The Day Angela Faded Away Forever

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a creative non-fiction I had to write for my Senior Creative Writing class in high school. Now two years later,I look back on this piece and am very proud of myself for being able to put down such personal thoughts onto paper (publicly).

Submitted: June 14, 2008

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Submitted: June 14, 2008

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"The Day Angela Faded Away Forever"

It was a beautiful, sunny day in April of 2000, one week before my thirteenth birthday. To me it was just another day. As my sister and I dressed for the day and got ready to head to work with my mother, I realized I felt funny. Something was not right. I began to feel queasy. I felt as if I had thousands of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, yet I chose to ignore it. Throughout the remainder of the morning I let the feeling of uneasiness sit in the pit of my stomach.

While my mother worked, I noticed she got up and closed her office door. To my sister and I, it meant nothing, it was the norm. We thought we were probably just being too loud, but when I entered her office a while later, without warning, she snapped at me and told me to get out. I began to worry even more at that point. Something had to be wrong. I kept thinking about people in the family. Was someone hurt? Did someone die? I just couldn’t stop thinking many ‘what ifs’. By the time we ate lunch and were headed home I felt worse than when I had woken up that morning. The feeling that something was wrong plagued me. My head was spinning and my mother was still acting suspicious, like something was awfully wrong.

When we arrived home, my sister and I were sent outside to play, and then my aunt came over. I knew my aunt and mother were discussing something important because my sister and I were shut out. My mother wouldn’t tell me anything and her and my aunt became engrossed in their conversation. There was nothing I could do to contain the queasiness. I was sick to my stomach.

As I rode my bike down the street everything seemed gray to me. I found no happiness in the red-belly Robins sharing their songs with me. And the trees that were littered with jade leaves after a harsh winter were suddenly ugly to me. The life around added no comfort to the feeling in my stomach.

Suddenly my mother’s voice yanked me out of my world of gray. She was calling to me. All day she had been ignoring me. I was so happy I nearly fell off my bike as I parked in the driveway. Slowly the excitement faded because her face was not one of happiness, and what she said to me stopped the beat of my heart momentarily. What she said next was about my biological mother, Angela. And when she was finished I sat there processing her words in my mind.

“Your mother is dead. She had a heart attack while bathing and drowned. I’m sorry.”

I felt the hot tears spring up from my heart and fill my eyes. I shook my head; it just couldn’t be true. In that instant I was unsure how I felt. A whirlwind of emotions overtook me. I was angry. Angela, the woman who held many of the answers to all my questions about my pre-adopted life was dead. The only connection to my past, my mother, was dead. I was also sad. My biological mother, the woman who birthed me, the woman who raised me best she could until things in the world of poverty and drug addiction were too bad was dead. And I was confused. I had so many mixed emotions in that moment. I was unsure whether to believe she was gone. And at the same time I was unsure whether to cry out of love or anger.

I let the tears flow and I thought of Her. I didn’t want to believe she was gone, and at the same time I was glad she was. It didn’t seem right to think like that then. But now that I’m older, I understand.

I felt that way because I was torn between a past and a future. The raging river of emotions I felt in the moment I learned Angela was dead healed a part of my heart so that I could moved forward with my life. In that moment my mother told me Angela was dead I had graduated from one life into another without any attachments to the previous life.

My memoirs of the day Angela faded from existence forever are foggy, but I will always remember that day. Everything, every feeling, every question from that day haunted me until I was old enough to understand why I felt them. Hearing the words, “Your mother is dead,” allowed me to burst out of a cocoon. But I was sad because a part of me had died and I didn’t know how to handle my metamorphosis. That moment in my life will forever be a vivid memory, but I will never again have to deal with that transformation. It’s behind me, allowing me the chance to press forward without the shadows of my past haunting me.


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