I have a scar on my right calf that I have tried scar cream and vitamin E to lighten, but it will not lighten. It is the newest scar of my many scars but it is significant. This scar marks the ending of a relationship. I decided I will start with my first scar, April 18th, 1977, my belly button.
I was born on a bridge in Portland, OR in a Dodge, delivered by my father. Clearly we didn't make it to the hospital before I made my grand entrance into this world. Many people wanted to name me Rosalyn Bridgett, after the bridge, but I was told my dad wanted to name me Tara (Tar a road, not Tear a piece of paper).
I have a scar in my left eyebrow. It makes grooming my eyebrows a chore, never symmetrical, never. I fell face first into the coffee table and split my eyelid open, it grew into my eyebrow as I grew. My dad had to put butterfly strips on my eye for a week. Apparently, your one year old eyelid becomes your eyebrow.
When I was 7, I stopped myself on my bike using my right elbow instead of my breaks. My father heard me crash a block away. This scar is bumpy and ugly. My dad had to scrub gravel out of my elbow before bandaging it up. Two weeks of bandages because I split it open often. Seven year old's need to bend their elbows.
I contracted a nasty case of the chickenpox when I was in the 5th grade. I have 5 pock mark scars. My dad gave me a stuffed kangaroo with a joey in the pouch. The kangaroo was supposed to help me feel better, it didn't but it was a nice gesture.
I have many memories of my father assisting me with all my medical needs and he is attached to my scars left behind. So it seems appropriate to have received my most recent scar.
I received a phone call May 14th, 2014 at 10:15pm, caller ID stated Mom. Weird, my parents are old and go to bed at 8pm. I answered the call and it was my parents' neighbor. She told me my father had died. My mother was the sickly one, I am sure she meant my mother had died, not my father. My dad was strong and stubborn and needed, he couldn't possibly have died yet. My Dark Knight and I hopped in the car and drove to my parents' house. I know I called my sister, but I can't really remember what was said. I have very foggy memories regarding that night. But the neighbor was correct, my father had died.
We bring my mother to our house. Many people showed up and cleaned my parent's house, brought food and money, and many other wonderful things. My mom goes back home on the 16th and has a massive stroke. Now my parents' house needs to be cleaned out, my mom needs a guardian, my dad's services need to be coordinated, etc. My poor family had to function without me most of May through September. I spent every penny we had and worked little hours.
May 19th, I am cleaning out my parents' house and stop at the neighbor's house to pick up the mail they grabbed for me. They have a dog sitting down, ignoring me. I go to leave the neighboring house and that damn dog bit my calf. I have no idea what I did to provoke the dog since I never talked to the dog or messed with it at all. He bit through my jeans and took a small chunk out of my leg. The dog turned around and walked away. Clearly, he accomplished what he set out to do that day. Bite the grieving daughter from next door, check.
So, now I have a scar from the dog bite, another scar to remind me of my father. It is a humorous reminder of a terrible time. Who gets bit by a dog after her father dies and mother has a massive stroke? This girl! The dog bite was just the humor I needed to make it another day.
I never thought the scars I find ugly and a nuisance would be what reminds me of some good memories of my father. I am glad I have my battle scars, even if I can never have symmetrical eyebrows.
No comments:
Post a Comment