I was 8-years-old when a tornado swept through our neighborhood. Not fully understanding death, but thinking we were going to die, my main concern was to save the two most important things in my life - my stuffed monkey "Spunky" and our family cat "Min." Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold both. So I had to choose. The family cat won. She wasn’t a cat that enjoyed being held and due to all the commotion she ran off to hide under my parents bed. I quickly grabbed the blanket that hung on the back of our living room couch, the one my Grandmother had knitted for my parents as a wedding gift. I was determined to wrap the cat in this blanket so she would feel safe and be easier to carry. The blanket would also act as a shield against her long, razor-like claws because I knew she would fight for her life, despite the fact I was trying to save her life. I pulled the long haired feline out from under the bed by her tail! I had to. I couldn’t reach her under there and time was wasting! In panic and most likely in pain, she swatted at my forearm, cutting it open. Instead of being angry with her, I remember trying to comfort her by stroking the velvety orange stripe on her forehead. Or maybe I was trying to comfort myself?
With the cat now tucked in my arms, my sister Jen and I ran to get our First Holy Communion Rosary beads and slung them around our necks. Our oldest sister laughed at us while Dad remained incredibly calm during the storm. I remember him saying, "Hmm, it really does sound just like a train." He was right and while he marveled at the sound of it, that freight train was coming right for us! My Mother was a frantic mess! She started to read how to survive natural disasters from an old Good Housekeeping book that the previous home owners had left behind. She instructed Dad what windows to open and what windows to keep closed to help minimize the impact if, or rather when, the tornado ripped through our home. Dad finally realized the severity of the situation and unlocked the door to the crawl space where we were to take shelter.
"Get the kids!" He hollered out to my Mom. It's then she turned and saw us. My sisters and I stood motionless in a row in front of the bay window - eyes wide, jaws hanging open. My Mom let out a blood curdling scream for us to get away from the window, but we were too paralyzed by fright and in aww to move. We watched as the sky turned from grey to black to green (yes, green). We watched a stop sign slice through our lawn like a surgeon’s scalpel making its first incision in virgin flesh. And we watched the giant funnel of wind and debris sweep everything in its path clean, traveling east to our neighbor's house and not down the hill to us. That's when I realized we were going to be spared. Our neighbors would not be so lucky.
The entire neighborhood was without power for nearly 2 weeks and the amount of destruction left in the storm's aftermath was mind numbing! Still to this day I wonder why we were spared? Why was I spared? Why do I continue to be spared? At age 8 I was spared from death after a devastating tornado. At age 12 I was spared from death after an attempted suicide. And at age 23 I was spared from death after a brutal motorcycle accident. In fact, the accident was so vicious that the first cop on the scene declared me "killed on impact." But yet, I’m here today. Why?
When I was a child, 8 was my favorite number. It was just fun to draw! As I grew older, 8 became my lucky number that I would repeatedly win on in Vegas. I find it rather interesting that I was 8-years-old at the time of my first brush with death. The suicide attempt happened just before entering the 8th grade. And the motorcycle accident, the drunk driver slammed me into a cement barrier while going 80mph. All coincidences? Maybe. But I’m thinking my next tattoo will be a great figure eight or a tiny infinity.
By the way, Min lived a long and full life. She died at 18.
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