She didn’t think that my behavior was all because of what was happening between her and my dad. So, she took me to see a doctor who helps kids that have the same kind of issues that I was dealing with. It helped to know that there was someone out there who could understand me. It didn’t seem like my family was able to do that at that time.
The day I threw the piggy bank my mom realized that I had gotten so out of control of my emotions that I could be a danger to myself and others. So, she and the doctor agreed that putting me in the hospital would help keep me safe while they ran some tests. It was there that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The good news was, once they knew what I had, they could find the right medication to help me balance out. While in the hospital, I also learned about bipolar and the challenges of living with this illness.
I felt so much better after I got out of the hospital. I stopped feeling so sad and then suddenly totally happy. Finally, I felt normal for the first time in a long time.
Still, when I had some bad mood swings after I got out of the hospital, I thought that Mom would want to send me back there as punishment for my actions. But my mom never wanted to punish me for doing something that I couldn’t control. She explained to me that she never wanted to be away from me, she only wanted to find the help that I needed to get better and stay better.
Sometimes I would think about how my mother could have given me away because it was so hard to deal with me when my bipolar was going on, but she is too much of a loving mother to ever do that. Instead, she was always behind me, supporting me with tons of love and patience.
When I begin to get a little out of hand, my mom watches to see if I continue the behavior. If I do, it usually means that I need to change medications because the one I’m on has stopped working. That’s part of the challenge of living with bipolar. Sometimes, body chemistry can change, causing the medications to act differently or the body just simply stops working with the medication and you have to change it.
Not long ago, I began hearing voices telling me to do stuff. I had to go into the hospital again to get off of the medication that I was on and start a new one. It was hard to face going into the hospital and going through another adjustment, but after being there for a few days and getting a new medication, the voices went away and I felt more like myself again—more balanced.
It’s been five years now since I was diagnosed with bipolar. For the most part, I am doing well, and my emotions are more in the middle now and less “way too up” or “way too down.” I can thank my mom for helping me make sure that I don’t get sick and out of control. No matter what, she’s there for me. Knowing that, I can cope with having an illness that I’ll always have to work at managing.
With her there, I can get through another day.
Holly Howard, twelve
The Worst Day of My Life
I no longer feel anger, I sometimes feel pain, I will cry in the night for you, I will love you forever.
Kristina Taskova-Zeese, ten
I was sitting in class with about twenty-five other first-graders, listening to our teacher go on and on about the kind of words that sound alike. The only thing I could think about was getting out of class for recess.
Then my name was called over the intercom to go to the school office.
When I got there, my brother, William, was waiting for me with my dad.
That’s when I really started to wonder. Dad never picked me up early and it wasn’t even his weekend to have me since my parents were divorced and I lived with my mother. I started to get little butterflies in my stomach warning me that something was definitely wrong.
We got in the car and there was my grandfather from my mother’s side of the family and my uncle from my father’s side of the family. That also was weird. I kept hearing Dad say to my grandfather, “Don’t worry, Ray, everything will be all right, I promise.” I wondered why he was saying these things. What was going on? Then I started thinking that maybe I really didn’t want to know what they were talking about.
We finally got to my grandparents’ house and Dad told us to come on inside; we all needed to talk. Right then, William and I looked at each other, both thinking that we were in trouble.
We got inside and no one knew how to bring bad news to a nine-year old and a six-year old. With tears coming to his eyes, my dad said, “Kids, first we want you both to know that we will all get through this together. It will all be okay. Things happen, and a family must help each other and work through it.”
Finally after what seemed like hours, but was actually only a few minutes, Dad said, “Kids, your mother has been in a very bad car accident.”
“Well, is she okay?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry. It killed her. The accident took your mother’s life!”
I was so upset that I ran outside crying. I sat on the porch with my face in my hands sobbing. So many things were going through my mind. What will happen? Where will I go? What will happen with William?
At that time I had no idea what the things my dad had said meant, like God doesn’t take people from earth unless he believes they are prepared for heaven. I was so angry with God though! He had taken the person who had brought me into this world—one of the most important people in my young life.
Now that I am older I understand what my dad had meant. Losing someone you truly love makes you value life a lot more. After my mother died, I went to live with my father, and he and I became very close. He remarried and we are very happy.
My brother, William, has had a terrible time though. We had different fathers, and he went to live with his own father. Not too long after our mom was killed, his father was run over by a train cart and killed. William now lives with our grandparents and I try to see him as much as possible.
Now I know why people say your life can change with each breath you take. I do regret a few things. I regret being angry with my mother that morning and not telling her that I loved her. One thing I do know is that at her funeral she did hear me tell her I was sorry. I asked her to help me with each day.
I know she heard me because every morning when I wake up I hear my mother in my heart. She tells me to make the best of my life with my new mother. People hear this and say it’s weird but I can hear her and I can understand everything that she tells me. I still think about her all the time and I miss her a lot, but I have to live my life and do the things she didn’t get to.
