My Biggest Secret

Throughout my childhood up until the seventh grade there was a big secret plaguing me. This involves my mother. If you browse through my articles it's clear to see what I'm talking about and if you have a parent with a fatal illness you can easily relate to what I'm about to tell you.

I can remember it vividly like it was yesterday. It was the first time I had ever told my teacher what my mother had. And at the time I was afraid that this secret would cause psychological torment through bullying. Seventh grade science topic: HIV. My teacher at the time asked the class, "Is there anyone who knows someone who has HIV?" For those long five seconds my mind was contemplating on two decisions I had to make. Raising my hand and risking the whole class knowing I have a mother with HIV or remain quiet while lying to the whole classroom. I also remember thinking that it would be therapeutic for me to come clean about my mother so I raised my hand.

"Nicolette, how long has this person had it," my teacher asked.

"My mom has had it for almost 3 years." I said it. She didn't even ask who had it but I unleashed what was growing inside me like a volcano. There was an uneasy quiet in the classroom and I had no one to blame but myself. This wasn't a bad thing but at the time it seemed wrong in so many ways. I didn't want the class to pity me or think I was seeking out pity or attention. But I can honestly say that it was what I wanted also. My grandparents were raising me at the time and I rarely got to see my mother who lived in California. I lived in New York. So I didn't get to talk about my mother as much as I wanted to.

"Oh, wow...." was my teacher's response. This was probably something she wasn't prepared for and ultimately didn't know what else to say. I understood it. She looked at me as if she had never seen me before tilting her head. She knew my grandparents very well through parent-teacher conferences and I guess this answered her question as to why my mother wasn't in the picture.