Hazel

The Best Day - The Worst Day

 

            Before I get into that day, allow me to return to my schooling. I began school a year late, but I had a terrific home-bound teacher for the first two years. Thank you so very much, my friend, Mrs. Watson! I don’t know what we would have done without you. You were a great friend to not only me, but also my parents.

            I had a different home-bound teacher for the third grade. She suggested I try going to school, a real school, for half days! I was excited and nervous that first day, as you can imagine. She arranged for me to start in the fourth grade, my natural grade, because I was good in math. I stayed in fourth grade for math and went to third for English.

That summer, my mother taught me English so I would be ready for the fifth grade next year. Talk about a hard teacher! My mother was the roughest one I had so far. The next year, I started with my class again but only to lunch.

I was still confined to a wheelchair, but would get out of it and sit at a desk in the fifth grade. It also worked out well that there were no steps at this school.

Surprisingly, I got along very well at school and loved my classmates!

During that fall, I started pushing my wheelchair back from the water fountain. Occasionally, someone would sit in the chair and I would push! Talk about a reversal! Also, I was walking at home.

I went from this girl screaming in pain to someone who could walk! And it only took me four years, more or less.

Then on January 17, 1974, we were all outside. It must have been a beautiful, warm day in North Carolina because my dad and mom were working on a pretty steep hill beside the house.

I asked my mother if I could try walking down the hill and she said yes. I made it down! Now comes the hard part, going back up. I made it! I was so happy! I had just accomplished something I never dreamed of doing – walking up a hill! I wanted to be sure I could do it again, and I did. I was so elated! I could walk! Yes!

After we came in, my mom said Hazel had always said she couldn’t wait to see me walk down her hill. They lived in a valley close to my grandparents and walking there was pretty easy then. In my euphoria, I had forgotten. I wanted to go, but Mom said let’s wait until tomorrow when you are rested.

Sometimes best plans are never fulfilled.

Later that day, Mom got a call from Dean, Hazel’s husband. He called an ambulance and asked if mom would keep the kids. Mom was out the door like a shot. She came back with Tim and David, ages six and nine respectively. Deana, age twelve, who was my playmate and best friend, stayed with my uncle. Everyone knew it was bad. Even I knew it was bad because the boys were subdued and quiet.

Somewhere around 7:30 or maybe 8:30, we were watching The Walton’s when the phone rang. It was my grandmother calling to ask if mom had heard anything. While she was on the phone, my uncle came in and told my grandmother that Hazel had died. My mother later said my grandmother screamed the dreadful news. Tim was sitting next to mom, David next to Tim, and I was next to David.

My mom lost it. She didn’t say much and afterward she would deny even crying in front of Hazel’s kids. But she cried out, cried as quietly as possible, and dropped the phone. Dad crawled to the kitchen to get her something to help. She was shaking so hard, Dad had to hold the glass she drank from. I have never seen my mother lose it like that.

I was eleven and didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I kept watching TV. I was certain the worst had happened, but felt like the best I could do was watch TV and keep up appearances for my cousins. So, I tried to ignore everything and focus on TV as did my cousins. No one said anything. Maybe Hazel was still alive but in bad shape.

Later, mom gave my cousins a bath, and then they went to my aunt’s house. I had a bath and went to bed. It was only as I was in bed that I asked my father if Hazel was dead. When I started crying, so did my dad. I had never seen my dad cry, so I quit and stuffed it down. My dad went to the living room. I heard Mom come in and they cried together and whispered all night. I finally fell asleep.

        The next morning, the house was full of people. It wasn’t a nightmare. My favorite aunt, the one person we all relied on for years, my other mother, was gone at age 34.