My Teenage Dream Ended

by Farrah Abraham

  By now my parents were convinced we were done for good. I acted like that was what I wanted, and I got so good at playing that part I was almost starting to believe it myself. Secretly, though, I hoped (and prayed) that once the baby came, Derek would change and we could be a family. Despite the drama, the lies, and the fighting, I still believed in him. I may have been about to become a mom, but really I was still just a teenage girl, trying desperately to hold onto her dream.

  Two days after Christmas that dream died.

  I woke up one morning and he was just gone. Forever.

  My hopes for our family, gone. My happy ending, gone.

  I still don’t know exactly what happened that night. If Derek and his friend Zach, who also died that night, had been drinking before Derek got behind the wheel of the car or if it was just a fluke accident. After the initial shock wore off I just wanted to know how; how could this have happened?

  For weeks after the accident I scanned the local papers and read every report, every interview his family gave about him.

  “Underwood’s family said police told them Derek, who was the driver, may have tried to pass someone illegally on the road before hitting a patch of black ice.���

  “The family also said that they believe the three teenagers were drinking Saturday night.”

  Mostly his sisters spoke to the reporters. Although I wasn’t surprised by the things I read, I felt like everything they were saying about Derek was wrong, that they didn’t really know him at all.

  I read one article that said, “Derek Underwood’s sisters said that he was a good athlete and was about to be a father.” As heartbroken as I was, this almost made me laugh. As far as I knew, Derek wasn’t involved in any athletics, unless you counted partying as a team sport. He wasn’t even going to college like he should have been. The father comment made me furious because Derek had never stepped up to take on the role of father. I had been the one who had sacrificed and changed my life so I would be prepared to take on the responsibilities of parenthood, not Derek. Now I was going to have to be the mother and the father.

  His sister was quoted saying, “He would always cook for us, and all his friends, whenever they came to the house, he loved to cook, he was going to go to culinary school.” Yes, he would cook breakfast and he loved food, but I was the one going to school and getting my degree. He had told me he wanted to join the Air Force or work in real estate with his dad.

  His other sister told reporters that Derek, “Definitely lived on the edge, but he was responsible, he went to work, came home.” Sure he lived life on the edge, if you call weaving in and out of traffic, spinning a couple of times, and slamming into a pole living on the edge. The only edgy thing he did before that was that gas-and-go. In my opinion, Derek drank and took drugs not because he lived life on the edge, but because he was miserable and he used those things to avoid feeling the stress and emptiness of his life.

  “Police have not confirmed if the teenagers were drinking, wearing their seat belts, or how fast they were going when they crashed.”

  I read later that the police found a bottle of vodka at the site of the crash, but, in the end, the autopsy showed that Derek’s blood-alcohol level was within the legal limit.

  In the end, what I’m left with is that Derek was the driver, the one in control. He lost control of the car, just like he lost control of his own life. He made poor choices that led him on the path that ended with the accident. But I also believe that everyone close to him had a part to play—including me.

  I will never get over the fact that Derek died, but I also won’t forget how things really were. I’m not here to sugar coat things, because what I believe is that if Derek had been more stable, he would have had the strength to make better choices.

  Source for this chapter: Two Teens Declared Dead At Crash Scene 29 Dec. 2008

  http://www.kcci.com/Two-Teens-Declared-Dead-At-Crash-Scene/-/9357770/7335346/-/bgiq52/-/index.html

  SEARCHING FOR CLOSURE

  On December 30th, I went to Derek’s funeral visitation. I contemplated not going, but I knew that if I had been the one who died I would have wanted Derek to be there for me.

  After I had cried and cried and could think straight again, I couldn’t stop thinking about going to see Derek at his visitation ceremony. But then I thought about all the issues this would cause. My parents wouldn’t go with me, or anyone in my family for that matter, so that was out. They didn’t want me to go. They felt it would just cause problems with his family and, of course, they were right,

  The producers of 16 and Pregnant wanted to film what was going on with me, but I didn’t want cameras showing up with me to Derek’s visitation. I had never had cameras around with Derek before and now it felt even more wrong. I didn’t want to bring that kind of attention to his visitation.

  As always with Derek, there were so many issues and it was all so complicated. I almost didn’t go, but as the day wore on and the sun was going down, I felt like I was missing an opportunity. A couple of my girlfriends had offered to go with me, so I finally texted them back and asked them to take me.

  I lied to everyone and said that I wasn’t going, so the cameras wouldn’t follow me to film and my parents wouldn’t try to talk me out of it. Yeah, I know, lies are bad, but I wanted to go and not be bothered.

  I knew his family and friends wouldn’t want me there, so I snuck in at the last second. Outside the funeral home, I ran into his uncle, the one Derek had told me months ago had died. But here he was, very much alive. I couldn’t believe it; even now that Derek was dead I was still being hurt by his lies. I wanted to be furious, but what could I do about it now? Yell at him at his funeral?

  At that point I almost didn’t go in, but I had already left my house and lied to my parents and the MTV crew about where I was going. I felt like I had gone this far, I might as well see it through. My girlfriends could tell I was hesitating, but they knew how much I needed to do this to get some closure and they encouraged me to go in.

