I sat at the back of my eleventh grade English class, my head down, writing notes pretending to be finishing off my assignment. When really, I’m avoiding my name to be called, standing in front of a class full of judging eyes isn’t a nice thing at all. My heart is beating fast and hard, it’s in my throat when I click into Tiffany’s finishing sentence.
“There my hero because they believe in themselves and others, they love their fans and appreciate the good things in life.”
Oh god, that’s the second One Direction oral read out. Quickly glancing at my teacher, who was dipping his hand into a box wrapped in Christmas wrapping, I avert my eyes back to my paper. The room is quiet, except for the two boys in the back picking on Tiffani for her choice of idle. Good friends they are.
“Aria, you’re up.”
Worry strikes my face; I’m not ready for this, no way. Before standing up I take a deep breath and rub my frown lines away. I don’t bother grabbing my paper since I know it by heart. Maria is smiling gleefully at me, why can’t I have her confidence?
“When you’re ready,” Mr Montgomery is holding a stop watch in his hand; I see a bomb counting down the last three minutes of my life.
One last deep breath. You can do this Aria. Picture everyone naked, oh no, don’t do that. God his pretty…Eyes on the back wall, not the guy you have a crush on. There, no distractions.
“Everybody has a hero, whether it’s an athlete, actor, singer, actress or a family member. For my assignment, I decided to write about my Mum as my hero. She might not have done something extraordinary, but to me she didn’t have to, just by being herself she became my hero. From a young age my mum was sick, at first she only had scoliosis, her back was in the shape of an ‘S’ causing her so much pain. They had no choice but to replace her spinal cord with a metal rod, the road ran through most of her back, it stopped a little lower than the middle of her back. She was thirteen. Then came the epilepsy followed by another, I can barely say the name let alone spell it, but I do know what it does. It eats away your muscles, so as you could imagine, my mum was very skinny. For most of my life she had been in and out of hospital, she had called herself a gunnie pig once, that’s how she was treated.
At nineteen years old, mum and her friend, Patricia had gone out to a club. At that point in time, mum had a boyfriend, don’t as whom, I can’t remember. But when I can remember of the story is that my dad had been at the same club, he noticed her from across the room, like you see in the movies. He had told me that as soon as he seen her, he wanted to call her his. And he did, her boyfriend wasn’t very happy. She didn’t care, neither did her. Love at first sight, I may be a dreamer but I have proof that it exists. I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.
I remember living in Unanderra, I was six; mum had come out into the lounge room. Randomly she pointed to the top of the book case and started to spin in circles, me being a giggly six year old assumed she was playing. I was laughing so hard. Then she fell, on me. My laughter stoped when she started to shake. I was confused; I didn’t understand what was happening. My sister was across the room, she had run to my dad. Ten minutes later mum was being whisked away in an ambulance. That was the first time I seen her have a fit.
I don’t remember the second time I seen her having a fit but I do remember that it happened so often it no longer fazed me. Every now and then she would have to be in a wheelchair; she was in so much pain that she couldn’t bear to walk. The two pins in her left ankle didn’t help; they were supposed to straighten out her ankle but didn’t really do anything.
I only remember a few things about my mum; I didn’t know her favourite colour or movie which now makes me feel guilty and upset. I didn’t appreciate her as much as I do now that she is dead. One memory I hate the most is when-.”
I had to stop, tears had been welling up in my eyes and threatened to escape. When I looked up all eyes were on me, filled with sorrow and sympathy. Julia was crying. Mr Montgomery looked at me concerned than said; ‘You can stop if you want.’
I shook my head. I want people to know my mums story.
“One memory I hate the most is when I was at school walking to the hospitality block talking to Lou, we were talking about her mum, she had called her mum beautiful than I had said, with no feeling at all ‘my mum’s ugly.’ Thinking about it now breaks my heart; I can’t believe I ever said that about my own mum. I can’t explain how bad I feel about it, there are no words to describe the pain.
