Apostate

Such a dirty word. For a Mormon. For a Christian. But that's what I am. An apostate from Mormonism anyhow. Sometimes I take that title easily, readily. Other times it's "oh fuck, it's YOU again!"

Because those who knew me when I was Mormon [that are still Mormon] can, at times, treat me like I have some sort of leprosy. Careful. Don't be near me. You may catch my apostasy.

All joking aside, I do understand. In Mormonism, the prospect of falling is scary, dangerous. Because if you forsake Mormonism, you're going to outer darkness [aka Hell]. All promises are VOID. Baptism, confirmation, endowments, sealings. And if that's not enough, it's social suicide if you're public about it. Because you're not supposed to speak against the brethren [the former and current prophets and apostles]. And this social chocking is felt over and over as people socially isolate you from their circles. Old friendships are never the same because you can't possibly understand their eternal perspective or they don't know what else to talk about other than the church [because it is so much of their lives].

I think there's worse things in the world to be than an apostate. It's worse to be a thief. It's worse to be a liar. It's worse to be a hypocrite. I would be all of those, maybe worse, if I didn't own up to the label [that I feel erroneously gives me a negative image]. If I didn't own up to it, I would be taking stuff from a faith that I don't believe in. I would be lying to myself and to others. I would be dying slowly inside because of the lying to myself. That's just not worth it.

Slowly over time, I've been able to embrace this word. This label. See the ironic nature of it. Because I haven't apostatized from being myself nor from God. I'm happier now than I've been in years. I just have to learn to make new friends and recognize old ones who truly can take me for me.

Something First Amiss

I was five when my world turned upside down. I played at my friend Amy's house most of the day. My Little Ponies, Barbies, tag. Her mom, Tracy, interrupted our playtime by announcing they were going fishing on their boat. That was my cue to go home. I said my “thank you's and good byes” to their family; and walked down the street and around the corner to my house as I had many other times.

I got home early afternoon. It was my younger brother Kyle's naptime, so I quietly entered the house as to not wake him. I noticed right away that it was eerily quiet in the house. No TV or radio on. I went through the living room into the kitchen where my mom usually was. No one was there. “Mom....”, I called.
No answer.
I went downstairs into the basement, thinking maybe she was doing laundry, but she wasn't in there either.
I went back upstairs. Maybe she was taking a nap? I looked in Kyle's room, he was sleeping peacefully in his bed. I went across the hall and knocked on my parents' door. No answer. I silently opened the door. There was my mom! She had fallen asleep on the bed. And next to her... pills? An empty bottle of medicine laid open beside her. I didn't understand, but I suddenly felt panicked. I shook her. “Mom! Wake up! Mommy!!!!” I cried loudly. She stirred ever so slightly, but didn't awaken. I knew this wasn't quite right. My mom was usually an extremely light sleeper.

I went into the kitchen. Daddy was at work, but I didn't know his phone numbers. I regretted that I couldn't read. Grandma! I could call Grandma. I knew her phone number. 362-8194. It rang for what seemed like an eternity.
“Hello?” Grandma answered sweetly
“Grandma!” I sobbed into the phone.
“Lola... what's wrong?”
“Mama's napping and she won't wake up. I didn't know Daddy's phone number... so I called you.”

“Okay, I'll be right there... Allen!” she was hollering off to my grandpa in the background. Then I heard some mumbling. She was coming over to the house and that he should call my dad while she drove over. “I'll be there in 15 mins. You lock the door and don't let anyone in unless it's me or your daddy, you understand?”

“Yes, Grandma.” I hung up the phone, and went into the living room to lock the front door. I paced back and forth as I waited. Not sure what to do. I heard Kyle wake up in his room. He was playing in his room. Then I heard a key in the door. Grandma came through the door. I ran up to that woman so fast that I nearly knocked her over. I cried onto her chest, frightened and relieved all at the same time. Frightened because of mama, but so very relieved to not be alone. Grandma tenderly kissed my cheek and then wiped my tears away with her soft, wrinkled hands. She told me to go play with Kyle, and she would check on my mother. “Margaret” I heard her say loudly as I stepped into my brother's room. I heard soft talking, but only my grandma's voice. About 10 minutes later, I heard someone else come in.

“Mom...” It was Daddy!

I ran in and greeted him with enthusiasm. He gave me a brief hug, and told me to go play with Kyle. I dutifully did as I was told.

Not too longer my dad's arrival, I heard the sirens. Sirens? Why are there sirens? There must be an accident or fire nearby. Then I realized. They were coming here. To my house. The paramedics came in quickly, put Mama into the ambulance and drove off. “Mama!!!” Kyle cried realizing they were taking her away. My grandma quickly picked him up and place him on her lap, holding him close to comfort him.

My dad came in from their bedroom. He knelt closely to me, picking me up and hugging me all at the same time. “Lola, you did the right thing, calling your grandma. Your mom took too much medicine. That's why you couldn't wake her up. She's sick. The doctors are going to work very hard to make her all better.”