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What was YOUR maddest, baddest or saddest day or experience? |
| [Introduction]
Welcome..sit with us a while; listen to our stories, hear our personal tales of a day or episode from each of our lives which now lives with us forever; maybe a day which shaped us, or just turned our head to view possibilities or experiences which we might never have expected (or maybe we did)... sit with us a while; listen to our stories, smile, weep and live another's memory with us... then share your own, if you will..(contact me for an invite)
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| My biggest life-altering experience came when I was just 13 years old. I'll never forget it to this day. It was the day I found Jesus and God. It was the day I was saved. The day had started out alright, you know, just a normal day. But things got real bad, real fast. I was having trouble with everything, nothing went right. I was so sad that day that I just wanted to burst into tears. But I decided to do something else, something terrible. I decided to commit suicide. We had a pretty strong rope my dad used for hauling wood and other things. So I got that, tied it to our wooden clothesline, which was very sturdy(the rope was also pretty thick), and made the loop. I put it around my neck and jumped off the little wooden piece holding the clothesline up. The rope tugged for a second, then broke. My dad later found out what I tried to do and prayed with me over the situation, and that's how I was brought to God. But even the praying didn't save me from the tanning on my raw side delivered by my dad afterward(HA HA). |
| My saddest, baddest day of all my life... Well, I knew that day, four years ago, would come sooner or later but I was hoping it would be much later. We had been told that he had cancer in the lungs a while back and he had been in the hospital since. I watched how the strongest man in the world succomed to this awful sickness. Everytime I visited my head shook in disbelief that this man was dying slowly and painfully. I prayed every night for an answer though I already knew it. That day, four years ago, my mother knocked on my door about 6:00 in the morning and said "Your grandfather just died..." I didn't cry or mourn, perhaps still in disbelief. This man had been my father, my confidant, my everything... He was gone. That last day at the funeral, I kissed my grandpa's forehead and asked him for his blessing, like I always did. It would be the last time I would see him. I stepped outside, my brother crying by a parked car. It was then when it all hit me... My grandfather was dead. I threw myself at my brother and cried my soul out. I was finally mourning his death. I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest and I knew that I would never foreget him nor he would me. I was relieved that he would know how much I loved him... and how much I would miss him... 'Till this day... I still do. |
| It started out as a normal day. I had the day off from school, but had homework to do. My mom had some errands to run and left my three younger siblings with me. Heidi, who was 11 at the time, Christa who was 9, and Andrew who was 5. Before she left, my mom gave Christa some hot cocoa to drink and gave her insulin to cover it. Christa has Diabetes. I was typing up a paper on the computer in the living room, when I heard Christa moan from behind the couch, which was pulled out a bit to accomodate the heater. I asked Christa what was wrong. No answer. I raised my voice and repeated the question. Still no answer. I immediately got up and rushed to the couch. Christa was collapsed on top of her math book. I shoved aside the sofa and knelt next to my sister. She was unconcious. I heard a sick, wet snore coming from her throat. I recognized the signs at once and did not even bother to check her blood sugar level. I knew she was about five minutes away from death's door. I screamed for Heidi to call 9-11. Thankfully, her diabetic supplies kit was nearby and I found the glucose syringe. Christa started to shake violently. "Oh, God, no," I sobbed. My hands were trembling as I plunged the needle into the vial and pushed the liquid into it. I blinked blinding tears out of my eyes as I shook the bottle, mixing the tablet of sugar into the liquid. Knowing I did not have enough time to wait for the bubbles to pop, I drew in as much of the sugar into the syringe as I could. By the grace of God, my hands were not shaking so badly I could not accomplish this. I tried to pinch some tummy fat, but Christa was jerking around on the floor and my hands were slippery with sweat and still trembling. I finally grabbed a handful of skin and slid the needle into her skin and pushed down until most of the glucose was in her. Christa had mostly stopped seizing by this time and was not breathing at all. Her mouth was locked shut and her sweet little face was turning a sinister blue. I desperately tried to open her mouth, but to no avail. I remembered my rescue breathing training and breathed into her nose. I felt for a pulse, and at first could not feel it. I gave her five more breaths and felt again. It was weak, but there was blood pumping through my baby sister's veins! I breathed for her a few more times and she suddenly inhaled on her own. The paramedics came in then and took over. They checked her blood sugar level and it was almost up to normal. Christa was concious and able to eat, but she did not even look like my smart, jovial little sister. She peered around the room in confusion and could not speak. She was frightened of the paramedic, who were all being loving and kind to all of us. They told me she should be fine and had me call my dad at work since my mom did not have a cell phone. During all the paperwork and phoning, Christa clung to me like a baby and did not say a word. Finally, my mom got home and the paramedics left. Mom ran to Christa and smothered her with love. She tried to figure out why she had gone so low, then found the full mug of hot cocoa, and the mystery was solved. Christa seemed much better and my mom asked her what her name was. "Christa," she said. |
