After learning of my dad's death I went on nine year old autopilot. I remember very little of that time and not much about the following year in general. I do recall being in a shoe store trying on shiny black dress shoes. Shoes I would be wearing to my father's funeral. I just could not believe that was all real. Normally I would have been excited to own such shiny new dress shoes but I all I could do was sit and stare at the pretty shoes while my mom helped Heather try on her pair.
I only remember a few things about my dad's wake. We (Heather, Jessica, and I ) played tag in the funeral home after most everyone had left. I recall running past my dad's grey casket. I was laughing but I was sad on the inside. Isn't that amazing? I still can't make any sense of it but I was just a kid and didn't know what I was supposed to do anyway. I had probably been sitting for hours by that point. My most poignant memory from the wake is seeing my dad's best friend, Pee-Wee on his knees in front of the casket, sobbing his eyes out.
The following day was the funeral. We got to ride in a limo. I thought that was pretty cool. What I did not think was cool was that I was not allowed to ride with my mother. Everywhere I went people told me to "Stop bothering your mother." Literally. I probably heard that phrase fifty times over that week. I couldn't get within ten feet of her without someone deflecting me. I know that our family was trying to help my mom but what an awful thing to do to two grieving little girls: tell them they can't be near their mother. Who else is going to be able to help them make sense of all of this? My memories of my father's funeral are full of instances of me trying to be close to my mom and my extended family pushing me away.
My sister and I rode with our grandparents, my mother's parents. Mom and other family members rode in another limo. We pulled up to the cemetery and stepped out of the limousines. I could not believe how many people were there. We were ushered through the nearly silent crowd and seated under a little green tent in front of my dad's casket which was heaped with flowers. I have no memory of what the minister, Frank Mullins (a dear friend of my parents--the missionary who lead my parents to The Lord), said during the ceremony. I just kept staring at that grey box and trying to picture my dad lying in there in a blue suit. I just sat there, with no desire to move or talk or think. At least I was sitting by my mom though.
I think this is where I"ll stop. I don't remember a lot after this point anyway.
I love and miss both my parents. Still having a hard time believing that they are both gone. They had their issues for sure but I loved them both very much. It pains me that my dad has missed so much. He never got the chance to know my brother Matthew. Dad had become a grandfather just two months before his death and he never even got to see his grandchild. Now, there are sixteen grandchildren.
That one event completely changed the course of everyone in my immediate family's lives. That is a positive thing for me but it might not be for the other members of my family; I can only speak for myself and offer a pitiful but whole hearted thank you to God (He has been so good to me and I do not deserve a bit of it). We all had a hard time adjusting after Dad's death but some of us had a more difficult time. Looking back I can see the twisty path that led me here. If the accident hadn't happened we would not have eventually moved back to our old house; I wouldn't have gone to a Christian school where I first realized my need for Jesus; our family would not have been split up and scattered just five years after the accident; I wouldn't have ended up in Texas at 16 years old really wondering "WHAT NOW?"; I wouldn't have met Jason four months after landing in the Lonestar State; and so on. There were some major redemptive life themes waiting for me.
But I did not know any of this in May, 1988.
29 March, 2012
New Name
I decided to change the name of my blog. It started out as "Three Times the Fun!" then it progressed to "Four Times the Fun!" I had thought I wouldn't need to change it again. We got a minivan about the time I changed the blog name to "Four Times the Fun!" We had been upsizing our car every 2 years or so and I figured the minivan would serve us for a long time.
Funny. Now we drive this:
Never before and never since,
I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days you'll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour. You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days.
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.
Funny. Now we drive this:
"The Bro"
"The Bro" has room for five more passengers. I'm so happy that we won't have to upgrade to a larger vehicle (ok, at least not in two years. Most likely. But God does enjoy surprises. No quintuplets please though, Lord. Unless that's your will...which I'm politely asking that it not be).
ANYWAY.
And from now on I don't have to have to think of a new name for my blog either. Whew.
By the way, when you think of the blog name I don't want you to think of "These...are...the...days of our lives." I want you to think of it this way: "Theeeeeese arrrrrre the days...we'll remember." I love that 10,000 Maniacs song. I don't believe in luck but this song just makes me happy and makes me overwhelmingly grateful to God for His blessings that I just do not or ever could deserve.
These are the days
These are days you'll remember.Never before and never since,
I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days you'll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour. You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days.
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.
