The Eleventh Day
January eleventh used to be a day just like every other. Nothing really ever stood out about it, no special events triggered by those numbers on the calendar, no urgent or important deadlines beckoning to me and still almost two weeks before my birthday. It was simply just another day to tack on to the ones before it and I could anticipate its return without a predetermined agenda every year, just like clockwork. However, nearly a decade ago, tragedy hit home and it was like a tidal wave of devastation to my once complacent world.
The phone began to ring and I recall the incessant ring tone in the dim light of my bedroom. All I could think was “who had the nerve to call me so early in the morning”. Like a new born baby just opening its eyes, images around me were still fuzzy as I clumsily reached for the night stand ready to tear into the voice on the other end. I was able to make out the name on the caller ID just before answering, “Mom” it read. The tired, bitter voice in my head grumbled as I gave an equally unfriendly “hello” to the unsuspecting soul on the other end. It was a male voice, one I knew, but why was he calling me and so early in the morning? My mom’s new fiancé was not a bad guy but there was something about him I never really liked, as if he had been branded with an invisible message that said “Don’t trust me”.
He was frantic and stumbling over his words and my drowsy mind struggled to make sense of his ramblings. As the gears in my head started to turn, I realized he was telling me that something was wrong with my mother. Suddenly, more alert and intent on understanding the situation, I sat up and tuned into the words stammering from his mouth. I had already begun shuffling around for clothes to throw on when I heard the shattering news. “Your mom, she’s dead! In her sleep… we don’t know what happened but you need to get here!”
Instantly a deafening silence consumed me. I realize now that was the sound of shock, as if I was in a bustling metropolis with cars and swarms of people frantically buzzing past and God simply pressed the mute button. Everything around me appeared to be happening in a state of slow play and I was the only one moving at a regular pace. In my stupefied state, I managed to wake the kids, tossed on their little shoes, flung their bulky winter coats around their pint-sized shoulders and ran out to the car with a toddler under each arm. I still don’t know how I managed to drive there that morning but this would be the image the eleventh day in January would conjure in my mind.
Gazillions of tribulations sprouted after that incident and caused nothing but headache in the weeks following. Trying to wrap up services and an estate became repetitious as if it were a daily job that I did not want to be at. My birthday rolled in nipping at the heels of the funeral the day before. With no desire to celebrate, I wallowed in self-pity and waited for the day to blow away like debris in the wind. I no longer wanted to have to deal with another January again. The whole month had become jaded for me and would leave a soured taste in my mouth at the thought of another one every eleven months.
For months I stay locked away in my darkened bedroom shut off from the world around me. It had become a twisted security blanket I clung to and I didn’t have to let anyone in. So there I sat, in solitude and desolation, while everyone else continued to move on. I ignored my children unintentionally. It was as if I had been taken over by an invasion of body snatchers. There was no soul, no emotion, no beating heart and I was just an empty vessel sent on a mission to carry out the mundane tasks that I had done for years prior. In my state of depression anger was my ally and would lash out over anything. My children found out quickly that the mother they once knew had left and they could only pray that she would return one day to save them from the monster that they now lived with.
It was my children that became my saving grace, the rock to which I struggled so eagerly to keep a grip on. There was a moment that I saw myself from a distance as I punished my kids for something minor but in anger and frustration was met with spanking. As I watched on from across the room astonished at the suffering this new “mother” brought their budding lives, my heart began to feel again. Even though it was disappointment, it began to beat again instilling in me the will to carry on, to right the wrong that I had done and bring love back into our once happy abode. The dark storm that had surrounded me for six months had finally started to clear and blue skies were in the forecast.
With each day, week, and then month, it got a little easier to feel like myself again. On the outside, I appeared restored with the past neatly tucked away as if it were just a scrapbook to take out and reminisce over on occasion. But inside, still cowering in an obscure forbidden corner, was the monster I sought to dispose of. Every first of January it would return from hibernating and drag me to its cave to gnaw on my soul once more. And again, lacking strength and motivation to fight, I would mark the days until the last one for the month was tallied signaling the end to the thirty-one day siege. For seven years this heathen returned and for seven years I surrendered to the fight.
At the end of 2010 I again mustered up the courage and pulled all the strength I could find because this time, I vowed to vanquish this creature once and for all. January would start my quest to victory and every day would be handled one by one. I chose to focus on pleasant thoughts and wonderful blessings I have in my life. For every sad or upsetting thought, I forced myself to follow up with two happy ones. For twenty-three days I chronicled my journey through blogs and Facebook posts. If I could just make it to my birthday without being captured, the rest of the month would be easy sailing.
The eleventh came and I was surviving; holding my battleground strong. Then I received word that one of my best friends from childhood had given birth to a healthy set of twins. Many times they were close to losing the babies and for the first time in a long time I had prayed for them and now they were here as if it had been a walk in the park. I knew at that moment my mother was somehow involved, like she was God’s letter carrier now. I had no excuse not to celebrate this day. I summoned up the strength and courage of thousand men that day. The twenty-third came and went without a hitch and I kept my word steady. True, there was a twinge of loss still lingering about but it was a speck of dust in all of the glory I felt. I had won!
Here it is again, the eleventh day and there is no darkness about me. I revel in the glory that my mother once was and all that she still does for me. I think it was her gift to me for my success; and in her true form to outdo even herself, she follows it up by helping out on another prayer I tossed to the Heavens last week. My dearest and best friend received a call for an opportunity to shine in the entertainment world and fulfill a lifelong dream and I know she had a hand at making sure my message was received by The Almighty.
Now, as the day comes to a close, I am at peace once more. Although there are a few faces my eyes cannot see and a few laughs my ears cannot hear, it’s as if very little has changed. I no longer tread softly as the months pass bringing me face to face with the eleventh day of January. I put on a smile, hold tight to my strength knowing my mother is holding my hand, and I face the day as if it were a day like any other… a beautiful gift!
