Among the Sunflowers
Written by Michael
January, 2007
January, 2007
Who I am, as I am now, is at the least summed up in threes: Three songs, Three sayings, Three movies, and Three stories. All of which have a special meaning to me in my life. As a man, I am three things now, a Christian, an artist, and a son. But I would not be these things as I am without the first or the second or the third. This is three stories in three parts that make me. The first of which takes me back three years ago, to a hospital, a conversation, and a boy who was lost and hurting, an addict.
"Hey Wha' Happens?" (Skeletons and the Kings of all Cities)
It was visiting time at the Behavioral Health Hospital, a Wednesday, I believe, it's so hard to remember the details sometimes. My parents were visiting me, but I had no desire to see them. Seven days earlier I had overdosed on cough medicine, heroine, and cocaine. The doctors were surprised that I had even made it through the night. The following days were some of the most painful I had ever experienced. Between the vomiting and the cold sweats, the last people I wanted to see were my parents. I couldn't face them. They had been the ones who had found me unconscious and unresponsive. I didn't want to feel those judging eyes pressing my heart into my chest. But I swallowed the rock I had lingering in my throat and gave my mom a hug. It was the coldest hug I had ever received from her. She was scared and lost about what to do with me and a tear welled up in her eye. I loved her even then. Even after all our arguments and fights. I may have said I hated her to her face, but deep down I hated myself.
Our conversation went, to the best of my memories, well. My dad spoke first, as always, being the proud father and husband he is and asked, "How are you?"
I replied, "I'm fine. How are you?"
I hated answering my father's question. Everyone of them seemed loaded and threatening so I would always try to avoid answering them by turning it around on him.
"Worried." He said.
"Oh, yeah." I said.
"Yeah, Mike, I don't know what to do with you. This is the 3rd time this has happened and I'm done with it!"
"Whatever." I said, disgusted.
My mother cut in at that point. "Whatever? Mike, is that all you can say is "whatever"? You almost died and your father and I have been going crazy and all you can say is "whatever"?"
I began getting angry. "Yes! That's all I can say. I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I don't feel anything anymore and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not feeling anything."
"Well, what do you want us to do about it?" My mom cut in.
"Nothing, I don't want you to do anything. I just don't want to feel like this anymore, so I'm going to California with Kyle and his girlfriend." I got a little quieter. "Then I'll be out of your hair and you can just forget about me."
"Mike." My dad said sternly. "You can't go to California, you're sick, you'll die!"
I began getting frustrated. "I'll be fine. I just need to get away from you guys for awhile 'cause I'm losing it."
My mom cut in again, off topic. "Mike, where you ever happy?"
I answered abruptly, "Of course I was."
She said quickly, "When?"
The last time I was truly happy was when I was in Spain with my mother standing in the endless fields of sunflowers. It was one of those times my mother and I actually got along for more than a few minutes. I took a picture of my mom and she was smiling so wide. She was happy, too. Spain was her Eden, she had studied there in college and she talked about it constantly when I was a child. I made me happy to be there with her.
I couldn't tell her this of course, so I just said the next thing that came to my head. "I don't know, when I was five."
My mother rolled her eyes. My dad stood up and said, "We should be going now, our time is up."
There was a long pause. No one said a word until my dad said with contempt, "Goodbye, Mike."
"Goodbye, Dad."
I began getting a little sheepish. "I love you." He said.
"Love you too, Dad."
"Mom", I said softly as I gave her a hug. She hugged me so tightly I couldn't maintain composure and I began to cry.
"Goodbye, Mike." She said to me. I knew she was crying.
"I love you." She said.
"Love you, too."
This would be the last time I would speak to my parents face to face for seven or eight months.
Little did I know this was really them saying goodbye.(End of first story, more next time. Michael was escorted to a Therapeutic Boarding School in the Dominican Republic.)
"Hey Wha' Happens?" (Skeletons and the Kings of all Cities)
It was visiting time at the Behavioral Health Hospital, a Wednesday, I believe, it's so hard to remember the details sometimes. My parents were visiting me, but I had no desire to see them. Seven days earlier I had overdosed on cough medicine, heroine, and cocaine. The doctors were surprised that I had even made it through the night. The following days were some of the most painful I had ever experienced. Between the vomiting and the cold sweats, the last people I wanted to see were my parents. I couldn't face them. They had been the ones who had found me unconscious and unresponsive. I didn't want to feel those judging eyes pressing my heart into my chest. But I swallowed the rock I had lingering in my throat and gave my mom a hug. It was the coldest hug I had ever received from her. She was scared and lost about what to do with me and a tear welled up in her eye. I loved her even then. Even after all our arguments and fights. I may have said I hated her to her face, but deep down I hated myself.
Our conversation went, to the best of my memories, well. My dad spoke first, as always, being the proud father and husband he is and asked, "How are you?"
I replied, "I'm fine. How are you?"
I hated answering my father's question. Everyone of them seemed loaded and threatening so I would always try to avoid answering them by turning it around on him.
"Worried." He said.
"Oh, yeah." I said.
"Yeah, Mike, I don't know what to do with you. This is the 3rd time this has happened and I'm done with it!"
"Whatever." I said, disgusted.
My mother cut in at that point. "Whatever? Mike, is that all you can say is "whatever"? You almost died and your father and I have been going crazy and all you can say is "whatever"?"
I began getting angry. "Yes! That's all I can say. I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I don't feel anything anymore and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not feeling anything."
"Well, what do you want us to do about it?" My mom cut in.
"Nothing, I don't want you to do anything. I just don't want to feel like this anymore, so I'm going to California with Kyle and his girlfriend." I got a little quieter. "Then I'll be out of your hair and you can just forget about me."
"Mike." My dad said sternly. "You can't go to California, you're sick, you'll die!"
I began getting frustrated. "I'll be fine. I just need to get away from you guys for awhile 'cause I'm losing it."
My mom cut in again, off topic. "Mike, where you ever happy?"
I answered abruptly, "Of course I was."
She said quickly, "When?"
The last time I was truly happy was when I was in Spain with my mother standing in the endless fields of sunflowers. It was one of those times my mother and I actually got along for more than a few minutes. I took a picture of my mom and she was smiling so wide. She was happy, too. Spain was her Eden, she had studied there in college and she talked about it constantly when I was a child. I made me happy to be there with her.
I couldn't tell her this of course, so I just said the next thing that came to my head. "I don't know, when I was five."
My mother rolled her eyes. My dad stood up and said, "We should be going now, our time is up."
There was a long pause. No one said a word until my dad said with contempt, "Goodbye, Mike."
"Goodbye, Dad."
I began getting a little sheepish. "I love you." He said.
"Love you too, Dad."
"Mom", I said softly as I gave her a hug. She hugged me so tightly I couldn't maintain composure and I began to cry.
"Goodbye, Mike." She said to me. I knew she was crying.
"I love you." She said.
"Love you, too."
This would be the last time I would speak to my parents face to face for seven or eight months.
Little did I know this was really them saying goodbye.(End of first story, more next time. Michael was escorted to a Therapeutic Boarding School in the Dominican Republic.)
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