Quiet Mountain Essays
Copyright ©,2004
How We Die
by Sala Amira Menaya
The Demise of Oneself
When we think of death we usually equate it with someone losing their life. It is a permanent
loss that we find hard to deal with. We realize that there are things that we may not have said
to someone that we should have; realize that we will never again get to see, speak to, feel or
smell that person. We will not hear their voice as it rises in laughter, cries in sorrow, or soothes
us in times of need. They are forever lost to us in the living world.
However, there are several variations of death. There is the death of a relationship, the death of
certain beliefs that we may have once held, etc. There can also be the death of one's spirit.
How Does One's Spirit die?
You might ask me what I mean when I say the death of one's spirit; how can your spirit die?
Ask even, is it possible for our spirit to die, and yet, for us to still live? When I speak of spirit, I
speak of that which is inside of us, that which carries us through life. Webster's dictionary
defines spirit as: "an inclination, impulse or tendency of a specified kind of mood." We all have
said or have heard someone else say, "I'm in good (or bad) spirits". Basically it means that the
person is happy or sad.
Being from a pretty religious family, I can recall my grandmother and my eldest aunt always
speaking of the Holy Spirit, and from the way their voices sounded, I knew that it was a good
thing. I always equated my good feelings to having a good spirit, a happy spirit. I remember
around the age of five, I lost that happy spirit, and afterward, I was rarely in good spirits. I
remember the day my spirit died.
The Day I Died
The demise of my spirit and, consequently, me, was on a pretty day; a pretty summer day and I
had just come home from summer school. My mother dropped me off at the neighbor's, the
babysitter. My mother was a single parent who worked days and went to night school. She
was a young mother of 25, and I was her only child. Because my mother had me at such an
early age, her priorities were mixed up and she tended to spend more time shopping, dating
and going out, than looking after me. I was left to spend most of my days, and many nights, at
the neighbor's home.
On this summer day, Mrs. P was not at home, but her husband was there to receive me. Mr. P
had always been nice to be, given me treats, and played silly games with me. I liked him. One
of our games was for him to tell me that he had a surprise for me in the house, and that I had to
search for it. I would then go through the house, looking for my prize, which was usually a
piece of candy that I was not supposed to have. Usually this game was played while there were
other people in the house, and they would tell me if I was getting "hot" or "cold". That day, it
was only he and I.
On this particular summer day, we played our game, and I went about searching the house,
going from room to room. However, the game this day was different. I could not find my
surprise as easily as I usually did. There was no surprise in the kitchen, nor in the laundry
room, but in the master bedroom. BINGO! I found my first sweet surprise, a bag full of
different types of candy and bubble gum, but, along with it came my first, and unfortunately
not my last, bitter "treat".
It began with touching first, and then escalated into more. Each time that this went on, a piece
of me died. Not only did Mr. P violate me, but his two sons got in on the bitter "treat", as well.
/Someone died today and I cried
It was along time coming
You see she was running…away.
Hiding from the secrets in her closet,
d
e
e
p
and DARK
Yet, one day, and I don't know what happened, it's a blank in my memory as to how this all
came about, I got the courage to tell my mother what had happened. I developed a fighting
spirit, a spirit of courage, and I had to let her know.
/Attacking the past like ocean waters filled with sharks/
My mother questioned the neighbors and of course they denied what happened. What hurt me
the most was that she did not believe me. I was forced to deny behavior that the neighbors
stated I displayed, while she never questioned what they claimed, but took it as truth. My
mother believed them and not me; and my spirit died all over again. The Encyclopedia
Britannica states that "death" can refer to an event or a state. "Death as a state is the opposite of
life; death as an event is the opposite of birth." So I know that with my mother disbelieving me,
I died, because at that time, my life appeared to stop. It was the lowest of low points for me. It
was as if she was abusing me, too.
The one person who I thought would protect me and make everything alright was turning her
back on me. I drew into myself; and I remember that despite her not defending me, and letting
them off the hook, she no longer allowed them to keep me, and she looked at me in a different
way.
Her decision not to send me back to them did nothing to soothe the aching that I had in my
soul. Not only that, but they lived directly next door to us and that made it very hard for me,
too. Not only had they violated me but, they (I felt) laughed about it behind my back, and I felt
as though they would come and get me at any time. I was afraid all of the time, because the
perpetrators were right next to me, just a few steps away, and there was no one to protect me
from them, no one who cared. What a sad and frightened child I became.
