Family turmoil made me stronger

I went into high school expecting it all; the high school sweetheart, the full social calendar, valedictorian honors. I was not expecting to go to three different high schools and a family separation, but sometimes it is what we do not expect that makes us who we are.

It was my junior year, on top of taking the SATs, the AP classes and the taunts of seniors; I was in my third school in four years. My family had moved to Spokane because my mom had gotten a teaching position at Shadle Park High School. I have to admit that I wasn’t that upset about moving to Spokane. Yakima, the “Palm Springs of Washington” was anything but. Spokane was a new place, there were new faces and it was a fresh start. I was ready to take on a new school; I had done it twice before. I wasn’t ready, though, for my mom leaving in the middle of the year.

It was Jan. 7, 2005, the day that my mom left. To tell the truth, she left in order to save her life. I think that it can safely be called a midlife crisis. I was at a debate tournament. I got the call from her a few minutes before the next round. I, unlike my brothers, knew that this was coming, so hearing her voice at the other end was no surprise. A part of me felt sad and angry, but a part of me knew that it eventually would all work out.

Two weeks later, though, my dad decided that Spokane was not the place for him. So I was presented with two options; to stay in Spokane and live with my oldest brother or to travel with my dad to a place where maybe things could be better. I was determined to finish high school in the same school. So on a snowy day in January I waved goodbye to my dad and two little brothers, and I waved goodbye to a family that would never be the same.

I was so blessed as to have four brothers, two older and two younger. Both the oldest were already living out of the house, and the two youngest are still in elementary school. When my mom left, my two younger brothers were speechless. They didn’t really know how to deal with the situation; they had no choice but to leave with my dad. My two other brothers, though, responded much in the same way I did.

There are numerous people who talk about how much they can’t wait until they move out and live on their own. I would strongly advise them to stop and really think about what they are giving up. Once you live on your own, you lose some of that treasured family aura. Now, I love my brother, but it was not the same as having a mother and a father. He was 23 when I moved in with him, and he was at the prime of his night life.

For the first few months my brother and I didn’t talk about how the family we once had had completely dissolved. Instead I continued to go to school every day, putting on a mask so that no one would know about the family that wasn’t there. I continued to go to debate tournaments and later to tennis practices without ever showing that I was from a “broken” home. I wanted to be stronger than that. I was not going to let a mere family situation destroy my future.

Then at the end of May I had a breakdown. It was around midnight; my brother was still not home and I was all alone. I ended up leaving that night, fleeing to California where my best friend was. It was the first time that I cried. I cried that night because the realization that I didn’t have a family had finally sunk in. At 12:30 a.m. I bought a one-way ticket to Bakersfield, Calif., hoping to get ahold of myself.

I spent two weeks in California, with none of my classmates knowing where I had gone. They didn’t know how much turmoil I truly was in. When I was down in California I was able to piece myself back together again. I realized that even if I didn’t have my family, I was still me.

It was through my family problems that I was able to become stronger. I realized that I may not be able to control the circumstances that make up my life, but I can control the attitude that I have when facing these circumstances. And now I’m graduating, with a new found strength that I hope will never weaken.