The Red Umbrella

                  

Looking back, I don't know what I would've done if it weren't for the red umbrella. That red umbrella was truly my one and only savior and I want to tell you all about it.

During my early childhood, my mother and I had a very strong bond, or so I thought. On February 12, 2009, the day I turned six, my mother had left, leaving only I and my father.  I wanted to believe this was temporary and she did not really leave. Only after I stopped denying it, I began to realize that my mother had really left me, and she wasn't coming back.  I was devastated and thought it was my fault for a long time. So when I started school in grade 1, I drifted away from my friends, and started acting differently. I had closed some doors, to my teachers who tried healing and even my family. I was never going to open those doors again.

Years passed and I learned to be the girl whose mother left her. Life went on. I lost the passion for the things I thought I couldn't live without, things I loved as a little kid. First one that I dropped was soccer. I was thirteen and did not see the point of playing soccer anymore.  Or maybe it was the soccer moms that made me stop, the moms that drove their kids from practice to practice, cheered for their daughters during their games, made sure they ate healthy and always drank water, kissed them and hugged them after their victories and losses. I was the girl who had always dreamed about representing Canada in the Olympics and I did not have a mother to say "Yes, honey, you can do this!".

Later, at the age of 14, my best friend suddenly perished in a severe car crash, that killed only her. We had been heading towards the mall, when a large black SUV swerved to our lane and crashed into us. That crash had left me alive but also alone. After that I hadn't tried to make any new friends, and the people around me stopped trying to be nice.  Some days, when I was at my worst, I had even wished that the car crash had taken my life.

                "Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep", rang my alarm on a bright and sunny Friday morning on March 31st 2017, another day in my stupid life. I remember falling out of my bed trying to reach to snooze my alarm clock. I got up and threw on something I don't even remember, probably a pair of stinky jeans, which I used to wear every day.  I quickly washed my face and did my hair into a pony tail, my most commonly used hairstyle. I dashed down the stairs and left the house without saying a word to my father.  I ignored the voice in my head telling me to go into the kitchen, and have breakfast with him. I had not spoken with my father in such a long time, even thinking about it made me nervous.  I ran to the bus stop, sat on the bench and started reading my book – I was reading "Eleanor and Park", I think, one of my favourite books at that time. As the bus slowly came to a stop, I checked my watch. It was 7:43 am. Yes! 7:43 am. "Today is the day" I thought. Whenever the bus arrived at 7:43 a.m., that day was the day  I was going to see my mother  I imagined, I wanted to believe.  That was not the first time the bus arrived on 7:43 am, but that was the day. That is what I believed, each time. With a hopeful smile, I stood up, got on the bus and nodded at the bus driver. I looked around in the bus, like every other school day, and did not see my mother. What was I thinking anyway? How can the timing of the bus have anything to do with my mother? How stupid should I am to believe that she would come back after this many years? What a fool I was to be waiting for her, still waiting for her? 

                As I got older, I did many foolish things; one of them was starving myself. I believed I was fat and ugly and this was one of the reasons my mom left me. I don't know what I was doing, maybe I was punishing myself, I don't remember much from that time. One thing I remember though is that nothing I did could take away that feeling of emptiness from me. One day, I ended up in the emergency room when I collapsed in the middle of the living room. I am thankful that my dad was in the house that day. I got back onto my feet with counselling, medication and my father's amazing support. I was going to kill myself because of an absent mother when I had a wonderful father right next to me whom I ignored for years. This must have been hard for him too. Who would want to raise a child alone?

It took months for me to gain weight and feel happy again. My dad took me to the hospital for counselling every week. I discovered something during this period and then it turned into a passion – writing. That is the time I started writing into my diary. Then I started writing short stories. People seemed to enjoy listening to my stories. I began pouring out all the things I was never able to say, onto paper. This had made me feel free, like a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulder.

I remember hearing  my dad call my name, no screaming my name from the kitchen that day.

-          "Grace, come down dinner is ready"  I could hear him just well if he talked.  I ran downstairs and sat down.

-          "I have important news honey" he said.

-          "Umm..Okay. What is it?" I asked. I tried to understand/gauge from his face if this was good news or bad. I had absolutely no idea about what this was about.

"Drum roll, please! " he started.. "Tomorrow, February 3rd is your very last day in counselling in the hospital. Let's mark this day. February 3rd 2020!" , my father joyfully exclaimed.

Yet my feelings were different then my father's. I was definitely feeling much better, and happier; but something was missing. I did not know what it was, I learned to cover it up and ignore this feeling but it was there.  I learned not to let this affect my daily life, I learned to function and I learned to hide it from my father. I was ashamed of myself and how others struggled because of my poor decisions, so  I had decided to end my life. I did not jump up and down with the news. I smiled and said "Great news dad. I am happy"

One rainy day, I was walking home from school, and a voice inside my head told me to stop at the creek, my usual spot in the weekends where I used to write my stories.  So I did, I did go down the muddy path to the creek, looked around and there it was – an umbrella. , a red umbrella. I picked it up and turned it around. The umbrella was so clean as if it was just dropped, but there was no one around. I opened it and spun it around dreaming I was in a movie.  Then I noticed a faint writing inside the umbrella, "Annabella Brooke".  ? Suddenly I had a flashback, remembering a photograph of my parents together before she had left us. She was holding the same umbrella" Could this be real? Was I indeed dreaming and I was in a movie? Could this be my mother's umbrella? I looked around.. Maybe this was the day my mother was coming back.. But no.. There wasn't anybody around.. I got sad and then mad at my mother for leaving me, leaving us.. I furiously took a marker out of my bag and scribbled her name and wrote my name instead. Then I threw the umbrella into the creek and ran back home, soaking wet.

I remember February 21, 2023 like yesterday. I had just got rejected by the last publisher I sent my stories to and I did not know what else I could do. This was the last day I wanted to be alive on this awful planet. I was twenty years old, still living with my dad, did not know what I wanted to do with my life and was feeling like XXXXX. Why did my mother have to leave?  Why did she have to leave me alone?  I had no meaning to live. I was a little worried about leaving my father alone , what would he do at age 60, all alone? I did not want to think about that. It was now or never. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a box of pills. I knew where they were, because I had taken them many times, except for medical reasons.  I poured as many as I could fit into my palm, and took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I raised my hand to my mouth and....

"Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong" rang the doorbell, the person obviously had no patience. I was forced to put the pills down but promised myself I would take them later. I opened the door, and was surprised to see no one. Who rang the bell? Was this a joke? A prank? Just as I was closing the door, I looked down to see the red umbrella. The red umbrella. But how? I picked it up saw my handwriting – Grace Brooke. It was indeed the same umbrella.

I don't know and I never will how that umbrella got there, but it saved my life. It reminded me of the people who still loved me, and that there was still hope and that I still had a lot to live for.

                Today, I am a soccer coach, turns out my love for soccer never stopped and I also teach Grade 2. I love my life and am glad that I learned my lesson and continue to thank the world every day. My father passed away a couple years ago from a heart attack. I visit the cemetery every week to tell him how much I know he would've been proud of me. 

I want everyone to know that it does get better. And sometimes even when the doctors can't help, it is you that will pull yourself out of the dark hole you dug up. Oh, and never doubt a red umbrella, they have a mind of their own.