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It's been a long time since I posted a journal entry on Gaia. But today, I felt the need to do it.
Here in American, it is July 4th. Hot and humid. The birthday of the USA. A time to celebrate. Yet, as I hear the fireworks in the distance, I know another reason why my parents, especially my Mum no longer feels the need to celebrate. In fact, for the past 21 year, Mum barely acknowledges today. It was a hot and humid too on July 4th, 1989. The day my parents could have lost me.
Mum has told me the stories many times. It might have been a holiday, but both she and Papa had work. Papa at a corner store in the county north of us, Mum at a grocery store in the county east of us. I was left in the care of my favorite Aunt, Aunt Kris. She had just graduated that June and would be leaving in the fall for basic training.
Aunt Kris decided that she wanted to visit her friend that day. Oddly enough in the same county where Mum worked. With no way to contact Mum, Aunt Kris and I left without telling anyone. Not knowing what would happen.
On our way home we came around a curve. A sharp curve. A driver came from the opposite way and gunned it. He came into our lane. Aunt Kris had to dodge and in doing so, hit some gravel. The car flipped and rolled over. We were upside down in a deep ditch filled with water. I fell out of my car seat. In order to keep my head from going under, my Aunt Kris freed one hand and held my chin up. This kept my head up out of the water.
Some people saw the accident, they called the police. One man broke open a window to get me out of the car. They stripped me of my clothes. They were soaking wet and covered in glass. I don't know how my Aunt Kris got out. When the ambulance came, they loaded us in. I was panicked. I screamed for my Aunt Kris, but she wasn't allowed to be near me. They strapped an oxygen mask to my face.
Mum saw the ambulance go by. She was sitting on a bench. But she didn't know. She wasn't told until my Grandma Sharon, Mum and Aunt Kris' mother, picked her up four hours later. Mum called Papa from the hospital and told him. He came to the hospital. I had been in the emergency room for almost six hours before I was released to my parents.
That night my parents learned just how badly I was affected by the accident. After I was released from the hospital we had to go to the park to find the officer who had my clothes (he had put them in the trunk of his car). It was during the fireworks where he was doing patrol. I started having a panic attack.
The doctors told Mum and Papa that I had had a trauma attack or something. Loud noises would send me into panic attacks if they were bad enough (severe heights do the same thing). For the next few years I couldn't go near marching bands, was terrified of storms, fireworks, sirens, and other loud noises.
Today, things have changed. I love marching bands and loud music. If I hear them ahead of time, sirens don't bother me. Storms still bother me, but I am in awe of them. I won't step foot near guns or cannons or anything like that.
As for fireworks, well I love them. For years we would go and watch them. But never at the park where they were. Most years we watched from the top level of a parking garage. One year we sat in the parking lot of the library. Both times I was the car with my brother, this lessened the stress. The best year was when we watched them from a park miles away. I could sit outside with my CD player on and watch them.
Last year, my Papa decided that maybe the trauma had faded enough. He took me to the park to watch the fireworks with him and my cousin Becca. I took my digital camera along to film them for Mum.
Sadly I freaked out. I filmed until my memory was full. Without the camera, I went into full panic mode. I huddled onto the ground, covering my head with my arms, rocking back and forth. My little cousin Becca draped herself over me kept telling my Papa we needed to go. We did, but near the end. To make up for it, Papa brought me a shake. When I got home Mum saw my state. I was still shaking from fright (the house behind us were doing fire works, the legal kind but still too loud for me after the city's display). She ruled that I could no longer attend firework displays unless I was lest ten miles away. Papa agreed.
The fireworks are over. This year I watched them my bedroom window. Across a river and miles away from where they are set off. Mum never watches them anymore. She hasn't in years.
Mum never really thought of the Fourth of July as a national holiday. For her it was personal. Every year she takes us out and tells the story of how in 1989 I survived a car accident.She won't let me out her sight. One year, Papa and Mum took us to Lansing. We went to the zoo and the Museum. Just because I wanted to.
For Mum and Papa, the Fourth of July isn't just a celebration of the States' birthday. It's a celebration for me too.
KaidaSoulAngel · Mon Jul 05, 2010 @ 03:46am · 0 Comments |
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