For as long as I can remember, I was either told to or just wrote on my own when I was going through something. I can't tell you how many angry words I wrote down on paper. Speaking never seemed to help. And sometimes these words scribbled down in countless notebooks were the only friends I really had. I've gone through a lot in my life. People talk and in some way you may have heard about me, who I am or what I've gone through. But maybe it's time I tell you what happened. Maybe it's time I told you why or how I ended up who I am. My name is Savannah. I will be 21 years old six short months. This blog, it's about struggle, pain...and a lot of it. Don't get me wrong though, theres a lot of good there too. Here goes nothing.
The first horrible thing in my life was when my father died. I was 5, and he was in his early 30s. Looking at how young he was now floors me. My sister and her husband are in their early 30s. Some of my friends are close to 30. But at age 5... that seems pretty old. I remember going to Cleveland to go to many of my dad's doctor visits. A lot of my memories under the age of 5 involved his illness in some way or another. Infact, I'm not sure I can remember much of my dad when he had two legs.
I remember staying what seemed like forever at my aunt's trailer. In reality, it was maybe a week or two. I missed my dad horribly, and couldn't figure out why we werent allowed to hug him when we said goodbye. But my daddy was very, very sick. The day we got the call my aunt was very sweet to us. It was just about a horrible storm that scared the life out of me went through (a tornado touched down just across the street from us, to this day I'm afraid of thunderstorms). We were finally getting to go home. My aunt stopped and got us candy for breakfast. And when we got home, there were a lot of cars in the driveway and people in my house. I ran in the house and asked my mom where my dad was, but mom said he had gone to home to be with God in heaven. My older sister Sarah seemed to know what this meant a lot more than I did. I was still pretty confused. I remember seeing her holding my mom for dear life and crying in the landing of the stairs in our old house. I just sat on the couch and watched tv. I cant remember crying. Mom said he went to sleep and that was it. I know that's not how it went, but I'd like to keep this peaceful thought.
The next few days people were in and out of our house. And a lot of people were crying. Us kids - my sister, the kids from the church, my cousins and I- we played on the concrete floor in the basement of the funeral home. And I lost my toothbrush somewhere. My mom told me I could hold Dad's hand if I wanted. The day of the funeral, my sister and I went to stay with my uncle dan. That was the day he gave Mom the "brat breaker" (which was a paddle he made her). And then that was it. I never saw my daddy's face again, unless in a picture. I missed him, but I was too young to really understand what happened. I can't imagine how my oldest sister felt or how she handled it. Thinkin back, she was stronger than I ever could have been when she took care of us while Dad was in the hospital.
People tell me my father was a great man. And in all my memories, he was. Every little kid thinks their dad is superman. Mine will always be my super man. He was selfless, and strong. My dad was everything I want to be when I grow up. And my mom, who not only stood by my dad strong through it all, will always have super human strength in my eyes. Because she not only watched her best friend die, she pulled through for my sisters and I, and did the best that she could.
Even though I was just a little girl, I still see everything so clearly. And now I can understand it, the memories make me cry. Now that I understand, I have to be strong too.