Quiet Mountain Essays

Copyright ©;2004

Mommy's Angel
by
Amy L. Adkins

When I was growing up, I thought my family was perfect.  In my naïve mind, I thought I had the
typical, normal, American family.  I was my dad’s pet, daddy’s little girl.  I had a loving, caring
mother and two older brothers to whom, although they enjoyed picking on me,  I was the apple of
their eyes.  It did seem like I had the ideal family life.        

As I grew older, the reality of my not-so-typical family set in.  As I made friends at school, I began
to notice my peers’ parents were all younger than mine and that their siblings were closer in age.  
I, on the other hand, was born to a family with a 38-year -old mother, a 46-year-old father, an 8-
year-old and a 10-year-old brother.  My family also wasn’t so typical because my mom worked,
and my dad stayed home to take care of me.  Because of the work situation, I developed a close
relationship with my dad and a not-so-close one with my mom.        

My parents had two completely different parenting styles.  My dad was the type to let me do
almost anything I wanted.  Then, when my mom would get home from work, the discipline set in.  
She was much more cautious and protective of my brothers and me than was my dad.  Her
discipline inevitably caused some tension.  My parents fought often, although I wasn’t aware of it
at the time.  My mom and I also clashed, especially as I neared closer to my teenage years.  She
often told me "no" when I asked to go certain places or to date certain guys.  But, of course, I
always ignored her rejections and went straight to my dad for permission.  “I don’t care if your
mom don’t care,” he would say, wisely not going against my mother’s wishes, while keeping me
on his side at the same time.  Obviously, his desire to please us both only led to more tension
between my mom and me.          

I find now that my actions were so cruel during my early teens.  Because of the needless grudges I
held against my mother for being a caring, protective mother, I often said words to her that most
parents would never tolerate.  In the midst of many heated arguments, I would find myself
screaming, “I hate you!  I wish Dad would divorce you and I would go live with him!”  What child
would ever wish divorce upon her parents?  Luckily that wish never came true and my mom
understood that I was just letting out my anger and didn’t really mean those things.  But I soon
learned my mother wasn’t the only one who clashed with her kids.  My dad had similar battles
with my brothers.  For reasons I’m still not sure of, their battles were much deeper.  I feel like at
some point each family member had this wall of resistance built up against one another.  But one
cold, cloudy day in November of my freshman year of high school, those walls bittersweetly
began to break down.  I remember the beginning of the end and the actual end, but not much in
between.        

My mom had taken my dad to the doctor one morning because he complained that his vision had
been going out.  That one visit to the doctor changed my family’s lives and relationships forever.  
My mom got me out of my math class that dreary morning and broke the horrifying news to me.  
She was blunt and to the point, but then again, how else can you tell your daughter, Daddy’s little
girl, her dad had cancer in the lungs, lymph nodes, and brain, and he only had six weeks to
live?        

For the next month we were all living in a daze.  I don’t remember much about it, only that on
Christmas Eve, something like a small miracle happened.  My dad kind of “woke up” from his
daze, thus affecting the rest of us in the same way.  While he was taking treatments, we were told
that they wouldn't cure him, but only enhance the quality of his remaining life.  During this time,
many wounds were mended within my family.  Many grudges were turned loose in the
proceeding months.  My dad ended up making it for another two years, instead of his expected
short six weeks.

Two years later he had been in the hospital for about a week when somehow we all knew when it
was time.  We knew it was getting close to time, early that December.  There in the hospital room
with my dad in his final hour, stood my mom, my brother and half sister who had driven from
two hours away, my brother who had just come from work, and I, who had left school early that
day.  Here, we were all drawn together as a family at the most important time ever.  The room was
filled with love and we all sensed that my dad felt it.  We were all sad for him to go, but happy we
were all there together one final time.  The only words to sum up this entire experience are from
the Counting Crows’ song, “ A Long December”:                        

A long December and there’s reason to believe                        
Maybe this year will be better than the last                        
I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving                        
Now the days go by so fast                        
The smell of hospitals in winter                        
And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls                        
And it’s one more day up in the canyons                        
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven…I wish you would.  (Counting Crows)        

So here I was, a 16-year-old girl with two brothers out of college, and the only person still at home
with my mom.  If I had been a part of that typical, normal, American family, I would have been
closer in age to my brothers and probably away at college, leaving my mom to at home alone.  
Instead, I was 16 with a 54-year-old mom and a dad who just passed away at age 62.  At this
crucial point in our lives, I was of perfect age and maturity to sufficiently be there for my mom.  
She has told me many times that she doesn’t know how she could have made it through those
tough times without me.  She said she knew a long time ago that there must be some reason I was
put here on earth with her at such a late time in her life.  

So now I know there are reasons for everything and I have carried that attitude over to other
aspects of my life.  Through these troubling times I learned there is a great plan for us and I have
learned the importance of strong, healthy family relationships.  I have set a foundation for my own
future family’s values and standards; and through it all, I have learned being born to a not-so-
typical family turned out to be a blessing in disguise.    




Works Cited:
Counting Crows.  “A Long December.”  Recovering the Satellites.  Compact Disc.  Geffen1996.    

Contributor's Notes...

I am a 22 year old senior at Eastern Kentucky University.  I will graduate in May with a bachelor's degree in
Elementary Education with an emphasis in English/Communications.  The composition of this personal narrative
was influenced by my close relationship with my family.  One month after I wrote it, one of my brothers
mentioned in the story passed away very unexpectedly at age 31, which was both very ironic and re-enforcing
of the feelings I shared in the narrative.  QME is my first publishing credit.

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