A memory that I love is when we were all sitting in the lounge room watching TV. She just casually farted, it was gross, and it stank. ‘You could at least go to the toilet next time.’ My older sister had suggested. Five minutes later mum got up from her seat, opened the toilet door, and bent over so only her bum was in the toilet, and she farted. We laughed so hard, I don’t know why it was so funny, but it was.
My older sister looks more like my mum than I do, I look more like my dad, and I’m a female version of him. A couple of months after mum had died I went to go for a shower and when I had looked into the mirror I noticed that I have my mums eyes and smile. I broke down, I couldn’t help it but seeing her in me made me cry because it reminded me that it’s something I can never forget.
The day I realised I had forgotten my mum’s voice was one of the worst, I was sitting in music trying so hard to remember it but I couldn’t. I cried for what seemed like hours, it hurts me so much not being able to remember. When I try and picture her in my mind it’s very vague, it’s only been three years and yet I can barely remember her which scares me.
I know that I will never forget her, but because of the very little things I remember about her makes me afraid of letting go.
When mum died no one realised how much pain I was in. I didn’t realise it myself until the next year, I was in denial. Thinking that I was happy when I wasn’t. I had been having trouble sleeping because I was so afraid of losing the ones I love, to make it worst, my great granddad and grandpa died that same year. I was depressed and anxious; it affected my school and social life. I became shy and never told anyone about my pain. Not even my dad.
The day she died my dad and I had visited her in the hospital, she had been there for at least three months and had crashed four times, and been in and out of ICU. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed watching the sleep over club with her, my dad in a chair beside the bed. The smell of hospitals didn’t faze me so much anymore. Dad had gotten up and stood in front of me, a smile playing on his lips that were masked in a greying goatee.
“Your mums coming home tomorrow.”
He said it so bluntly that at first I didn’t know how to react but when it had clicked I smiled gleefully not knowing what to say apart from ‘really?’ it was like I was making sure that I hadn’t been hearing things. Mum nodded her head and smiled wildly.
Placing her hand over the gauze that covered the hole where the ventilator had been. “It was going to be a surprise, but I wanted to tell you today.”
I was so happy; I can’t even explain it I really can’t. A little while after we left, as soon as I had walked out of that room I had a bad feeling at the pit of my stomach. It was telling me to turn around and tell my mum that I love her, instead I ignored the nagging. Something bad was going to happen, I was right, at one that morning she passed away.
I think it was her time, she had seen me and dad and she was content that we were happy, if only my sister was there. My sister had been their when she crashed and had to be revived. I didn’t go and see her then; I had seen a photo of her hooked up to so many machines, in a coma. I didn’t want to see her like that. So instead I was at Emma’s, I stayed there for a week.
Charcot (shahr-KOH)-Marie-Tooth disease is what causes her to have so little muscles. It affects the nerves in your arms and legs; it causes muscle weakness and decreased muscle bulk with typically limited decreased sensation. It’s hereditary which means that I could have it. That scares me.
It took me awhile to realise how strong my mum was. No matter how much pain she was in she never gave up and wouldn’t complain, not even when she was bed ridden and shaking with pain. She never asked for help, she’d rather do the cleaning herself; it kept her mind of the pain. She was kind and understanding, very few hated her. I think my mum is one of them people you just can’t forget.
This one little boy, a son of a parent who’s kid was doing boxing with my dad, had attached himself to my mum. He was autistic but loved my mum. She would make him laugh and she understood him in a way, they just clicked. When his mum had trouble controlling him, my mum didn’t, his mum wasn’t very happy about it and eventually stoped her son from talking to my mum. It made my mum cry on several occasions.
I wish I were as strong as my mum is, I really do. I love her so much more than I did when she was alive. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better than her. My hero.”
