Petrified: The Awakening

By Lea LaRuffa

Beth L. fought for her survival, and yet as parts of her brain were amputated she continued to fight against all odds, only to discover that her inability to see the world, to see reality as we did, would make her so much more proficient than the rest of us could ever imagine. Her perception would change ours and teach us that life is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lea LaRuffa
• Release date: Sep 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9780648180234

Book preview

Preface

If our reality and our mind’s perception is everything, then who are we when we perceive the world through someone else’s eyes? Do we confirm our reality; accept it for what it is, or for what we want it to be? We are all capable of magnificence, the question remains though who are you when there is no one who knows you exist? We all need a witness to our presence, to our life; for without it your life is worthless. And no life should go unacknowledged, for the one miracle which may save humanity may just reside in a trailer in the middle of the woodlands creating the future of humanity.

Beth L. fought for her identity, although she never knew it. Beth L. fought for her survival, and yet as parts of her brain were amputated she continued to fight against all odds, only to discover that her inability to see the world, to see reality as we do, would make her so much more proficient than the rest of us. Her perception would change ours and teach us that life is what you make of it, not what you expect it to be. If you perceive it, so it shall be.

The true definition of the word doesn’t begin to define it in reality.

So we’ll skip from one page of my life to the next only to end up at almost the end of the story. The reason for that is that although undoubtedly the end is nearing, I can see it, I can feel it and I have no control over it whatsoever, and have had no choice but to leave it all in the hands of fate; and perhaps the one reason I have survived long enough to be able to tell this story. As I feel every beat in the pit of my stomach and the bottom of my throat, my heart beats erratically, and I have just inhaled in the strength and energy to begin this story, which in all practical terms is the life of a woman still trying to hold on to a life that was never her life to begin with.

I had always imagined life completely different to the life I ended up with. I am sure this is nothing new, and am also positive that almost every human being on the planet had intended for his life to be different than the life he currently leads. Nevertheless this is about the story of a woman trying to hold on to a questionable life and trying to convince herself there is actually a purpose for her doing so.

I was young once, I was strong once, and thought I could conquer the world. I was going to do everything for the betterment of humanity and for the betterment of myself. I had no fear, no hesitation and the stamina to fight anyone if the cause was worth fighting for. I was naïve and blinded by the world. Ironically this was 40 some odd years ago. Back when time, people and prospects were not as complex as they are nowadays. Today no one thinks anymore. No one reacts anymore, and most importantly people no longer dream of their futures. They accept and go on day after day after day doing the same mundane monotonous job as long as there is a paycheck at the end of it all. No one thinks of what tomorrow will bring; either out of stupidity, blindness, or fear. I know all this because I too was this way until I woke up one day and found out there was nothing for me to do to change my future. I was screwed big time, and had no one on the planet who knew it, who cared about it, or who could help me. I, who never sought the help of another human being, I who thought still at a ripe old age I could take care of myself and still have a positive effect on the future, was awakened today from a simple 5 word sentence which said; stop blaming and start learning. It was intended for something else altogether, but there are times in your life you will find that something or someone will trigger that internal alarm we all possess and slap you across the face to awaken that dormant petrified human being who has been blinded by the world around him.

I was 18 when life began to change. I didn’t pay attention; I was 18, I was an adult, I was free, or so I thought. And although I have been forewarned to not lay blame on others but accept responsibility for myself and my life for the way it is at present, I can’t help but think of what I could have done to change my present circumstances.

I was born in the South Africa; the precise location is irrelevant for all intents. I am black and my family fought like dogs to escape from the imprisonment and constraints of their country. They fought through thick and thin to finally arrive at the land of the free; a country which promised them the freedom to seek and find what they had sought all of their lives, their independence. I was fortunate and was raised like every other American; without principles, without respect and with the knowledge that no matter what happens in the future my country would protect and defend me, and take care of me. I never gave it any thought, who does at a young age? And although I went to high school, something my parents never did, and was taught the rules and regulations of being a good girl I got knocked up anyway; I won’t lay blame because that was the reason I decided to share this story with you to begin with.

