Note > This story was conceived six years ago. I had three or four chapters completed. It was written on another laptop , which I wound up throwing on the ground and stomping on , because of it's unsatisfactory performance , so most of the story was lost.
Time , like a river , has many tributaries , or time lines that can take you any-time , any-where. The past is not set ; the future is not written in stone. The paths that you choose in this life time , will determine your final destination.
We are all born for a reason , a final destination in life. Most people don't know this. Others believe that they were born to accomplish something special , to be a teacher , a doctor , or the President of the United States.
My final destination , my sole purpose in life , the reason I was born , was to save my mother and sister. I believe that now with all my heart.
When I was fourteen , my mother was killed in a car accident. My biggest regret was not being there when it happened. I kept thinking that I could have saved her - had I been there - or prevented the accident from happening.
I was in school when it happened. My mother had been on her way home from work , when she lost control of the car , sending her off the road. She had died instantly. My aunt came to pick me up and take me to the hospital. She didn't say right away what was wrong , but I knew it was something bad , because she had been crying. In fact , she didn't speak , until she parked the car and turned off the engine.
During the drive to the hospital , which had been no more than five or six minutes , I knew it had to be someone close to me , and I silently hoped that it wasn't someone in my family. But when aunt Becky turned to me and said , "Tom , there was an accident. Your Mother was ... she was killed in ... she was killed in a car accident this afternoon ," I wanted to scream and slam my fist into something. But I did neither of those things. Instead , I reached out and awkwardly held my aunt while she cried.
As sisters they had been close. I hadn't realized how close until that moment. I should have felt sadness. All I felt was anger , and I felt guilty that I hadn't cried. But later , when I saw my mother in that hospital bed , unmoving , her eyes not quite closed all the way , and her tongue protruding slightly between her lips , the anger faded , and the tears came. They came fast and hard.
I told her I was sorry for not being a better son. I told her I was sorry for all the times I hadn't listened to her. I told her I was sorry for staying out late and partying with my friends. I told her I was sorry for the few times I had played hooky from school. I told her I was sorry for the time I had showed up drunk at school and gotten arrested. I told her I was sorry for all the times I had lied to her. And I told her I was sorry for the one time I told her that I hated her.
I regretted that more than anything.
I told her all of this in silence and wished that none of them had ever happened. I had done so many things that I wasn't proud of , and most of them had hurt the one who meant the most to me.
I held her hand and sobbed. Strings of snot dripped from my nostrils. My surroundings dimmed through the tears. I could see movement at the corners of my vision. Someone could have been staring at me , but I didn't care. All I cared about was the woman in that hospital bed. The woman who read to me when I was a boy. The woman who comforted and cared for me when I was sick. The woman who walked me to the bus stop every morning , and was always waiting to pick me up.
Finally , I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. Aunt Becky , telling me it was time to go. But I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready to leave her.
I went anyway. As we left the hospital , I wondered where Sarah and my father were. Aunt Becky told me they had already been there and gone home.
I wondered why my father hadn't picked me up. He had picked up Sarah , but not me.
The funeral was less than a week later. I remember how much it had rained. Aunt Becky wanted my father to postpone it for the next day , but he wanted to get it over with , so it went on. We all stood under umbrellas as Reverend James shouted to be heard above the down pour. The only people present besides my sister and father , and my aunt , were my three cousins , Jack , Loree , and Christie , my uncle Jim , and my mother's parents. She had two older brothers , and a younger sister , but none of them had bothered to show up.
I held Sarah's hand and she held Dad's. Both of them were crying. I looked at the faces of the others around me and saw that they were all crying. Even Jack , who never cried about anything. I was the only one who wasn't and I felt guilty. I hadn't cried since that day at the hospital ; I had no idea why the tears wouldn't come.
After the funeral , everyone came to the house. They brought tons of food and alcohol , but none of us felt like eating. Everyone stood around , laughing and drinking , and stuffing themselves like it was a party. Someone had just been buried and no one seemed to care. I sat on the sofa for as long as I could , and then went to my room , slammed the door and locked it.
