Remembrance

My mother, Cherie Renee Wood – Jones, passed away on the morning of April 18, 2000, due to an opiate drug overdose. I was only 7 years old. I remember the moments leading up to the event perfectly.

On April 17^th, Momma decided that she was going got let me miss school. She did this a lot. Not that I cared, because I enjoyed spending time with her, and it never affected my school work or grades. When she kept me home, we would always go to Little Rock or Memphis to shop and eat. But on this particular day, we went to Jonesboro, to my doctor, of all places.

She told them that I was sick and had been suffering from a cold, and gave them a well-rehearsed list of symptoms. I wasn't sick, but I just played along. She had done this before, only a handful of times. I was prescribed some promethazine and codeine cough syrup. We went by the pharmacy to pick it up, and she drank the whole bottle on the way to my grandma’s house.

Momma asked grandma for grocery money because it would be another week before she got her check. Grandma, knowing that my mother was under the influence, said no. Momma got me back into the car. I remember her crying and talking to herself. Asking questions like “Why won't she give me any money?” “Is she angry with me?” I knew her feelings were hurt. My mother was an only child, and she wasn't used to hearing the word “no”.

She went back to the pharmacy. She told the pharmacist that when she was trying to open the bottle, she had dropped it and spilled it. The pharmacist, who is no longer practicing because of things such as this, gave her another bottle. We picked my sister up from the babysitters and went home.

We got home, and she fixed us supper, fried pork chops to be exact. After dinner she gave us a bath and put us to bed. I could hear her crying and fighting with my dad, which was a normal thing, as I drifted to sleep.

The next morning, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it, but couldn't explain it. It was quiet, which was odd. It was never a smooth or calm morning at our house. Everyone getting ready, and eating breakfast, and trying to get out the door without forgetting anything, made it loud and busy. Daddy came into our room and got us up. He told us that Momma wouldn't get up out of bed and wanted to see if we could get her up. 

We went to her room and got in bed with her. We nudged her and bounced around on the bed playfully, trying to get her awake. She just moaned and made noises, we couldn't make words out of any of it. Daddy told us that she was probably sick and that he would just take us to our babysitter’s house. I wasn't going to school that day either, and I knew there was something wrong with that, but I just went along with it.

Our babysitter and her sister took us with them to get their hair cut. We stopped at Sonic and got lunch then headed back to the house. She wanted us to go out and play while she visited with her sister. We went out and played for about 20 minutes, and I came back in to use the bathroom. I noticed that they were sitting on the couch crying. I asked what was wrong, and they told me to go back outside and wait on them.

When they came outside, they sit us down at the picnic table, holding us, and without taking time to skip around the subject, they told us. “Your momma has passed away. She’s in heaven with the angels now.”

I was in shock. I had just seen her. What was the last thing I said to her? How was I going to live without my Momma? She’ll never see me graduate, or get married, or have children. Did my Daddy know? Where is my Grandma? I had too many thoughts running through my head. She told us to come inside and get cleaned up because Daddy was on his way to get us. We went in and curled up on the couch, crying until we fell asleep.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember living like a zombie over the next few weeks. I slept all the time, I didn't eat, and I don't even think I bathed. People were constantly coming out to the house, bring food and gifts, or calling to tell us how sorry they were for our loss. 

I missed a few weeks of school, and my best friend came and spent most of the last week that I was home with me. He brought food, gifts, and cards from my classmates. My teacher even came out to see me and give her condolences.

I hate that my mother isn't here. She never saw my sister start school. She never saw my graduate high school, or graduate nursing school. She never saw me get married, or have her grandchild. She never saw my sister graduate high school.

But mostly, I feel for my grandmother. Not only had she fought with her the day before, but she held my mother’s head in her lap as she took her last breath. Her only child.

My mother was an addict. She constantly stayed messed up, and I had to take over the mothering role when she was incapable of doing so. There were times when I even had to care for my Mother. And I think that because of that, I matured must faster than most.

I wish I could see my Mom again. I wish I had just one chance to tell her that I needed her here, that she needed to leave the drugs alone, for me, for my sister. I regret not doing more to try and help her. I regret not telling her to stop.

   

Rest in peace, Momma.