The Last Time My Mother Would Say Goodnight
The Night of the Red and Blue Lights
The night my mother got sick, was a night when the police came.
It was not a 911 call for them.
It was a 911 call to the paramedics. We needed an ambulance to take my mother to the hospital. Her temperature was 110ºF, and the likelihood that she would survive without brain damage, without proper care, wasn’t very high.
Just hours before, she had felt fine. She had tucked me in and said goodnight, but then had called my aunt to complain that she wasn’t feeling well. Knowing that my mother had early-onset Parkinson’s Disease, my Aunt came by the house to check up on my mother, only to promptly called 911. We were looking for help, yes, but preferably without commotion.
But the red and blue lights came anyway.
At least a dozen of them.
There were too many people in the house for a seven-year-old to deal with. There were police who were literally policing my home. They noticed that we were missing a smoke detector in one of our hallways, and proceeded to install one, while the paramedics fought with my mother.
There were police in my living room talking about god-only-knows-what. And then there were police in my mother’s bedroom, trying to help the paramedics.
But you see, my mother didn’t want to go.
She was determined not to leave a seven-year-old in the house by herself.
So she fought.
My Aunt stood by her bedside, imploring that she please leave with the paramedics, that I would be fine; that a babysitter had been called. That I would only be alone for a few minutes, and then I would be safe again.
I’m pretty sure a policeman monitored that phone call too.
There were too many of them in my house.
I remember running back to my room and slamming the door, watching the red and blue lights flash across my faded pink walls, as the darkness of the night kept on. I remember my mother screaming at those trying to help her.
I put my head under my pillow.
At some point, there was a knock on my door. A voice I didn’t recognize was asking if I was okay. How was any of this okay? My mother was being taken away, my house was filled with strangers, and I was supposed to be brave.
I didn’t respond.
At some point, the heavy boots moved away from my door. My mother stopped screaming, and the house went silent.
I poked my head out and peered down the hall. Not a single soul in sight. There was, however, a brand new smoke detector on the wall. Footprints from dirty boots lined the white carpet of the upstairs hallway.
There had too many people in my house for the carpet to be that filthy.
I remember stepping over footprints and making my way toward the stairs. I peered down them. No one. I was alone. “Great.” I thought. “Now they’re all gone.” The first bit of relief I had felt that night. I went back to my room. The red and blue lights eventually stopped flashing across my faded pink walls, and they disappeared into the night.
I came back out to the hallway and sat on the top stair for a while, staring at nothing, trying to process it all. There had been at least a dozen people in my house who had no business being there. They were bored or having an off-night, and my mother’s sickness was something they felt they could respond too.
They had policed my house, and they had dirtied my walkways and carpet. They had made far too much noise.
No wonder why my mother was scared. Why I should’ve been afraid.
There’s been a lot of argument lately on whether police should or should not respond to various emergency 911 calls. Some of those calls are clear for the paramedics. Some of those calls should be fielded to that of a social worker. Others still, maybe a psychiatrist. But, as people argue, they are not to come to every emergency event.
The night they took, my mother was back in 1998. Before 9/11, far before the BLM movement, and the call for defunding the police. It happened in a quiet town, just outside of Washington, DC., and it scared a poor seven-year-old girl. This was not an incident for police. This was a call a social-worker could have responded too. But instead, it was a night where I saw the red and blue lights, and they took my mother from me.
Josefina is a recent graduate of Penn State University and is a holder of two Bachelor of Arts degrees — Psychology and Vocal Performance. She is sometimes a celebrity, fashion and portrait photographer. Feel free to visit her website, follow her on Twitter, on Facebook or on Instagram.
