One Down One to Go

In March of this year, 2014, I received my Associates Degree in Communications. I actually did it! I graduated with a GPA of 3.67. The lowest grade I received for an associate level class was a B. It sure feels great to look up at the shelves in our room and see my degree in it's folder. My academic adviser is very pleased with the progress I am making.

When I completed my Associates program I got a nine day break before I started my Bachelor program in Criminal Justice. So here I am. I am in the second class of my second degree and it is so different. I have had to get used to working on teams, but that has been a good thing. My classes are only five weeks long as opposed to nine so the classes go by much faster. I have met some very interesting people and had more opportunities to share my story. It seems the more times I share it, the easier it becomes.

Criminal Justice seems the perfect place for frank discussions and sharing of stories. I have met a woman who is a survivor of domestic abuse. She and I really clicked, both of us understand what it means to be a survivor. I have had the pleasure of discussing the differences of military justice and civilian justice with members of the armed forces in Afghanistan. One of my other classmates lived in Ukraine. 

So, here I am, successfully juggling three jobs, mom, wife and student. I take my laptop with me when I take Christopher to swim practice and if I am lucky his coach has his wifi hotspot turned on so I can get some of my online work done while the kids work out. This makes it easier since he has practice every day. 

Christopher is actually getting something out of my classes as well. He is my writing buddy and proof reads every paper I write. It seems to be working, I am getting great grades on my papers, and he is learning whether he realizes it or not. We have even had some very interesting conversations about some of my class topics. 

You know, it amazes me when I think about where I have come from. How far I have made it from the scared child and damaged teenager. It just goes to show that no matter how badly you may have been hurt or abused in your past, you can overcome your fears and anxieties. You can rise above the damages left behind by those who saw you as an object and not a person. There is only one person who can do that for you, it is you yourself. You have to have the strength to carry on and push through the pain and make something of yourself.

I don't know how many hurt and damaged women or girls are out there, but someone needs to let them know that they are not alone and that they CAN make it through the fog of self hatred and self loathing to finally see that you are a person. A person worth loving and respecting. YOU ARE A PERSON WORTH LOVING AND RESPECTING!

Beautiful Bloggable Me

Waiting for a Window

I find myself in an interesting situation. I decided to leave my job in May, the office politics and game playing became too silly for words and then they became down right nasty. It finally reached a point that I could no longer put up with the situation. Wade and I discussed it and both agreed it was no longer worth me having to deal with the garbage.

I now find myself in the position of waiting for my next window to open. I usually have one open and waiting for me, but I don't right now. The only decision I have had to make is what to get my Bachelor's degree in. Could that be considered a window? It does lead to the rest of my educational future, so I guess it could be my window.

My next step is a Bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice and then on to my Psychology courses. I am going for a Forensic Psychology degree so I have to have a degree in criminal justice. I am really looking forward to this next step. I spend so much time watching true crime and reading about real cases, I have always been fascinated by crime, forensics in particular. I start my next degree in March, 2014.

So far school has been going very well. I have been able to maintain a 3.67 GPA so far. No grades lower than a B. My favorite class has been Cultural Diversity so far. We had some really fun discussions. I am also really enjoying learning Photoshop, my instructor is pleased with my progress so far.

I have to keep my eyes on where I am now because I know how far I still have to go. In order to be a Forensic Psychologist I have to have my PhD. This seems very daunting when I consider I will graduate in March with my Associates. My Bachelor program will take two years, my Master's another 18 months. I am really looking forward to the challenge.

I know when I get to the end and finish all my testing for licensure I will be the happiest person on earth. I can't wait to start really studying what I am in all of this for - seriously abnormal psychotic people. You know, serial killers, serial rapists. I really want to know what makes them tick. What happens to them to make them what they are.

I am already familiar with many of them, but I want to be able to get up close and personal and interview them. Spend time and talk to them and get inside their brains and really try to understand them, if that is possible.

I guess the only other window I need now would be a job so I can help take some of the load off of Wade's shoulders. If I could ask God for anything, it would be that. Help me find a job so I can take some of the stress off of Wade's  shoulders. I have an educational window, now I need a professional window if it please God.