28 March, 2012
May 1988 Part Four
The next ten days were a weird blur. My sister and I continued to go to school. My mom pretty much lived at the hospital. My sister and I were encouraged to draw pictures for Dad and we also made voice recordings on cassette tapes for him. We (Heather and I) were told that he was burned but would be okay. We desperately wanted to see him and were profoundly offended that children were not allowed on the burn unit. My mom said that he couldn't talk because he had a tube in this throat to help him breathe. She said that he was aware of her being there and he wiggled one toe for "yes" and two toes for "no" and the toes on both feet for "I love you."
About a week or so after the explosion, we were playing in the empty lot across the street from Charlie's house. Jessica, Charlie's oldest daughter, had been my friend since before I could remember. She was one year older than me. We were running around playing some kid game and when we stopped and sat in the grass Jessica said to me "My mom said that your dad is probably going to die." Anger and denial washed over me and after returning her comment with something like " He is not! He's getting better!" I stormed back to the house. A feeling that I could not name at the time--doubt--began to make me anxious when I thought about my dad.
Sometime in the next few days I woke up and my mom was not at Charlie and Pee-Wee's (Charlie's husband) house. I was nonplussed and went to school like normal. I remember sitting in the field at recess, leaning against a telephone pole and feeling like the day was very strange. I shrugged it off.
My mom picked us up after school and said that we weren't going back to Charlie and Pee-Wee's just yet. We were going to The Hermitage, which is a historic home built in 1908 that was now a museum. It is surrounded on three sides by the Lynnhaven River which meant that whenever we'd go out on our boat we'd have to pass The Hermitage. It is one of the most beautiful "landmarks" of my childhood.
We got to The Hermitage and walked to a quiet seawall in one of favorite areas. I started my usual search for Interesting Things Washed Up on the Shore. Matthew slept peacefully in his stroller. My mom asked my sister and I to sit on the wall with her. We sat on either side of her. When she took my hand in hers, I knew.
My mom was on my right and I remember gazing to the left, looking up the wide, gray river. She said, "Girls..." and I murmured, "Dad's dead, right?" and she continued on like she hadn't heard me. "Girls, your dad died this morning."
I had known the minute that she had taken my hand that he was gone. But when I heard her say it, I whipped my head back toward her. In the second that it took me to turn toward her, a thousand thoughts flashed through my mind. It was a second that seemed like someone had hit the pause button while my mind grasped the news. The main theme of my thoughts was "How am I going to live through this?"
My sister was the first to collapse in tears, followed by my mom, and when I could breathe again I leaned into my mom's side and we just all sat there and cried our eyes out. Sprinkles of rain landed on our thighs and my mom said, "See? The angels are crying with us." And I think it might be true because I didn't see any signs of rain anywhere else though it was a cloudy afternoon.
Eventually we pulled ourselves together and trekked back to the car. I don't remember anything else about that day except that instead of going back to stay at our friends' house, we went and stayed with my dad's sister and her husband who lived in another part of our city.
I had not been aware of how severe my dad's injuries were until after he died. He was burned over 90% of his body. The is the story that I was told: He had been waiting on his friend, Pee-Wee, to come over and turn off the electricity to the boat since Pee-Wee was an electrician. While Dad's friends and my brother were off the boat and filling up the gas tanks of the cars in the parking lot, Dad had called Pee-Wee to see when he'd be over. Charlie had answered and after their conversation my dad hung up the phone. Which apparently set off a spark. Which ignited the fume saturated air in our boat. Which blew the boat sky high. Charlie had hung up the phone and, living only half a mile away, immediately heard the explosion. Apparently she realized or at least suspected what had happened and had taken off running to our place.
My Dad made his way to a window where my brother pulled him out. As expected, he was burned badly and my brother helped him down the pier and they sat down to wait for help. At this time, my dad, believing that the rest of the family was still on the boat, went back on the burning boat to get us and he sustained even more burns.
I was very angry for a long time about being deceived about my dad's condition. With all my heart I had believed that he was going to recover. But all the adults knew that he would not survive. I wish someone had told me straight from the beginning what he was up against.
About a week or so after the explosion, we were playing in the empty lot across the street from Charlie's house. Jessica, Charlie's oldest daughter, had been my friend since before I could remember. She was one year older than me. We were running around playing some kid game and when we stopped and sat in the grass Jessica said to me "My mom said that your dad is probably going to die." Anger and denial washed over me and after returning her comment with something like " He is not! He's getting better!" I stormed back to the house. A feeling that I could not name at the time--doubt--began to make me anxious when I thought about my dad.
Sometime in the next few days I woke up and my mom was not at Charlie and Pee-Wee's (Charlie's husband) house. I was nonplussed and went to school like normal. I remember sitting in the field at recess, leaning against a telephone pole and feeling like the day was very strange. I shrugged it off.
