Chapter 1: Introduction

Introduction:

Nightmares of the past

I was running. My chest feeling tighter with every stride I took. The cold, hard floor beneath my bare feet. I feel sharp, jagged rocks slice into the soles of my feet and sharp twigs from the trees slash at my clothing and skin. I don’t know what I’m running from but I have such a strong fear in my gut that I just know I must run. My breathing was fast, uneven and I felt like my lungs could collapse any second. I stopped abruptly as I came to the edge of the cliff. I gripped my sides and squeezed trying to get rid of the pain. Is this how my mom felt before she died? I imagined her right now in her hospital bed gasping for air. Her last breath. I hated seeing this image of my mom suffering like this. She didn’t deserve it. All I know is that it wanted me to die just like this. It wanted me dead. I gasped as a black shadow clouded my vision.

That’s how my nightmares have been ever since moving to Sacramento, California. We always used to be a happy family, yes, we weren’t the richest but that didn’t matter. As long as we had food to serve every night and I got to school everything was fine. That was until my mom took up smoking. One night I heard my parents arguing over how we didn’t have enough money and they started shouting and screaming at each other. I was ten years old but I still didn’t understand why they were shouting and arguing. I soon guessed that my mom took up smoking because of soo much stress that was put on her being a stay at home mom and all. I don’t really like talking about my mother’s death because it was a huge loss for my father and I. We all loved each other dearly and we didn’t want anything bad to happen to our family. I used to be so close with her. We used to tell one another every day about what we did that day and what we enjoyed the most. What I regret the most is our fight we had before she died.

10 years ago:

My mom was sitting in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. She was already diagnosed with lung cancer and at the time I didn’t know that smoking was addictive so I stormed into the room and started arguing with her. I was just so mad. Why does she not understand that it’s unhealthy for her? Does she not know she could die?

“Mom, why do you smoke? It’s bad for you so why do you do it?” I asked.

“It’s complicated honey.” She said and took a deep drag.

“No mom it’s not, tell me! I don’t want you to die! You can’t just leave us!” I shouted with tears in my eyes.

“Katrina you don’t understand. You’re too young to understand in any case. I won’t just leave.” She said and opened her arms for a hug.

I refused to hug her, “Tell me, I’ll understand. I’m six years old mom.”

She just sighed and massaged her temples in frustration. I was so irritated. Why can’t she just tell me? I’m old enough to know!

“It’s not my fault if you die!” I screamed at her face and ran to my bedroom feeling the worst I’ve felt in a long time as I jumped on my bed and tears started to fall all over my pillow.

At a point I fell asleep. I woke up to go to the bathroom when I heard my dad’s muffled voice, “We have to get her to the hospital.”

I ran into my parent’s room and saw my mom lying on the bed. All colour drained from her face as she lay on the bed.

“Mom?” I ran over to her side. I started to shake her. Thinking she was just sleeping.

“Dad? What’s wrong with her?” I said choking on my words as more tears came to my eyes.

My father didn’t reply. He just picked her up and ran down the stairs, opened the front door and ran to the car. I followed him, I had to make sure my mom was okay.

“We need to take her to the hospital. She’s sick honey. Get in the front seat.” He said as he put my mom in the backseat, opened the passenger side and climbed into the driver’s seat.

I did as I was told. The whole ride to the hospital I was looking at my mom’s pale body in the backseat. I kept asking questions like, “Is she going to be okay?” but my dad just ignored me and sped to the hospital.

We ran into the hospital. Both of us barefoot and still in our pyjamas and my mother in my father’s arms.

“Emergency!” he yelled.

“I need a doctor! My wife needs help!” he shouted.

Three nurses with gernee and a doctor came at his call. My father put my mom on the stretcher and started kissing her forehead and hands, “Please be okay. Please be okay.” He repeated over and over.

“Sorry sir but we’re going to need you to wait with your daughter please.” One of the nurses said.

My dad was going to protest but he decided not to. All they can do is help so he didn’t say anything and he just walked over to me and sat down on a waiting chair which was next to the room my mother was in. He patted the seat next to him gesturing for me to sit.

“Is mom going to be okay?” I asked.

“Of course she will. She’s just a little sick that’s all.” He said looking straight ahead not focusing on anything.

Something inside me knew she wasn’t going to be okay.

“One. Two. Three.” Shock.

“One. Two. Three.” Shock.

I flinched every time I heard my mother’s dead body bang against the stretcher.

“Make the voltage higher!” Shock.

They went through this procedure three more times before the doctor came out, “I’m afraid-“

He couldn’t finish his sentence before my dad was repeating, “No.” over and over again getting louder each time. I walked into the room looking at my mother’s lifeless body.

My dad was holding both of her hands in his saying, “Dear God, please let her live. Please tell me she’s not dead. Please.” He prayed over and over again.

“Is she dead?” I asked walking up slowly to the hospital bed she was in.

“I’m afraid so.” A nurse said from behind me putting her hand on my shoulder.

I kneeled on the floor next to my dad. We both started sobbing over my mother’s dead body, me wrapped in my father’s arms as we just let all our pain out.

…

What I regretted most the night when my mother died was that I never got to say I was sorry. I’ve been left with so much guilt and pain since then I’m surprised my dad still puts up with me. I’m so grateful for my father though. He’s been there for me when my mother wasn’t and we’ve had a better bond now than what we ever had but it can’t replace that of what a mother and daughter has. Another reason why we moved-apart from my mom dying in the house that we lived in-my dad got a new job offer here in California and its pay is way better than that of his old job. He now works as a computer specialist, an hour’s drive from our new house. Since my dad’s work starts early he can’t drive me to school so I have to go to school by bus every morning. It’s a new school for me so this school year is going to be interesting…

…

A month after my mother’s death I started seeing things.

10 years ago:

I decided to sleep in my own room tonight. “Come on Katrina.” I urged myself as I was lying in bed. Since my mother’s passing I’ve been sleeping in my dad’s room. I was about to fall asleep, feeling my eyes flutter open and closed. As soon as they closed I felt a cold presence near me. My eyes shot open and as they shot open, I saw a white shadowy figure silently lingering at the edge of my bed. My eyes were now wide, staring at this unknown figure. I thought to myself that it was a ghost, but I wasn’t afraid. Something inside me told me not to fear. As soon as it appeared, it disappeared. Just like that.

I’ve been seeing these “figures” ever since that night.

…