This is my story

“Someone call 9-1-1!” my mom screamed from her bedroom. I jumped down from my bunk bed and ran into the living room where I saw my older brother already on the phone with emergency.

As I got closer to the shouting coming from my parent’s bedroom, I saw my mother on the floor with my father who was convulsing, foam coming from his mouth. I stood there in shock unable to react.

I was 9 years old.

‘What will happen if my dad dies tonight?’ I thought, standing in the doorway of my parent’s bedroom paralyzed with fear. ‘What will happen to my family? Who will take care of us?’

Before I could allow it all to sink in, my older sister grabbed me by my arm and pulled me into her bedroom where my siblings sat on the floor. She sat me down along with them, closed the door and locked it. By this time the ambulance arrived working to bring my dad’s lifeless body back to existence.

We sat in a circle helpless, all four of us, praying and crying out to God: we prayed that someone please turn back the hands of time, save our dad. We prayed that someone was listening, anyone.

My father survived, thank God, but not without incident. My family along with our innocence was shattered. My mother was now the breadwinner and we were all to take over my father’s janitorial business because he was now considered disabled by the State of California.

You see, my father had a stroke and died for several minutes before the paramedics revived him. He lost oxygen to his brain, leaving him incapable of doing much on his own. My mom eventually left my dad for the sake of her sanity. I never quite understood why my father and our family had to go through this. Or why God would allow this to happen; but no one ever talked about it so neither did I until now.

By this time, I was acting out in my early teens committing petty crimes just to get attention. I even started drinking and smoking weed just to numb the hurt I was feeling. The loss of my innocence was the greatest tragedy of my life, and I’ve been somehow trying to recover it within myself as though it’s even possible to get back. I just wanted to feel it again, touch it, embrace it. Even for just one more time.

I never knew what heartbreak felt like until I saw my family divide after my father’s stroke. My mom was gone and my siblings were living their lives. I was left alone caring for my father. I was hurting and blamed everyone, including myself. I just wanted the hurt to go away.

When I was old enough, in my late teens, I began to travel as a means of escape. I searched across the globe for anything just to get away from the pain. I guess you could say travel saved my life because it soon then became a passion of mine and a way of life, expression and release for me.

Coincidentally, writing is another passion of mine and also a form of expression and release; both having helped me cope and eventually heal through some of my past pain. Therapy was another saving grace. I never realized how important emotional health was until I sought treatment.

One of the subjects that continuously came up in my sessions was my childhood and how I had not dealt with my past trauma: going back to where the hurt began. I eventually went back to my parent’s bedroom doorway where I visualized Mikey, my inner child, still standing there stuck, unable to move. I then imagined grabbing him, turning him away from the horror and telling him everything is going to be okay. “I love you, Mikey.” I hugged him.

Embracing my past has been one of the hardest things in my life, but one of the greatest lessons, too. Something I noticed while telling my story is the love that goes into it. So, next time you get a chance, ask someone you care about to share their story with you. You may be inspired to tell your own.

Bon courage