitat, chillin. Sigh, man. Kind of feels a little warm in here, are the walls closing in on me? Shh, wait! What was that? What was that? Whoa!! What the fuck?! What the hell’s going on? Help! Help! I t’s cold! My eyes!! Where am I going? WHERE AM I GOING?!!
“It’s a girl!”
Part One: Life Happened to Me
I was born at Riverside General, April 2, 1983 at 1:52 in the morning by cesarean section. My mother a 19 and a half year old drug addict, my father a young, illegal Mexican immigrant. According to my grandparents, my mother had heart problems from using dirty needles and went into cardiac distress while trying to give birth to me. We both survived, but she had to stay in the hospital longer than I did. I went home with my grandparents, and that’s where I would stay until I was 18. Some people think it’s amazing I didn’t have developmental issues. I came out a normal weight, completely formed, not addicted to any substances.
I remember seeing pictures of my first birthday at my Great-grandmother’s house. Apparently I stayed with Ma for a month around that time, although I’m not sure why. I suspect it was so that my grandparents could try to help my mom detox for my sake. They failed, through no fault of their own. There are a lot of blanks I still need to fill in about my biological mom, but that is another story. This one’s about me and what I remember, as vague as it may seem sometimes.
By the time I was two years old, I had been taught how to write my name, address and phone number because my mom (Tina), was involved with some pretty unsavory characters and my grandparents were doing everything they could to protect me. Tina hardly came around, but when she did she was usually strung out or jonesing and begging for money. I heard her and my (grand)parents fighting a lot. When I was little, I didn’t understand what it was about. I just thought all kids fought with their parents so it was normal.
If I had to go through what my parents went through with Tina, it would break me. She would steal from them, lie to them, threaten to take me away if they didn’t give her money for a fix. She would scream “Do you want me to fucking die?!” She would manipulate my parents as if they were too stupid to know what she was going to do with the money. Sometimes she would bring random people home with her and not understand why my parents freaked out at having some drug addicted stranger in their house. It’s a miracle we were never robbed; by anyone but my mother, that is.
There were a few times Tina stayed home for an extended period… I remember having her around for Christmas more than once. A couple times she tried to “kick” her habit, and it was awful. It was like watching a slow exorcism. She would cry and scream and moan. She would sweat and have chills so bad you could hear her teeth gnashing in the next room. She vomited uncontrollably and prayed aloud for death. Even at my age, not even in school yet, I knew exactly what was going on. Mama was quitting drugs, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. But it never got better.
My mother was gone a lot, so my grandparents were simply my parents. They raised me, they should get the credit. I didn’t have hard feelings toward my mom. Remember, my whole life was like this. I didn’t know any other “normal” until I started school. One night, I was sitting on my parents’ bed, and my grandma was on the phone with Tina and she said “I think you should tell Shalene where you are. She will understand.” I was 3.
“Hi Mama.”
“Hi Shalena. Do you know where I am?”
“In the hospital?”
“No, I’m in jail, do you know what that means?”
“Yes.”
Did I know what that meant? I think so. It didn’t bother me, I was used to never seeing her anyway. It’s not that I didn’t miss her, but she was kind of like all the other people I didn’t see everyday, aunts, uncles, family friends…it was all the same in my young mind.
Months would go by without me seeing her. If she was in jail, she sent me letters and call collect every once in a while. When she was close to home, we’d go visit her. I loved the little microwavable pizzas they had at the jail. I still buy them every once in a while and it makes my husband laugh when I say “Mmm. Just like the ones in jail.” Most of the time when we visited, I got to hug her and hang out with her for a while, play with other kids whose moms were druggies and prostitutes and felons. It wasn’t a lot different from being at the city park. You know, accept for the armed guards and razor wire. The last few times I visited her behind glass. Apparently she accosted a fellow inmate with a Daisy Razor and lost her “trustee” status.
As the years went by, my parents started trusting my mom to take me on day trips and even over night a couple times. She had her moments of clarity after jail where she would go to NA meetings and hang out with a better class of people. She had friends who weren’t addicts, or had maybe a slight drinking problem, and these people were her true friends. They were the ones who called my parents to inform them of Tina’s whereabouts and the ones that rescued her from sticky situations that my parents couldn’t have handled themselves. They were actually welcomed by my family. But all the help in the world doesn’t do any good if the addict won’t help themselves.