So at a young age with my future hanging in balance I found out I was pregnant. I married the idiot because that was my only way to escape a household which blamed me for this mistake; the mistake which would one day become their first grandson. My father refused to speak with me, and my mother couldn’t get over it. All I kept hearing was you’re too young, get an abortion. But I didn’t. So I was now married to a man I didn’t love, about to give birth to a child I had no clue how to care for. Needless to say for all of those who had been through a pregnancy you know how I felt. Only with me, I was raised like a Mormon; no sexual education, no exposure to child care, or life as it should have been in a country that was supposed to provide for the education of its minors in order to avoid the further spread of AIDS; which ran ramped back home. Well, they missed me, and I missed out on a lot of things. But I eventually learned to become a mother and to love my child, more than anyone else on the planet. I created this tiny bundle of joy who depended on me for everything. It was an overwhelming sensation and an adventure I could never fathom. Things weren’t great, oh who am I kidding? Things were horrible at home. So I packed up my baby and went back home to mom and dad; where things weren’t much better, but at least no one was beating me up, or threatening to blow me away. I lost sight of myself, I lost respect for myself and kept telling myself my life was no longer mine, it was for my baby. And as time progressed, another baby came along. It was a complicated pregnancy, which in essence restored me back to strength because I was now a mother of 2. And although on paper I was a married woman, I was miserable, I was petrified, I was alone. And as time passed by, I finally found the strength to leave the marriage, or should I say escape the marriage. That too was hell, and I had to battle for the children in court. I lost, the kids lost, everyone lost, and life would change all over again. I was still semi strong, I was still hopeful that someone out there would wake up and see that a horrible mistake had been made. But that was when I learned that it is not what you know, it is not the law behind the crime, it is not money, it is knowing the right people who are willing to lie and cheat and steal and do just about anything to win.

Right or wrong was no longer part of the equation, triumph at all cost was, as long as someone like me; the mother was screwed and hurt. No one thought of the children, and how they would be raised without their mother. They were told that it matter not who the mother was, that it was more important to have someone to play the mother’s role instead. As long as there was a mother stand in, nothing would be lost. And so my children were raised without their mother. They grew up devoid of love, but never knew it. And I don’t believe they have grasped the concept that life without a mother is not a life at all. No one will ever love another human being like a mother loves her child. It is a love that defies description or comparison. And unless you are a mother you will never understand what I mean. Nevertheless, when all else fails you run away. At least that was what I had always done. You protect yourself from the inevitable, loss, pain and grief. You are petrified of the thought of never being able to see your babies again; to never hold them, or kiss them, or smell their milky breath. But you survive, knowing that when your kids are old enough they will seek you out. But they don’t. So you wonder how they are, what they’re doing, where they are, and what their lives are like. But that too passes, because you have to go on with life. And believe it or not you do. You hide the pain, you hide the hole in your heart, and you plaster a smile on your face. And eventually you begin a new life with someone else.

You meet a man who is divorced at the same time you were. There is little in common to begin with. For one he isn’t black; the end of the world for a black family. For another he is more than 20 years your senior. But somehow you are drawn to one another. It is completely irrational, but how can you help who you fall in love with? You can’t. So one thing leads to another and you find yourself still looking for Mr. Right while seeing this man you claim to love almost every day. You enjoy the company of men, and eventually move in with the man you claim you love. But there is still something missing. You never did get to explore life before it was stolen from you. So you explore and see other men. Until you decide to commit to the one man you swear will be the last man you would ever love. You don’t think of the future. You don’t think of security, you don’t think of shelter, you don’t think about illnesses which come along with age, you don’t think of anything; just the present, this moment in time. You are happy, something you have never been before. Not really. You were never permitted to be yourself, never permitted to feel the way you wanted to, react the way you wanted to, speak the way you wanted to, dress the way you wanted to. And now all of a sudden there was a man who saw you for you. Yes, he was told I was his midlife crises and that he would eventually get over me. Yes, I was told it was a transitory emotion because I needed a father figure in my life; someone to take care of me, someone to direct me and tell me what to do, someone who would tell me how to feel and think and behave, and be what he expected me to be. But I was too young to know any better. I was simply glad to be away from everything and everyone who had stepped on me and restricted me from being me all of my life. So despite some of the downfalls, I was still free to be me, perhaps restricted somewhat, but still free, in a country I thought was mine.

