Friday Night Date Night

                                               -Chapter 5-

        August came and all of us went back to school. Even after all of my moms major surgeries she insisted on teaching again. She took the first 2 weeks off to recover, but then continued to resume her full time position. Zac was in 6th grade, I in 9th, and mom was in her 4th year at Syracuse High. I still wasn't healthy. Suicidal thoughts still knocking at my window every night and hopelessness appearing every morning. But I faked it. Quite well actually. I remember in the early months of my moms diagnosis after one of my many showers, standing in front of the bathroom mirror wear only my long blonde hair, I stared at myself for a few minutes. Seeing the cuts on my hands in the mirror I wiped away a few of the last tears. I caught a glimpse of my eyes. Green; like my moms. Eyelashes that went on for days; like dads. I stepped closer to the mirror until i was inches away from my reflection. I searched desperately for the girl I used to know. I saw the birth mark on the inside of my left eye's tear duct, I saw the 3 chicken pox scars on my forehead from when I was a baby. Physically I saw Bailee. But I did not see myself. 

Nothing is scarier than looking into the mirror & seeing a stranger staring back at you.
        
        It's no secret that my mom and I used to fight. Honestly, we didn't get along all of the time. But what teenage daughter and mother really do? In all fairness, I now regret every single argument I caused with my mom except 1.
        It was a Friday night in September. Zac and my father went to the country club for a glow in the dark golf tournament. My mom and I got in an argument about some of my friendship choices (She was very protective if you haven't figured that out yet). We were both emotional and said things that we shouldn't have said and didn't really mean. I slammed my bedroom door and got in my bed. After and hour or so my sweet mom knocked on the door and apologized. That is one of the many things that I love about her. She never knew how to hold a grudge. She never knew how to stay angry at another person or how to allow there to be tension in our home. Later on in life I picked up that trait from her, but at the time... I was a demanding teenage girl ;) My mom and I had a tradition and mutual love for coca-cola products. Whenever we were in an argument or needed to "get away" we would drive 3 miles down the road to the local 711 and get a drink. So during her apology speech she offered the idea, knowing it would bring a smile to my face. Little things like that with my mom meant the world to me. On our way over we were listening to "STAR 102.7" and Celine Dion came on. We both sang to the top of our lungs and laughed the entire way there. (Bipolar or just emotional women?? I'll let you decide haha). When we were filling up our drinks at the fountain station I noticed my mom was struggling to get her lid on the cup. I became almost annoyed with how long it was taking her, especially since there was a line of people behind us. I jumped in front of her and quickly put the lid on only to turn around see my mothers eyes roll into the back of her head as she collapsed into my arms and began seizing. I lowered her to the ground shrieking for help. I'd never seen this happen before, but luckily my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in and my body began to regain control of itself. I took my jacket off and placed it under my moms head, but I didn't know what to do about the shaking. I saw blood begin to pool out of the corners of her mouth and I thought it was over. Everyone around me was just staring. "Somebody please call 9-1-1!!!", I kept screaming! In my head I remember praying that my mom wouldn't die like this. She couldn't die like this! The next thing I knew a tall man was at my side holding my moms arms and helped me turn her onto her side. Little did I know he just happened to be a paramedic that was in the check out line and had just called the ambulance.                                                                                                                                My prayers had been answered before a prayer was even said. Even though I was so scared, I didn't cry. If mom wasn't crying, I wasn't crying. After the minute long seizure ended I tried to hug my mom, but she had no idea who I was. She started to hit me, kick me, and hiss at me like I was some foreign animal to her. I lost it. I was more afraid to see her like that than I was of the seizure. That wasn't my mom! She wasn't abusive in the slightest way. She was the loving, nurturing parent, the one who never spanked me or did anything except show affection. The paramedic tried to get me to wait in my moms car, but I wasn't about to leave her all alone with these strangers. Even though she didn't recognize me I could tell she was scared. She needed me. So I put on my brave face and I knelt by her side. I spoke to her without knowing what to say, "Christy. Listen to me. I need you to try and hold still. You can't pull those drains out. Do you understand?" I asked. She got a puzzled look on her face, gazed up at me for what seemed like minutes, then slowly smiled and nodded. The ambulance was there by then. Quickly she was loaded on a stretcher and put into the vehicle.  Just like my dreams, I was riding shot gun with a handsome older man and the windows down in the summer. Except this was my worst nightmare.   