I also know God has a reason for everything that he does. You may not understand these things now but when someone this close to you dies it all starts to come together. Hold on to what you love and make the best of it. With life, there aren’t second chances.
Jennifer Kerperien, fourteen
Luann. Reprinted by permission of United Feature Syndicate, Inc.
Lucky
When you’re a preteen, a huge problem might be like when you just have to have this new rock-rap CD that you don’t even like, but everybody else says is cool, but your parents won’t give you the twenty bucks for it.
Or having this gigantic zit and desperately needing to see a dermatologist right away when nobody else can even see the zit.
I thought life was so unfair when things like this happened—until September 11, 2001.
I was in P.E. when the planes hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. As soon as I got home and for weeks after, I saw the disaster unfold on TV. Seeing the innocent people running for their lives as the debris started coming down and the fire and smoke billowed out of the buildings brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t help imagining what the people on the planes and in the buildings were thinking and going through, not knowing what was going on. I admired the courage of the firefighters who rushed in and risked their own lives to save others. It tore my heart apart to watch the desperate looks on the faces of so many people who didn’t know if their loved ones were dead or alive while trapped in all the rubble. I felt so sorry for the people whose loved ones were killed and wished that I could help ease the p
ain of those families whose family members died.
Then it hit me: All my life I had thought mainly of myself. I had it easy in life and had been taking it all for granted.
A cold chill ran down my back, and I cried just thinking of the possibility that it could have easily happened to my family. My mom or dad, or both, could have been killed like that, and I would never, ever see them again. I began to evaluate what a real problem in life was.
This tragedy taught me that awful things can happen to anyone at any time. I know now that I have it made compared to others. Now when my mom or dad or sister go somewhere, even if it’s just to the store, I try to remember to tell them that I love them because I know there is a chance that I may never get to tell them that again.
Not getting a new CD or having a zit is not going to make or break my life. I can live with those kinds of problems. But losing someone I love would truly make my life miserable.
9/11 showed me just what I am.
Lucky.
Very lucky.
Molly McAfee, thirteen
Maddy
As I opened the front door of my house, I heard a dog bark. My older sister, Amanda, was holding up a chew toy, as a furry, brown and white puppy tried to bite it. “Molly!” my sister cried, as soon as she saw my face. “Guess what!” I didn’t have an interest in dogs at the time and I didn’t understand what was so great about them. I didn’t answer Amanda.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked. Amanda said that she was upstairs, so I rushed up. “Mommy?”
“Hi, Honey,” Mom said, excitedly. “Did you see her? We have a new puppy.”
I immediately grabbed the neck of my mom’s dog, Emily, and squeezed it. Emily growled. Emily had never liked me. “Why does Amanda get to have a dog?” I grumbled.
Mom sighed, and sat me down on her lap. “You can have your own dog when you’re older,” Mom started, “But right now you are too young to take care of a dog.”
“Ugh!” I cried. “I’m going to call Sam.” Samantha was my friend. My mother had known her mother for a long time. Later that evening, Sam and her mom, Alexis, came over to see our new dog. I wouldn’t go downstairs. I stayed in my mom’s room, watching a movie. Later, Sam came upstairs, grinning. “Your puppy’s name is Maddy,” she said. “Your mom and dad and sister all agreed on it.”
“Maddy!” I cried. “I don’t want to own a dog named Maddy!”
“Come downstairs, Mol. Maddy’s cute!” Sam said. I was stubborn, though, and refused.
That night, while I was in bed, I felt something furry cuddle up next to me. “Maddy?” I said. Maddy looked up at me. I looked down at her. From that moment on, I realized that I loved her.
Maddy and I did a lot of things together. My mom let me take her for walks, and sometimes Maddy and I would gang up on our old dog, Emily. Maddy gave me love, love that no human can give. The kind of love that they can’t tell you, they just show it—and you just feel that love when they do.
A few years later, my parents separated. Then they got a divorce. Maddy stuck by my side through the whole thing. My dad moved to an apartment downtown. Amanda and I would be with my dad on Saturdays.
On one Saturday, Amanda suggested that we bring Maddy along with us to Dad’s. When we got to Dad’s apartment we decided to take her for a walk. We were all hungry, so Dad tied Maddy to a large pole outside of a restaurant. When we finished eating, it was dark, and we started to walk home. While walking down the sidewalk, I stroked Maddy’s fur. Her soft, warm fur. Suddenly, Maddy spotted another dog on the other side of the street. Breaking free from Amanda’s grip, Maddy ran across the street. Because it was late at night, and the drivers in the cars couldn’t see Maddy, she almost got hit by a blue Jeep, but she got away. As she was about to reach the other side of the street, a car hit Maddy.
“Maddy!” my sister cried and dodged into the street with my dad. I just stood there, alone on the sidewalk, crying, replaying the scene over and over in my head. My love for Maddy was unbearable; I didn’t know what to do. About fifteen minutes later, Amanda came back, tears streaming down her face.