My mom picked us up after school and said that we weren't going back to Charlie and Pee-Wee's just yet. We were going to The Hermitage, which is a historic home built in 1908 that was now a museum. It is surrounded on three sides by the Lynnhaven River which meant that whenever we'd go out on our boat we'd have to pass The Hermitage. It is one of the most beautiful "landmarks" of my childhood.
We got to The Hermitage and walked to a quiet seawall in one of favorite areas. I started my usual search for Interesting Things Washed Up on the Shore. Matthew slept peacefully in his stroller. My mom asked my sister and I to sit on the wall with her. We sat on either side of her. When she took my hand in hers, I knew.
My mom was on my right and I remember gazing to the left, looking up the wide, gray river. She said, "Girls..." and I murmured, "Dad's dead, right?" and she continued on like she hadn't heard me. "Girls, your dad died this morning."
I had known the minute that she had taken my hand that he was gone. But when I heard her say it, I whipped my head back toward her. In the second that it took me to turn toward her, a thousand thoughts flashed through my mind. It was a second that seemed like someone had hit the pause button while my mind grasped the news. The main theme of my thoughts was "How am I going to live through this?"
My sister was the first to collapse in tears, followed by my mom, and when I could breathe again I leaned into my mom's side and we just all sat there and cried our eyes out. Sprinkles of rain landed on our thighs and my mom said, "See? The angels are crying with us." And I think it might be true because I didn't see any signs of rain anywhere else though it was a cloudy afternoon.
Eventually we pulled ourselves together and trekked back to the car. I don't remember anything else about that day except that instead of going back to stay at our friends' house, we went and stayed with my dad's sister and her husband who lived in another part of our city.
I had not been aware of how severe my dad's injuries were until after he died. He was burned over 90% of his body. The is the story that I was told: He had been waiting on his friend, Pee-Wee, to come over and turn off the electricity to the boat since Pee-Wee was an electrician. While Dad's friends and my brother were off the boat and filling up the gas tanks of the cars in the parking lot, Dad had called Pee-Wee to see when he'd be over. Charlie had answered and after their conversation my dad hung up the phone. Which apparently set off a spark. Which ignited the fume saturated air in our boat. Which blew the boat sky high. Charlie had hung up the phone and, living only half a mile away, immediately heard the explosion. Apparently she realized or at least suspected what had happened and had taken off running to our place.
My Dad made his way to a window where my brother pulled him out. As expected, he was burned badly and my brother helped him down the pier and they sat down to wait for help. At this time, my dad, believing that the rest of the family was still on the boat, went back on the burning boat to get us and he sustained even more burns.
I was very angry for a long time about being deceived about my dad's condition. With all my heart I had believed that he was going to recover. But all the adults knew that he would not survive. I wish someone had told me straight from the beginning what he was up against.
25 March, 2012
May 1988, Part Three
After Mom checked out my brother and we all dried our tears, we set off on our errand. On our way off the boat (we had to climb down off the boat too, of course. I don't even know how my mom got off with that carseat in her hands), we grabbed our other dachshund whose name was Freida. Freida was Dutchess' pup and she had born the day the space shuttle Challenger had exploded. We called for Dutchess but she did not appear (typical of her). We put Freida on the dock and she ran off to find something dead to roll in or something else fun to do for a dog living near the shore. Before climbing down the side of the boat I had checked on the brand new baby ducklings that we were raising. They were in a wooden box on the deck. All was well with them, they had plenty of food and water.
We went to the grocery store and filled our cart with bottles of Dawn. After that, we stopped for lunch at Burger King. We ate inside, something that we almost never did. My mom mentioned that she didn't really want us on the boat with all those fumes. I completely agreed--I still was fighting a headache after being down in the belly of the boat for just a few minutes.
We drove up the main street that led to the side street that our small marina was located at the end of. In the distance I could see thick black smoke coming from about the area of our boat. No one saw it but me and as I pointed it out I made a comment like, "I'll bet Dad went and blew the boat up! Hahahaha!" My sister and I giggled. I thought about how if the smoke were coming from our boat, it was probably a minor fire and it was something we could rib Dad about for years to come. I couldn't wait to tease him about it.
My mom got very quiet.
About two blocks from our street we could see police and fire trucks up ahead. The police were sending people down the street to the left on a detour because the road in front of us was closed. I could see fire hoses spread across the road. When we got to the place where people were being detoured, my mom stopped the car and told the policewoman, "We live down that street. On a boat." The policewoman pointed us to the parking lot on the right.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we saw my mom's best friend running towards us carrying her toddler. My mom's friend, Charlie, was about 7 months pregnant and lived half a mile away. She had frantically run this half mile carrying her toddler after hearing a large explosion immediately after talking to my dad on the telephone. She was crying and panting. My mom didn't say much, she just grabbed my brother out of his carseat and started walking towards the marina.