It would take years before I would eventually wake up one day and hear myself ask my husband if everything was going to be okay. I know no one on the planet has the answer to that, I know, I’m old enough to know better. But when you end up petrified about your past and your future, you find that you hit a brick wall of disappointments; about yourself, your life, your mistakes, your decisions, and mostly your future. You realize there is no future for you. You didn’t plan ahead. You have no home, zero dollars in the bank and no matter what you have tried to do with your life it was always put on the backburner. I was always treated as an idiot at home and always told how stupid I was, so I learned that that was what I was. I fought my inner urges believe me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I couldn’t be as stupid as everyone kept telling I was, and yet I never succeeded. Somehow I always failed. So although we are nowhere near the end of my story; not in reality, or on paper, I will fast forward just a little before I’ll need to turn the clock back again.

It was before Christmas when life would hit hard again. My husband didn’t have a heart attack to prepare me for what was to follow. He died, not once but twice. You watch people die on TV all the time. You hear about people die all the time. But when it hits home, you cannot grasp the moment. You see your husband on the floor of the hospital. You get kicked out of the hospital room as 20 some odd professionals try to bring him back. You’re in shock, you do not comprehend. I don’t care what anyone else says about such a situation, you do not compute. You sit there like an idiot and wait to find out of you are still the wife of the man you love, or the widow of the man you used to love. And 2 hours after the ordeal begins, it ends.

Your husband is alive; not of clear mind, not comprehending where he is or what had just happened. All he knows is that he was put in the ICU. Oh no, wait a minute. No, he doesn’t even know that. He looks at you like he knows he knows you, but he can’t put the words together. So you sit by his side waiting for him to tell you how to feel and what to do, and if everything will eventually be ok. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he sleeps, as you sit there watching the monitor, the heartbeat, the blood pressure and his breathing for hours on end.

And as the IV is replaced every few hours by another nurse who gives you that smile that tries to hide the truth, you remain frozen to your chair, petrified of the potential outcome which has now become more probable than impending. And while you are sitting in ICU, you hear other wives scream, and you hear other wives make phone calls to their family members and all you hear is he’s gone, he’s gone. And although your heart bleeds for them you know they must have a home to go back to. They must have financial security to take care of their future. They must have a family to help them go through the tiresome time ahead, the burial, the loneliness, the emptiness; whereas you have none of that, no home, no family and no money. You are one step away from being on the streets, without a roof over your head. So as petrified as you already are watching your husband watching you and having no recollection of who you are; you are now petrified about what tomorrow will bring. He is no longer telling you everything will be okay. He has never planned ahead to ensure I would be okay. No insurance policy, no burial plan, nothing to ensure that I would survive without him. Is that love? But there is no time to think about any of that. And as time passes by, your husband begins to recognize you. He’s awake, not really alert, but awake, and even hungry. A good sign the nurses keep saying. Eventually he is moved out of ICU and into a regular room. A few more days pass by and we go home. Life is still not the life we know. I walk on egg shells around him, petrified that he might collapse again. But weeks go by, and he gets stronger, and even begins to look like himself. And finally, months after that ordeal he begins to behave like himself again. I forget about being petrified about the future now. I forget about potentially losing my husband. I forget to be petrified, because if I become petrified at the mere thought of being homeless, the mere thought of it could bring it on. So I try to block it. I get busy doing whatever I can do just so as not to have to think of the inevitable future which awaits me.

I am now suicidal, depressed, and so petrified I am at the end of my rope. I dream of dying. I dream of killing myself. I dream of doing so without making a mess and with as little pain as possible. I know that