Thank you for sticking with me my faithful readers,
Beautiful Bloggable Me

I Take A Really Big Step For Me

This week I took a really big step in putting myself out there. In my discussion group in Fundamentals of Interpersonal Communications I had been discussing how people who had been hurt in their past would have difficulty trusting in their present and future relationships and I didn't want my classmates to think I was just talking to get credit, or to agree with what some of them might have said. 

I have said from the beginning of this project of mine that the main purpose of sharing my past pain, humiliation, shame and fears was to help others. I have also said that if this sharing helps only one person then the sharing has been worth putting it out there, and up to this point I have never shared with this many people. I have to admit it was scary at first, but once I had done it, I felt even more liberated than when I had shared with just a few friends.

I know there are many girls who have been through similar bullying situations that I experienced in school who may not have come out of the experience as well adjusted. For those girls I say hang in there, have hope and strength and your perseverance will pay off in the long run. 

For the women out there who had the childhood traumas and have not had a chance to get the help to deal with the after affects I also say, hang in there and have hope. Help is out there.  Look for your own windows to step through and you will find them. 

For so many years my past was covered up by the family members who should have been helping me instead of leaving me to flounder in my own fog of anger, pain, humiliation and dysfunction. It took a near nervous breakdown before I was able to involve other family members in my healing process and then find a therapist to get me on the road to recovery. Without my family, church family and husband I never would have had the support and encouragement I needed to succeed and be where I am today, a happy well adjusted college student picking up the pieces of a life that I have reclaimed for my own.

I encourage everyone who has been through any kind of abusive situation to stop the cycle and find yourselves a good network support group and definitely get someone to talk to on a regular basis. Within a month or so you will find yourself beginning to see a difference in your outlook, and you might just see a window you can step through that will give you more of a purpose in life. If you are a spiritual person these windows may lead to spiritual tasks, if not they may lead you to other forms of working in a socially beneficial area. Whichever way you go, the act of focusing on someone/thing other than yourself helps you separate yourself from your own problems for a while. The benefit is in helping others you actually get to see that some people are actually suffering worse problems than yours and in helping them you get a new perspective on yourself and the world.

Very soon you will find yourself beginning to look forward to a future free of the ghosts of the past and you know that you will be able to successfully move forward. I'm not saying the journey is easy, or short, it depends on you and your past. What I am saying is the journey is worth it, no matter how hard it becomes at times.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

My Future Becomes My Own

So here I am in college, enjoying my classes and my friends and taking control of my future as best I can. I do well in my classes for the most part, but after the date rape I don't put as much effort as I should or could into them. I have not yet reached the place where I am okay with who I am and what I have experienced. I have been judged harshly and found wanting by a person who was supposed to help me. During my follow up visit to the Dr. after my trip to the emergency room, my mother took me to this one, instead of asking what happened or showing concern for me, the Dr. lectured me on Christianity and told me I would not be in the position I was in if I had practiced abstinence as Christ preached. I can still see this man's face and his name was Dr. Douglas. Clearly he missed his compassion classes in medical school. I thought mom was going to go over his desk and throttle him, we didn't bother to tell him that I had been raped, we just took the prescriptions he wrote for me and left and never went back to him. We were careful to see other Dr.'s for any more follow ups. 

I didn't stay in college very much longer, I ended up going to a business school to become a Legal Secretary and didn't even reach that goal. It seems that I didn't have the right last name nor did I speak the correct language so I ended up working at a Pest Control Company, but that turned out to be a really good job and I stayed there for two years working as a  lifeguard as well. I also talked myself into going back for more college. I did this until I met and married my amazing husband and moved away. 

THE WEDDING - My wedding was everything I had always dreamed it would be. I had always wanted a white velvet and satin gown and that is exactly what I got. My mother made it for me. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She hand beaded it and put medallions on by hand. My two sisters-in-law wore dresses made from the same pattern, but in satin and in my wedding colors of white and emerald. All of my nieces were flower girls and my nephew was our ring bearer. My eldest brother walked me down the aisle in place of my father and my other brothers stood with my husband along with his brother and best man. My mother made every dress for the wedding except her own. Each flower girl matched, I made the rings of flowers they wore in their hair and even my Father-in-law arrived in time for the ceremony in spite of threatening not to because of a UIL competition he was involved in. I had  told him that if he wasn't there then the wedding would not happen. He used to laugh at me because I was the only woman who would stand up to him. I never backed down from that man, even when everyone else did. 

