Page 3 of Chelsea’s Knight

I knew without her saying their names who she was talking about and felt my heart lighten even further.

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, my sweet Chelsea. I’ll always be here watching over you. Be happy, Chels.”

As I opened my eyes, I realized I didn’t get a chance to ask her if I’d ever see her again… I hope I do someday.

As my eyes roamed, taking in my surroundings, I could immediately tell someone was sitting in the room with me.

“H-h-hello?” I croaked out, my throat dry and sore from disuse.

“Oh, peanut,” Nonni cried, her cold, trembling hand clasping mine in a death grip. “You’re finally awake.”

“Nonni,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it was gurgling. Hearing me, she scooped up a foam cup and held it steady with the straw placed in my mouth.

Gulping the cool water down, I heard her say, “Slowly, sweet pea. We don’t want your belly to protest and make you sick. Let me tell the nurse you’re awake.”

Chelsea, age 8

“Nonni, I want to be a teacher when I grow up,” I confided as we worked in the kitchen preparing meals for the day. She and Poppa were live-in help for a rich family, and since my daddy eventually signed papers saying they were now my legal guardians, I was living with them here as well.

“That’s a very admirable job, Chelsea,” she replied, kneading the dough that would turn into her delicious rolls.

It took nearly two years for them to gain custody of me because of the investigation CPS launched against my stepmother. Even though my daddy said he’d let me stay with my grandparents forever, there was a legal way things had to be handled. Once they saw the sheer number of hospitalizations, all of them coinciding with times when my daddy was conveniently out of town, they realized I was being horribly abused and neglected.

Archie ended up in a juvenile facility and Miss Gloria was now in prison for stage three child abuse. My daddy, brokenhearted at what I suffered, couldn’t handle his own pain and sadly, he was now an angel up in heaven just like my mommy was.

He went to my mommy as soon as he was allowed to sign over custody.

At least they're together up in heaven now.

I could feel my head getting fuzzy and it’s beginning to feel funny. Things were becoming blurry, so I got down off the small stool Nonni had in the kitchen that helped me reach the counter.

“Nonni,” I called out, my voice feeling like it was echoing, going through a dark tunnel.

“Shh, pumpkin, I’ve got you,” she warmly cooed, her arms wrapping around me, rocking me, and holding me close as the seizure pulled me under. Long, horrible minutes passed until my body went totally limp.

I could feel the tears gather and slide down my droopy face, an aftereffect I wasn’t crazy about, but it beat peeing my pants, which is what the doctor had said could possibly and most likely would happen.

“Nonni?” My voice was wobbly, and I was suddenly so tired and weak that keeping my eyes open was more of a chore and felt next to impossible. Through my heavy leaded tongue, I admitted my fear, “The medicine isn’t helping, I don’t think.”

“I know, Chelsea. Poppa’s putting a call into the doctor now,” she replied, gently wiping the free-flowing tears from my face as she continued swaying me from side-to-side. “I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. I wish we had known what was happening to you sooner, then you wouldn’t be dealing with this disorder and taking preventative medication for the rest of your life.”

Thisdisorder was epilepsy.

Apparently, the traumatic brain injury I’d suffered when Archie pushed me down the flight of stairs two years ago caused me to develop epileptic seizures that now require daily doses of several medications. The thing I hated most, even above taking the daily prescriptions, was the episodes would hit out of the blue without much warning at all; I could be helping Nonni, or sitting down doing my schoolwork and the next thing I knew, I’d be writhing on the hard, unforgiving floor or nestled in Nonni’s or Poppa’s lap while they protectively held me so I wouldn’t hurt myself.

“It’s okay, Nonni, I should have told someone before things got so bad,” I whispered, guilt from keeping my mouth shut coursing through me.

“Hush, child. You were just a little girl who was put in a terrible situation. We’ll find the right combination of medicine to help you, I promise,” she vehemently stated. “There’s always hope.”

Chelsea, age 12

“I’m glad my hair has finally grown out, Nonni,” I said as we left the hairdresser, where my chestnut-brown hair was trimmed and styled like I’m a soon-to-be contestant in a beauty pageant for the upcoming winter ball that my middle school was having.

“You’ll always, no matter what, be beautiful, and stunning, Chelsea, whether you have hair down to your bottom or cut short up near your ears,” Nonni replied with the compliment, smiling down at me as I skipped alongside her. “Now, Poppa gave me the money so we can get your nails done too so you’ll be ready for your magical adventure.”

I giggled as she led me a few doors down and we entered the nail salon.

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