The Free Legal Dictionary states that death is defined as being "the cessation of life. It is
natural, as when it happens in the usual course, without violence; or violent, when it is caused
either by the acts of the deceased, or those of others." So, if I were to take this to heart, then I
can conclude that my spirit did indeed die. I can conclude that my spirit died at the hands of
others, and thinking of that, even today, still hurts.
As time went on and I grew older, my spirit got worse, never better. I was deeply depressed,
suicidal, and anorexic. I became a person that I did not like and other people could not
understand. My spirit was ugly. Most of the time, I couldn't stand myself. My spirit was
decomposing in the rot that was inside of me; the rot being my anger, my hate, my sadness and
my confusion.
Back from the Dead
I transferred that rot and that spirit into my oldest son when I was pregnant with him. For nine
months, my son grew inside me and absorbed that negative spirit. When he was born, and as
he grew, he was a melancholy child. Now I am working on trying to change that. I am trying
to transfer my freed spirit to him by showing him that there is so much to live for; that life has
so much to offer, and though we often find ourselves drowning in our despair, there is a life line
that can help to save us, but we have to want it.
At first, I continued to merely exist; I did not live. I felt that there was no reason for me to
physically be alive, not even for my child. Then I realized my son looked very sad all the time.
I began to see it when he was about 7 years old, but I did not know what it was, because at the
time, I was still on my death march. As time went by, I saw that he could never see the
positive in things, only the negative. My child was on his own death march. He would
constantly make comments about wanting to die and not being good enough to live. It scared
me to think that he was so young and so focused on death, instead of life. I had infected my
child with death and I did not know what to do about it. But, I learned.
Something happened to me that changed all of that. I don't recall the exact day, but the month
and year are clear, it was November 1997. I found out that I was pregnant with my second
child. On that day, Tracy, the Tracy that I had been and everyone had known, began to die.
My spirit became a little lighter and I began to see some light in the rain clouds that seemed to
follow me wherever I ventured.
It was a process for me, and it was not an easy one. I had to come to terms with many things in
my life. I had to learn that there were things that I could not change, and that I had to let go
and move on, in order for me to grow. It is said that "Whatever that does not grow is dead."
And that is so true, for I had died 25 years before.
The next three years became a process for me of acknowledging, accepting, learning, moving
on, and resurrecting my spirit, the spirit that I had lost that summer when I was five. I didn't
want to be dead anymore. I had infected one of my children with my dead spirit and he hadn't
deserved that. I couldn't infect another. I had to live, if not for me then for the both of them.
You see, when you are in the process of dying, your life does flash by you, and every flash that I
got was a flash about my son; his laughter, when he found it in himself to laugh, and his tears
when he was sad. I knew that this child had to live. I knew that this child deserved better than
the foundation that I laid for him. I knew that I had to give him back his life, a life that he had
never really had a chance to live. I owed this to him, because I had taken it away from him. It
was then that I began the process of trying to change my outlook on life, and to help my son to
do the same.
When my son found out that he was going to be a big brother, his metamorphosis began. He
began to live, because he wanted so badly to be a big brother. Our change began there, but it
did not end there; there was something else that I needed to do.
/For she was done, through, rid of the past.
She was burying the old and hoping to be reborn
Becoming a beautiful rose without the thorns./
The Burial
One summer day in 2000, I made the decision that I needed to bury Tracy and give birth to
Sala. So, I sat down and wrote Tracy a letter, explaining to her what I had to do and why I was
doing it. I had gotten the idea from a book that I read by Ayanla Vanzant, entitled,
"Yesterday, I Cried".
On June 17, 2000 I gave Tracy her proper burial, and with it, I happily buried the anger, the
pain, the depression, and that dead spirit.
/Someone died today and I'm finally at Peace
She can't reach me now, for she is deceased.
Someone died today and her death I applaud.
Someone was born today and her name is:
SALA/
Death is hard to understand, and complicated to explain, at best. Death for me was not quick
and painless, but long, hard and, at times, torturous. Yet, I made it through. It may seem hard
for most, to believe in the possibility of dying and being born again. But, I am living proof that
there is life after death.
Contributor's Notes...
I am the single parent of two beautiful sons. This is my first published piece of work; alas, it is the only
piece of work that I have ever submitted for publication. I am currently a full time student at the University
of LaVerne, working towards a double Bachelors Degree in Organizational Management and Legal
Studies. I also work full-time for San Bernardino County in California. I give all credit to GOD, who
blesses me every waking moment.