After our reception we went to a hotel on the beach for the night and the next day we flew to Coco Beach, Florida for a week. We are still on our honeymoon and always will be. Our love is one of those that feels as new and good today as it did yesterday. It grows stronger every day with everything we have been through and I'm sure there will be more to come, our love has and will sustain us and keep us going for as long as we both are breathing.

Now we are living away from family, working together at the same company and really enjoying life with our wonderful teenage son. We visit family as often as we can and enjoy our family life and the company of some really good friends we have known since we moved away from family    18 years ago. We have our Church and friends, who are really like family actually, great jobs, everything we could ask for. God has blessed us with so much and we are so thankful for all we have. 

A Brief Aside

I started a new stage in my life recently - I went back to school! I have been thinking of continuing my education for some time but never pursued it.  I finally bit the bullet and discussed it with my husband and when he said I should go for it I did. 

I am enrolled at the University of Phoenix just about to finish my first semester and really enjoying it.  I am majoring in Communications.  I was concerned about starting all over again, but surprisingly I was able to transfer 28 hours from my mispent youth so come this time next year I will have my first degree.  I will then continue on up the educational ladder, as far as I am concerned the sky's the limit.  I didn't think I was going to be able to do this, but I actually have a 100 in one class and a 95 in the other - I wish I had done this sooner.

Everyone is being so supportive I really can't believe it.  The hours are long but I know they are going to be worth it and I know that having my son see me excel in my classes will show him how important college is.  I even try to involve him in some of my discussions getting his opinions on different issues we happen to be covering. I think he finds it interesting, especially my Cultural Diversity discussions.

I really can't wait to see where this takes me, it is so exciting.  I can feel things bubbling up inside of myself just waiting to explode into the world and I know I can do whatever I set my mind to.  There is no stopping me this time!

Beautiful Bloggable Me

My Future Begins

The summer after I graduate, things are pretty normal, if that is a word I can apply to myself. I worked as lifeguard, hung out with my friends and looked forward to starting college in the fall.  I don't remember anything really exciting or life changing happening.  I went to Maggie's Grandparent's ranch and picked up a car that Mom had bought for me from them.  We were supposed to spend a week there, but our trip got cut short when a friend of ours was in a serious car accident back in Corpus Christi.  We wanted to get back and visit him in the hospital.  It was horrible.  He didn't recognize any of us and spent a long time in rehab.  Thank God he was able to recover and today is living nearby in Round Rock and stays in touch.  He is another brother and I speak with him often.

The fall finally comes and I can get back to school.  I love learning.  I love books.  I declare a double major in History and English with a minor in Theatre.  I have my eye on either law school of something in the political science field.  I love my studies and when the swimming pools close for the season I take a job as a nanny and also one at the college in the audio visual department to pay for my studies.  


What a wide new world this is for me.  My teachers are as different as can be.  My French teacher, Madame Sullivan is beautiful and flamboyant and so very dramatic.  My English Professor, Professor Erwin, is a flower child straight out of the '70s.  Any class preceding an exam is a required meditation session.  You could drop into his office any time and have herbal tea with him.  He never closed his door when he was in his office, the opening was covered with   a curtain of beads.  My Math Professor Dr. Patel was a kindly little man who would sit patiently with you and explain any concept you were having difficulty with, regardless with how many times it took.  We practiced Tai Chi in Humanities, and I remember how my Humanities teacher tried so hard to get me to like "The Rites of Spring" a piece of music I despise to this day.