| My saddest day still hurts ,and I shall never forget it. It was the day I was told my grandmother had died. It was my first experience with death. My dad and close family friend were on the couch. My mom got on her knees, took my hands in hers,and said those painful words. "Your grandmother passed away this afternoon." I uttered a small shriek and collapsed in my mother's arms as tears wracked my body. I don't know how long we stayed like that. I began to go numb . I would be numb, and then hurt immensely. It took me a year to get out of that fog. My first confrontation with death was at her wake. I could not stop crying. I was in so much unbearable pain I thought I would break. Since then I have healed, but I still cry sometimes. I have also lost my grandfather ,but that is another story. You shall know it soon enough. |
| Keeping with the SADDEST day theme, I rememeber it clearly. Thing was it was something which in context, looking back afterwards, should not have been so unexpected. Sad, of course, like all losses of our loved ones are so sad, but still you don't ever really expect the loss of those close to us, even when they are ill. This was one day in March, in 1998, and my grandmother was in hospital, having been found collapsed on her bathroom floor by her home help. We had all been praying for her and had visited her through her sickness. She was now a frail old lady and so when I got a call from my sister, her voice breaking over the line, I set myself for the inevitable sad news. What I did not set myself for was the news that it was my uncle who had died suddenly. True, he had suffered heart problems for years and had even had a triple bypass previously, but it took my breath away to hear that he had passed away at a time when he had seemed to be bearing up much better. He had even been the one most often by my grandmother's side and it all just seemed so unfair and confusing. I cried like a child. And to add to the grief was the guilt for having expected my grandmother to have been the one to pass, as though that might have been more acceptable somehow. It wasn't. Later when I and my partner sat by her side, in church, comforting her before her own son's casket there was a numb helplessness I'd not known before. This was the first loss I'd really known as an adult, having been protected by my parents as a child. I'd also perhaps benefitted previously from innocent naivety which I guess we all have to lose. "You just never know what's around the next corner," as someone also now gone but once dear to me told me. I guess that's just life. |
| Well my first was a little sad and a lot happy, so I'll go with my maddest day. It was about a month or two ago. I was dating this girl, and thought I was in love with her. Yeah, I was wrong. I had seen earlier signs of her flirting with other guys. Well, one day me and my family were out and about and my mom saw her talking to another guy, real flirtatious like. When mom said hi, my girlfriend acted like she didn't want to be there and she wouldn't tell my mom who the guy was. I was told and me and her got into a verbal fight. She accused me of never spending time with her, even though every time I ever wanted to spend time, she always found ways to avoid that. The argument lasted for about 10 minutes. I broke up with her the next day. I am single now and 20. So if anyone out there's interested, let me know. |
| It was a schoolday; an unusual schoolday because I wasn't swimming in hours of homework I had to do. My brother was in a bad mood. Yip-de-doo-da-day, right? I just rolled my eyes at him and tried to enjoy my short break from homework. You'd think, for all the years we've all lived together, my parents would know better than to try to go down into my brother's realm (aka the basement), especially when he's having a bad day. They don't. My brother flipped. He was screaming and, most likely, spitting in their faces. Where was I, the other child? I was staying out of it. By force (and not mine). It's odd that that seems to be the only thing I hear from my mom. "Stay out of it." This is our family. Stay out of it. This is life. Stay out of it. Odd... I knew he had started hitting them. They couldn't hit back because that would only make him hit more, scream more. All I could do was sit on the couch and listen as my dad fell, my mom cried, unable to tell what was going on. I had toned out my brother's screaming long ago. It is the unknowing that really kills you. Is my dad alright? What was going on? Did he hurt Mom, is that why she's crying? Did he hurt Dad, is that why Mom is crying? Why did Dad fall? Did my brother push him or trip him? Is he going to the hospital? Why must Mom always cry? Why can't I try to help? What could I do anyway? Why can't I stop crying?Will my brother go to jail someday for domestic violence? Will they even take the fact that he has autism into consideration? Will he live his entire life with our parents? With me? Will I be able to calm his rages then? In the end everything went back to normal. Dad was alright. Mom was still crying, but she always finds a way to smile. Here I am, huddled in a corner, tears streaming down my face, wondering at how anything could ever be normal after that, knowing that it could happen again on any given day. A regular volcano, now dormant... |
