Revolution

Evolution

It was late morning on the fourth of July, nineteen seventy-eight. My mother died in a hospital bed seven floors above her youngest child. At the age of ten, the hospital’s rules deemed me only fit for the waiting room, amongst its baby toys and coloring books.

As she took her last breath — with her one remaining lung, the earth spun on its axis and circled the sun. Bands and floats paraded down the main streets of America while I was informed that after months and hours in the waiting room, my mother had moved on to heaven. I would wait no more.

I carried guilt for my ten year old thoughts and feelings throughout my late teens and early twenties. All I wanted to do that night was go to the fireworks.

Why couldn’t I?

My sister sobbed on the double bed we shared. The neighbor came to comfort her and cut open her leg when she tripped in my bedroom. She was taken to the hospital for stitches and I still asked, “Why can’t I go to the fireworks?”

At best I was invisible. At worst, a nuisance. But, the world continued to spin on its axis and circle the sun. Tragedy exists everywhere in life.

For many years, I trotted out my mother’s young death, at the age of thirty-eight, to anyone who shared a Bomb Pop, hot dog or wine cooler with me on America’s birthday. It was a badge of honor — my story. “Look here — see what I survived?”

“Yes, she was a smoker, but the doctor’s said it was not a smoking cancer. How did they know? Beats me.”

Slowly, I began to realize that the story I was writing did not suit me. Sure, my mother had died. Yes, it may very well have been her own fault for choosing to smoke. It was her choice. My aunts all smoked, too. Not one of them got lung cancer. Don’t we all make choices that can harm us?

Meanwhile, as our world continued to revolve on its axis and circle around the sun, I chose to revolve and evolve as well.

My mother’s death most certainly defined me. It gave me on one hand freedom, and the other responsibilities my peers did not have. What I learned over time was to stop bemoaning a tragedy over which I had no control. The story I once wrote was woe is me. I’ve rewritten it as acceptance, personal responsibility and moving forward.

Life and death happen. What are you going to do about it?

It is your choice.

Every day, as the world spins on its axis and circles the sun — it is my choice.