My mother never picked her feet up when she walked, so I knew she was home when I heard a shuffling of flip-flops on the porch. My grandmother once told me “When your mama is skinny, that’s bad. We want her to be fat, okay?” This time she was skinny. Her face was drawn and her eyes were sunken in. She had a distinctive wheezy cough like a 70 year old smoker. She went to take a bath and locked the door. It was a huge deal in my house when she locked the door. That meant she had a needle with her. I can’t tell you how many syringes, burnt up spoons, balloons, baggies and bottle caps I handled before I was even 10 years old. I knew if my parents found it, they’d kick my mom out and I wanted her to stay and get better. So after she passed out in the tub, I’d go in, find her needle, wrap it so carefully in toilet paper and take it to the trash. I knew about AIDS, I knew about all the horrible things IV drugs can do. I was a narcotics expert before I hit 5th grade. My parents thought that by educating me and being honest about everything, I stood the best chance of not following in my mother’s footsteps. This all sounds horrible for a young child to go through, but kids are resilient. I am not traumatized by my childhood. I had it rough, but I’m luckier than most people on this planet.
Like I said before, things seemed normal to me until I got into school. When I started making friends and realized that everyone I knew lived with a mom, a dad, and maybe a sibling or two, I knew I was ‘different’. I lived with my grandparents, and people would as me why. I didn’t know what to say. My grandparents told me not to tell people my mom did drugs, and not to tell them she was in jail because then they would assume we’re bad people and would not let their kids interact with me. So naturally, as children do, I told stories of my mom being away on a trip, or away on business…. A lot of people may have thought my mom was in the military, who knows?
We did have some bad nights. There were times when my grandmother would get me out of bed at 2:30 in the morning to go driving around the worst part of town looking for my mother. To make sure she was alive and had money for food and whatever else. I remember finding her an random corners (you know what she was doing) and picking her up, driving around the block while her and my grandmother went back and forth and then her getting out at a motel with whatever money my grandma had on her. I don’t remember her ever coming home with us. Then my grandmother would cry, silently on the way home. I would pretend to be asleep.
There were times where I’d be laying in bed and I’d cry and ask my grandma why I didn’t have a normal family, why my mother didn’t love me and why she wasn’t there. I feel bad my parents had to see and hear that. What do you tell a little child who asks those things? One time my mom came home in pretty bad shape, and I had a trip to Knott’s Berry Farm the next day with the Girl Scouts. It had been a long time and I wanted to spend as much time with my mom as possible, so I asked if I could sleep with her. My grandmother was adamant that I sleep in my own bed. I begged and cried, I couldn’t understand why she would keep me away from my mom knowing how little I see her. She told me if I slept with my mom, that I wouldn’t not be allowed to go to Knott’s the next day. I went to my own bed, defeated and confused, feeling like my grandmother was just being cruel to punish me. I know now, she was worried I might wake up to a corpse.
I was getting a little older, almost 10 and I think I was pretty jaded by then. I was old enough to really understand what was going on with my mom, and how despite the many chances my parents gave her to clean up her act, she carried on with her destructive lifestyle. I would get to spend time with her every so often and then I wouldn’t see her for weeks. I started asking my parents “Is my mother dead?” regularly. I mean, without batting an eye! And I always expected the answer to be yes. It pissed my mom off and when she would talk to me on the phone she’d say “Quit asking grandma and grandpa if I’m dead! I’m not going to die!” so I’d say “You can.” And she’d get upset and I wouldn’t hear from her for several more weeks.
One day, my best friend Nancy and I were playing in my yard. We were going to visit Ma in Arizona for the weekend, and her mom and my mom were getting things ready inside the house. I kept asking my grandma when we were going to leave and she told me when my grandpa came home. That was weird, we never waited on him all the other times we went to Ma’s. So I went back outside and rode bikes with Nancy.
“I think my mom is dead.”
“You always say that.”
“I know, but this time I think it’s true.”
We kept riding around, my uncle Steven showed up. He was 25 at the time and had his own agenda, we never saw him so that was kind of odd too. Then my grandpa came home. My grandma came outside and said she needed to talk to me. Steven took Nancy and her mom to the front yard and my parents sat me down on the couch.
“We have something kind of hard to tell you.”
“I already know, my mom is dead.”
“Yes, she is sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s probably better this way, right?”
I was 11 years old. My grandmother had received a call from a friend of my mom’s shortly before we were going to leave for Arizona.
“Hi is this Tina’s mom?”
“Yes it is, who is this?”
“This is _____. I just wanted to call and offer my condolences. I’m really sorry.”
“What? Condolences?”
“Oh my god. I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Tina?”
“yes. I’m sorry.”
She was dead for over a week before word had even made it to us. She had been legally married to one of her drug dealer boyfriends, and since he was there when she OD’d, they counted that as notifying her next of kin. My grandpa had to go identify her body. I’m sure it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life, and he’s not had it easy. I think he said he went crazy on the cops, how could they let his daughter’s body rot in the morgue. She has an extensive criminal record, there is no reason they could not have contacted her family. I got to pick out her casket and headstone. I read a poem at her funeral. I didn’t cry. She finally did something good for me.
