History 101

Dear Reader,

For the last 2 hours I have been thinking about what to write to you, I can go through my day and think of a million and one things to write about and then when it comes down to actually doing it I want more. I want more meaning. I want something better for you, or maybe for myself. Regardless what it is I want, I do know that right now I want to go back into time. Back to the reason I am the way I am. The reason I'm so independent, the reasons why I am so determined to help someone and it doesn't matter who. This entry won't be filled with pictures and joy. It will tell you a story very close to my heart, but it explains why the "meaning" of life is so important to me.
 So let's go back to 1997..

I was 2 years old and my mommy was expecting a new baby.

I need you to understand that yes I do remember this, I do remember my mom being pregnant. I was very little, you are right. However; I had a very traumatic first couple years and I've heard that you either forget it all or remember it vividly and well I remember it. I remember it all.

The baby was supposed to be born after I turned 3 and I remember being so very excited to finally be a big sister, I LOVED babies. I was so independent and wanted to help my mom with the baby so bad.
July 27, 1997
Baby Patrick Cole entered this room. He was so precious. I remember sitting in the hospital rocking chair feeling so big getting to hold MY baby brother. He was mine. I can still remember Patrick Cole was such a good baby. He was always calm and at peace. The one time I remember him crying was one of the worst nights of my life, it truly messed me up.

Patrick Cole and I slept in the same room because the trailer was only 2 bedrooms I slept on the left side of the room and he on the right and our window was in the middle of us. Patrick Cole's dad and my mom had stopped talking just before she had the baby, he was bad. A drug dealer, a drug addict and an alcoholic, also from what I am told he was very abusive.
My mom had a problem she too was an addict and maybe that's why I was so independent but I knew that I needed to help Patrick Cole at night cause I probably had learned that mommy wasn't going to. This one night I remember so well. Baby boy was walking up so much, he usually slept well but not this night. He would cry and I would jump out of my bed climb up the side of the crib and give him the pacifier. I was 3 years old and I woke up to the shatter of my bedroom window. I was crying and so was the baby. I remember screaming for my mom but she never came. I climbed out of my bed and went to her door. I looked under the door and saw my precious perfect mommy crying being kicked in the face with the white boots by Patrick Cole's dad.

Reader I don't think I will ever forget that image. Even now 15 years later I can vividly see it. Those white boots will forever haunt me.

December of 97' we came home for Christmas to Grandma, my favorite woman in the whole world. It was a great Christmas. Me, Grandma, Uncle Tyler, Mommy and Patrick Cole. This was my last Christmas like this.

Mommy had planned to go back to Colorado with her new boyfriend Mark to get all of our stuff and move back home to Utah with Grandma. She was taking Patrick Cole but didn't want to take me.

"Mommy I want to go."

"No baby, you have to stay here with Grandma."

"But Momma I wanna go with you, I'm going to miss you."

"I'll be back baby I promise, I love you."

"Okay Momma, I love you. I love you too Patrick Cole."

This was the last conversation face to face with my mom. And the very last time I saw Patrick Cole.

January 16, 1998
There was a phone call in the middle of the night and Grandma got up to get it. I remember what she was wearing and I remember being so tired but worried cause I didn't want Grandma to leave me alone.
She came back crying and so so sad. I was to little to fully understand that something was really wrong but I do remember being worried.

"Grandma, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Nothing baby. Go back to bed."

Things were not the same the next morning everything was so wrong. Everyone was so upset.

"Grandma, I want to call mommy. I miss Patrick Cole."

*more crying*

"You can't call my right now Manda."

"I WANT MY MOMMY!!"

This conversation was the one conversation I remember before I found out that my mommy wasn't coming home like she had promised and I wasn't going to see her for a long time and I was never going to see Patrick Cole again.

Patrick Cole had died,  and Mommy and Mark were going to prison for a really long time. This was the day my life changed forever this was the day I learned that I was now really on my own.

Reader please don't be sad for me, or Patrick Cole. This was the worst day of my life but it was the best thing ever. Patrick died from Shaking Baby Syndrome. NO! My mom did not kill my brother and maybe neither did Mark. Mark was convicted of 1st degree and my mom of 2nd. My mom wasn't present at the time but she was Patrick's mom and she should've protected him from a drug addict like herself and Mark but she didn't.
Patrick died for a reason. He is my angel. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here writing to you. Patrick Cole picked a life to save his siblings and his mommy. My mommy is a sick person she has a really bad problem and who knows if Patrick was still here I don't know where any of us would be. He saved a family by choosing the path he did. So don't be sad for us or him. He is in a better place and watches over us everyday.

I told you this story so you know where my heart has been the last few weeks. My brother changed my life. I tell you this story not to make you sad but for  you do understand where my meaning of life and change comes from. I beat the odds I was raised by my grandma with a mom in prison and I like to think I turned out all right.
I hope one day I can change someone's meaning on life like Patrick Cole did for me.

Forever Grateful. I love you Patrick Cole.

Read on. Enjoy.

Big sister.