We were escorted down the block to our marina by a policeman. My stomach felt weird but I wasn't really worried yet; I was more excited because whatever had happened seemed to be quite a big deal. My mom clutched my brother and I kept on the lookout for baby pigeons which were constantly falling out of their nests and being "rescued" by my sister and I. We walked into the parking lot and came around the corner of the big house that sat at the top of the parking lot.
We just stood there and stared. The "Estrellita" was a blackened smoking skeleton, calmly rocking on the peaceful waters of the creek. The top half was charred and deck and wheelhouse where my sister and I had kept our baby ducklings were just gone. The bottom part of the boat, along the waterline from bow to stern, was intact. The whole mess just sat there, bobbing up and down like it had no idea anything catatrosphic had happened.
A few things happened pretty quickly and I can't recall the exact order. After registering what I was seeing I began hysterically crying. My dog, Dutchess, had been left aboard and was surely dead. She had been a gift from my parents on my fifth birthday and I loved that dog so much. That was all I could think of: my dog was dead. A fireman appeared holding our surviving dachshund, Freida. Freida wiggled spastically and the fireman put her down. I think Heather picked her up. Or maybe I did.
We were surrounded by what seemed to me to be a mob of firefighters, police, and our neighbors talking excitedly. I wasn't really paying attention to what they said b/c I was devastated about my dog. But later I was told that the it was believed that my mom, sister, brother, and I had been aboard the boat when the explosion had occurred. No one had seen us leave the boat. And the area we had been hanging out in (where my brother had fallen in his carseat) had been completely obliterated. Fireman were combing the boat at the moment, looking for our burned bodies. I do remember seeing several fireman running down the pier towards us and patting me on the back and head. I had no idea why they would be so excited to see us. Our neighbors were in tears and were hugging my mom.
We walked like zombies back up the street. I was still sobbing uncontrollably about my dog. I spotted a baby pigeon near the tire of a car and I broke from our sad little group to grab it. I caught it and my mom, who pretty much never yelled, shrilly ordered me to, "Put that thing down!" I obeyed and we continued up the street. We passed our car and walked the half mile to Charlie's house.
I don't really recall much about the rest of the day. So many people showed up at Charlie's house. People showed up with bags of clothes and food and housewares. There were people we knew as well as complete strangers. I had been invited to a sleepover party for a close friend's birthday and I know that I went. I was distraught over not having a gift though--would not stop mentioning it. I was also very embarrassed because I'd be seeing another friend at the party and I was supposed to be bringing the shoes she had left at our home a few weeks ago. I wouldn't be bringing her any shoes and I felt overwhelmingly upset over this fact.
I recall wondering where Dad was. People kept saying that he was at the hospital but no one would tell me anything. After a day or so, I just quit asking. I knew he was hurt but had no idea how badly. I was sure he'd be home in a few days. Heather and I desperately wanted to go visit him but were told children weren't allowed in the burn unit. This drove me crazy but I couldn't do a thing about it.
We went to the grocery store and filled our cart with bottles of Dawn. After that, we stopped for lunch at Burger King. We ate inside, something that we almost never did. My mom mentioned that she didn't really want us on the boat with all those fumes. I completely agreed--I still was fighting a headache after being down in the belly of the boat for just a few minutes.
We drove up the main street that led to the side street that our small marina was located at the end of. In the distance I could see thick black smoke coming from about the area of our boat. No one saw it but me and as I pointed it out I made a comment like, "I'll bet Dad went and blew the boat up! Hahahaha!" My sister and I giggled. I thought about how if the smoke were coming from our boat, it was probably a minor fire and it was something we could rib Dad about for years to come. I couldn't wait to tease him about it.
My mom got very quiet.
About two blocks from our street we could see police and fire trucks up ahead. The police were sending people down the street to the left on a detour because the road in front of us was closed. I could see fire hoses spread across the road. When we got to the place where people were being detoured, my mom stopped the car and told the policewoman, "We live down that street. On a boat." The policewoman pointed us to the parking lot on the right.
As we pulled into the parking lot, we saw my mom's best friend running towards us carrying her toddler. My mom's friend, Charlie, was about 7 months pregnant and lived half a mile away. She had frantically run this half mile carrying her toddler after hearing a large explosion immediately after talking to my dad on the telephone. She was crying and panting. My mom didn't say much, she just grabbed my brother out of his carseat and started walking towards the marina.