xB

Alive

                                            -Chapter 4-

        My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer on January 4th, 2010. I remember the prior Thanksgiving was spent at my grandparents house in Idaho and my mom wasn't feeling very well. Every doctor that she saw simply thought she had a bad infection. She was prone to getting bursitis in her right shoulder and would have to get a steroid injection every couple of years to help with the pain. The doctors thought that may be the cause. But after a couple injections, weeks of different antibiotics, we were clueless. I remember sitting in a doctors appointment with my mom and me, being a naive 13 year old girl, bluntly asked the doctor, "Have you checked to see if my mom has cancer or some sort of disease? Because she's the toughest girl I know and she is in A LOT  of pain". He simply rolled his eyes at me and told me he ruled out cancer months before and that he was the doctor, he knew best. Okay doc, whatever you say! Later on in the appointment I heard him mumbling something about me being such a negative little girl and how I should learn to keep my mouth shut. I felt embarrassed, I was just trying to think of ideas that could help my mom feel better! I went home and texted my boyfriend at the time and told him what had happened. He basically told me the same thing, "don't be so negative". 

FINE I GET IT. I'M A PESSIMIST.

        I will never forget the day that my mother told me about the cancer. She was sitting 15 feet away in the living room watching TV, Oprah probably, and I was in the kitchen sitting at the bar eating a sandwich before I had ballet. Earlier that day she had undergone a biopsy on one of her lymph nodes in her arm to see if there was an infection, and if so, what exactly we were dealing with. I had been fasting for breakfast and lunch for my moms small surgery to go over well so as soon as I broke my fast I quickly turned to her and anxiously asked what the results said on the biopsy. I distinctly remember asking how she was feeling, if she needed anything, and if I could give her a foot rub before I pinned my hair up for dance. She turned and smiled at me and casually, as if she had rehearsed this phrase all of her life she answered, "I'm feeling fine. You know I would always love a foot rub! We did get the results back today... And I have cancer. But everything is going to be just fine. Now go put on your leo and pin your hair quickly". I looked at my moms smiling face and felt nothing but peace and calm. That was the end of the conversation. I didn't ask any questions because honestly, I didn't want to know the answers. But that didn't stop everyone and anyone from asking me unbearable questions that a 13 year old girl should never have to answer.
                                                                Such as:

• "I heard your mom has cancer! I'm sorry. Is she going to die?"
• "So like what happens when your mom dies? Do you just become the mom or are you gonna have a step mom?" 
• "What stage of cancer is it?.... Oh.... that's not good.... she'll probably die soon"
• "Are you scared? Well, you have to be strong. Don't let anyone see you cry. That just shows weakness."
• "Is your mom just gonna give up?
• "How many months does your mom have to live?"
• "I'm so sorry about your loss"

