Lips Malone – My piece

Liz approached me today and asked if I would be interested in writing a piece to offer some inspiration to someone and I said that I would, without fully thinking it through. What could I possibly write that would, or even could inspire someone? On my way home I gave this some serious thought, which left me with only one option. I would write about an inspirational person to me—my mother. I have lived a very unique life and some may think my stories are exaggerated, but unless you can look into my eyes while I am telling my story, you will never know whether or not I am honest. In my belief, the eyes are the window to one’s soul, and you can always tell a person’s honesty based on that. You may never know whether I am a good story teller, or if I am honest and true, but I am hoping it is the latter. It has been said that I have very nice eyes, whether that is true or not I cannot say as I am biased, I love myself.

My story to some may seem tragic, but it is the cards I got dealt and I am a firm believer that you can spend your time dwelling on the negative, or you can just say the hell with it and push through your hardships and come out of it smelling like a rose. It is my goal to allow you to use my mother as your source of inspiration.

I am a single guy, maybe not the best looking so I have one strike against me in the pursuit of happiness of finding love or that elusive ‘special’ someone. Strike 2 , I was involved in a car accident back when I was 31years old and the accident left me with brain damage and an uncanny sense of life. My accident enabled me to appreciate the things in life that some may take for granted, for example making someone smile. For most people to make someone smile is a weak expression, if it happens it happens. But for me, making someone smile is a key factor to lighting up the window to one’s soul. And since one’s eyes are important to me, hence so is making them smile. After my accident when I was visited by friends and family following my 13 day coma, seeing my visitors arrive and the smile on their faces light up the room really made me realize how I am lucky to be alive. These people could help my mom endure the pain of witnessing her first born being hooked up to countless machines, and help keep the glimmer of hope she would have in the fact she would not out live him. This could have been the very moment when I developed my passion for a person eyes, and I hope and pray that one day that is how my eyes are perceived by others.

Unfortunately, my eyes have an ominous look to them which I feel reflects the life that I have lived. Believe me when I tell you that I like to think of myself as a happy-go-lucky guy and I have done in my opinion a pretty good job at convincing myself of that. My life began back in ’75, so yes as you have already guessed I am old. Well older anyways. Which, thankfully my moms earlier pregnancy was not carried to term. By 1980 I was 5, and my mom had blessed me with a younger brother who would be turning 3 that year. My mom and dad decided that moving across Canada from their hometown in Stouffville to British Columbia was a path that was for them. My dad struggled with drugs and difficulty in raising a family on his own with no help from his own family now over 3000 kilometers away. Apparently this took it’s toll and he had decided that the cowardly way to deal with the cards he was dealt was to abandon his wife and 2 young boys by sticking a vacuum cleaner hose on his tail pipe and going to sleep to never wake again. My mom began a new relationship with a gentleman named Dennis after some time elapsed while she dealt with the funeral arrangements, and the difficulty of being over 3000 kilometers from any support, and 2 boys who were now fatherless. Dennis was responsible for sticking dynamite in a hole deep in the Rockies where bridges needed to be built for logging trucks. After my mom had taken the time to put my dad’s suicide behind her, she started once again rebuilding a life with her 2 boys. It was almost a full week before my sixth birthday when an explosion went wrong at work and Dennis was blown clear off the side of the Rockies, where he plummeted to his death. My mom being surrounded by death of the men in her life began to cry. Raising 2 boys on her own and being this wounded she had decided to send her boys to live with her parents for the spring and summer. The pain she must have felt coming to pick up her 2 boys who by then didn’t recognize her anymore must have been a feat in itself.

My mom had gotten herself involved with a biker who had various drug affiliates, and when she had done something to step out of line I can only assume, he became most violent with her. After some time and a different location when my mom had toughened up and he knew he couldn’t hurt her anymore, my brother and I were to be his next victims. Because my mom couldn’t constantly be around my brother and I to protect us, we had to learn how to fight and toughen up ourselves. By the time I was placed in the hospital with 4 broken rips, my mom with a bloody nose and with police intervention, it was time to seek refuge back at her parents in Ontario. With my mom’s stubbornness moving my brother and I was a task she felt the need to do, she did everything on her own with the feeling of being responsible for moving her 2 children which were a part of her into that god awful situation. Since the boyfriend was in jail and his drug buddies would not go long without his business, the move had to be quick. So she took her broken first born and his now shaken and frightened little brother on a greyhound bus destined for Ontario. Me, with my broken ribs and my tears from the pain of being constantly car sick, along with my 10 year old younger brother who was obviously confused about what had transpired in such a short time headed back to Ontario. This would be a task that would make her really curious about whether her now passed husband didn’t have the right idea. This would only be a passing thought, as her boys became a priority, and after what she had been through, her life would now be about protecting and spoiling her two boys for the rest of their lives.

Her first born would trouble her like she could never imagine, with constant fighting and being suspended from school regularly. By the time he had reached his twenties, he had discovered drugs and had gotten himself involved with the law. Luckily for her and her first born, three days in a jail would forever change that rapid decent. The drugs would however take a number of years still to overcome. It would take co-signing a loan so he could retire from his drug dealings. Her first born had become involved with some shady characters who had threatened his life. When he had felt he accomplished all of what he could do in life by the age of 30, he had been clean and clear of drugs for some time. He was working 9-5, five days a week, and still in search of finding that special someone who could live up to the high standards set by his mother. He decided to try his luck out west in British Columbia. He was faced with the possibility of getting a job that would pay 50, 000 more a year than what he was used to making. Her first born would spend his first 6 weeks searching for love and helping his friend’s brother, who he was staying with, fixing up his house. Then came the day he got that elusive job, which would be a financial dream come true. Her first born would spend the day up an old logging road drinking and partying with some fornicating. It was during that moment that he knew he could not get much higher than he already was, when he was quickly thrust downwards. Who was actually driving the vehicle when her first born was forced to realize the safety of wearing a seat-belt remains a mystery to this day. He was thrown clear from the vehicle while it spun out of control. There lay her first born on the road after hitting the ground with enough force that should have killed him on the spot. However, the past beatings would help in his survival, and what the road didn’t accomplish, it had successfully caused the vehicle to begin flipping and eventually roll over her first born. After some time had elapsed and her first born had endured 4 more broken rips, a broken hip, a broken leg, a broken collar bone, a shattered ankle to go with his broken leg, collapsed lungs, ribs, and a torn diaphragm, he was rushed to the local hospital. On the way his heart would stop, and for seconds (which could have seemed like an eternity to some) her first born lay there in the stretcher dead. However, with some modern advancements in medicine her first born would retain his life. His stay would not last long though, now at the hospital his heart would stop again, and once again he was only teased with being allowed to depart this world. The local hospital had noticed that with the countless broken bones he had, there were also two lungs that had almost completely collapsed, and he was faced with a medical situation that was far beyond anything that little hospital could handle. Her first born was then air lifted to Vancouver trauma center, where once again he would be tempted with departure. The attendants would not allow her first born to depart on their shift.

A phone call to mom had to be made, so the first born’s friend in Ontario who in turn knew his mom could deliver the news a little more gently that her first born was 3000 KM away and hanging on to a thread of dear life. His mom would then call his brother and her work to let them know that she was not going to be there for some time. When my brother had reached my moms house, they wasted no time getting to the airport. Her first born friends would join them out west on the following day. The doctors then informed her that the probability of her first born living out the full week was very low. This was not an option for her, and could very well have been all the inspiration her first born would need to pull through, and fight to live. It is believed my mom’s fight for her first born’s survival was heard in the neighbouring provinces.

 

Are you interested in sharing your story?