i don’t want to die. ever.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.  it was still dull and gloomy outside.  cold.  damp.  grey.  but it was also very quiet.  very peaceful.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.  I saw myself walking down the stairs of my first grade school, St. Bonaventure.  I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right.   The hallways were old.  the hallways were empty.  I walked towards the light at the end of the tunnel.  I looked to the right of me and then the left.  saw empty classes but heard kids’ voices.  screaming.  laughing.  I continued to walk towards the light.  I thought of my Grade 2 teacher, Miss Scope.  I always had a crush on her.  she was beautiful.  long dark straight hair.  big white teeth.  and an even bigger smile.  she was nice.  encouraging.  I continued to walk but I wondered what happened to her.  Is she married?  did she have kids?  is she still living?  does she look old now?  did she have any traumatic events happen to her?  human curiosity.  always human curiosity.  my back is suddenly sore but I can vividly remember Miss Scope.  I hope she is living a good life.

I continued down the hallway and made it to the light at the end.  I walked straight through the light and ended up on the front steps of our first home on the Heights Drive.  a townhome.  small.  every home looked the same.  I sat on the porch and looked at my first bike.  I looked out at the parking lot of the complex.  I walked down and saw the big wall where we used to throw Indian Rubber Balls against and catch them.  I also saw the balcony beside the big wall.  I fell off of that balcony when I was eight years old and ended up with a concussion and was hospitalized for three days.  My Mom thought that I had died when my friends told her.  she was frantic and scared.  she held me tight as she waited for the ambulance to arrive and take me away.  the ambulance came and took me to North York General Hospital.  I called it the “H” Hospital.  I stayed there for three days.  three days in a bed.  lonely.  scared.  headache.  but I liked the attention.  I always liked the attention.  still do.

I survived the concussion.  there were many more to come.

I closed my eyes again and took a few more deep breaths.  in and out.  in and out.  in and out.  heavy breathing.  peaceful.  memories.  childhood memories.  Heights Drive.  Mom.  Dad.  Nana.  Dom.

I see the outdoor swimming pool that we all went to on Saturday mornings to watch the teenage girl swim in races.  she was the Ontario Champion and we were all proud that she lived in our complex.  I wonder what happened to her?  Married?  Alive?  Old?  Traumatic Life?

Then my mind became scattered.  I opened my eyes.  restless.  fidgety.  i closed my eyes again.  a few deep breaths again.  I can picture our first dog.  we called him Snoopy.  Original?  he was a little Beagle.  I begin to cry as I remember our neighbour taking him for a walk and she frantically came running to our door a few minutes later.  Snoopy got away from her and was run over by a TTC bus.  so sad.  the girl was so young.  so traumatic.  I wonder what happened to her?  I hope she lived a good life.  that’s all I want for anyone.  all I want for everyone.  to simply live a good life.

I closed my eyes again and took some more deep breaths.  I saw our old Superintendent.  she was old and mean.  she carried a pitchfork with her and swung it at all the children.  I then picture my friends and I painting the laundry room with all kinds of different paint.  we were brats.  we were kids.  we were free.  we were having fun.  life.

my eyes still closed.  my breathing still deep.  I now picture Don Mills Collegiate.  Ewan Geddes.  Merrick Atkinson.  Tina too.  Craig McQueenie.  Don Mills Civitan.  Don Mills Flyers.  Flemingdon Kings.  hockey.  hockey was so fun.  soccer was great too.  hockey and soccer.  summer and winter.  outside playing.  kids.  lots of kids.  lots of friends.  I wonder what happened to all of them?  I hope none of them suffered.  I hope they are all okay.  I hope they have lived a good life.  no trauma.  no struggles.  no abuse.  no deaths.

The “H” hospital.

that’s where Dad died.

the same hospital where I went for my concussion.

more deep breaths.

more tears.

Cassandra Public School.

Dad collapsed on the floor.

kids watching.

kids wondering.

deep breaths.

I wonder what happened to all of those kids.

were they traumatized?

are they still traumatized?

I’ve never seen someone die.

we all die.

tears.

breaths.

one.  two.  three.  four.

Heights Drive.

a very long time ago.

I close my eyes again.  a few big deep breaths again.

I walk out of our first house.  I am seven.  I walk away and look ahead.  I walk and I walk.  lonely.  alone.  I am holding my hockey stick.  I suddenly turn around and see my family.  my Mom.  my Dad.  Dom.  Nana.  they smile at me.  I smile back.

“goodbye.”

I wave and turn around and walk away.  away.  away.  and away.  holding my hockey stick in my right hand.

I used that right hand to hitchike many years later.  an old man picked me up and sexually abused me.

I thanked him for the ride.

I walked away from his old car.  I walked away.  away.  and away.

I opened my eyes and wiped the tears from my face.

I don’t want to die.

ever.