I was lying on the bed , staring up at the ceiling , when someone knocked softly at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Sarah. Can I come in?"
"Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone."
"Come on , Tom , open the door."
I got up and opened the door , then threw myself back on the bed. "Is everyone gone?"
"Yes , everyone's gone." Her eyes were red and puffy from so much crying. She had cried almost non stop over the last two days. I hadn't shed a single tear.
"Are you alright , Tom?"
"Of course I'm alright."
"No , you're not. You miss Mom."
"Then why haven't I cried?" I asked.
"You have ," she said. "The day you said good bye."
"I mean since then."
"I don't know. But you will when you're ready to."
Sarah was ten , but she sounded like someone much older. Sometimes when I talked to her , it was as if I were conversing with an adult in a child's body. She was mature and precocious for her age. She was always reading , and wrote the most wonderful stories. She was so bright that when she was six , her teachers had wanted to move her from second grade , to fourth. But Sarah wouldn't hear of it. She knew that if she were moved up a couple of grades , the other students would torment her , so she stayed where she was and pretended to be as dumb as everyone else.
"The reason I came in here , was to tell you that I think you should talk to Dad."
"I don't feel like talking to anyone ," I said.
"You're talking to me."
"No one else."
"You're not the only one who misses Mom , you know."
She said it like she was accusing me of something. I reached out my arms and she hugged me tight. I never wanted to let her go. She was trembling. Most of the time she was like an adult in a child's body , but now she was just a frightened little girl , lost without her mother.
At last , I pulled away. "Tell Dad I'll talk to him soon."
But I never did talk to him after that. My father and I had never been that close , and at times over the years , I felt a sadness for what had never been. All my life Dad had been a workaholic and never had much time for Sarah , or me. Sarah had been less bitter about than me. I wasn't ready to forgive him for picking up Sarah , taking her to see our mother after she died , while leaving aunt Becky to get me.
After the funeral , Dad and I drifted even farther apart , and I felt an even greater sadness.
During the following days , I went through my life in a deep depression. School was no longer important to me. School was never important to me , but I went anyway. My favorite hobbies no longer held any interest for me. All I could see was my mother's face. I saw it everywhere I looked. I saw it in my waking life , and in my dreams. Often I would wake up crying ; those were the only times I had cried since her death. I still had not cried during a waking period.
At school I wandered aimlessly through the corridors , much of the time forgetting where I was going , or what I was doing. My school work suffered. I had always been on the verge of flunking out - I was a lazy student - but even more so now. I couldn't even concentrate on sports , during or after school ; I was constantly dropping balls and striking out.
I got into more fights than usual , often leaving my opponents beaten and bloody. Everything and anything set me off. Someone would say something I didn't agree with , or tackle me too hard during a game , and I would explode. Anger was my curse , and my down fall. It got me suspended from several games , and ultimately from school. But I didn't care. Nothing was important to me anymore , not school , not sports , not anything.
My social life wasn't much better. My relationship with Kasey , which had always been a bit strained , was even more so now. We were no longer speaking to each other. At school we would spend most of our time together , but since the funeral , I had been neglecting her more and more. Her every attempt to get me to talk to her , was met with resistance. I loved Casey , but I didn't want to talk about my mother's death , even to her. One day , I told her to go away and leave me alone. She did , and I didn't see her again for a long time.
That scared me. I hadn't meant what I said. I didn't want her to go away. I just needed some time to be alone. She misunderstood , and for two weeks I barely saw her at all. I would catch glimpses of her as she hurried between classes , but that was it. Sometimes I would call out to her , but she would run away.
One night , in the privacy of my room , I cried for the first time since my mother's death. I cried for Kasey , because I was afraid that I would never see her again. I cried for Sarah , who had lost not only a parent , but a friend , someone she could always talk to about anything. I cried for my father and the closeness we had never shared. I cried for aunt Becky who had lost a sister. But most of all , I cried for my mother , who I would never see again.
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