Drowning Lessons
The Broken
November 8, 2007
11:00 AM
“Okay, Brianna. Can you tell me when you were born?” Dr. Sanders asked me.
I stared at her. I didn’t want to tell her because I didn’t know. I don’t remember when I was born. I don’t remember anything about my life. I’m actually quite surprised that I still know my name.
“Brianna?” She asked looking at me over her glasses.
She was a small woman in size; tall and scrawny and she looked to be in her mid-thirties. Her hair was an auburn color that barely reached her shoulders and she had bright blue eyes that resembled the ocean. Her blue eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner, black eye shadow, and mascara, her lips were a light shade of pink, and her blush was a darker rosy color. She had on black rimmed glasses. She was wearing a black pinstriped suit and held a clipboard in her hands.
My father and mother sat on the right side of my bed; my father’s hand was on top of mine.
“Brianna, can you tell Dr. Sanders when you were born?” My father asked.
I turned my hand and I stared at him for a long moment. I felt like I was going to cry all over again. I shook my head slowly and, even though I didn’t want it to, a single tear ran down my face.
“You don’t remember Brianna?” Dr. Sanders asked.
I tried my hardest to remember, I really did. I could only remember little pieces of my life, and those little pieces didn’t seem to fit together in the way that I wanted them to. The only things I could remember where those little unimportant things in life like…going to the playground and swinging on the swing set when you were younger or….going to the zoo on a summer day.
I could only remember those kinds of things. Not the day when I was born, not my age, not even the color of my eyes. The doctor said that I’d remember those important things soon. He said that it was only temporary; a concussion that would heal. But…how soon is soon?
I wish that I had lost all my memory of the accident. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember that Lacey is…dead. Things would be so much better if I had lost all memory of that moment in my life.
But…would that be fair for Lacey?
No.
I mean, she would’ve wanted me to remember her. She was such an amazing person. When she walked into the room all eyes were on her. She lit up the room and made everyone smile and laugh. She was so outgoing. Everyone knew who she was and everyone loved her. It’s hard to imagine that she’s gone. That’s she’s actually gone forever. We had such a strong bond. I looked up to her as the sister that I never had. To me, she was my sister.
She was my cousin, my friend, my family, and my sister.
I can still remember her. I can still remember her bright green eyes, her red and black long wavy hair, and the thick black eyeliner that she always wore. She couldn’t live without her make-up although she still looked beautiful without it. She always insisted that she wasn’t. She wasn’t the typical cheerleader, blonde hair, stuck up kind of girl. She had no pride. She was humble; modest.
What will life be like without her? Who would light up the room whenever they walked in, besides her? Who would be the one to always smile; who would be the one to live life like it was a dream? Like life was a wonderful thing? She always lived her life like it was so easy, like life was so easy. To me, life is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.
She loved living, while I just want to die. I’d give up everything just to be with her; where ever she is, I’m sure it’s better than lying here in this hospital bed trying to figure out when you were born.
What would her parents do?
I wonder where they are right now and I wonder if they know yet. I wonder where Lacey is right at this very moment.
“Where did they take Lacey?” I whispered as I stared at the floor. I turned my head to look at my father, wanting him to answer. He looked at me with saddened green eyes. I could tell that he didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want to say.
Something told him not to, and yet he wanted to. He was unsure and he didn’t know what to say in a way that I would surely understand. He didn’t want to see me cry again, I knew that.
That’s why he was reluctant to tell me to begin with. He knew I would cry for the one hundredth time that day. He wasn’t sure if he should tell me the truth, or shake his head and say that he didn’t know when i know he does.
He sighed and it told me that whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to be good. I braced myself.
“They…took her to the morgue sweetheart.” He whispered softly.
I bit my lip, turned my head away, and buried it into my pillows. He knew that I was crying again because of what I had done, and he noticed my shoulders moving up and down as I cried. When you cry, there’s no way to hide it.
As I cried my father sadly told Dr. Sanders that it’s okay to go on. She nodded and looked down at her clipboard and wrote a couple of things down.
“Brianna, can you tell me your father’s name?” Dr. Sanders asked me in a soothing voice.
I turned to look at her and my dad wiped the tears away from my eyes for the third time. He tried to stop my nose from running but it only made it worse. I could no longer breathe from my nose and my upper lip burned.
I gave out a long sigh. “Billie Joe Armstrong.” I told her weakly
She nodded. “Good!” She wrote something down on her clipboard.
It felt like I was in preschool all over again. They were treating me like a little baby, and I can’t stand it when people try to help me. I don’t want help and I don’t think I need help. I’m the one that’s supposed to be helping others, they’re not supposed to take care of me; I can take care of myself.
I only care for others, I only wipe away others eyes, not my own. I only hug other people, not myself. I buy gifts for the poor, I hardly ever buy anything for myself. I don’t need it because I already have everything I need.