  So, I took a deep breath and we walked in.

  It was a recently updated funeral home; clean and well lit, with warm pastel colors on the walls. It had that funeral-home smell, like a nursing home or hospital. I looked around to see who was there. It seemed to be a mix of random people: some kids Derek used to party with, and a bunch of people who were trying to act like they knew him, but who were really only there because of all the publicity. It was basically a shit show of kids who shouldn’t have been there. I questioned whether they really cared about Derek or just wanted to be in on the drama.

  I tried to go straight into the room where Derek’s body was, but his sister came over to me and stood in my way. She demanded to know if the baby was Derek’s. I felt like she was only asking to get a rise out me because she already knew the answer to that question. She’d already told the news reporters that Derek was about to be a father. I said, “No, it’s not,” and walked right past her.

  I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. Maybe they were shocked that I had shown up, maybe they thought my being there confirmed that it was Derek who had gotten me pregnant, maybe they thought I was going to start a fight. I didn’t really care what they thought. I didn’t want there to be drama at Derek’s funeral. I just wanted to see him one last time, so I could wrap my mind around the fact that he was really dead.

  I went up to the casket and looked at Derek lying there. I wanted to believe he wasn’t really dead, just sleeping. Looking at him with his eyes closed, he looked just like he did when he would fall asleep beside me and I would stare at him in the darkness of my bedroom. But this time his eyes weren’t going to open. He wasn’t going to tell me he loved me anymore, or lie to me anymore, or do anything ever again. He was dead.

  I turned and looked over at the video they had made for the visitation. Derek’s school photos, snapshots of him with friends, and family photos faded in and out on the screen. When our prom pictures came up I was shocked that they had even included photo
s of me, but I was grateful that they did.

  I sat down with my girlfriends, but I couldn’t let my guard down and just soak in this last time I would ever see Derek because his sister began complaining loudly about me to her stepfather, saying she wanted me to leave. Then a bunch of her friends lined up in front of Derek’s casket and the video screen, so I couldn’t look at him anymore. I didn’t want to be part of a big dramatic scene, so I just got up and left. To me, what she was doing was incredibly disrespectful.

  Despite the confrontation with Derek’s sister, I was happy that I had gone. After I got back home I remembered a time when I got so mad at Derek that I told him angrily on the phone. “When you die, I’m not even going to show up to your funeral.” I deeply regretted ever saying that and I felt that by going to his visitation I could somehow show him I hadn’t really meant that. I thought about how immature we were and the time we wasted with our dumb fights. I loved Derek and, even if it meant lying to everyone, it felt right to have been able to see him one last time

  It was awkward though. My parents knew I had gone out around the time of Derek’s visitation. That night, they were not-so-casually hovering around me to see if I would talk. The producers from 16 and Pregnant double-checked with me to see if I had gone. I told them I hadn’t. I figured I should just stick to saying no. I didn’t really want to talk about it with them, anyway. This was my personal time, my last day with Derek—not theirs. I didn’t want to share.

  LIFE GOES ON…

  As time went by, I had no choice but to set aside my sadness and move on with my life. I was about to become a mother and it took all of my emotional strength to process all the traumatic changes being pregnant had brought to my life.

  Losing Derek, so suddenly and violently, was too much to bear. So I kind of went into denial about it. It was less painful to act like I was just still not talking to him. My family never brought up what had happened and we never talked about him, so it was easier to get through my days pretending Derek and I were still in a fight than face the reality that he was never coming back.

  But every day when I woke up, even sometimes in my sleep, memories of our past would come to me like they were real. I would be transported back to the times when he would sneak into my room and spend the night with me, when it was just the two of us and we were so happy together. In those moments I could almost feel him holding me in the night, hear him whispering in my ear, “I love you, don’t ever forget that.” It brought me to tears every time, and in those moments I couldn’t ignore that Derek was really dead.

  I kept quiet to everyone about missing Derek. I didn’t talk about it at work, or at school, and I definitely didn’t talk about it at home. I stuffed my grief way, way down and put on a brave face for my family and for the MTV cameras.

  I postponed my baby shower as long as I could, since I wasn’t much in the mood for a party, but two weeks before my due date I looked like I was ready to pop any minute, so my mom invited a few close friends, my teachers, a few neighbors, (the MTV cameras) and my immediate family to her house for the shower. When everyone showed up, it was all smiles and showering me with gifts. I tried my best to be bright and happy, to make sure everyone was having a good time, and to show that I was grateful they had all come. But mostly I felt hot, lonely and uncomfortable,

  I got everything I needed and more, so much, in fact, that I didn’t have enough space in my room to put it all. I felt so lucky to get practically everything I needed. It helped to relieve a lot of the financial stress I was feeling at the time. At this point, I was at college taking classes all day, and at night on the weekends. I also was working thirty hours a week, serving and hosting at Applebee’s. I was trying to save up for baby expenses, hospital bills, and to pay for the culinary classes I was taking.