We were escorted down the block to our marina by a policeman. My stomach felt weird but I wasn't really worried yet; I was more excited because whatever had happened seemed to be quite a big deal. My mom clutched my brother and I kept on the lookout for baby pigeons which were constantly falling out of their nests and being "rescued" by my sister and I. We walked into the parking lot and came around the corner of the big house that sat at the top of the parking lot.
We just stood there and stared. The "Estrellita" was a blackened smoking skeleton, calmly rocking on the peaceful waters of the creek. The top half was charred and deck and wheelhouse where my sister and I had kept our baby ducklings were just gone. The bottom part of the boat, along the waterline from bow to stern, was intact. The whole mess just sat there, bobbing up and down like it had no idea anything catatrosphic had happened.
A few things happened pretty quickly and I can't recall the exact order. After registering what I was seeing I began hysterically crying. My dog, Dutchess, had been left aboard and was surely dead. She had been a gift from my parents on my fifth birthday and I loved that dog so much. That was all I could think of: my dog was dead. A fireman appeared holding our surviving dachshund, Freida. Freida wiggled spastically and the fireman put her down. I think Heather picked her up. Or maybe I did.
We were surrounded by what seemed to me to be a mob of firefighters, police, and our neighbors talking excitedly. I wasn't really paying attention to what they said b/c I was devastated about my dog. But later I was told that the it was believed that my mom, sister, brother, and I had been aboard the boat when the explosion had occurred. No one had seen us leave the boat. And the area we had been hanging out in (where my brother had fallen in his carseat) had been completely obliterated. Fireman were combing the boat at the moment, looking for our burned bodies. I do remember seeing several fireman running down the pier towards us and patting me on the back and head. I had no idea why they would be so excited to see us. Our neighbors were in tears and were hugging my mom.
We walked like zombies back up the street. I was still sobbing uncontrollably about my dog. I spotted a baby pigeon near the tire of a car and I broke from our sad little group to grab it. I caught it and my mom, who pretty much never yelled, shrilly ordered me to, "Put that thing down!" I obeyed and we continued up the street. We passed our car and walked the half mile to Charlie's house.
I don't really recall much about the rest of the day. So many people showed up at Charlie's house. People showed up with bags of clothes and food and housewares. There were people we knew as well as complete strangers. I had been invited to a sleepover party for a close friend's birthday and I know that I went. I was distraught over not having a gift though--would not stop mentioning it. I was also very embarrassed because I'd be seeing another friend at the party and I was supposed to be bringing the shoes she had left at our home a few weeks ago. I wouldn't be bringing her any shoes and I felt overwhelmingly upset over this fact.
I recall wondering where Dad was. People kept saying that he was at the hospital but no one would tell me anything. After a day or so, I just quit asking. I knew he was hurt but had no idea how badly. I was sure he'd be home in a few days. Heather and I desperately wanted to go visit him but were told children weren't allowed in the burn unit. This drove me crazy but I couldn't do a thing about it.
Bluebonnet Toddler
Didn't plan on taking bluebonnet pics yesterday but we were at the park having a pizza dinner and there were so many bluebonnets and I had my camera in the car and well...you know.
22 March, 2012
Park Play
Today was one of those no-humidity-not-a-cloud-in-the-sky days that simply must be enjoyed by being outside. It was heaven. We brought our lunch to the park and stayed for nearly two and a half hours. I think we could have stayed twice that long. It was that nice of a day. I brought my camera and took some pictures (amazing--I actually remembered to bring my camera!).
19 March, 2012
May 1988 Part Two
"The Estrellita" was dirty. As in it probably hadn't been vacuumed or dusted in literally twenty years. It reeked of gas because that was the fuel. Structurally it was in good shape. It had been built in the 1940's and used as an officers transport vessel during World War II. The engine room had been redone and was in the center of the boat in a large white room accessible by a steel door followed by a descending ladder. The engine room was very clean. And almost blindingly white. And incredibly loud. It terrified me.