        You know when you go out on a shopping spree;  you slide that shiny piece of plastic over and over and over in a few hours time. Next thing you know you get home and a pit in your stomach has formed. Knowing that you probably just spent wayyyy too much money, you simply decide it's best to just not check your bank account. Why? Because in the brilliant mind of Bailee, if you don't know the truth, then it isn't real yet. You don't have to live in that reality yet. So that's exactly what I did. My mom gave me very little knowledge about the disease and treatments and I asked even fewer questions. The less I knew, the better. She thought she was protecting me. Looking back, I wish I would have asked the questions that burned in my mind and I wish my mom and the doctors would have been honest and eased the anxiety that lurked from my chest to my fingertips. From my perspective, I believed without a shadow of a doubt that my mom was going to live. Or in her words, "everything is going to be alright".         
        My mom taught me how to be strong. She taught me to be an independent woman and to be brave. So that's exactly what I did. If she, the one with the deadly disease was continuing to live her life without ever shedding a tear, then I would do the same. Of course, whenever the hot shower water would hit my face and trickle down my slender back, my tears would trace the same pattern. My mom also taught me to cry when nobody was watching. So in return, I would sometimes take multiple showers a day. I would go with my mom to all of her doctors appointments, treatments, therapy, and everything in-between. A lot of the time my dad was working so I loved being her support system. Zac was a little too young to understand the importance of supporting our mother so we were lucky enough to have amazing family friends and ward friends that would allow him to come over and spend the day while mom and I were up at Huntsman.         
        Many rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, 7 major surgeries, and 5 total months my mom was diagnosed as "cancer free". It was  amazing to hear. They told me my mom wasn't going to die. Like my mom always said, "everything is going to be alright". During summer of 2010 my mom went through so many surgeries. A double mastectomy, full hysterectomy, port removals, and multiple revision surgeries due to infection. She was exhausted all summer due to the numerous medications and backlash from the treatments. I spent that summer with my mom. Laying in her bed, watching tv, reading books, going through magazines, and talking about everything under the sun. I am so grateful I was able to spend that last summer with my mom. It was a great summer, and I should have been happy. My mom was in remission! She was slowly becoming herself again. So why did I continue to drift into darkness and slip further into my depression? I simply thought it was all too good to be true. There was no way Heavenly Father was going to let me get out of this so easily. And day by day that little thought grew stronger and stronger in my mind. Suicidal thoughts began to creep into my mind and my dreams. I never acted upon them, but I thought about it. Daily. I started turning to other coping methods. I began to cut myself and listen to depressing "teenage emo rock" Using my brothers pocket knife I would slice small slits into my arms and my hands. Never big enough to cause anyone to think something was different, but deep enough to send my red blood pooling to the surface. I didn't feel pain. Trying to psychoanalyze the past, I can't determine if I was attention seeking, or if I actually had a mental illness. Probably a bit of both. I would lay in bed all day and just watch my mom as she slept. I would go to dance rehearsal from 4-10, come home, shower, and lay in bed with mom again. If my dad was home I would sleep on the couch. I didn't want to be too far away from my mom. But if she was busy or needed space for some reason, then I just wanted to be alone. I noticed that my mom began to worry about me. I regret my actions now because I was the last thing she should have been worried about. I should have supported her like she always had done for me. I was selfish, I was young, I was hurt, I was confused. I have still yet to forgive myself.        
        My mom would call Jaycee and ask her to get me out of the house. Many times offering to give us money to go shopping or out to eat. It amazes me how completely selfless my mother was. How could I possibly be her daughter? She is everything in the world that is good, pure, and strong! I felt darkness and lifeless. She attracts the sun and the goodness in all people. And I, dark shadows and souls of destruction. Since I was a little girl she would sing "You Are My Sunshine" to me. But to this day, she will forever be, My Sunshine. She is light and I am darkness. But at the end of the day, she saw all of my light, and still loved all of my darkness. She is everything that I hope and wish to be as a mother.

xB

1 week without you

Monday-

It still doesn't feel real. It's like a bad dream and I keep thinking I'm going to wake up. But I'm not. You're gone. You left..

Tuesday-

I still can't eat. The hole inside my chest gets bigger with every minute that passes. I dreamt of you last night and now my entire body feels numb. 

Wednesday- 

They told me I have to get out of the house. So I took a shower and cried because I realized I washed your scent off of me with the layer of skin I scrubbed. 

Thursday-

I ate for the first time in 3 days. Just coffee. Is that even considered eating? You hate coffee. And I cried because I thought of you.

Friday-

We had dinner plans for tonight. And my heart skipped a beat when my phone rang at 7:16. I didn't cry when I realized it wasn't you, but I wanted to. 

Saturday-

I drove aimlessly for 2 hours today. I ended up at your apartment.. But you weren't there. Where did you go?

