When I was three, our apartment caught fire in the early morning hours.
It is a memory I will never forget.
I can't erase it.
It is actually my very first memory.
Perhaps because it was so traumatic.
I remember running towards the window in my parents bedroom, towards my Father who waited with open arms, and ending up in an ambulance where the EMT's declared my Mother dead.
She flatlined twice more during that ambulance trip.
But she came back.
One thing I always learned up until she passed was that she ALWAYS came back. I kind of thought she would beat Covid. If you knew her you would understand.
My mother endured 3rd degree burns over 80 percent of her body.
She told me later, she did see the light, and that it was warm and welcoming, but then she saw my face and had to come back.
She had to live, for me.
God told her I needed her more than he did, so he sent her back.
The rest is a blur.
She was admitted to Jacobi Hospital in the 80's. Not exactly where you want to be. Nurses were stealing her pain medications leaving her with no relief from the daily debridement sessions. Cops were stationed outside her door to prevent perverts from doing anything illegal, since she could only be covered in a sheet due to the degree of her injuries.
I was taken by my Mom's Mom back to Chicago while my Mother recovered.
In the interim my Dad had found a hotel on the Upper West Side for us to relocate to.
Once I came back to New York, my Mom remembered me being so angry with being sent away, I wouldn't look at either of them.
I was to find out later, much much later, that an off duty FDNY firefighter happened to be walking by, and smelled the smoke. He radioed in the call.
The way my Mother remembers it, she awoke to the smell of smoke and screamed my name in panic. So panicked she went from room to room looking for me.
She later lamented, I had probably assumed I was in trouble, so I hid under my crib.
During her quest to find me, she went into the living room where the furnace ended up exploding on her. It caused her ensuing burns and caused so much smoke intake she lost consciousness.
The firefighters eventually found her, and dragged her lifeless body to the window, where the rest of my memory continues in that ambulance.
I recently found a newspaper clipping in my parents attic that discussed what had happened.
I can only guess my Dad started screaming for me to come to him when my Mom's voice went limp, which I did, my instincts must have kicked in, and I ran. I ran to that window where he stood.
I remember running towards that window and being passed to a firefighter who then put me in the ambulance where my severely injured Mom would join us.
I can't even imagine if it weren't for fate that day.
If that firefighter wasn't walking by.
But I am grateful.
He allowed for many more chapters of my life to continue with a Mom.
MY MOM.
A Mom, who quite frankly, was the toughest bitch I have ever known.
A role model for the ages, even when she wasn't.
Thank you Mom, for pulling the strength out of your heart and body, for me.
I want you to know it was worth it, all the pain, and suffering.
You did a good job Mom.
I only hope I can continue to prove it while you look down on me.
And I hope you know that you passed on that fierce fighting spirit to me.
A torch I carry proudly.
Love You.
Xoxo,
C.
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