Dear Diary... Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Dear Diary,

  Dad’s in the hospital.

  CeeCee

  Things were getting better, well not everything, but I was doing so much better.

  It looked like I was finally to the bargaining stage, the third stage of the five stages of grief according to the list…a definite improvement over the other two stages, I thought.

  I was trying so hard not to be angry with God; it left me feeling so alone and empty, and…dark. My side of the bargain was to stop yelling at Him, go to church, help as much as I could, and just generally be a better daughter, a better person. God’s side was to, according to my bargain, let things stay…well…just stay.

  I didn’t know quite how to explain it to Him, but I figured since He was God He would know what I meant. I was tired of one surprise after another. I simply wanted to be on an even keel for a while, with no waves, no major wind, just a nice gentle breeze filling the sail.

  I was feeling closer to normal than I had in a very long time…at least I think I was. It had been so long since anything had even slightly resembled normal it was sort of hard to tell. I realized that I was precariously balanced, but I was hoping to be able to keep things balanced long enough to become better at the ‘normal’ thing.

  The past few days, since the ‘revelation,’ I had made every effort to be good. It was very difficult at first, trying to think of someone else besides myself for a change because I was so out of practice, but I could tell that both of my parents appreciated the effort. Kind of pathetic, really, that they could be so grateful for any little, and I do mean little, effort on my part. A sewer rat had nothing on me.

  Watching Mom, I was amazed to see how much she did every day, and without so much as one complaint. I mean, good grief, the woman walked around with a smile on her face. Granted it was a very tired smile, a shadow of what her smile used to be, but still…a smile.

  What was lower than a sewer rat? Have to think about that one. Since I was out of school for the summer, I had plenty of time for thinking…and other things.

  Instead of running during Mom’s breakfast time in order to avoid her, I got up an hour earlier to run so I could be home in time to take a shower and fix Mom’s breakfast.

  She had lost a lot of weight, so she obviously hadn’t been taking care of herself in that department. I used to love cooking with her when I was young.

  She always made it seem so fun. Mark inherited that ability from her.

  By the time I was in sixth grade, I could whip up a pretty mean omelet. Good thing, too, because when I began looking for ingredients to make anything, I realized we were pitifully short. Eggs, bread, and milk were about all we had.

  Because she was always in a hurry to get home to Dad, and I never showed up for meals anymore, Mom had resorted to grabbing a bunch of frozen dinners at the grocery store that we could pop into the microwave whenever we felt like eating. Our cupboards were bare.

  Instead of spending all day at the library, I asked Mom for some money to go grocery shopping. She smiled at me, of course, and handed over forty dollars. Since we were on a tight budget, I had to keep a tally in my head as I put things in my cart, and I had to buy things I would know how to fix. It was cool, in a weird way, to play Suzy Shopper.

  I only had one tearful episode, and that was on the cereal aisle. Glancing around for some new type of cereal that would appeal to us, a box grabbed my attention and immediately I froze, shocked, as a flood of memories assailed me.

  Suddenly I was five years old again.

  “Mom, PLEASE!” I practically screeched.

  “CeeCee,” Mom replied patiently, “I bought you some frosted cornflakes last week and you haven’t finished them, yet. You know the rules, no new cereal until you finish the one you already have.”

  “But Mom, this one has crunch berries!”

  “I see that, and it will still have crunch berries next week when we come back, after you’ve finished your other cereal.”

  “But Mom…”

  “CeeCee, if you keep this up, I am going to buy plain corn flakes next week, and the next week, and the week after….”

  “But…”

  “CeeCee,” Mom warned in her serious voice.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  I had given up at that point. None of us ever argued with Mom’s “serious voice”; that was a losing battle indeed.

  As I stood there in the middle of the cereal row, I found myself fighting tears.

  I missed Mom’s serious voice. I missed Mom. I missed my denial stage.

  It was ridiculous how often tears had threatened to spill over since my ‘revelation’. It was like the dam burst, and though I kept desperately attempting to patch it, I couldn’t.

  I rushed thru the rest of the shopping, trying not to dwell on any one thing.

  Why hadn’t I brought my headphones and some extremely loud, obnoxious music with me?

  I spent the next day doing Mom and Dad’s laundry. I had been doing my own for years, but I had never volunteered to do theirs before, as that would have blown my whole avoidance/denial thing.

  Keeping busy around the house appeared to be the thing to do. I was being useful and spending some time with Mom and Dad.

  I have to admit, though, by the time Frank arrived in the afternoons I was always ready for a little alone time. Participating in life again was more of a strain than I had anticipated, and I needed some recuperation and rejuvenation time.

  But overall, things were going okay; at least I thought they were.