The first memory that comes to mind about my mom’s addiction is always the same one. I had just gotten out of the shower. I was probably 9 or 10 years old. I had just gotten out of a steamy shower and I was wearing a white bathrobe that had a peach windowpane pattern on it. My hair was wrapped up in a matching peach towel, which Santa had brought my mom for Christmas the previous year. My dad was out on the road. I’m not sure what day it was, but he wasn’t due back anytime soon.
My mom was constantly rearranging the furniture (something that I also do constantly at my own home). And for some reason there was a recliner in the dining area, along with a round oak table and an 11” TV on the counter. My mom was sitting in the recliner, and something was wrong. I don’t remember exactly how it escalated, but I know that somehow I was worried enough that I called my sister, Debbie. Debbie lived in New York, so she was pretty helpless in the situation.
My mom was slurring her words, and I was frightened. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it may have been the first time that it had happened while I was alone at home with her.
That same year, my sister Shanea had gotten married and moved out, and my brother Kade had left on a mission that lasted two years. It was just me and my mom when dad was at work, and he was usually gone for two nights and three days. Anyway, Debbie told me to go into a room and lock the door behind me. I chose the first bathroom. It is a small bathroom that is the length of a tub, with the sink and toilet directly across from it. I don’t know if, Debbie got in touch with Shanea somehow, or if I had called her previously, but I think I knew she was on her way. My hair was getting dry, and I had the cordless phone with me. I was crying, I didn’t know what to do. Debbie kept telling me that I had to hang up the phone with her and call 911.
I had never done anything that serious before and I was terrified of what that meant. That mom really had a problem, that I was really all alone with her, that my dad couldn’t get home to me. The whole while my mom was banging on the door insisting that I open it up. I am telling her, no, no. I won’t open up, you are scaring me. Debbie is telling me to hang up and call the ambulance, that I am the only one that can do it, and my mom is still banging. She is telling me through the door, that if I call 911 that they will take me away from her forever. That I won’t ever see her again, that I will go to foster-care, that they will take me away. I close my eyes tightly, I tell Debbie that I am hanging up now, she makes me promise to call her back as soon as I get off the phone with 911. A deep breath, and I hit the off button. Bang! Bang! Bang! They will take you away! I won’t ever see you again! Don’t you love your mom? I press the phone button, Bang! I press 9. Bang! Savannah! Don’t you do it! I press 1 and 1 again. 911, what is your emergency? There is something wrong with my mom. I think she took too many pills. Please come. I am all alone with her. Minutes later someone arrives, I don’t know if it is the police, the ambulance, my sister or a neighbor. But I am not alone anymore and I can come out of the bathroom. I don’t remember coming out. But I remember feeling the responsibility of having called the cops on my mom. That I could still feel the tears dripping down my face. Shanea hugs me. It is her old bathrobe that I am wearing. We hadn’t been close before, I actually had bugged her all my life. But she held me and took me with her. I don’t know what happened to my mom after that. Did she stay in the hospital overnight? Did my dad come home? I don’t know.
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