8:12 P.M. ©

an essay by Kathy F. Johnston

Preface by Author: I have relapsing/remitting multiple sclerosis that was diagnosed in January, 1994. One of the things MS has done for me is encourage me to try new things (including writing) and to do the things I've wanted to do for a long time, rather than waiting until it is convenient. As a result, I drove to the coast to see the ocean, for the first time, in October, 1998. I no longer take the simple things about life for granted.

I wrote this piece on my daughter's 16th birthday, following the end of a particularly painful divorce....a divorce caused, in part, by my MS.

Anticipation and fear. Time passes slowly, waiting, wondering. A bustle of activity and concerned faces, as minutes seem like hours. A tiny cry breaks the silence; 8:12 P.M. and you have a beautiful, healthy little girl.

8:12 P.M., the hour and minute that became my happiest moment; a happy moment followed each year by new experiences and discoveries as that beautiful little girl emerged into a happy, carefree child.

8:12 P.M., and each year melts into the next. Imaginary friends and sand pails are replaced by baby dolls and crayons. 8:12 P.M. and teddy bears, Barbie and teen idols catch her eye. 8:12 P.M. and friends and makeup fill the hours. 8:12 P.M., 8:12 P.M., 8:12 P.M. .......wasn't it just yesterday that tiny cry pierced the night?

Years pass, and now, a love no longer felt...a necessary end to what seemed the perfect family...and changes rule my world.

"You'll pay dearly for this!" were his cutting words that night.

The comfort, of so many other years, is now replaced by uncertainty and '8:12 P.M.' has become a time that must be shared. Still the hour and minute touch my heart, as if it were yesterday. The hour and minute that my life became whole.....8:12 P.M.

8:10 P.M. ........8:11 P.M. .......8:12 P.M.!

"Hello?"

"Happy official 16," I said.

"Everyone's here, I can't hear you."

"Oh, sorry to interrupt, but it's 8:12 P.M.!"

"It is? I'm sixteen! I'll let you go.", was the only answer. Click......and nothing to hear but dial tone.

"I love you Pooter, Happy Birthday!" I said, as I set the receiver down.

8:12 P.M. Just a time, just a memory.....but for me they are a perfect time and a cherished memory.

"You'll pay dearly for this."...the words that will haunt me the rest of my life. Silently, in the dark of a lonely house, the tears begin to fall and, with eyes closed, I drift back......to 8:12 P.M.