The friends I made!!!! Oh my, how different they were.  I had never before met people who enjoyed playing Chess and Backgammon, Mancala and other games of strategy and thinking.  In between classes and at lunch time we would meet and discuss philosophy, play our games and challenge each other's intellects.  Our favorite was a word game where one person started with just one word and the next person continued with the next word, but the word had to be related to the original word - but also next in alphabetical order.  Very challenging.  On weekends we would meet at the beach and have bonfires and continue where we had left off with our week.  The best beach nights were the ones when the fluorescent algae were running.  We would romp around in the surf and shake our hair or arms and legs and glow green as we ran around.  These were great times that I know I will never forget.

Of course, it couldn't all be perfect roses.  There was a guy in my Theatre class I had a crush on.  He was good looking, and for some reason he started paying attention to me.  I couldn't understand why, I was no-one special, but I was flattered.  One day he asked me out.  Dinner at his parent's house.  How much safer could that be.  Off I went.  We had pizza with his parents and then as we were watching television I realized they had disappeared.  He told me they had slipped of to their room so we could watch t.v. on our own.  He brought me a drink, no problem, I was legal and it was only one.  How wrong could I be.  Drinking that drink was the last thing I remember, until I woke up with him on top of me.  I was able to push him off and pulled myself together enough to get myself home.  I didn't tell anyone what happened until a week later - that's when I ended up in the emergency room in excruciating pain.  It turns out the creep gave me five std's, four of which could be cured, one of which I will have to live with for the rest of my life.  All of those std's cost me four of my children.  I have one. One miracle from God.  One who I am told should not exist, because I am not supposed to be able to have any.  But God will not be denied.


And I have my wonderful husband.  In all the years since this happened I have dated.  I never gave up.  But I was always honest with those I dated and gave them the choice as to whether or not they wanted to date me.  Until I met my husband the answer was always no.  I will tell you this, the minute I saw him, I fell in love with my husband and I knew that he was the one that God had set aside for me.  On our first date I told him my story and waited for him to say that he was sorry, but he did not want to deal with anything like I had told him.  I held my breath and this wonderful man reached over, took my hand in his and said he had made his choice and that if I trusted him enough to share my pain with him, he trusted me enough to keep him safe.  We have been together for 19 amazing years.  We have been through the pain of losing four children, but we have also shared the joy of bringing our amazing son into the world and the joy  of raising him together.  We have also shared the joy of our life together.  And I tell you this, I would go through all the years of pain again if it meant having the joy of the past 19 years that I have had.


I believe that our past helps shape who we become, but it does not define us.  If my past defined me, I would be a bitter hateful person. Instead, I like to think that it has helped me understand better the pain that people feel as they travel through the tribulations in their lives.  I have always said that my past is a part of me but it is not the whole of me.  All things happen for a reason and I believe that I was meant to travel the road that I have travelled in order to help others, and if I can help just one person, then it has been worth it.  My goal is to reach as many people as possible.  I know I am not the only person to have experienced these things, if I can reach others so much the better.  I honestly believe that this is the plan God has for me. This is the window He wants me to step through.


Beautiful Bloggable Me

Post Traumatic Stress...

Senior Year!!!!  I made it!!!  I had my cocoon of friends around me - those that hadn't graduated the previous year. I had spent two weeks at Stephen F. Austin State University at a their Summer Theatre Workshop for the second summer in a row.  My school sent two students each summer based on grades and performance in Theatre Arts.  I was the first person to be selected to go two years in a row.  I know Mr. Mangrum had something to  do with it because of what I had gone through the year before.


Mags and I had our college plans all made and were set to have an awesome year.  I know it was a good year, but to be honest, I don't really remember it.  I was kindof working on auto pilot.


I had yet to grieve for my father, but I didn't know this was the problem.  I wasn't even aware that there was a problem until my mother realized that I hadn't gotten my monthly visitor in a long, long time.  I was taken to the doctor, but there was nothing physically wrong with me.  It wasn't until the Dr. asked me if I had thought about suicide that I realized I had been thinking about it.  Welcome to the psychiatric department.  Here comes the long questionnaire, all the questions and my mother telling the shrink that my father had died the previous December.  Here we go.  