Most of the boat scared me. It was basically split in two by the engine room. The stern (back) area had the "living room", large kitchen, bathroom, and two larger bedrooms. My parents slept back there in one of those bedrooms. My sister and I were up in the bow(front). I can not tell you how many separate quarters there were in the bow because that area scared me so much that the only part I was in was my bedroom. If you were to start at the very stern of the boat and walk to our bedroom you would have to start at my parents' bedroom, walk through the living area, climb up a big ladder, walk across a hallway (engine room door was in the hallway--always frightening to pass that), come to a dark hole in the floor which you had to climb into and down a large ladder that deposited you in a pitch black hallway (completely dark due some electrical issue that prevented the lights from working) and then you had to creep the hallway until you saw the light under the door of our room. So, really, I have no idea what was in that hallway because I only saw it by flashlight and usually I was moving as quickly as possible (while nearly blind) to my room with my sister either in front of or behind me (it was truly every girl for herself). We'd barge into our bedroom and immediately slam the door behind us to prevent whatever was certainly chasing us from catching up (I pictured "Golum" from Lord of the Rings--the cartoon version). Not the time for sightseeing.
So, that Saturday we arrived home and we had lots of company. My dad had enlisted a few friends and my 20 year old brother to help him in a major project. They were going to convert the gasoline engine into a diesel one. I have no idea how you do this but the first step was to empty the boat's large fuel tanks of the gasoline. The men were carrying gallons upon gallons of the gas up to the marina parking lot and filling up the gas tanks of the parked cars (I think every car there got topped off--with or without the owner's consent).
The boat had reeked of gasoline before but now the odor was sickeningly strong. I went downstairs to grab some lunch and the smell gave me an instant headache. People were bustling around and my mom was talking to my dad. She ordered me up the ladder where my sister and baby brother were hanging out in the hallway. We were going to be heading to the grocery store to get every bottle of Dawn we could get our hands on for the men to clean up the gas.
I headed to my quarters to change my clothes. In my room I noticed that the dozens upon dozens of caterpillars I had captured and housed in a jar had escaped and were making cocoons all over my room. My mom was going to be ticked when she saw this! Oh well, I'd worry about that later.
Back upstairs, my mom waited with my siblings. I walked into the area they were at and nearly stepped on a tiny piece of dog poop. My dachshund, Dutchess, was notoriously bad about preferring the indoors for her bathroom needs. My mom asked me to please clean it up. Being nine years old, I took the lazy way out and reached for an old vacuum that had come with the boat (old meaning it was likely some kind of antique). I went to go plug that vacuumed in and out of the corner of my eye I saw my baby brother's car seat plunge off of the bench it was resting on.
His seat landed upside down but thankfully he was strapped in and he was not injured. It upset my mom and sister and I greatly though. Matthew screamed his little head off and after checking for injuries and finding none, my poor frazzled mom ordered us off the boat.
I forgot about the dog poop. Left it right there.
Looking back, if my brother had not fallen I would have plugged that vacuum in. With the incredible amount of gas fumes, that very likely could have caused the spark which would have blown us all sky high.
Most of the boat scared me. It was basically split in two by the engine room. The stern (back) area had the "living room", large kitchen, bathroom, and two larger bedrooms. My parents slept back there in one of those bedrooms. My sister and I were up in the bow(front). I can not tell you how many separate quarters there were in the bow because that area scared me so much that the only part I was in was my bedroom. If you were to start at the very stern of the boat and walk to our bedroom you would have to start at my parents' bedroom, walk through the living area, climb up a big ladder, walk across a hallway (engine room door was in the hallway--always frightening to pass that), come to a dark hole in the floor which you had to climb into and down a large ladder that deposited you in a pitch black hallway (completely dark due some electrical issue that prevented the lights from working) and then you had to creep the hallway until you saw the light under the door of our room. So, really, I have no idea what was in that hallway because I only saw it by flashlight and usually I was moving as quickly as possible (while nearly blind) to my room with my sister either in front of or behind me (it was truly every girl for herself). We'd barge into our bedroom and immediately slam the door behind us to prevent whatever was certainly chasing us from catching up (I pictured "Golum" from Lord of the Rings--the cartoon version). Not the time for sightseeing.
So, that Saturday we arrived home and we had lots of company. My dad had enlisted a few friends and my 20 year old brother to help him in a major project. They were going to convert the gasoline engine into a diesel one. I have no idea how you do this but the first step was to empty the boat's large fuel tanks of the gasoline. The men were carrying gallons upon gallons of the gas up to the marina parking lot and filling up the gas tanks of the parked cars (I think every car there got topped off--with or without the owner's consent).
The boat had reeked of gasoline before but now the odor was sickeningly strong. I went downstairs to grab some lunch and the smell gave me an instant headache. People were bustling around and my mom was talking to my dad. She ordered me up the ladder where my sister and baby brother were hanging out in the hallway. We were going to be heading to the grocery store to get every bottle of Dawn we could get our hands on for the men to clean up the gas.
