Today I turned 20. It does not feel any different to me then yesterday's 19. In many ways it feels no different then when I was seven. I do not remember much before the age of seven, and what I do remember is not from inside of me, but the memories I have been told by others.
I was seven when my brother Jordon was 14, the year he left home to rid himself of a life I would not be able to walk away from until I myself was 14. I was 14 when my brother Joey died of lung cancer and I lost all hope and faith in escaping a life of emotional, mental, and sexual abuse at the hands of the man who with my mother brought me into this world. I was 14 when that man decided to ball up his fist and knock me to the kitchen floor and proceeded to kick me over and over again in various parts of my body, including my mouth and the back of my head. I was 14 when I contacted my brother Jordy, who had found his way to Boston, to come and help me before our 'dad' killed me as said he would that day in the kitchen. I was 14 when Jordy flew back to Iowa, rented a car, loaded up what we could that I owned, and headed back to Boston. I was 14 when I left home, just as Jordy had been, looking for a better way to survive in a world where both parents failed me. I was 14, confused, scared, and wondering how I survived the last seven years of my life.
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The first six years of my life are pretty much non-exist to me outside of the times I can remember playing with my little sister in the yard of the home that would eventually become know to me simply as the Bushnell house. I remember her smile and I can hear her laughter. I remember the bike rides we took along the front of our house and down the sidewalk along the side of our house, turning around before we reached driveway and repeating this trip several times. Looking back at this in my mind today I laugh as I think about how it seemed back then like we were on a trip that took us around the world and back when it was actually maybe the total mileage of a block before we exhausted our little legs. Exhausted from our journey we would sit on the back step at the Bushnell house and lay back looking up at the sky, resting our legs.
Our mom would peek her head out the back door with her kitchen apron on and a towel in her hands from just finishing drying the dishes and putting them away. That peek from our mom was an invitation for Jaci and me to come in for our mid morning nap where we would wake up to lunch and then it was back outside for more bike riding and swinging. Then it would be an afternoon nap time for Jaci beings she was just two, and me being five it was one on one time with my mom. I was learning to read!
Jacelyn Mary : July 7, 1995 - July 3, 1998
The smallest dash in my world. Jaci was four days short of turning three when God decided to end her journey on earth and continue it in heaven with Him. I was told recently by my Aunt Mary (her brother is my 'dad') that the day Jaci was born I told her I hoped it was a puppy and not another brother. I was just short of turning three and I just knew a puppy would be more fun than having another brother push me around all day. Aunt Mary told me that once I laid eyes on Jaci I was in love with my sister. Even though I used to pet her like she was my puppy I was OK that she was a girl puppy. Aunt Mary said that by the time Jaci was a month old my brothers and me referred to her as "puppy" instead of Jaci.
I remember I always thought Jaci's birthday must be special because every year for the three years she was with us there would be all kinds of parades and fireworks. I would remember the last near birthday Jaci would have turned three very clearly. It was the weekend of July 4th in 1998 and my family traveled to Omaha NE to spend the weekend with Uncle Steve (his brother was my 'dad') and his family. We arrived there on Wednesday the 1st and would return home on Satuday the 10th.
My parents, my brothers, Jayson, Joey, Jordy (22, 16, 13 respectively in age), myself (almost six at the time) and Jacelyn who was turning three in just a week. That was the Bushnell family, all in one old beat up mini van headed to Omaha NE for a rare vacation that would change the dynamic of our family by one. To myself and Jaci it seemed as if we would never get to our destination. I remember that trip because my brothers suggested I count the white lines as we drove by them on the interstate. They would remember regretting that little prank as we pulled off the road to clean up after I became sick from watching the lines go by.
Once we pulled up at my Uncle Steve's house we unloaded to settle in for the week. The bikes Jaci and I got to bring along were put to use right away. We got on those wheels and took off down the long sidewalk laid out in front of us. We traveled back and forth from one end of the block to the other, something we were never to do at home. "Do not cross onto the neighbors sidewalk and NEVER ride across the driveway". That was burned into our minds at our Busnell house, but for some reason we were allowed to ride from one end of the block to the other, even slowing down for the driveways but allowed to cross them and continue on with our ride. This would become our routine for the rest of the day Wednesday, all day Thursday, and a better part of the day on Friday.
We road our bikes as we watched our brothers and cousins play football in the front yard of Uncle Steve's home. On occasion we would get off those bikes and wander into the back yard to find our mom for one reason or another. Mostly it was for a drink or a snack, occasionally it was for shade to just get out from underneath the hot sun. We loved our bikes and we loved our new found freedom of being able to travel further than we could back home. I remember my brother Jayson would sometimes step onto the sidewalk, holding up his hands and stopping us at the "red lights". Sometimes he would walk behind us making a siren noise and pulling us over for traffic violations, writing pretend tickets or sending us to mom to being him a lemonade or he would take us to jail. We would giggle, mostly because he took the time to play with us and partially because he was being funny.
Night time came early for us but I remember laying on the floor of my Uncle Steve's guest room that we slept in with our parents. I was to tired to sleep and to tired to stay awake. I would listen to my brothers and cousins outside on the deck laughing and having fun and the adults in the house talking. My mom would come in and check on Jaci and me every so often and while Jaci was sleeping my mom would try to get me to shut my eyes and sleep so I could be refreshed and ride my bike the next day. For two nights this was our sleeping routine, both nights I would not shut my eyes until my mom came in to go to bed herself while my 'dad' stayed awake, drinking with his brother.