Ahhh life is sweet. I’m all warm and cozy, floatin’ around in my little habitat, chillin. Sigh, man. Kind of feels a little warm in here, are the walls closing in on me? Shh, wait! What was that? What was that? Whoa!! What the fuck?! What the hell’s going on? Help! Help! I t’s cold! My eyes!! Where am I going? WHERE AM I GOING?!!
“It’s a girl!”
Part One: Life Happened to Me
I was born at Riverside General, April 2, 1983 at 1:52 in the morning by cesarean section. My mother a 19 and a half year old drug addict, my father a young, illegal Mexican immigrant. According to my grandparents, my mother had heart problems from using dirty needles and went into cardiac distress while trying to give birth to me. We both survived, but she had to stay in the hospital longer than I did. I went home with my grandparents, and that’s where I would stay until I was 18. Some people think it’s amazing I didn’t have developmental issues. I came out a normal weight, completely formed, not addicted to any substances.
I remember seeing pictures of my first birthday at my Great-grandmother’s house. Apparently I stayed with Ma for a month around that time, although I’m not sure why. I suspect it was so that my grandparents could try to help my mom detox for my sake. They failed, through no fault of their own. There are a lot of blanks I still need to fill in about my biological mom, but that is another story. This one’s about me and what I remember, as vague as it may seem sometimes.
By the time I was two years old, I had been taught how to write my name, address and phone number because my mom (Tina), was involved with some pretty unsavory characters and my grandparents were doing everything they could to protect me. Tina hardly came around, but when she did she was usually strung out or jonesing and begging for money. I heard her and my (grand)parents fighting a lot. When I was little, I didn’t understand what it was about. I just thought all kids fought with their parents so it was normal.
If I had to go through what my parents went through with Tina, it would break me. She would steal from them, lie to them, threaten to take me away if they didn’t give her money for a fix. She would scream “Do you want me to fucking die?!” She would manipulate my parents as if they were too stupid to know what she was going to do with the money. Sometimes she would bring random people home with her and not understand why my parents freaked out at having some drug addicted stranger in their house. It’s a miracle we were never robbed; by anyone but my mother, that is.
There were a few times Tina stayed home for an extended period… I remember having her around for Christmas more than once. A couple times she tried to “kick” her habit, and it was awful. It was like watching a slow exorcism. She would cry and scream and moan. She would sweat and have chills so bad you could hear her teeth gnashing in the next room. She vomited uncontrollably and prayed aloud for death. Even at my age, not even in school yet, I knew exactly what was going on. Mama was quitting drugs, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. But it never got better.
My mother was gone a lot, so my grandparents were simply my parents. They raised me, they should get the credit. I didn’t have hard feelings toward my mom. Remember, my whole life was like this. I didn’t know any other “normal” until I started school. One night, I was sitting on my parents’ bed, and my grandma was on the phone with Tina and she said “I think you should tell Shalene where you are. She will understand.” I was 3.
“Hi Mama.”
“Hi Shalena. Do you know where I am?”
“In the hospital?”
“No, I’m in jail, do you know what that means?”
“Yes.”
Did I know what that meant? I think so. It didn’t bother me, I was used to never seeing her anyway. It’s not that I didn’t miss her, but she was kind of like all the other people I didn’t see everyday, aunts, uncles, family friends…it was all the same in my young mind.
Months would go by without me seeing her. If she was in jail, she sent me letters and call collect every once in a while. When she was close to home, we’d go visit her. I loved the little microwavable pizzas they had at the jail. I still buy them every once in a while and it makes my husband laugh when I say “Mmm. Just like the ones in jail.” Most of the time when we visited, I got to hug her and hang out with her for a while, play with other kids whose moms were druggies and prostitutes and felons. It wasn’t a lot different from being at the city park. You know, accept for the armed guards and razor wire. The last few times I visited her behind glass. Apparently she accosted a fellow inmate with a Daisy Razor and lost her “trustee” status.
As the years went by, my parents started trusting my mom to take me on day trips and even over night a couple times. She had her moments of clarity after jail where she would go to NA meetings and hang out with a better class of people. She had friends who weren’t addicts, or had maybe a slight drinking problem, and these people were her true friends. They were the ones who called my parents to inform them of Tina’s whereabouts and the ones that rescued her from sticky situations that my parents couldn’t have handled themselves. They were actually welcomed by my family. But all the help in the world doesn’t do any good if the addict won’t help themselves.