The class was silent a few eyes were teary. No one knew what to say, they were afraid that it would hurt me. No words were needed. I smiled up at Julia, more tears. During my speech, I either laughed or felt extremely depressed. Either way, I told my mums story, now others know how great she is.
“There my hero because they believe in themselves and others, they love their fans and appreciate the good things in life.”
Oh god, that’s the second One Direction oral read out. Quickly glancing at my teacher, who was dipping his hand into a box wrapped in Christmas wrapping, I avert my eyes back to my paper. The room is quiet, except for the two boys in the back picking on Tiffani for her choice of idle. Good friends they are.
“Aria, you’re up.”
Worry strikes my face; I’m not ready for this, no way. Before standing up I take a deep breath and rub my frown lines away. I don’t bother grabbing my paper since I know it by heart. Maria is smiling gleefully at me, why can’t I have her confidence?
“When you’re ready,” Mr Montgomery is holding a stop watch in his hand; I see a bomb counting down the last three minutes of my life.
One last deep breath. You can do this Aria. Picture everyone naked, oh no, don’t do that. God his pretty…Eyes on the back wall, not the guy you have a crush on. There, no distractions.
“Everybody has a hero, whether it’s an athlete, actor, singer, actress or a family member. For my assignment, I decided to write about my Mum as my hero. She might not have done something extraordinary, but to me she didn’t have to, just by being herself she became my hero. From a young age my mum was sick, at first she only had scoliosis, her back was in the shape of an ‘S’ causing her so much pain. They had no choice but to replace her spinal cord with a metal rod, the road ran through most of her back, it stopped a little lower than the middle of her back. She was thirteen. Then came the epilepsy followed by another, I can barely say the name let alone spell it, but I do know what it does. It eats away your muscles, so as you could imagine, my mum was very skinny. For most of my life she had been in and out of hospital, she had called herself a gunnie pig once, that’s how she was treated.
At nineteen years old, mum and her friend, Patricia had gone out to a club. At that point in time, mum had a boyfriend, don’t as whom, I can’t remember. But when I can remember of the story is that my dad had been at the same club, he noticed her from across the room, like you see in the movies. He had told me that as soon as he seen her, he wanted to call her his. And he did, her boyfriend wasn’t very happy. She didn’t care, neither did her. Love at first sight, I may be a dreamer but I have proof that it exists. I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.
I remember living in Unanderra, I was six; mum had come out into the lounge room. Randomly she pointed to the top of the book case and started to spin in circles, me being a giggly six year old assumed she was playing. I was laughing so hard. Then she fell, on me. My laughter stoped when she started to shake. I was confused; I didn’t understand what was happening. My sister was across the room, she had run to my dad. Ten minutes later mum was being whisked away in an ambulance. That was the first time I seen her have a fit.
I don’t remember the second time I seen her having a fit but I do remember that it happened so often it no longer fazed me. Every now and then she would have to be in a wheelchair; she was in so much pain that she couldn’t bear to walk. The two pins in her left ankle didn’t help; they were supposed to straighten out her ankle but didn’t really do anything.
I only remember a few things about my mum; I didn’t know her favourite colour or movie which now makes me feel guilty and upset. I didn’t appreciate her as much as I do now that she is dead. One memory I hate the most is when-.”
I had to stop, tears had been welling up in my eyes and threatened to escape. When I looked up all eyes were on me, filled with sorrow and sympathy. Julia was crying. Mr Montgomery looked at me concerned than said; ‘You can stop if you want.’
I shook my head. I want people to know my mums story.
“One memory I hate the most is when I was at school walking to the hospitality block talking to Lou, we were talking about her mum, she had called her mum beautiful than I had said, with no feeling at all ‘my mum’s ugly.’ Thinking about it now breaks my heart; I can’t believe I ever said that about my own mum. I can’t explain how bad I feel about it, there are no words to describe the pain.