These are the stages of grief - which one do you think you are on?  I wasn't on any of them.  I had gotten over it and moved on with life - that's what I do.  Can I change it? No? Carry on then. But, wait, wasn't I angry at my father for dying?  Why should I be? He didn't choose to die.  Was I angry with God for taking my father?  Why should I be?  God puts us on earth to serve a purpose, and when we have fulfilled His purpose he calls us home - what is there to be angry about.  I kid you not, I spent at least 6 months going back and forth with this guy over the anger issue.  Of all the shrinks in the world, I get stuck with the guy who insists that you HAVE to go through each and every stage of grief - and in order no less - before you can move on with your life.  


He successfully brought me through most of the stages of grief, but in all our time together I would never say I was angry at my father or God - and I had yet to cry. I would not release the control.  So, I learned relaxation exercises, I learned self hypnosis that to this day has messed up my ability to meditate (a very dear friend has given this ability back to me via an alternate process). 


It wasn't until later in the year, while on a Theatre trip to see a play in San Antonio that I had breakthrough.  We had gone to see On Golden Pond at a dinner theatre and on the way back to  Corpus I suddenly broke down and completely lost it.  Again, Mr. Mangrum was there for me.  He sat with me while I cried for almost the whole 2 hour journey.  It was then that I realised what I had been feeling all those long months and it wasn't my shrink who helped me figure it out - it was the great - and I mean great google him if you don't believe me - actor Pat O'Brian and his wife.  They played the principle parts in the play.  I remembered that my father had been ill shortly before he died - and I blamed myself.  It was guilt I had been feeling.  My father worked so hard to give us all a good life, and he was a student at the local college carrying a 4.0 average.  Well, I used to usher at the theatre in Corpus and my junior year they put on a production of On Golden Pond.  I was, of course, ushering, but that meant my mother had to keep the car (we only had one) so she could get me to and from the theatre and then we would pick my father up from school after the play ended.  When we finally got to pick Dad up, the classes were finished and the school was locked up and there was Dad standing in the rain waiting for us.  He got ill the next week and it was shortly after he recovered that he passed away.


All this time I had been blaming myself and it was the play that finally brought it out.  To this day, I have not felt angry at the death of my father and I have since learned through other therapies and my training as a Stephen Minister that the stages of grief are not set in stone.  Not everyone goes through them in the same order, and some skip stages,  nor is there a set time for the grieving process to begin and end.  I like to think of the grieving process in the same way the Amish view forgiveness.  One day you grieve and feel better, but then another day you may have to grieve again.  It is an ongoing process individual to each and every one of us.  It is our own personal window that we have to step through on our own terms.  My hope and prayer is that if you are grieving, you have someone by your side to help you through it.


Beautiful Bloggable Me

What I Learned in High School

What I learned in High School...I learned that there are many kinds of people.  I know I was a geek, there were the jocks, the heads, the kickers and probably some I have forgotten.  I had friends in each category, although the jocks I was friends with weren't important jocks.  They were the tennis players, I actually played on the tennis team for a short time.  I remember we called our coach Farrah because she had Farrah Fawcett hair, it was hilarious. 

My friends who were heads were friends because they were the people who threw the cool parties and that's where the drama geeks usually ended up. 

Kickers is what everyone called the cowboys.  I had quite a few friends in that group.  My best friend there was Maggie. We did pretty much everything together when we weren't in school.  We had most of our classes together, too.  Summers were great with Mags.  Her parents also became second parents, although they are Mama and Daddy.  I talk to Mags to this day.  Her grandparents became mine and we would go to their ranch and ride 'ole blue who liked to rub up against trees with you on his back.  We had so much fun doing everything that high school girls are supposed to do. 

The other thing I learned in High School is what real pain is.  Shortly after I completed training to be a lifeguard my mother woke me in the early hours of the morning to come help my father.  I didn't know what was wrong, she said he had made a funny sound and stopped breathing.  She came to get me because I was CPR certified.  When I walked into my parent's room I knew it was already too late.  I won't share the gross medical reasons that told me this, I just knew.  There was nothing I could do.  My mother had meanwhile gotten my older brother and he jumped right in and started CPR.  I can still hear him screaming at my father to breath.  When the ambulance arrived they hooked him up to some mechanical CPR machine and the last thing I remember seeing of my father was him being wheeled out of the house with some big suction cup pulling his chest up and down.