  During the shower I was able to avoid thinking about Derek, but reality hit hard after everyone went home. I was organizing all of the new baby presents in my room; stacking diapers and folding baby clothes. I wanted to be able to say, “Derek we don’t have to worry about buying a baby bed, clothing, diapers, etc.,” going down the whole list, but instead I was thinking, I’m so grateful my friends and family got me everything I needed, so I won’t have to work as much now.

  When I finished organizing my closet, I stood back and thought, This used to be my room growing up, when I was a kid and playing with toys.

  This room was where Derek and I used to be in love. Now this room is a baby nursery. It was a lot for me to process. Everything had changed so fast.

  PREGNANT GIRL

  On top of all that, being pregnant was wearing me out. Suddenly things that had always come easily to me were physically exhausting or just plain awkward. If I stood for too long, my legs would swell and my back would start to ache. My OB told me that I needed to be more careful about pushing myself too far, that I shouldn’t stand for long periods of time—which is next to impossible when you’re working in a kitchen and running around a restaurant all night. This was hard for me to take. I was used to being strong and fit, so it came as a blow to my pride that my body was making things tough for me.

  Even simple everyday things had become difficult. Suddenly, cutting and chopping for my culinary classes was a challenge. Instead of being able to stand next to the table edge, like every other chef in training, my pregnant belly stopped me about a foot away from the food I was working on. Then, for stability, I had to stand with my legs shoulder-width apart in a sort of squatting position—not the most attractive (or comfortable) pose.

  Worst of all was how sick being near heat made me feel, which is problematic when you are sautéing, frying, and boiling all day. There were times when I felt like I was going to pass out or vomit right in the middle of class. I had no choice but to suck it up and push through, but I was miserable and honestly there were days when I was ready to quit. But then I would remember how I felt about cooking before I got pregnant; effortlessly cutting, cooking, keeping up with the pace and enjoying every second of it. I realized making a choice as big as changing my major would need to be put off until after the baby was born.

  I also had to be more careful about what I ate and about keeping myself hydrated or I would get bad heartburn and stomach aches. Things like greasy food at restaurants gave me heartburn. It was horrible and antacids didn’t help. But the single worst food that my body would instantly reject was bananas. It was so bad. One day I was in class eating a banana and within seconds it was forced from my stomach and back up and out as banana puke; so gross. I quit eating bananas right then and there.

  The pregnancy also wore me out mentally. My mind was foggy, I had a hard time focusing, and it became hard for me to retain information. Everyone in class started calling me “pregnant girl.” I was huge and ready to pop and, honestly my mind was elsewhere, so I just let it go. I hated being defined by my pregnancy, but I also understood it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  HELLO SOPHIA!

  Although I knew by this point that I was having a girl, I hadn’t picked a name yet. One night, my mom, my grandparents, and I went out to dinner. I had looked into Italian names because my family is very fond of our Italian heritage, but my top picks were Saychelle, Melania, and Audrina. None of these were very Italian, and when I shared them, my family shot me down with some pretty negative comments.

  Since they were all helping me so much with my pregnancy, I thought, Why not let us all choose the name? So together we agreed on Sophia Laurent Abraham, after my favorite actress, Sophia Loren.

  Now my baby had a name. From that moment on I began to think of her as Sophia.

  My original due date was the 28th of February—but I was pretty sure I was going to have Sophia before then. Still, I was I really was hoping to hold her in until February 25th so I could get my finals done. No such luck.

  On the night of February 22nd, 2009 I watched the Oscars with my mom. We saw Sophia Loren walking the red carpet and she looked beautiful; tan skin, chic make-up, healthy brown hair, and
a gorgeous dress. It was a happy reminder that the inspiration for my daughter’s name was a successful, talented, and beautiful role model.

  I drank my soda pop, finished watching the awards show, and went to bed. Just as I was falling asleep, I felt warm liquid suddenly leaking from between my legs. It felt like I had peed, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

  I realized, with a little panic, that my water had broken. I grabbed my cell phone and called my MTV producer. I had promised that if my water broke in the middle of the night I would call right away. Within minutes, the camerawoman had jetted over from her hotel and was at the door. I was waiting in my bed, with the lights off, and finally my mom came upstairs and turned the lights on. She took one look at me and said, ��Oh yeah. Your water broke. It has that smell.” I had to laugh because all I could think was that the smell reminded me of having Derek’s cum inside me. I couldn’t really share that with my mom, though, so I kept that thought to myself.

  So this was it, I was going into labor. I called my sister and told her to meet us at the hospital, but she was sick and we didn’t want to risk her passing anything on to Sophia, so we decided she shouldn’t come to the hospital. My grandparents were out of town and my dad was living an hour away for work at the time. So in the end it was just me, my mom, and the camerawoman.

  I went to the bathroom to change my pajamas, which were now completely soaked. There seemed to be an endless supply of fluid running down my legs. There was so much liquid. It wouldn’t quit. I peed, hoping that might make it stop, but it kept right on running down my legs. By the time I got to the hospital, my pants were soaked again. This was not how I pictured going into labor would be. I don’t know what I expected, but it had never occurred to me that it would start out so soggy.