20 Years Later

February 23, 2010 by LadyJarhead

Twenty years ago my mother died in a car accident. I still remember that day so clearly. I came home from school and started doing the dishes because we were getting ready to pack up the house and move to a different town. My brother was outside playing with a friend when the phone rang. My uncle was calling to tell me that my mom had been in an accident and that he would be over to pick my brother and I up. When he got there he didn't say a word about the accident and just grabbed some clothes for my brother and I and put us in the car. He drove us to my grandmother's house and I remember my brother asking me why we weren't going to the hospital to see my mom. We really both thought that she only had some minor injuries, but that she was going to be okay. When we walked into the house my whole family was there and my brother went in the back to play with our cousin. My aunt (with whom my mom had recently argued with and they weren't talking) was crying and kept referring to my mom in the past tense. I finally asked why she was doing this. Everyone freaked out (literally) because they thought I knew. They finally told me that she had died in the accident. I always remember that I had been the "strong" one between my brother and I. He was the crier, I was not. But I completely broke down. I insisted on telling my brother. That day, and the weekend following, had me on such an emotional rollercoaster ride. Where were we going to live? Who was going to take care of us? Would we have to go live with our dad?

As the years passed, my brother and I dealt with our grief in different ways. I made the most of the therapy that my grandparents sent us to. I dealt with it in healthy way. My brother did not. He became everything my mother was. A drug addict, an alcoholic, and a criminal. I, on the other hand, did none of those things. I graduated from high school, went to the military, married, had children, and went to college.

As we hit this 20 year anniversary of her death, the questios I have always wanted to ask her are lingering in the forefront of my mind. Would she be proud of the woman I have become? Would she love her grandchildren? Would she have judged me for the decisions I have made in my life? How would she have felt about my joining the military? (She grew up during the Vietnam War and always swore her children would never join the service.) Would she approve of Mike? Did she cause that car accident? If so, why? Didn't she realize that at that age I had a hard time with the lies and being without her? And the hardest one...would I want her in my life at this point, knowing how different my life is from the one that she chose for herself?

Somewhere down deep I have to acknowledge the fact that these questions will never be answered. I hope that what I have become would make her proud today, if she were still here. I also want to believe, that if she did intentionally cause her death, that as a mother I understand her reasons, but I don't agree with them.

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