happiful september 2021

true story
Bringing the walls down
Following the deaths of both his parents, Jason felt immense
pressure to be ‘the man of the house’, and to bottle up his emotions.
But, with time, he discovered the healing power of vulnerability
Writing | Jason Wood
What is your most vivid childhood
memory? Mine is from 15 May
1997. It was a chilly spring day
in Chicagoland. The sky was
painted an abstract portrait of greys, whites, and
yellows. The home, where glorious memories
were once made, had now been converted
into a makeshift hospice. My dad, my hero,
lay in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of
consciousness. He had only been sick for a few
months, but the end was near. The cancer had
ravaged his body, much like how this event
would eat away at me for years to come.
I arrived home from school and came to his
bedside. I was able to hold his hand one last time
as he whispered, “I love you, Jason.” His body,
yellow from jaundice, looked like a fragment of
the man I once knew. This was my last memory
with him. He breathed his final breath a few
minutes later, and life changed forever. That
is the memory that defines my childhood. It
quickly trumped the joyful ones of holidays and
fishing trips. My hero, my innocence, and my
naivety died that day.
“You’re the man of the house now,” he said
just a few weeks prior, as Mom and I left the
hospital. At 11-years-old, I needed to take care
of Mom, who was chronically ill herself. My
childhood was over. I needed to be an adult.
The top priority was making sure Mom would
be OK. To do so, I put up a front. I began to
mask my inner fears and feelings because
I could not appear weak. I started to lose
touch with who I was, but chalked it up to just
growing up under special circumstances.
Fast forward to 2005, and it felt like my life
was a terrible rerun. Mom, my last pillar, slept
in a hospital room full of beeping machines
and rattled breathing. After two successful
battles with cancer, she was about to lose
this one. I was only 19 – what the hell was I
supposed to do? I was not prepared to be an
adult yet. The wounds from Dad’s death were
still fresh.
I held her frail hand, she reminded me to let
the dog out, and then she joined Dad. I was
alone, really alone. My siblings had turned on
me. They seemed like the enemy now. There
was an age gap in our family, and I was the
youngest by 15 years. They did not approve of
my new party lifestyle. I didn’t approve either,
but it was the only way to feel somewhat my
age and escape the pain I felt.
I faced eviction, arrest, a nasty estate battle,
and a few dead-end jobs in the aftermath. I felt
broken, I felt useless, but above all, I hurt. >>>
happiful.com | September 2021 | 37