Leigh Ibis
Active Member
On night when I was four or five while sitting on my parent’s bed with my mother and my brothers were laying at the foot of the bed and we were all watching television. I asked, “when was I in the hospital”? My brother shouted out “you were in a mental hospital” and snickered. My mom said, “you were never hospitalized” I said that I remember and relayed the following memory. I recall lying in bed, a doctor was to my left and my mom was to my right holding my arm. The doctor looked exasperated. He was tall, thin and hand lighter reddish blond hair. The room was light green. They started walking around the room and the doctor walked out of my sightline. I could see myself with my eyes open, from above. My mom was talking to me and walking around the room. My mom with a stunned looked on her face said, “that was your sister Marie.” I had a sister who died before I had been born.
My family lived in East Los Angelos at the time. My parents were concerned about her shy demeaner and decided that they would make her sell Boy Scout cookies with my brothers who were a couple of years older than she was. She was 6 years old.
My brothers were walking with Marie on one side on the sidewalk and my parents were across the street when suddenly, a parked car from up the hill whose driver had forgotten to engage the emergency break started to roll. My parents watched in terror. The car was turning towards the children with every move, One of my brothers stopped trying to help her. My mom screamed “run don’t go back!” As my sister ran the car swerved where she was running. They both said it was as if the car had a mind going only after her. She was hit and dragged suffering a dislocated hip.
My mom had never allowed me to eat a particular candy bar which never made sense. One day while driving with my mom I asked her, where was my father at the time of Marie’s death and why in my memory my mother was so calm. My parents were both shattered by this event I knew to tread lightly even as a young child. For whatever reason it seemed proper timing. She said she had asked my father to call my aunt and let her know Marie was going to be okay. Earlier that day my father had also waited with my young brothers in the waiting room at the hospital for my aunt to come pick them up. During that time my mom said that Marie had been hungry, so she fed her a peanut candy bar (which explained the candy bar) but when the doctor came in and asked when the last time was, my mom said that morning, not mentioning the candy bar. When my sister was given an injection for pain, she vomited and choked on the candy bar and died. They were looking for an episiotomy tool, but it was not in the room as it should be. Later she looked in the same drawer they had looked in while she was choking, and it was there. She said so many things lined up that day, it was her day. I then asked her why was she so calm? I recall her looking at Marie and talked to her as if nothing had happened (I do not remember hearing a conversation – only seeing her gestures and mouth move as if she were speaking to her). She said, because there was a little girl crying and scared in the bed next to Marie (that bed was out of my line of site I could only see the area around the bed) so my mom had pretended like everything was okay, until they could remove her from the shared hospital room (I did not ask if she meant Marie or the other little girl). I think about my father coming back from making a call and finding out in his absence his young daughter had passed away, it brings tears to my eyes even today and even as I write this. (Continued)
My family lived in East Los Angelos at the time. My parents were concerned about her shy demeaner and decided that they would make her sell Boy Scout cookies with my brothers who were a couple of years older than she was. She was 6 years old.
My brothers were walking with Marie on one side on the sidewalk and my parents were across the street when suddenly, a parked car from up the hill whose driver had forgotten to engage the emergency break started to roll. My parents watched in terror. The car was turning towards the children with every move, One of my brothers stopped trying to help her. My mom screamed “run don’t go back!” As my sister ran the car swerved where she was running. They both said it was as if the car had a mind going only after her. She was hit and dragged suffering a dislocated hip.
My mom had never allowed me to eat a particular candy bar which never made sense. One day while driving with my mom I asked her, where was my father at the time of Marie’s death and why in my memory my mother was so calm. My parents were both shattered by this event I knew to tread lightly even as a young child. For whatever reason it seemed proper timing. She said she had asked my father to call my aunt and let her know Marie was going to be okay. Earlier that day my father had also waited with my young brothers in the waiting room at the hospital for my aunt to come pick them up. During that time my mom said that Marie had been hungry, so she fed her a peanut candy bar (which explained the candy bar) but when the doctor came in and asked when the last time was, my mom said that morning, not mentioning the candy bar. When my sister was given an injection for pain, she vomited and choked on the candy bar and died. They were looking for an episiotomy tool, but it was not in the room as it should be. Later she looked in the same drawer they had looked in while she was choking, and it was there. She said so many things lined up that day, it was her day. I then asked her why was she so calm? I recall her looking at Marie and talked to her as if nothing had happened (I do not remember hearing a conversation – only seeing her gestures and mouth move as if she were speaking to her). She said, because there was a little girl crying and scared in the bed next to Marie (that bed was out of my line of site I could only see the area around the bed) so my mom had pretended like everything was okay, until they could remove her from the shared hospital room (I did not ask if she meant Marie or the other little girl). I think about my father coming back from making a call and finding out in his absence his young daughter had passed away, it brings tears to my eyes even today and even as I write this. (Continued)