My mother never picked her feet up when she walked, so I knew she was home when I heard a shuffling of flip-flops on the porch. My grandmother once told me “When your mama is skinny, that’s bad. We want her to be fat, okay?” This time she was skinny. Her face was drawn and her eyes were sunken in. She had a distinctive wheezy cough like a 70 year old smoker. She went to take a bath and locked the door. It was a huge deal in my house when she locked the door. That meant she had a needle with her. I can’t tell you how many syringes, burnt up spoons, balloons, baggies and bottle caps I handled before I was even 10 years old. I knew if my parents found it, they’d kick my mom out and I wanted her to stay and get better. So after she passed out in the tub, I’d go in, find her needle, wrap it so carefully in toilet paper and take it to the trash. I knew about AIDS, I knew about all the horrible things IV drugs can do. I was a narcotics expert before I hit 5th grade. My parents thought that by educating me and being honest about everything, I stood the best chance of not following in my mother’s footsteps. This all sounds horrible for a young child to go through, but kids are resilient. I am not traumatized by my childhood. I had it rough, but I’m luckier than most people on this planet.
Like I said before, things seemed normal to me until I got into school. When I started making friends and realized that everyone I knew lived with a mom, a dad, and maybe a sibling or two, I knew I was ‘different’. I lived with my grandparents, and people would as me why. I didn’t know what to say. My grandparents told me not to tell people my mom did drugs, and not to tell them she was in jail because then they would assume we’re bad people and would not let their kids interact with me. So naturally, as children do, I told stories of my mom being away on a trip, or away on business…. A lot of people may have thought my mom was in the military, who knows?
We did have some bad nights. There were times when my grandmother would get me out of bed at 2:30 in the morning to go driving around the worst part of town looking for my mother. To make sure she was alive and had money for food and whatever else. I remember finding her an random corners (you know what she was doing) and picking her up, driving around the block while her and my grandmother went back and forth and then her getting out at a motel with whatever money my grandma had on her. I don’t remember her ever coming home with us. Then my grandmother would cry, silently on the way home. I would pretend to be asleep.
There were times where I’d be laying in bed and I’d cry and ask my grandma why I didn’t have a normal family, why my mother didn’t love me and why she wasn’t there. I feel bad my parents had to see and hear that. What do you tell a little child who asks those things? One time my mom came home in pretty bad shape, and I had a trip to Knott’s Berry Farm the next day with the Girl Scouts. It had been a long time and I wanted to spend as much time with my mom as possible, so I asked if I could sleep with her. My grandmother was adamant that I sleep in my own bed. I begged and cried, I couldn’t understand why she would keep me away from my mom knowing how little I see her. She told me if I slept with my mom, that I wouldn’t not be allowed to go to Knott’s the next day. I went to my own bed, defeated and confused, feeling like my grandmother was just being cruel to punish me. I know now, she was worried I might wake up to a corpse.
I was getting a little older, almost 10 and I think I was pretty jaded by then. I was old enough to really understand what was going on with my mom, and how despite the many chances my parents gave her to clean up her act, she carried on with her destructive lifestyle. I would get to spend time with her every so often and then I wouldn’t see her for weeks. I started asking my parents “Is my mother dead?” regularly. I mean, without batting an eye! And I always expected the answer to be yes. It pissed my mom off and when she would talk to me on the phone she’d say “Quit asking grandma and grandpa if I’m dead! I’m not going to die!” so I’d say “You can.” And she’d get upset and I wouldn’t hear from her for several more weeks.
One day, my best friend Nancy and I were playing in my yard. We were going to visit Ma in Arizona for the weekend, and her mom and my mom were getting things ready inside the house. I kept asking my grandma when we were going to leave and she told me when my grandpa came home. That was weird, we never waited on him all the other times we went to Ma’s. So I went back outside and rode bikes with Nancy.
“I think my mom is dead.”
“You always say that.”
“I know, but this time I think it’s true.”
We kept riding around, my uncle Steven showed up. He was 25 at the time and had his own agenda, we never saw him so that was kind of odd too. Then my grandpa came home. My grandma came outside and said she needed to talk to me. Steven took Nancy and her mom to the front yard and my parents sat me down on the couch.
“We have something kind of hard to tell you.”
“I already know, my mom is dead.”
“Yes, she is sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s probably better this way, right?”
I was 11 years old. My grandmother had received a call from a friend of my mom’s shortly before we were going to leave for Arizona.
“Hi is this Tina’s mom?”
“Yes it is, who is this?”
“This is _____. I just wanted to call and offer my condolences. I’m really sorry.”
“What? Condolences?”
“Oh my god. I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Tina?”
“yes. I’m sorry.”
She was dead for over a week before word had even made it to us. She had been legally married to one of her drug dealer boyfriends, and since he was there when she OD’d, they counted that as notifying her next of kin. My grandpa had to go identify her body. I’m sure it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life, and he’s not had it easy. I think he said he went crazy on the cops, how could they let his daughter’s body rot in the morgue. She has an extensive criminal record, there is no reason they could not have contacted her family. I got to pick out her casket and headstone. I read a poem at her funeral. I didn’t cry. She finally did something good for me.
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