Sunday-

All I want to do is call you and fix things. But it's been 7 days since you left me.. And today I know that you are never coming home.

xB

Beginning to Fall

                                             -Chapter 3-

        I saw a change in myself following Grady. Actually, everything changed. I started middle school at Syracuse Junior High, had my first kiss (who wasn't my first boyfriend. Oops). I lost almost all of my girlfriends, and slowly began to fall. I craved attention. From anyone and everyone. Boys, teachers, family members, choreographers, everyone. By this time my dad had started becoming emotionally and mentally abusive. He blamed his sorrows on my family and I. He started working more and I slowly began to notice more prescription medications adding to our medicine cabinet. He would take more "work trips" more often. He missed all of my dance competitions. For a girl that used to only be able to perform when she knew her daddy was in the crowd in the from row on the right hand side cheering "let's go Louey!" (my childhood nickname... I know embarrassing). Or "Be the ball Lou!", this was devastating for me. I wanted more than anything for him to love me again. But he wasn't my dad anymore. I lost my dad when I lost my little brother. He was just a shadow of the father I once knew.
        I met my best friend in junior high school. We were both student body officers at Legacy Junior High. The new middle school that opened up less than 2 miles from my house in Syracuse, Utah. During our officer camp in June of 2009 all of the girls began talking about boys and who we were "dating" at the time. When a few of the girls happened to say the same boy that I had been seeing, we all realized that we were being played. Good ole Spencer Johnson ;) lol. I laugh now because he has now become one of my very best friends, but at the time, we were all heartbroken. In my mind I thought, "Wait.. so my first kiss isn't going to be my one and only first kiss?! We aren't going to get married and live happily ever after like he promised?! Teenage heartbreak is a real thing!?"
        Jaycee Lynn Brown became my person that summer. She is still my person to this day. I am comfortable enough with her to tell her all of my secrets, and she knows me well enough to call me before I know when something is wrong. Her being the Christina Yang of our real life twisted sister story, (if you haven't seen Greys Anatomy then bye) she is factual). She has a logistic answer for every question. A purpose for living. An explanation for everything. She is prominent and punctual. Focused, and a perfect example of what every mother and father would want their daughter to become. Her goals are set farther than the stars and I know she will accomplish much more than that. All while having fun along the journey. I am the Meredith Grey in the story. Dark and twisty. Extremely emotional, and at some point in time, I was dangerous. Jaycee has always made me hold my ground. Never allowing me to slip through the cracks. No matter how may times I fell, she always caught me. She is my crutch when I need her, which has been too many times to count. To this day she remains one of the few friends that has always stood by my side. No matter how far I distance myself from the world, she always makes sure to find me. She always finds a way to bring me back, no matter how long it takes. Don't get me wrong, she is relentless; firm yet forgiving. She reminds me that running isn't the answer. I wonder if I will ever learn...
        I found myself falling into an affair with vanity. I was growing into a young woman and people were noticing. More importantly to me, boys were noticing. In elementary school the boys were always my best friends. In junior high nothing changed. Besides the handful of girls that I consider sister, the girls usually didn't like me. My mom used to tell me it was jealousy. Although, I've never understood that. Every girl I have ever been jealous of has motivated me to be better. Act differently or look differently. Get closer to her and find out exactly why that little green monster was creeping into my thoughts. I made my first Facebook account when I was a freshman. I has thousands, yes thousands, of friends on the social media site in a few months. By a year of activating my account I had hit the 5,000 friend limit. I would accept any friend request that was sent my way. I was constantly receiving message and comments from strange guys that I didn't know. I loved it! They. Wanted. Me. I was wanted. They thought I was attractive and interesting. I craved it. Their desire, everything about it. It was so immature of me, to want such superficial social life. But that's who I became. And I would be lying if I said that isn't still who I am today. I wanted to loved the way i looked. But I have never been comfortable in my own skin. You wouldn't think that if you met me. I portray confidence that most women only wish they had. Confidence that I wish I had. In all honestly, I hated the way I looked. I hated the way I was acting even more. I wanted to be the fun loving girl that I once was. The kind of girl that everyone looked up to. The girl who used to smile honestly and carelessly, instead of the girl who now only knew how to smirk. That was only the beginning of what was to become a long path of hating myself and who I was becoming. I started to lose myself; I started to fall.