I headed to my quarters to change my clothes. In my room I noticed that the dozens upon dozens of caterpillars I had captured and housed in a jar had escaped and were making cocoons all over my room. My mom was going to be ticked when she saw this! Oh well, I'd worry about that later.
Back upstairs, my mom waited with my siblings. I walked into the area they were at and nearly stepped on a tiny piece of dog poop. My dachshund, Dutchess, was notoriously bad about preferring the indoors for her bathroom needs. My mom asked me to please clean it up. Being nine years old, I took the lazy way out and reached for an old vacuum that had come with the boat (old meaning it was likely some kind of antique). I went to go plug that vacuumed in and out of the corner of my eye I saw my baby brother's car seat plunge off of the bench it was resting on.
His seat landed upside down but thankfully he was strapped in and he was not injured. It upset my mom and sister and I greatly though. Matthew screamed his little head off and after checking for injuries and finding none, my poor frazzled mom ordered us off the boat.
I forgot about the dog poop. Left it right there.
Looking back, if my brother had not fallen I would have plugged that vacuum in. With the incredible amount of gas fumes, that very likely could have caused the spark which would have blown us all sky high.
18 March, 2012
May 1988, Part One
Over the past few years I have felt a burden to put down my memories surrounding this cataclysmic event in our family. Perhaps it is because I am getting older myself and I'm afraid that my memories of this time are going to get thrown in the brain's trash bin before too long. There is only so much room in someones head after all. I can't imagine forgetting these details--it will be 24 years this May and most of it is still pretty clear in my mind--but that's how forgetting things goes. You don't even realize what you've forgotten because of course you've forgotten that you knew it in the first place!
I'm sort of a lengthy writer (I have a quiet internal editor) so I'll post this one section at a time.
This is how I remember the time that our family was forever changed.
Friday, May 13, 1988. My seven year old sister, Heather, and I rode our bikes home from school. This was perhaps the first time we had done this. Our mom was at home waiting for us with our 4 week old brother, Matthew, otherwise I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have been riding home alone. Born an anxious child, I was fretting about making it home alive. It was Friday the 13th after all. I recall thinking that if we could only arrive home safely our worries would be over.
I had just turned nine years old 13 days earlier.
The next morning I had a soccer game. I don't recall if my dad went. I don't remember anything about that game except that we won and when my dad asked me about it, I told him the outcome and he said, "Good job! I'm proud of you!" I'm fairly certain those were the last words he said to me though.
After the soccer game, we arrived home. "Home" was a 75 foot boat that we had moved on six weeks before. It was an ugly boat but my dad had lots of plans for it. We had traded our 50 foot yacht for this larger boat. The old 50 foot boat was named "The Heather" and it too had been a homely thing when we had first moved aboard 17 months ago. My family spent most of the first winter on "The Heather" transforming it into a beautiful vessel. I learned about "mahogany"; my hands learned to handle sandpaper. I also found out how leaning on a section of wood that was painted with stripper hurt like heck! I don't know how many minor chemical burns I got that year but I learned to watch what I let exposed skin touch. At any rate, after many months of hard work "The Heather" became quite a lovely little boat.
"Little" was the problem. Our family of four was packed into that 50 foot boat. And my mom was pregnant. Adding another person to the crew was a bit of a problem. I think we would have been fine to squeeze another kid in but I guess my dad didn't agree. Or perhaps he liked the challenge of a fixer-up-er.
I remember the first time we saw the new boat, "The Estrellita". A few months before "The Estrellita" became our home, my mom and I were driving over a large bridge and saw the boat docked there. We drove across this bridge regularly so I was familiar with the boats that were usually there. "The Estrellita" was huge compared to the other boats around so it really stuck out. It gave me the creeps. Don't know why, it just did.
Imagine my surprise when that big boat came chugging up our tiny creek one cold winter day. The vessel was longer than the creek was wide. I wondered where on earth the skipper thought he was going to put that thing. Well, it ended up at the end of our dock because it was the furthest out and therefore at the deepest part of the docks. That enormous, hideous boat was now blocking my view up the waterway. Which really annoyed me because I loved to watch the local boats coming and going.
"The Estrellita" was too big for our creek. Other boat owners made fun of it because when the tide was low the boat would sink into the mud and list somewhat precariously to the side. I was pretty sure we would wake up one morning and find the beast completely capsized. But that never happened.
About that time my mom was nearing her time to birth our new family member. She was planning on a homebirth. Being heavily pregnant on a boat is not a comfortable deal. I didn't realize that at the time but after being heavily pregnant five times myself I can not imagine dealing with all the stairs, ladders, and incredibly small spaces that are typical of most boats. Anyway, Mom never complained; she loved life on "The Heather".