I always put myself at the bottom of the list; I take care of others first. I take care of others that can’t take care of themselves, that don’t know how to take care of themselves. I take care of the weak; the broken.
But now I’m the broken one. I’m the one that suddenly feels like I’m drowning in a pool of nothingness. I feel like I’ve surrendered to a power much stronger than myself.
I’m the one that suddenly feels like I want to give up; I don’t want to fight anymore. All my life I’ve felt like I’d owed something to someone else. I don’t like feeling selfish, I don’t like being greedy. That’s why I can’t stand it when people help me.
They need to leave me alone and take care of someone that needs their help more than I need it. People are dying out there somewhere. Somewhere out there someone’s heart just stopped beating. Their time has run out.
There’s someone out there who’s all alone and hurt and there’s no one there to mend them back together.
There’s people out there who are lost in the rain that still continues to fall down and they have no way out and they can’t see through the mist.
I’m okay; I believe that I’m okay. Sure, I can’t remember hardly anything about my life, but at least I remember something. My mind isn’t completely blank. My memory seems to be coming back to me already. I’m breathing, I’m alive. I’m okay.
“Just….leave…please...” I whispered, my eyes glued to the floor.
My mom and dad gave me a weird look and Dr. Sanders looked back up at me from her clipboard.
“What do you mean, Brianna?” She asked me gently.
I gave out a sigh. “It’s just…I’m think I’m okay…there’s other people out there who are not. Who are all alone and I’m sure that you could help them get their lives back together. I don’t need this. I don’t need anything anymore. I’m alive and I have a family who loves me. So…go take care of someone else who could really need it right now, please?”
She stared at me in awe. She was amazed at how selfless I was. Who knows, maybe I’m not okay. Maybe I am among the ashes and maybe I do feel like I’m going to float away unless I’m holding onto something tight, but I can wait. I’ll gladly wait my turn.
But Dr. Sanders gave me a smile and she placed a hand on my shoulder. She understood my thoughts. She was trained to analyze others through what they said and what they did. She was trained to look deep inside someone’s body, someone’s heart to see its unique design. She could trace the patterns; she could connect those dots to figure out how someone worked.
She knew.
I looked up at her and saw that smile and I think I almost smiled myself because of what she was about to say.
“Brianna…..I’m not going to leave you. I’m here to help you because helping people is what I know how to do the best. I’m not going to leave you behind. I’m here for you, okay?”
And that's the last thing she said before she got up and walked out the door.
I'm not going
cause I've been waiting for a miracle
And I'm not leaving
I won't let you
Let you give up on a miracle
When it might save you
11:00 AM
“Okay, Brianna. Can you tell me when you were born?” Dr. Sanders asked me.
I stared at her. I didn’t want to tell her because I didn’t know. I don’t remember when I was born. I don’t remember anything about my life. I’m actually quite surprised that I still know my name.
“Brianna?” She asked looking at me over her glasses.
She was a small woman in size; tall and scrawny and she looked to be in her mid-thirties. Her hair was an auburn color that barely reached her shoulders and she had bright blue eyes that resembled the ocean. Her blue eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner, black eye shadow, and mascara, her lips were a light shade of pink, and her blush was a darker rosy color. She had on black rimmed glasses. She was wearing a black pinstriped suit and held a clipboard in her hands.
My father and mother sat on the right side of my bed; my father’s hand was on top of mine.
“Brianna, can you tell Dr. Sanders when you were born?” My father asked.
I turned my hand and I stared at him for a long moment. I felt like I was going to cry all over again. I shook my head slowly and, even though I didn’t want it to, a single tear ran down my face.
“You don’t remember Brianna?” Dr. Sanders asked.
I tried my hardest to remember, I really did. I could only remember little pieces of my life, and those little pieces didn’t seem to fit together in the way that I wanted them to. The only things I could remember where those little unimportant things in life like…going to the playground and swinging on the swing set when you were younger or….going to the zoo on a summer day.
I could only remember those kinds of things. Not the day when I was born, not my age, not even the color of my eyes. The doctor said that I’d remember those important things soon. He said that it was only temporary; a concussion that would heal. But…how soon is soon?
I wish that I had lost all my memory of the accident. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember that Lacey is…dead. Things would be so much better if I had lost all memory of that moment in my life.
But…would that be fair for Lacey?
No.
I mean, she would’ve wanted me to remember her. She was such an amazing person. When she walked into the room all eyes were on her. She lit up the room and made everyone smile and laugh. She was so outgoing. Everyone knew who she was and everyone loved her. It’s hard to imagine that she’s gone. That’s she’s actually gone forever. We had such a strong bond. I looked up to her as the sister that I never had. To me, she was my sister.
She was my cousin, my friend, my family, and my sister.
I can still remember her. I can still remember her bright green eyes, her red and black long wavy hair, and the thick black eyeliner that she always wore. She couldn’t live without her make-up although she still looked beautiful without it. She always insisted that she wasn’t. She wasn’t the typical cheerleader, blonde hair, stuck up kind of girl. She had no pride. She was humble; modest.