xB

The start

                                            -Chapter 2-

        Oddly, I remember my elementary years better than I remember the last 5 years of my life. I had a large group of friends that were all good kids. Probably around 20 or so of us; both boys and girls. We would spend our Friday nights playing "hand and foot" and then playing truth or dare in Landon Strong's treehouse. Of course we would have our "fights" with each other every now and then, but for the most part, we were all inseparable. 
        I will never forget the day that Landon Strong became my first crush. 1st grade. I was in Mrs. Pectol & Mrs. Bakers class. Every Friday at Bluffridge Elementary cotton candy and sugar sticks were sold for $1.00 after lunch in the hall behind the cafeteria. I had bought my little brother, who was still in pre-school, some blue cotton candy. It was his favorite. After lunch I put the treat in my locker. A few hours later the bell rang for school to get out. As I walked to my locker I saw Landon open my locker and start eating the cotton candy. I was so upset. Not that he was stealing from me, but that my brother wasn't going to be able to eat it for his after school snack. I saw Landon's goofy boyish smile and big brown eyes and immediately I could care less if he had just stolen all of my money, let alone my brothers cotton candy. Landon ended up being my elementary boyfriend. Meaning we "liked each other". But really he was my best friend. One day in the third grade we were playing tag in the field. I was "it" and he decided to duck to the ground seconds before I tagged him. I did a front flip over him and separated my shoulder and broke my left collar bone. We still to this day joke that he broke my shoulder.
        In the start of my 6th grade year my mom got pregnant with my youngest brother, Grady. I knew before she told us about the pregnancy that she was going to have another baby. I can't put the feelings into words, but I just knew. I told my best friend, Sadie Wagstaff, a few months before that my mom was going to have another baby. She believed me, but couldn't figure out how I was so sure of it. It was just a feeling. It was the start of many feelings in my life.  
        I asked my mom one day if she was planning on having more kids. She laughed at me and simply replied, "Bailee. You are 11 years old. Zac is 8. We aren't going to have another baby. It's just not logical. And we are happy." She was (unknowingly) pregnant at the time she told me that. It was family tradition that before a new Harry Potter movie came out we would go downstairs and watch the previous movie on our large television. We did this to remember what happened in the last part of Harry's story. My mother and I were avid fans of J.K. Rowlings books and had read the series 3 times together. We mainly rewatched the movies for my father. Considering he spent the entire 2 1/2 hours on his phone or sleeping, he didn't pay too much attention. Still, it was a favorite tradition of mine. The night before the 4th Harry Potter movie came out my mother announced that she would be having another baby. Zac and I were thrilled! I loved children and couldn't wait to have another sibling. But I was selfish and self-centered. I didn't want another sibling to love and create a beautiful bond and friendship with. I wanted another sibling in hopes that the baby would be more like me than Zachary was.
        Zac and I are as similar as the sun and the moon. I was always fire and outgoing. With a bold personality along with my high energy, you couldn't miss me. He was quiet. Always lurking in my shadow wishing he wasn't born with the genetics he received. I realize that my brother was jealous of me. I can now honestly say that I have empathy for him. I was always the favorite. From the beginning my fathers parents claimed that I got my "good looking genes from them" and his from my mothers side. Zac was always an angry child. He wanted everything his way. So did I. The difference between us was that I was willing to work for it. Always giving 100% in everything I did, I achieved my goals. I was a 4.0 student, ranking top 10% academically on the national level. I took 1st place school, district, and region science fair two years in a row. I was voted as a student body officer for two years in junior high and was Vice President of the service club. I was a nationally ranked dancer. Receiving many scholarships and awards and always on the highest team of my company. I worked hard. I studied hard. I am black and white, square or round, soft or smooth. I am 0 or 100. There are no in betweens in my life. No grey areas. All Zachary is made of is grey. The at the age of 15 his maturity level was at an 8. His physical level was at a 10. I've always known that he was different. But I didn't know why. I still don't have the answers. But I know he is a special boy with more trials than are shown on the outside. He is an outcast and is socially awkward. But he desperately craves love and attention. He clings to everyone that tries to get close to him, but then he gets scared and pushes them away. My mother taught us to be independent. And he tries. He tries so hard, but he simply can't handle it all on his own.
        I am ashamed to say that I was once embarrassed by my younger brother. Not just "oh he's so annoying! I only want to hangout with my friends alone" embarrassed. I mean  that I would tell people he was adopted so nobody thought we had the same genes. Who does that? What kind of sister would blatantly lie about her own flesh and blood simply because of looks or immaturity? Me. I am that horrible person. I wanted to have a different sibling. One that would be more like me. Athletic and smart like I was. Somebody that my dad would be proud of like he was proud of me. Somebody that I was more compatible with. 
        Zac needed me. I could have been a light for him. Someone he could turn to when he needed to talk, to cry, or just to play with. But I teased him. I made his self esteem lower. I take full responsibility for my actions and causing my little brother to turn out how he has; Broken.
        My mothers pregnancy went smoothly. Swollen feet and weight gain, the normal pregnancy side affects. Her due date was February 17th, 2008. On Saturday, February 8, 2008, mom gave birth to my youngest brother, Grady Lane Barnard. At 6 pounds he was so small and precious. He looked like me and I was thrilled. He had long beautiful lashes and strawberry blonde hair. On Saturday, February 8th, 2008, my little brother Grady passed away. 
        Did I know him personally? No. But he touched my spirit in a way that I cannot put into words. The only way I can describe my relationship with Grady is a comparison to the relationship I have with my Savior. I know who he is. I love him. I know that I will see him again one day and learn more about the perfect soul and spirit that I get to call my brother. He is perfect. I can't wait to meet him.
        If you ask my dad what the hardest thing that he has ever had to endure, he would answer, "losing my son." Laying Grady to rest in a tiny blue casket was the hardest thing that my dad has ever done. Anyone that is close to my father will tell you that he never was the same after that day. He lost 40 pounds in 6 weeks. Started heavily medicating with antidepressants and sleeping aids. I would later find out that it wasn't just prescription medications, but illegal drug usage as well.
        Zac was devastated. He wanted so badly to be a big brother and to be given some responsibility. He wanted someone to look up to him like he looked up to me.
        My mom stayed strong in front of us. Only when she would take a shower in the early mornings or late nights would I hear her soft cries. She never wanted us to fall apart. I know how badly my mother yearned to save her marriage and her family as a whole. She was promised an eternal family. She held up her side of the bargain, my dad didn't.