My mom and brother went to the hospital with dad, I stayed home with my Granparents and younger brother.  In all of the stress and anxiety of the waiting I was able to lay down and go to sleep, if you can imagine that.  Now I'm going to testify to something that has shaped my life from that day on.  As I sleapt I had a dream, but it wasn't like a dream.  There was a bright light and a beautiful man came out of the light and told me that my father was dead and that I was going to have to stay calm and keep it together for the rest of the family.  He told me that my mother was going to need me and that I was going to have to take care of things for her.  Next thing I know my mother is coming through the door, a total wreck.  She tried to tell me that my father was dead and I told her I already knew.

My brother was devastated that he had been unable to save our father and my younger brother just sat in a chair with a blanket over his head and screamed and cried, he was twelve.  My Grandparents were shell shocked, they had moved down from Ohio about a year before so my Grandfather could spend his last years with my father. 

As that morning progressed I remember going through my parent's address book and calling all of my "Aunts and Uncles" from the military to let them know what had happened.  Those were some of the most difficult phone calls I ever made.

I think it was about 8 or 9 am when our doorbell wrang and the visitors started arriving.  They were my Church family.  Mom and I had joined the Church officially just three weeks prviously.  I don't know how they found out, but there was always someone there to take care of things for us.  They drove us to meet my older brother's at the airport, we had enough food to feed a third world country.   We didn't have to worry about anything.  And Mr. Mangrum, my drama teacher was there, too. 

There are still some things about this time that amaze me.  The people who reached out to us.  And when I went back to school, that was the hardest.  I had anxiety attacks, and Mr. Mangrum was there each and every step of the way, so were my friends.

That was the biggest lesson I learned - the true meaning of friendship.  I couldn't have made it without all of them.  To this day I am grateful that they were by my side and I will never forget them for it.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

Waiting on Changes

Eighth grade was a never ending time of anger, angst, depression, defiance, and rejection.  I still played my flute, but even that was a form of torture.  The band director refused to allow me to challenge for first chair because she had applied for the job as director at Dwight and been turned down.  As soon as she found out where I came from I might as well have not existed.  I joined the choir, but never really  fit in there either, my voice had not developed into what would eventually become Contralto.  Again, joining did nothing as far as making friends since choir was where the "popular" kids belonged.  I remember once, I had broken my foot and had it in a cast.  My spot was on the top riser and a particularly vicious girl thought it would be funny to push me off.  She just turned around and shoved me right in the middle of the chest.  I went off backwards completely out of control. 

This one girl, who I must say was also not one of the popular kids, used to go out of her way to terrorize me.  There were more than several physical confrontations throughout the year one of them a literal fight ring with us in the middle.  I refused to fight, and this girl, who was almost three times my size was determined to beat the crap out of me.  It was the counselor who saw what was happening and broke things up.  If she hadn't, that girl would have put a serious hurt on me.

It was during this year that I found the "losers club".  These were other kids who didn't fit in in one way or another.  I don't remember at what point in the year we started it, but we became a "losers lunch club".  We took to spending our lunch times together, talking and hanging together. In a way, we were protecting each other.  We had some interesting conversations together, I mean really interesting.  More fantasy than reality most of the time.  We were geeks, that's what geeks do.  It was here that I slowly came to be accepted.  None in this circle judged my clothing, unwashed hair or attitude.  We all belonged, and to this day my heart goes out to the misfits everywhere.

The summer following eighth grade was the first time I held a job.  I spent the summer babysitting and saving my money so I could buy my own school clothes for 9th grade.  I was actually pretty proud of myself.  There was some store, I don't remember the name of it, but I went with mom and chose my clothes and put them on layaway and paid them off over the summer with my earnings.  The clothes weren't that bad (although I could probably have done without the jeans with the fringe down the legs).  If I could say anything about them it would be that they were too old for me.  Mom helped me choose them and I think she was thinking of how the young women dressed when she was growing up.  I don't have to tell you the impression they made on my classmates.  Wool skirts and pumps are just not what girls were wearing in 1980.  At least I still had my loser friends and in high school the circle had widened.  I had finally found my niche - I was a drama geek!  I was in heaven! I fit in somewhere and loved it!  Here was my window to step through.  Not only did I have friends, but I also had a great teacher who seemed to understand me.  Mr. Mangrum taught me to walk with my head up and to take pride in who and what I was.  I'm not saying that life was perfect, but it was so much better. 