What will life be like without her? Who would light up the room whenever they walked in, besides her? Who would be the one to always smile; who would be the one to live life like it was a dream? Like life was a wonderful thing? She always lived her life like it was so easy, like life was so easy. To me, life is the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.
She loved living, while I just want to die. I’d give up everything just to be with her; where ever she is, I’m sure it’s better than lying here in this hospital bed trying to figure out when you were born.
What would her parents do?
I wonder where they are right now and I wonder if they know yet. I wonder where Lacey is right at this very moment.
“Where did they take Lacey?” I whispered as I stared at the floor. I turned my head to look at my father, wanting him to answer. He looked at me with saddened green eyes. I could tell that he didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want to say.
Something told him not to, and yet he wanted to. He was unsure and he didn’t know what to say in a way that I would surely understand. He didn’t want to see me cry again, I knew that.
That’s why he was reluctant to tell me to begin with. He knew I would cry for the one hundredth time that day. He wasn’t sure if he should tell me the truth, or shake his head and say that he didn’t know when i know he does.
He sighed and it told me that whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to be good. I braced myself.
“They…took her to the morgue sweetheart.” He whispered softly.
I bit my lip, turned my head away, and buried it into my pillows. He knew that I was crying again because of what I had done, and he noticed my shoulders moving up and down as I cried. When you cry, there’s no way to hide it.
As I cried my father sadly told Dr. Sanders that it’s okay to go on. She nodded and looked down at her clipboard and wrote a couple of things down.
“Brianna, can you tell me your father’s name?” Dr. Sanders asked me in a soothing voice.
I turned to look at her and my dad wiped the tears away from my eyes for the third time. He tried to stop my nose from running but it only made it worse. I could no longer breathe from my nose and my upper lip burned.
I gave out a long sigh. “Billie Joe Armstrong.” I told her weakly
She nodded. “Good!” She wrote something down on her clipboard.
It felt like I was in preschool all over again. They were treating me like a little baby, and I can’t stand it when people try to help me. I don’t want help and I don’t think I need help. I’m the one that’s supposed to be helping others, they’re not supposed to take care of me; I can take care of myself.
I only care for others, I only wipe away others eyes, not my own. I only hug other people, not myself. I buy gifts for the poor, I hardly ever buy anything for myself. I don’t need it because I already have everything I need.
I always put myself at the bottom of the list; I take care of others first. I take care of others that can’t take care of themselves, that don’t know how to take care of themselves. I take care of the weak; the broken.
But now I’m the broken one. I’m the one that suddenly feels like I’m drowning in a pool of nothingness. I feel like I’ve surrendered to a power much stronger than myself.
I’m the one that suddenly feels like I want to give up; I don’t want to fight anymore. All my life I’ve felt like I’d owed something to someone else. I don’t like feeling selfish, I don’t like being greedy. That’s why I can’t stand it when people help me.
They need to leave me alone and take care of someone that needs their help more than I need it. People are dying out there somewhere. Somewhere out there someone’s heart just stopped beating. Their time has run out.
There’s someone out there who’s all alone and hurt and there’s no one there to mend them back together.
There’s people out there who are lost in the rain that still continues to fall down and they have no way out and they can’t see through the mist.
I’m okay; I believe that I’m okay. Sure, I can’t remember hardly anything about my life, but at least I remember something. My mind isn’t completely blank. My memory seems to be coming back to me already. I’m breathing, I’m alive. I’m okay.
“Just….leave…please...” I whispered, my eyes glued to the floor.
My mom and dad gave me a weird look and Dr. Sanders looked back up at me from her clipboard.
“What do you mean, Brianna?” She asked me gently.
I gave out a sigh. “It’s just…I’m think I’m okay…there’s other people out there who are not. Who are all alone and I’m sure that you could help them get their lives back together. I don’t need this. I don’t need anything anymore. I’m alive and I have a family who loves me. So…go take care of someone else who could really need it right now, please?”
She stared at me in awe. She was amazed at how selfless I was. Who knows, maybe I’m not okay. Maybe I am among the ashes and maybe I do feel like I’m going to float away unless I’m holding onto something tight, but I can wait. I’ll gladly wait my turn.
But Dr. Sanders gave me a smile and she placed a hand on my shoulder. She understood my thoughts. She was trained to analyze others through what they said and what they did. She was trained to look deep inside someone’s body, someone’s heart to see its unique design. She could trace the patterns; she could connect those dots to figure out how someone worked.
She knew.
I looked up at her and saw that smile and I think I almost smiled myself because of what she was about to say.
“Brianna…..I’m not going to leave you. I’m here to help you because helping people is what I know how to do the best. I’m not going to leave you behind. I’m here for you, okay?”
And that's the last thing she said before she got up and walked out the door.
I'm not going
cause I've been waiting for a miracle
And I'm not leaving
I won't let you
Let you give up on a miracle
When it might save you