Family

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Heidi Johnson
Professor Dop
Nonfiction Writing
January 27, 2006
“Crippled”
Ever have a day in your life when you think the world is coming to an end? When the weight of the world seems to be closing in and your strength in dwindling? What do you do, where do you go? The only thing you want to do is disappear, put yourself in a dark hole of despair and hide; in hopes that no one will find you. Now maybe this is a little dramatic for some of you, but for me this is exactly how I felt on one of the hardest days of my life; the day I broke.
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The day is July 19,2004 To those around me there are blue skies and not a cloud in sight. The birds are chirping and there is just a slight breeze that seems to cool you down just enough under the summer sun. Children in the neighborhood are running through the sprinklers while the parents are reclined in lawn chairs sipping lemonade and engaging in small talk with friends and family. For me it is the exact opposite. You see my day is filled with dark skies, dead silence and the taste of the bitter watered down lemonade that seems to set off every taste bud in my mouth. There is no movement, no laughter, just the sound of my beating heart and the feeling of chills that run down my spine when I am overcome by the realization that I am completely alone.
Dwelling up from within is a scream that is dying to get out I try holding it in, but just as fast as it rose up from within me it has now come rolling off the tip of my tongue. “ahhhhhhhh!” I bang my fist into the soiled ground beneath me, tears enormous in size come rolling down my face uncontrollably. I am a mess. I gather myself together just enough to make it into my house and into my room. No one is home, just my dog Mia and myself. I slam the door behind me as if I am hoping that just maybe someone is close enough to hear it, but still no one. As I lay here with my face smothered into my pillow and the sound of nothing but the thoughts running through my head, I cry out to God,
“ God you know the desires of my heart and you know I want to do all that I can to bring glory to your kingdom, but God I am tired and I am run down. I need your help. My body seems to be falling apart. I am sick of being in pain and tired of trying to fight. I am worn out. I cannot do this anymore. I do not understand what I have done to deserve this, but Lord I need you.”
Dislocated and torn, my body feels like that of an eighty year old woman. The two legs that are stretched out across my bed are crippled by arthritis and my shoulders burn of torn muscles and pulled rotator cuffs. I cannot help but feel a sense of worthlessness. “What good am I?“ I needed someone to rescue me, hold me and pull me out of this hell hole, but I was alone. I lay here in despair waiting, hoping and praying that soon someone will come.
Suddenly the silence is broken by the sound of the front door opening and strangely calming my stirred up world. My mothers voice echoes through the cold dark hallways of our two story home. It begins to get louder and louder as she draws nearer to my bedroom door. The door knob begins to move, the anticipation is unbearable. The door swings open and a sigh of relief is released from my diaphragm. It is like that door held me hostage, not allowing me to run away from the problems that sit before me, yet the ironic thing is I placed myself behinds its hard exterior. With tears rolling down my face and black circles under my eyes by the once neatly placed mascara, I run and fall into my mothers arms. Not knowing what I am feeling my mother looks at me in disarray and confusion. She holds me as tight as possible asking me all sorts of questions, ones that I cannot get myself together enough to answer. Now with no words being spoken I sit on the floor curled up against my mother as if she were my secret blanket.
Faintly, I whispered the words “mommy please do not let go.” My mother responding “never,” and nothing more. I remain curled up in a ball, feeling for once like everything was going to be ok. It is like I have waited forever for her homecoming and now I never want her to let go. In her arms I broke and now in her arms I begin the rebuilding. The rebuilding of my weakened spirit and fragile mind.
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I do not know how long I laid on my bedroom floor that day. I remember not being able to move, not being able to speak. I do not know if to this day that I have ever told my mother what I was going through and if I did would she understand? I did not need advice or words of wisdom and insight all I needed was to rest in the arms of someone I knew truly loved me. That day I learned what it means to break, what it means to feel as if you had nothing left to offer. My relationship with God was far from where it needed to be and I was only wanting Him, but fear held me bound. The picture of the tall white door of my room still plays over and over in my head along with the feeling of entrapment it brought with it.
Changed drastically yet my life still seems to have many July nineteenths. Grown immensely yet still days of feeling like a child incapable of understanding the twist and turns of life. Loved more than I could hope for yet still searching for love. I do not understand and maybe never will understand these times in my life, but there is one thing that will always remain clear; you are never to old to run into the arms of your mother, curl up in a ball and say “ mommy please do not let go.”

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