It was in high school that I met one of the friends who would change my life in the best way.  Clay invited my to Church with him one Sunday and next thing I know, I'm in the choir and have been active in the Church ever since.  Once I got started at Church with Clay there was no looking back.  Clay and I became such good friends that I even called his parents Mom and Dad, still do as a matter of fact.  Even though I haven't seen Clay in years, we have communicated via email and follow each others face book pages to keep track.  So here was another window for me to step through. 

High school was definitely looking up.  I spent all four years in the Drama club, lettered all four years as well, and found my Faith Family.  I had joined the Church and would eventually be married there.  I still go when visiting home.  I have many friends there, including my Counselor from Jr. High and High School.  These are people who have been in my life since high school, have literally watched me change from an insecure scared kid into the woman I am today.  They were there for me when my father died, when I got married and when I had my son.  Some are facebook friends today and are able to follow how things are going.  This is my family and I love them and they love me. 

The changes I was so desperately waiting on were coming, slowly but surely.  I was becoming...me, and God was there with big strong shoulders whenever I needed Him.  And I am thankful  to those who brought me to Him...finally.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

The Changes that Changed Me

At some point I settled into my life at Dwight and even found a happy medium.  I learned to be who I was and even play up those attributes that got me the most attention.  These were not always my best attributes, but I still had my friend and that was all I really needed and I had my neighbor who also played flute and we would practice together to shut out the noisy world around us.

1977, my oldest brother has graduated from high school and decides to go into the Air Force like our father.  My heart is breaking.  I don't know why, but I have always looked to him and felt closer to him than my other brothers.  I still remember the day he left.  He was a stamp collector.  He had an album into which he carefully mounted his collection.  On the morning he left, he came into my room and slid it under my pillow and kissed me on the forehead.  I don't think he realized I was awake, but thinking about it now still makes me cry.  I was never able to bring myself to add anything to the album.  I put the loose stamps into little envelopes so they wouldn't get lost, but I couldn't make any changes to it.  It is today as he left it back in 1977.  Sometimes I take it out and look through it, but for the most part it lives in the back of my filing cabinet where it is safe. 

Our home would never be the same. 

My father announced that he was retiring and we would be moving.  As horrible as this place had been, I had never lived anywhere as long as I had lived here.  I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my sister. 

We left, I think, a week before the school year ended and moved to Corpus Christi.  I had a whole summer ahead of me with no friends.  All I had was the promise that I could go and spend time with my friend and she could come down and spend time with us.  My older brother, who would be a senior in High School stayed in San Antonio with my Grandmother and Uncle so he could graduate from the same high school because he was going to the Air Force Academy.  This left me, my third older brother and my younger brother at home with our parents. 

Dad's retirement didn't mean much.  He worked a full time job and went to school full time, so when he wasn't working or at school he was studying.  The only thing that had changed was the demographics for us.  As usual Dad had researched the schools and moved us into the best school district.  Unfortunately, this meant the district with the wealthiest families, which we were not. 

Come time to enroll in school I was escorted to the counselor's office with my parents.  Carolyn Merritt, the enemy at the time, informed me that if I performed as I was capable of performing, there was a good chance that I could skip 9th grade like my oh so smart brother.  What no one realized was that I didn't care.  By this time, I was my own worst enemy.

I was approached by girls and initially made friends, until I refused to wear purple on purple day, or because my daddy didn't own x number of oil wells and I didn't have any Jordache jeans.  It was at this point that I began wearing jeans, my dads combat boots, baggy shirts and a dirty denim jacket.  I had my mom put my long hair into teeny tiny braids at night and the next day brush it out into a huge mess.  I didn't bathe regularly, I just didn't care.  I didn't wear make-up, I just shlumped through life trying to fade into the back ground.