Well, something got into my dad. He decided that he wanted that ugly big boat. He was a man possessed. He wanted to fix that thing up and head for the Caribbean. He made a deal with the owner of "The Estrellita"--who was brand new to boat living and had bitten off more than he could chew in the way of this big boat that needed lots of work--that we would trade boats. The deal was an even trade. My dad was ecstatic. My mom wanted to kill him (I'm pretty sure she literally wanted to kill him).
So, in a matter of one weekend we moved from our tiny, familiar, clean vessel to a huge, scary, filthy one. I'm pretty sure my mom was due to have her baby that week. She packed us up and moved us. I don't remember hearing her say a single thing that weekend but she looked incredibly angry so I steered clear.
I'm sort of a lengthy writer (I have a quiet internal editor) so I'll post this one section at a time.
This is how I remember the time that our family was forever changed.
Friday, May 13, 1988. My seven year old sister, Heather, and I rode our bikes home from school. This was perhaps the first time we had done this. Our mom was at home waiting for us with our 4 week old brother, Matthew, otherwise I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have been riding home alone. Born an anxious child, I was fretting about making it home alive. It was Friday the 13th after all. I recall thinking that if we could only arrive home safely our worries would be over.
I had just turned nine years old 13 days earlier.
The next morning I had a soccer game. I don't recall if my dad went. I don't remember anything about that game except that we won and when my dad asked me about it, I told him the outcome and he said, "Good job! I'm proud of you!" I'm fairly certain those were the last words he said to me though.
After the soccer game, we arrived home. "Home" was a 75 foot boat that we had moved on six weeks before. It was an ugly boat but my dad had lots of plans for it. We had traded our 50 foot yacht for this larger boat. The old 50 foot boat was named "The Heather" and it too had been a homely thing when we had first moved aboard 17 months ago. My family spent most of the first winter on "The Heather" transforming it into a beautiful vessel. I learned about "mahogany"; my hands learned to handle sandpaper. I also found out how leaning on a section of wood that was painted with stripper hurt like heck! I don't know how many minor chemical burns I got that year but I learned to watch what I let exposed skin touch. At any rate, after many months of hard work "The Heather" became quite a lovely little boat.
"Little" was the problem. Our family of four was packed into that 50 foot boat. And my mom was pregnant. Adding another person to the crew was a bit of a problem. I think we would have been fine to squeeze another kid in but I guess my dad didn't agree. Or perhaps he liked the challenge of a fixer-up-er.
I remember the first time we saw the new boat, "The Estrellita". A few months before "The Estrellita" became our home, my mom and I were driving over a large bridge and saw the boat docked there. We drove across this bridge regularly so I was familiar with the boats that were usually there. "The Estrellita" was huge compared to the other boats around so it really stuck out. It gave me the creeps. Don't know why, it just did.
Imagine my surprise when that big boat came chugging up our tiny creek one cold winter day. The vessel was longer than the creek was wide. I wondered where on earth the skipper thought he was going to put that thing. Well, it ended up at the end of our dock because it was the furthest out and therefore at the deepest part of the docks. That enormous, hideous boat was now blocking my view up the waterway. Which really annoyed me because I loved to watch the local boats coming and going.
"The Estrellita" was too big for our creek. Other boat owners made fun of it because when the tide was low the boat would sink into the mud and list somewhat precariously to the side. I was pretty sure we would wake up one morning and find the beast completely capsized. But that never happened.
About that time my mom was nearing her time to birth our new family member. She was planning on a homebirth. Being heavily pregnant on a boat is not a comfortable deal. I didn't realize that at the time but after being heavily pregnant five times myself I can not imagine dealing with all the stairs, ladders, and incredibly small spaces that are typical of most boats. Anyway, Mom never complained; she loved life on "The Heather".
Well, something got into my dad. He decided that he wanted that ugly big boat. He was a man possessed. He wanted to fix that thing up and head for the Caribbean. He made a deal with the owner of "The Estrellita"--who was brand new to boat living and had bitten off more than he could chew in the way of this big boat that needed lots of work--that we would trade boats. The deal was an even trade. My dad was ecstatic. My mom wanted to kill him (I'm pretty sure she literally wanted to kill him).
So, in a matter of one weekend we moved from our tiny, familiar, clean vessel to a huge, scary, filthy one. I'm pretty sure my mom was due to have her baby that week. She packed us up and moved us. I don't remember hearing her say a single thing that weekend but she looked incredibly angry so I steered clear.
10 March, 2012
EF-2 Toddler-nado
It's certainly that season around here.
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