“We couldn’t find her,” she sobbed. “But I think she’ll be okay.” I didn’t believe her because she was crying, but I nodded my head.
“I’m s-scared,” I stuttered. I didn’t know what to think anymore. Was Maddy dead or was she going to be okay? We had raised Maddy since she was a puppy, and I couldn’t imagine all of the awful possibilities that could happen. My dad came back, looking very sad and discouraged. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to find her. She couldn’t have gone far, if she is hurt.”
He called the police, asking about reports. Finally, after over an hour of searching, my dad got a phone call, saying that they got an injured sheltie. We zoomed to the pound. There was Maddy, inside a cage, covered in a blanket. I couldn’t look at her. I was too scared and frightened. My sister and dad thanked the people at the pound, and the people who brought her in, and Amanda carefully sat in the back seat of the car, Maddy on her lap. I crawled into the front, crying and moaning. Maddy was bleeding badly, and she was suffering.
When we got to the vet, my sister charged out with Maddy in her hands, and handed her to my dad. I still refused to look. I sat down in a waiting room chair, and after my dad had given Maddy to the vet, he came and sat with me. He dialed my home phone number. My mom answered sleepily, and my dad explained the whole thing to her.
My dad told me that this was too much for me, and that my mom was coming to pick me up. When Mom got to the vet’s, I burst into her arms. “Molly, come on—let’s go home. She’ll be okay.” And then my mom started crying, too.
The car ride was silent. When I got home, I felt too afraid and lonely to sleep alone. So, I climbed into bed with my mom, as she prayed a million times for Maddy. The next morning, I woke up and climbed into my own bed. About an hour after I was awake, my mom came into my room, sobbing. “I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “Oh Molly—I’m so sorry! She’s gone!” And she wouldn’t stop hugging me.
I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I felt like I needed to, but it just wouldn’t come out. More than anything else, I felt anger. But, I was sort of glad for Maddy. She wasn’t suffering anymore.
About four weeks later, we got a new dog, and I named her Baylee. She was very shy at first, but once she got used to the house, she was very happy. At first, I didn’t want another dog. I wanted Maddy. I finally learned to love Baylee—but nothing can replace how much I loved Maddy. It’s always hard to lose someone you love. I realize that if I hadn’t gotten Baylee, I probably would have kept feeling angry and mad. Everyone dies sometime— and it was just Maddy’s turn to die. She may not be with me physically, but she will always be with me in my heart . . . and in my soul.
Molly Miller, ten
A Halloween
No One Will Forget
There are no rewards or punishments—only consequences.
Dean William R. Inge
When I was seven, my friend Sarah and I went to a horse show to compete in a barrel-racing event. That’s where we both met Caleb. Caleb’s mom is a barrel racer and horse trainer, and Caleb was helping his mom at the show by loading and unloading her equipment for her.
Even though he was older than us, Sarah and I both thought Caleb was really nice and a lot of fun to be around. Everyone liked him. We got to be good friends with him and we would hang out together whenever we would see him.
The year after we met Caleb, I had a Halloween party at my house. The morning after my party, my mom and dad were listening to the news and heard that a boy had accidentally hanged himself the night before. I didn’t think too much about it until I heard who it was. It was Caleb.
One of the horse farms in our area had a Halloween haunted hayride and Caleb had gotten a job working there with about fourteen other kids who were supposed to scare the people who went on the hayride. For instance, a guy would open and close the lid of a coffin and this girl would jump out at the people. Caleb’s job
was to jump out of the woods as the hayride passed him.
I guess that just jumping out of the woods and saying, “Boo!” wasn’t enough for Caleb. He always loved to get a rise out of people. Right next to Caleb there was a skeleton hanging from a tree. Just before the wagon got to him, Caleb took the rope from around the skeleton’s neck and put it around his own neck because he thought that would scare people more than the skeleton did. What he didn’t realize was that, even though his feet were touching the ground, he didn’t weigh enough to keep the branch that the rope was tied to, from whipping back up, making the rope tight enough to choke him. When he started choking, the other kids thought he was just goofing around like he always did, trying to put on a big act. Caleb couldn’t get the rope off by himself from around his neck because he had double-knotted it. By the time everyone realized that he wasn’t kidding around, it was too late. Even though they tried to save him with CPR, Caleb died. He was only fourteen.
When I heard this I couldn’t believe it. Caleb had his whole life ahead of him. Our whole town was shocked and everyone was so sad. It took everyone several months to just get over it. Sarah and I would talk about all of the good times we had and we comforted each other. But even now, I don’t feel like I’m completely over it.
I think about Caleb and how everything would be different if only he hadn’t put that noose around his neck. I guess he didn’t think it was dangerous, but now we all know that it was. I realize now that you really have to think about the things that you do, before you do them. Even though you may think nothing can ever happen to you, you can prevent accidents before they happen simply by realizing there can be dangerous consequences from your actions. I hope that everyone who reads Caleb’s story will think before they act and think twice before they ever put anything around their necks.