| Let's see... Don't really remember when it happened because it was something rather gradually. My parents had been fighting a lot lately, more than usually. Inside me, I knew that something was terribly wrong. For whatever reasons, the love was not there between them anymore. Things got worse as the months passed. One day (we had been planning this), while my father was out, me and my fam. took all our belongings and left the house in record time. We already had another place to go to so it was fine. The horror in my chest was unbearable as the hours passed and we took our things and left. I kept thinking 'What if he comes and finds us in the process?' He didn't, I'm glad to say. Anyways, I believe that was my maddest day ever in my life. Things after that cooled off but... they got bad again when my brilliant mother decided on returning with my father but that's another mad/sad/bad day. Nothing like this one, nope... I will never forget. |
| My Maddest day, or rather my maddest night was at age 13, following my return home after a day with my friends, cycling, swimming at the local pool and generally hanging out. It was the Autumn break from school and our family - mum, dad, little sister and me - were looking forward to a trip to London the next day. I remember starting to watch a favourite programme of mine on TV, a dubbed all action chinese series called The waterfront. I was actually stood by the television itself, watching whilst intermittently chatting with the rest of the family about what I'd been up to and what would be happening the next day. It was to be mine and my sister's first trip to the capital and we were all going to visit The 'Ideal Home Exhibition' and spend a few days in a big, fancy hotel in the heart of the city. This was all pretty exciting stuff for a young teenager, certainly with no feelings but happy thoughts and no dark clouds to reflect on or gathering. But, in an instant, there was suddenly nothing at all. In what seemed a blink, I opened my eyes to a flashing blue light, cold, cold air and firm hands gripping my arm. There was no time-frame to this. TV, excitement, happy-talk and then... nothing. It was a void I could not percieve and even now an episode involving events I can still only relive through the memories of others. Disoriented and lacking any comprehension (I could not have told you my name in those first waking moments), I cried pityfully. I was carried into an ambulance, with voices I didn't recognise speaking my name and telling me everything was okay (when it patently wasn't) and even the sound of my parents attempts to comfort me did nothing of the sort. I was terrified and felt completely helpless. I spent the night in a darkened hospital ward and only slept when I'd left my brain with no option but to shutdown once more after asking too many questions of myself i couldn't begin to answer. I know now that I'd had a seizure and that, at the onset of this, I'd apparently thrown myself backwards, hitting my head against the fireplace. I must have scared my family terribly and I'd even caused some confusion and debate between my parents as to whether I'd convulsed first or fallen and hit my head and then gone into a fit. Mother, as usual, was right on this one, it seems, and I'd had the first seizure of many which were to follow over the next two years. I'd actually fractured my skull in this initial episode, during convulsion, and I'd also begun to swallow my tongue. My father prevented this and his endeavours to unlock my jaw, and keep me breathing, had left me with a swollen mouth and with a taste of blood inside. I lost a lot of confidence during the ensuing period. I couldn't cycle with my friends any more or go swimming unless my father was in close attendance as he was a fully trained life-saver. I was watched like a hawk, listened out for, and if I ever fell, anywhere, I had people around me in a flash. Even in the bath, I had to sing out loud! - Funny now, but I hated all this attention and went into my shell and even had to see a psychologist for a time. I became very deep and withdrawn, especially from my family. I still get some 'bad' heads now, but I don't go into seizure, instead I just get a kind of feeling of electricity buzzing through my mind. Anyway it's just something I live with and if I can help it then no-one else even gets to know it's happening. Like many experiences in our lives, this has probably made me a stronger person in the long run. I'm still deep and still sometimes get taken aback if someone ever grabs my arm a little too firmly or speaks to implore my attention, say if I'm drifting off on the couch or ever not concentrating fully. In that moment I re-live something of the emotion of that 'awakening' all those years ago and it's not a good feeling, I think you'll understand. |
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