I was thirteen years old when death changed my life. A natural thing to say, of course, because meeting death is not something we human being look at with a careless eye. It is such a complicated thing, death, and it affects not only the person experiencing it, but also the community around that person. Family, friends, neighbors, co-workers.. Even strangers can be affected by a thing as common as death To many of us, it hits close to home.
Throughtout my life, I have seen death a number of times. The first one was when I was five years old, and my neighbor's cat killed a bird in my back yard. I was heartbroken for days, unable to understand how a creature such as the bird could stop being alive as easily as that, and how some other creature could be able to kill without remorse. I was scared out of my mind, certain that it would happen again, and that the cat would come after me next. I remember starting to cry when I saw the cat later. Thomas, my dad, tried to explain that killing birds was in cats' nature, and that it would never attack a sweet little girl such as myself, but I refused to listen to him. Mind you, I am still not particularly fond of cats, and I still don't understand why the bird had to die. It just seemed so unjust.
Four years ago, death was still a strange and unjust thing, and the incident that summer still seems strange, but it all makes more sense to me now. Before I go on with this story, I must tell you that I was a very mature child. I understood responsibility, and to have something to take care of was a part of my life. As the oldest of five children, six years older than the next in line, I often had to take care of my siblings. Thomas worked, and Ellis, my mother, was never really at home. She travelled a lot, mostly working in one of the other English speaking countries, or just one of the other states. To be honest, I am not really sure where she was most of the time, I just knew she was not with us, which was all that mattered to me at the time. I reckon she didn't like to spend time with us; at least not before she had to. After giving birth to me seventeen years ago, she took off, only showing her face five years later, six months before my brother Kieron was born. After that she officialy lived with us, but not really, if you know what I mean.
I could talk about my responsibility prior to my life changing meeting with death for a long time, if I had to, but that is not where my story begins. I am sure that if you read all my present and future blogs, you will know more about my past than strictly necessary, but is not that what forms us? We are nothing without our past. I am nothing without my past.
The day a death gave room for a life was the first day of my life. A cliché thing to say, I know, but still. I did not know much about life until that day. I remember it all so well.
The summer holiday had just started, and I was watching my younger siblings while they were playing in the back yard. I loved watching them play, and they often begged me to join them. Of couse, it was never hard to beg. That day, though, something just was not right. It was like I could smell that something would happen, and boy was I right.
Kieron, Benjamin and Penny was throwing a ball to each other, when Ellis suddenly came bursting out of the house. I will never forget the way she looked right then. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, and sweat was dripping from her forehead. A shaking hand supported her body in the door frame, while the other one desperately held on to her belly. She was bleeding. The look in her eyes haunted me for a long time after this. They were wild, yet blury. Scared, yet filled with will. Honestly, it is impossible to explain the picture I have imprinted behind my eye lids whenever I think of my mother.
We hurried to the hospital. All six of us. Thomas did not really want us kids to come with, but I knew he would need my support, and we could not leave the kids behind. When we got there, Ellis was in a really bad shape. I never got to know what was wrong with her, because no one would tell me. All I know is that they hurried her to an OR, fearing that they would both die. Only one did. They saved the little baby, but to Ellis, it was a lost battle even before it began.
We stayed at the hospital for a while. Father had to make arrangements for Ellis' funeral, and fill out a whole lot of documents for the hospital. I stayed there for Olivia. It broke my heart to see her lying there in the incubator, all helpless and weak. They wouldn't let me hold her yet, but there was an opening on the side so that I could touch her soft skin. I will never forget how the petit fist grasped my pinky finger and held on to it as if it was the only thing that kept her alive. That truly touched my heart.
Father would not even look at her. During our stay at the hospital (I did not go home till I could bring her with me), I brought all of the other kids in to see her. One by one. I refused to leave her side, certain I would lose her as well if I left her unattended. It was not true, of course, and I knew that. I just loved her so much from the very beginning. My life did not begin until I looked into those bright blue eyes filled with innocence and unawareness.
I remember the first time I held Olivia. The tiny little creature in my arms seemed so fragile. Of course, she was fragile. It was a miracle she survived, seeing as she was born ten weeks premature, and because of the fatal complications that cost my mother her life.
It soon became clear to me that my father had no intentions of caring for the neonate with all the love she deserved. He never said it out loud, but in my heart I felt that he blamed Olivia for what had happened to mother. If it had not been for the baby, Ellis would not have met her mortality prematurely. She would have been alive and with us, or so he liked to think. We both knew that she would have left us. It was only a matter of time until she would leave us for good. Even so, I took it upon myself to take care of the newest member of our family, as well as the other ones. I cared for Olivia the way a mother would care for her child. She was my daughter. At the age of thirteen I was a mother. A life changing experience that truly taught me about life. I might have been mature before, but I grew up even more during this. In a way, I entered the hospital as a child, and exited as a adult mother. I named her Olivia Ellis Baine - after her mother.
Father was never the same after that. It is safe to say that he never truly recovered. Even now, after four years have passed, he cannot look Olivia in the eyes. It causes him pain to look at the child who every day looks more like her mother. The constant reminder of what he once lost is killing him slowly. I know he loves Olivia, but it is difficult to face the sorrow. I think the girl is noticing, and I am scared of what might happen. That is probably the main reason why I hate going away to school. My father needs me, and so does my siblings. Kieron is only twelve years old, and yet I have left him with the resposibility of looking after our family. He can do it, I am sure, but not the way I can. He needs to be a child, and to enjoy the childhood I was deprived of. As soon as I graduate I will be back. This distance is killing me.
I am sorry that you had to read through this, but to know how it all began is important to understand anything, I believe. To be able to have any kind of relationship with me, scholastic, friendly, or other, my past needs to be known. At least I have always believed so. As I mentioned in my last blog; we are nothing without our past. It defines who we are.
Lots of love,
Quin