When morning arrived and I woke up I noticed Jaci was already dressed and ready to roll. In a matter of minutes I was up and dressed and we were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. I do not recall what breakfast was and that was probably because we sat there anxiously waiting to be dismissed so we could go out and ride out bikes. My brother Joey was already sitting out on the front step with one of our cousins so we were allowed to go out and ride our bikes just as we had done the day before. Back and forth the length of the sidewalk that Uncle Steve lived in the middle of. When our legs were tired we retreated to the back yard to play while the rest of the two family started to wake up, eat breakfast and gather on the deck. It seemed that there was no end to the talking, the laughter, and the stories being told. Before long it was lunch time, again I do not remember the details of the food being eaten because all Jaci and me wanted was to keep playing. We whined and fussed when it was nap time and with much haste went in to take the nap that would refresh our little bodies enough to play out in the summer heat again before the day got taken away from us.
We woke from our nap and had a snack and went back out to play. We played in the back yard for a bit and as time passed our 'dad' and Uncle Steve were drinking pretty heavy, enjoying the holiday weekend, as the cousins played more football and the wives tried to keep everyone hydrated and fed. Jaci and me decided to go out front and ride our bikes. Up and down the block, back and forth, slowing for the driveways and speeding by them when the coast seemed clear. Now and again someone would come out front and check on us, reminding us the stop signs were our limit and we were not to cross beyond them. When Jayson came out to check on us he always stayed longer, playing with us. Writing us bogus tickets and jumping on the back of my bike, or Jaci's trike, weighing us down and slowing us down.
I remember Jayson reminding us to be careful and heading to the back of the yard to play with the cousins more in his age range. I decided to sit on the steps, lay back, and rest my tired little legs. Being six and hauling a much older brother around was tiresome and worked my legs out good. Jaci kept riding, stopping on occasion as she passed by me laying there asking me if I was OK, telling me to come play. I could not even tell you what happened in the next few minutes but I was laid back resting when I heard two car doors. I sat up to see who might being leaving just as I saw Jaci crossing the driveway on her trike I saw our van backing up.
The last sound I ever heard out of my little sister was a scream before she was silenced by the tragic accident of being backed over by our family mini van as she sat on her trike. That is my own memory. No one has ever had to remind me that she screamed. No one has ever had to tell what I heard was a vehicle backing up quickly, screeching as it hit Jaci. No one has ever had to describe to me the sight of Jaci, who would have turned three in four days, laying motionless beneath the back tire of that van. Those are sounds and images I still hear and see today. I close my eyes at night and the visions are there. They are very real to me even 14 years later.
It all seemed to happen very quickly after that. The fire truck, the police cars, then the ambulance. My mom and my Aunt Janie sobbing. My brothers and cousins trying to comfort them. Me sitting on the steps as motionless as Jaci was under that mini van. My 'dad' and Uncle Steve both sittig in separate police cars. I was one confused little six year old but no one had to tell me the tragedy of it all.
Jaci died before she even got to the hospital. Years later Joey would tell me she had already died before they put her in the ambulance. At the time all I knew was Jaci was not ever coming home with us. The only other thing I remember about that weekend was Jayson driving my brothers and me back to Iowa, back to Bushnell, without our parents. We left on that Saturday after the sun had set. No one spoke, no one answered my questions. They were not mean to me, and I remember them asking me every now and again if I was OK. My parents came back Tuesday, which would have been Jaci's third birthday. As a family they sat us down and explained that Jaci was gone, she was not coming home. No questions were asked. Life went on. It was not even a month later and everything to this six year old little boy was back to normal.
Jayson went back to college in August, and the rest of us just lived day to day as if we never had a sister named Jacelyn. My mom would continue to home school us and I started playing indoors more. I no longer had a bike to ride and even if I did I no longer had someone to ride with me. My 'dad' worked more and came home late. We started eating our meals before he got home and that Bushnell house grew silent once he was in the house, ate, and watched TV.
I was six, soon to be seven in a little over a month. All that really meant to me was a present and a homemade cake. I was excited to turn seven only because I asked if I could again, have a bike to ride outside our house again. I was sure a bike would be waiting for me when I woke up on the day I turned seven and under my butt with my feet pedaling by lunch time. It may have been the first time in my little life that I was disappointed that a dream did not come true, but it would prove to not be the last.
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The gift that waited for me when I woke up on my seventh birthday was a pair of inline skates. They were cool, don't get me wrong, but I had never skated before in my life. It was hard to hide my disappointment from not getting the bike I had asked for. I got no apologies, no explanations. My mom and my brothers convinced me these skates were way cooler than a bike and that these skates were safer than a bike. My mom had made special mention that my 'dad' had picked these out and he had spent more money on them than he normally would but he really wanted me to have them. What can I say, I was seven and I never really had gotten much attention or affection from my 'dad'. I was feeling pretty good about his sudden interest in my happiness. What kid would not feel special with such a thoughtful gift. I imagined they cost him a whole paycheck! We were poor, and I even though I didn't know what that mean or how poor we were I knew gifts were not something we should expect so if they didn't come through we would not be too disappointed. After all, there were growing boys to be fed and bills to be paid. Shoes alone could put a family in the poor house, or so we would be told over and over again throughout the years.
I was seven and I it was so special I turned seven that my 'dad' thought I deserved a special gift. I came to grips with the fact a bike was out and slid those skates on and took off and to this day I still skate, although I now skate on ice and not the pavement. Yes, seven was going to be a great year! Why if seven was this special how special must eight be? The next year would prove to be a real confusing year for me and the closer I got to eight the more I wanted seven to go away.
