East Flatbush Writer

From the tender age of three to the turbulent 13, I lived with my grandparents in Jamaica, West Indies. The reason for my living situation started out being for my health, but then just became a way of life. I saw my parents two to three times a year, except for the year I turned 8 years old. That year, my mother decided over everyone’s objections, that it was time for me to live again with her. By now, however, my parents were separated and would eventually divorce.

The idea of living in the United States with my own mother and father in whatever configuration, was like a dream come true. All my other friends lived with their parents and I so wanted to be just like them. My grandparents provided the necessary structure and stability that every child needs, mixed with a fair amount of love and affection, but there is nothing like being with your very “own” parents. Many days of my young life, that’s what I wanted more than anything. I was beyond excited to start this new life with her and my brother who was 3 years old.

Both my parents worked demanding jobs and so there needed to be a support system in place to help my mother take on this new role of being a daily parent. My father, played a secondary role and did what he felt was reasonable for him. There was school, work, church, meals, babysitter and extended family. All the pieces seemed to have fit together in a most fragile puzzle. One night in February, a mere month after my ninth birthday, my mother was late coming to pick us up from the babysitter’s. When the door was finally opened, it was my father, not my mother who stood there whispering that she had been in a terrible car accident and was now in the hospital.

A drunk driver had almost taken her life. She survived, but not our living arrangement. By July of that same year, I was back in Jamaica, living again with my ever-reliable grandparents. My mother dared not attempt to change that configuration for another 4 years.

So why this story now? It certainly can’t be just to reinforce some life lessons with a few applicable cliches like, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” But if we are going to go down the road of made up wisdom sayings however, then I find this one most helpful, “closure is a door best opened. “