xB

Almost Lover

        You've never really been "mine".  I couldn't get mad at you for taking another girl out.  I wanted to.. but it wouldn't have been fair.  We spent a summer together once.  And I can say that it was the best summer of my life.  Bare feet at the lake you took my face in your hands and kissed me like you meant it.  And for the first time in years, I knew that someone meant it.  At that moment I realized that I was in over my head.  And I never wanted you to let me go.
        In your defense, you were always very clear on what you wanted.  We were just friends.  I was your "green eyes" and you were my "A-baby" But in those fifty-three days you quickly became my world.  I woke up and I thought of you. I went to bed and I dreamt of you.  All the while knowing that on August 8th, it would all have to end.  And as that deadline lurked nearer and nearer, I found myself falling in love with you more each day.  But you always kept me grounded.  "Green eyes... You know that I have to go. But I will come for you.  Wait for me."
        And you would hold me and my worries would drift from my mind only to land in my midnight thoughts.  I waited for you.  But you didn't come for me.  I so desperately wanted to be yours.  And you let me slip through your finger tips without a second thought.  To you, we were just friends.
        I don't look at you with anger anymore, and my heart doesn't ache when I think of you.  I know that what we had was real and it was intense.  I loved you once, and I think that you almost loved me.


                                                         al·most

                                                   ˈôlˌmōst/

                                                   adverb

1.                                                not quite; very nearly.

That summer was almost perfect.
You almost came back to me.
Goodbye, my almost lover.

xB