Being an only child with a loving mother and doting father was everything a little girl would never want to end. I was that little girl; cute and girly. My mornings were characterized by my mother rousing me from sleep and taking me to have a shower then I would get down to have breakfast with the beautiful scent from the kitchen. I couldn't forget the happy times when I was just a girl with friends like me and Barbie dolls and dollhouses and a mother who did my hair every morning in the mirror and a father who would sit with me and listen to my girl talk and answer my questions with precision and love.
My mother, Bailey Woods would always ask me how my day had gone no matter how exhausted she was from hours of rescuing people's lives in surgery rooms. Her job as a surgery nurse never came between her duties as a mother to me and a wife to my father. A woman in all her perfection.
I can still remember how she'd come into my bedroom every morning, a little after 6 am and carefully pulled me out of bed for a shower. I used to hate it then but after everything began to go downhill, I'd wished and begged secretly under my breath for one of those mornings in the stillness of my bathroom with her scrubbing my back and telling me tales while I listened more to the chirpings of the birdies outside the bathroom window than to her. I'd promised whoever will give me another chance that I won't fuss or make it a huge deal for her but I'll be good and listen to every word you say.
In those mornings characterized by sunlight bathing my face and sweet chirpings of the birds that lived outside my window, I prayed that mummy wouldn't come for another 15 minutes so I could catch some more sleep but I knew she wouldn't. My house was quite a distance from school and that resulted in the school bus picking me up before most of the other kids including my three best friends, Piper, Judy and Joana who were twins.
She'd then quietly shake me awake, whispering words in a childlike manner as she did. “Wakie Wakie, Sleepyhead. It's morning, it's time for school. Don't say no, today. Your friends will be waiting, daddy is already waiting downstairs and Mrs Penelope would love to see your artwork today again. So, we have to rise, shine and get going!” As usual, her voice had lots of affection in it and her tone held a perfect combination of strict and soft. My little mind couldn't see or understand the abundance of love that my mother showed to me every morning before my brain could even understand it was morning or be fully awakened. I wanted to yell the roof off but daddy wouldn't like me doing that.
“Mummy, I don't want to be up so early.” I'd sob, silently stifling a yawn and lovingly she'd lift me up and take me to the bathroom. I'd sit unclad on the stool until the water was perfect for me and then, we'd begin to chat.
“How was your night?” She'd smile down at me as I played with my toys and stayed still for her to scrub my body clean.
“It was like every other night. You read me stories till I became unaware of the present world. I love my dreams, mama.” I'd respond calmly then the conversation would progress to the details of my dreams, what I'm going to do differently at school today to help someone, how I shouldn't stop respecting my friends and family and finally, to her itinerary and who would pick me up from school. I listened to her and responded accordingly as the shower ended and I exited the tub to get dressed for school.
We'll pick out clothes together, this is where my early morning grumpiness will wane and I'll start to giggle and respond more cheerfully to her jokes and stories. Then, we'll head down to the table.
It'll be any session with dad who's always been more interested in my relationship with boys at school and if I liked anyone enough. One day, he went as far as telling me how to act on a date and why it's important that I act that way. He wanted me to have a more successful dating life than himself or my mother who had only dated each other and had learned it all together.
But after my 9th birthday, mummy had become obsessed with having me take care of myself and still be punctual. I hated those days and I remember countlessly cussing at her in rebellion. My friends hadn't help either; Piper had gotten a younger brother asides her two older siblings and he was all she talked about, his endless crying, his lovely eyes, his beautiful ‘girly’ laugh and how he'd always play with himself. Judy had started taking more time with her twin because her illness had taken over their entire lives. She had finally died at 10.
I was left alone to deal with mummy and it was hectic. I wanted to drive pins into her chest. I hated that she'd changed from caring for me and helping me pick out my outfits to teaching me to do them myself and never backing down despite my deliberate failures to dissuade her. I never had an idea that anything was wrong. I'd always dread the mornings and how strict she got and the evening baths too. My tantrums had not seemed to faze her and that had angered me the most.
But soon, I came to realize what had happened and why mummy had begun to push me into independence. It had been the blood that opened my eyes. That day after a grueling morning of battle and tears, I'd started screaming to her how I hated her then dashed down to the kitchen expecting her to chase after me and force me to apologize just like always but minutes went by and she didn't. Scared and confused, I had made my way back upstairs while staring at everything around me for a clue. Had my mind been playing tricks on me? Had mummy been planning an elaborate counterattack? I'd queried myself until I'd pushed the bathroom door open with all of my strength to find mummy sprawled awkwardly on the floor, still breathing, coughing out blood and her knuckles white. I had tried to make her talk but she'd kept motioning to the door in panic until she'd gone limp, listless.
I'd never been as scared as I had been at that moment. I bolted out of my room and dashed into daddy's study without bothering to knock, my plan had been simple; get daddy or get the Police and I'd ended up getting both. Frantically, daddy had tried every way he knew had to reduce her but she hadn't been revived until the paramedics had arrived and expertly got her to respond to their medical care.
They had taken mummy away and ever since that day, she'd deteriorated. The early morning visits hadn't been so early any morning and soon, the visits were as sparse as the hair on her head. Then, there had been no more visits from her end, no more laughter, no more scolding, no more breakfast, no more training, no more discussions because most times she'd been too weak to talk and frazzled to cook after her sessions with the doctor. I'd prayed to Mother Mary several times a day and I'd lost concentration in school and was diagnosed with ADHD.
The doctors had frequented my house more often and soon, my father did all he could to prevent me from seeing my mother because he thought it would destabilize me but I had sneaked into her room one night when even the maid had been wasted and fast asleep on her seat. I could remember screaming at the person on the bed and then that had been the last time I'd seen her until her last hospital visit.
I still can't wrap my head around how she's still alive and doesn't have cancer according to her hospital files. But this reality is calming and assuring because dad hadn't waited two weeks after the funeral before bringing home my stepmother and her hyperactive and ill-mannered daughter.
I'd been replaced so fast…