Three

1: I was 13 years old and back in California visiting my mother’s parents, Granny and Grandpa, for a week or so during some school break. During this time I had also visited my dad’s parents, Nanna and Nanno, who live in a neighboring town not far from my Granny and Grandpa. We had just come back from dinner with my mom’s side of the family, and my dad received a phone call from my Nanna.

My Nanno had just committed suicide that morning. You can imagine, at twelve years old I did not quite grasp the whole idea of what had just happened, and simply said something like, “okay” or “uh huh”. It was not until later that evening that it began to make sense.

I had taken up the trumpet in 4th grade, and my Nanno had played in the band for the Army during the war. Nanno first lived off of his earnings from trumpet playing, and then later owned a tamale factory. The trumpet was something deeply important to him, and I was now becoming more and more fond of music.

In the beginning of that week when I was visiting my Nanna and Nanno, he had given me his favorite trumpet from when he played in the U.S. army. It had finally set in; Nanno had presented me with his trumpet that day because he knew exactly what he was doing later on in the week. Then it hit me.

2: It was 4th grade, and my parents had decided to “take a break”. Take a break to a nine year old was a week at a hotel with some sun and fun. Well, not so much. My parents were split for what they say was almost five months- something that seemed much shorter to me at such a young age. I was with my dad at a condo we owned in Gainey for a week at a time, then back at our house for the other week.

At nine or ten years old, this really did not mean much to me, other than mom and dad needed a break from one another. To be honest, I have never really given it that much thought until about a year ago when the subject arose once again.

3: The final, and most difficult story to tell, is one that I hardly ever discuss. In fact, I try to steer clear of the subject as often as possible.

From elementary school, to freshman year of high school, I had the same group of friends. Come that first year of high school, we began to disperse as many kids do at this age. Keri and Liza went one way, Devonne another, and Ashley and myself stuck it out together. Ashley and I were best friends and did everything together for two solid years.

In the middle of our junior year, Ashley sat me down one day and simply put it, “I have a brain tumor”. I have never felt anything like I did that day with her. I had never seen cancer so closely, along with the treatments and downfall from the effects. Ashley went through radiation, chemo, everything. She lost all of her hair, had incisions in her scalp once a month, and the other girls never completely returned to her side. While it hurt that we never fully came together, I could understand why. It is one of the most difficult things a sixteen year old could go through; losing a best friend to cancer. There was one point during her treatments where we all had thought the tumor was finished terrorizing us all, then one day it was back; just like that.

Ashley died on January 12, 2006. I remember the day so well. I was in fashion design during second period, and a counselor came and pulled me out of class. In her office Ashley’s last boyfriend Alex was sitting. The counselor didn’t have to say. Five minutes following, there was an announcement on the TVs throughout school, and then I finally called my mom who came and picked both of us up, and took us to Ashley’s house.

Ashley’s mother had told us; about an hour before school started, she had passed. Ashleys cemetary is not far from my house, and still visit once or twice a month.