Endless Morning
Basquiat Lite
By Jean Michael Basquiat
January 11, 2007, I wake up with the roaring ring of an antique telephone at 3:20am. My heart is pounding that it would wake the new baby. I walk across the room in a dark fog wondering who would call this early. As I answer, a strange scratchy voice takes over the phone; it was a voice that I have never heard before. Frightened and worried the voice murmured the words a mother would never like to hear come over the phone.
“Hello mam” the voice yells in nervous voice. “My name is officer Murphy and we ask if it would be alright for us to come to your house.” I agree, hang up the phone and go to check on the children.
I go into the baby’s room and find that my daughter’s fourteen month old baby is sound asleep. I then check on my oldest daughter Sam. The door creeks as I nervously await the arrival of the two officers. Before I can even check on Sam I hear the pounding on my front door.
3:36 a.m., I answer door. The face of my ex-husband drenched from the rain. His eyes are blotchy and his body is weak. I stare in astonishment because I realize that something had gone terribly wrong. There are no words spoken between me and my ex-husband, just blank stares of astonishment.
I am still wondering what the problem is. I get up to go check on Sam, as I get to her door more pounding on the front doors take over the house. I answer the door two see the faces of two white, distraught police officers with their uniforms in tatters and there eyes filled with tears. By this point I know that something was happening.
3: 45 a.m., I invite the officers to come inside and have a cup of coffee with me and my ex-husband. The officers refuse, stating that they have some very bad news for me. The officers sit me down on the couch; I take a deep breath and let the story flow from their quivering mouths.
“mam” the officer says. “There has been and accident…” the mother begins to break down; I fall on my knees with my hands on her face. I knew that something had happened to Sam. “Your daughter has been killed in a high speed car accident.” The words hit me like speeding train. “Sam stole your car and was driving down Main St. with no head lights on. I just wanted to stop her and correct her of her mistake when she panicked and sped up down the narrow road.” While the officer is talking I think about how life would be without my eldest daughter. I begin to feel dizzy and the minutes begin to feel like hours. I begin to hear the officer’s words again, “Mam, the car hit a fire hydrant, slide on its side for about twenty five feet, hit a rock and went air born into a parked car. Sam was ejected from the car and died instantly on impact.”
The officers left the house as I started to brake down. I fall to my knees and cup my face with my hands as I wonder how I would tell the family and her friends.
After the funeral and the wake passes I realize how much of an impact one child can have on my life. Losing a daughter is one experience a mother should ever have to go through. I had planned my whole life out before that dreary January morning. I had planned on growing old and being the typical grandmother who baked cookies and knit sweaters for my grandchildren. As I reminisce on my past dreams I realize how much Sam’s death will be an endless morning
Basquiat Lite
By Jean Michael Basquiat
January 11, 2007, I wake up with the roaring ring of an antique telephone at 3:20am. My heart is pounding that it would wake the new baby. I walk across the room in a dark fog wondering who would call this early. As I answer, a strange scratchy voice takes over the phone; it was a voice that I have never heard before. Frightened and worried the voice murmured the words a mother would never like to hear come over the phone.
“Hello mam” the voice yells in nervous voice. “My name is officer Murphy and we ask if it would be alright for us to come to your house.” I agree, hang up the phone and go to check on the children.
I go into the baby’s room and find that my daughter’s fourteen month old baby is sound asleep. I then check on my oldest daughter Sam. The door creeks as I nervously await the arrival of the two officers. Before I can even check on Sam I hear the pounding on my front door.
3:36 a.m., I answer door. The face of my ex-husband drenched from the rain. His eyes are blotchy and his body is weak. I stare in astonishment because I realize that something had gone terribly wrong. There are no words spoken between me and my ex-husband, just blank stares of astonishment.
I am still wondering what the problem is. I get up to go check on Sam, as I get to her door more pounding on the front doors take over the house. I answer the door two see the faces of two white, distraught police officers with their uniforms in tatters and there eyes filled with tears. By this point I know that something was happening.
3: 45 a.m., I invite the officers to come inside and have a cup of coffee with me and my ex-husband. The officers refuse, stating that they have some very bad news for me. The officers sit me down on the couch; I take a deep breath and let the story flow from their quivering mouths.
“mam” the officer says. “There has been and accident…” the mother begins to break down; I fall on my knees with my hands on her face. I knew that something had happened to Sam. “Your daughter has been killed in a high speed car accident.” The words hit me like speeding train. “Sam stole your car and was driving down Main St. with no head lights on. I just wanted to stop her and correct her of her mistake when she panicked and sped up down the narrow road.” While the officer is talking I think about how life would be without my eldest daughter. I begin to feel dizzy and the minutes begin to feel like hours. I begin to hear the officer’s words again, “Mam, the car hit a fire hydrant, slide on its side for about twenty five feet, hit a rock and went air born into a parked car. Sam was ejected from the car and died instantly on impact.”
The officers left the house as I started to brake down. I fall to my knees and cup my face with my hands as I wonder how I would tell the family and her friends.
After the funeral and the wake passes I realize how much of an impact one child can have on my life. Losing a daughter is one experience a mother should ever have to go through. I had planned my whole life out before that dreary January morning. I had planned on growing old and being the typical grandmother who baked cookies and knit sweaters for my grandchildren. As I reminisce on my past dreams I realize how much Sam’s death will be an endless morning
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