A memory that I love is when we were all sitting in the lounge room watching TV. She just casually farted, it was gross, and it stank. ‘You could at least go to the toilet next time.’ My older sister had suggested. Five minutes later mum got up from her seat, opened the toilet door, and bent over so only her bum was in the toilet, and she farted. We laughed so hard, I don’t know why it was so funny, but it was.
My older sister looks more like my mum than I do, I look more like my dad, and I’m a female version of him. A couple of months after mum had died I went to go for a shower and when I had looked into the mirror I noticed that I have my mums eyes and smile. I broke down, I couldn’t help it but seeing her in me made me cry because it reminded me that it’s something I can never forget.
The day I realised I had forgotten my mum’s voice was one of the worst, I was sitting in music trying so hard to remember it but I couldn’t. I cried for what seemed like hours, it hurts me so much not being able to remember. When I try and picture her in my mind it’s very vague, it’s only been three years and yet I can barely remember her which scares me.
I know that I will never forget her, but because of the very little things I remember about her makes me afraid of letting go.
When mum died no one realised how much pain I was in. I didn’t realise it myself until the next year, I was in denial. Thinking that I was happy when I wasn’t. I had been having trouble sleeping because I was so afraid of losing the ones I love, to make it worst, my great granddad and grandpa died that same year. I was depressed and anxious; it affected my school and social life. I became shy and never told anyone about my pain. Not even my dad.
The day she died my dad and I had visited her in the hospital, she had been there for at least three months and had crashed four times, and been in and out of ICU. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed watching the sleep over club with her, my dad in a chair beside the bed. The smell of hospitals didn’t faze me so much anymore. Dad had gotten up and stood in front of me, a smile playing on his lips that were masked in a greying goatee.
“Your mums coming home tomorrow.”
He said it so bluntly that at first I didn’t know how to react but when it had clicked I smiled gleefully not knowing what to say apart from ‘really?’ it was like I was making sure that I hadn’t been hearing things. Mum nodded her head and smiled wildly.
Placing her hand over the gauze that covered the hole where the ventilator had been. “It was going to be a surprise, but I wanted to tell you today.”
I was so happy; I can’t even explain it I really can’t. A little while after we left, as soon as I had walked out of that room I had a bad feeling at the pit of my stomach. It was telling me to turn around and tell my mum that I love her, instead I ignored the nagging. Something bad was going to happen, I was right, at one that morning she passed away.
I think it was her time, she had seen me and dad and she was content that we were happy, if only my sister was there. My sister had been their when she crashed and had to be revived. I didn’t go and see her then; I had seen a photo of her hooked up to so many machines, in a coma. I didn’t want to see her like that. So instead I was at Emma’s, I stayed there for a week.
Charcot (shahr-KOH)-Marie-Tooth disease is what causes her to have so little muscles. It affects the nerves in your arms and legs; it causes muscle weakness and decreased muscle bulk with typically limited decreased sensation. It’s hereditary which means that I could have it. That scares me.
It took me awhile to realise how strong my mum was. No matter how much pain she was in she never gave up and wouldn’t complain, not even when she was bed ridden and shaking with pain. She never asked for help, she’d rather do the cleaning herself; it kept her mind of the pain. She was kind and understanding, very few hated her. I think my mum is one of them people you just can’t forget.
This one little boy, a son of a parent who’s kid was doing boxing with my dad, had attached himself to my mum. He was autistic but loved my mum. She would make him laugh and she understood him in a way, they just clicked. When his mum had trouble controlling him, my mum didn’t, his mum wasn’t very happy about it and eventually stoped her son from talking to my mum. It made my mum cry on several occasions.
I wish I were as strong as my mum is, I really do. I love her so much more than I did when she was alive. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better than her. My hero.”
The class was silent a few eyes were teary. No one knew what to say, they were afraid that it would hurt me. No words were needed. I smiled up at Julia, more tears. During my speech, I either laughed or felt extremely depressed. Either way, I told my mums story, now others know how great she is.
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