Several teachers tried to reach me.  They saw my potential and saw what I was doing to myself, but there was nothing to be done.  It wasn't until I found the "loser's club" that I felt at home and found some real friends.  Some of these friends I have still today.  Some of the teachers who tried to reach me, including Ms. Merritt I have still today.  Some of these people helped save me from myself and I would meet even more in High School, but that is another story for another day.

Today is about being lost in a world that doesn't know how to find you.  Being lost and not knowing how to find yourself.  Being lost and watching the world go on around you as you scream for someone to please, please recognize the agony that your soul is in.  Please, please, reach down and pull the pain and hatred out of your being. 

When I look back today, it does not surprise me that there were so many young people committing suicide back  then.  There was no one looking for them.  No one to recognize the needs that were out there.  The only "help" out there when I was out there was literally sex, drugs and rock and roll.  Those were the sub cultures of our youth.  You were either a head (drugs), a banger (rock), a cowboy, a slut or a loser (because you wouldn't choose one of the above).  I was a loser because I was also a brain.  That was the least desirable of the sub cultures (loser-brains).  I didn't care. 

My parents pushed me, my teachers pushed me and the harder they pushed the harder I pushed back and did as little as possible to pass.  I could care less.  The future held nothing for me as far as I was concerned.  Look at what the past had given me - what could I possibly have to look forward to?  There was nothing out in the world I wanted.  The world had never given me anything and I expected even less at this point.  8th grade did nothing to change my opinion of the world.

I had yet to find the next window that I was to step through.  Depression had a strong hold on me and it was not going to give up easily.  It would be a long time coming and many hurdles to cross.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

It's Time for My Scout to Come Home

I did it!!  I cried a little.  I gave him my Haitian Prayer Angel to tuck down in his trunk, and I talked his ear off about what-if situations - but I did it.  I let him go to West Texas for a week.  No cell phones, no computers no contact (well, one e-mail from a leader letting us know they had made it through the first day and that the consensus among the boys was that it was fun, but HOT).

I did it, now it's Friday and I don't think I want to wait until tomorrow night to see him.  It's time to bring him home.  I have proven to myself that I can do it, now I want to be put out of my misery.  There are still things I would like to do with him before school starts.  Watch him as he sleeps and wonder how he and a Great Dane both fit on a twin bed.  Argue with him over getting chores done before he can disappear to a friend's house.  Take him school clothes shopping and pretend to be shocked by his choices.  Argue about him taking Cotillion classes again this year and then sit back and watch how much fun he has once they start.  Oh so many things still to be done.

The main point is - I let him go for a whole 8 days - I gave him to God and God has not let me down.  Now bring him home please.

That's all I needed say this morning.  What are the lyrics from Les Mis "One more dawn, one more day, one day more!"

Beautiful Bloggable Me

Please Help Me I'm Falling

Another new school year.  I'm big time now - 6th grade - honor society!  Mr. Bebon, my first teacher crush.  The dude was a coach and he was built.  Still in the noisy school, but this year we have a new Principal and his son is in my class.  What a problem child.  Spoiled, fat and annoying as hell.  Just my luck he has a crush on me.  He won't leave me alone.  One day he slaps my butt as I am handing out papers for Mr. Bebon, I of course slap him across the face.  Boys don't do that to ladies, my brothers taught me that.  This dork starts chasing me around the classroom, what a stupid ass thing to do. I of course run, it is quite the foot chase until he catches me and pins me against one of the cabinets that divide the classrooms.  He keeps pushing and pushing like he's trying to squash me.  He won't stop.  Then I feel the cabinet starting to tip.  I yell for him to stop, that the cabinet is tipping - he doesn't believe me.  We all know what is coming - CRASH.  Over goes the cabinet and lands on a desk on the other side.  thank God there wasn't a student in it at the time, he/she would have been killed.  For the first time, that school went quiet.  It was shockingly still.  We were all looking at each other and I was wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this one.  You won't believe it, and sometimes I wonder myself, but someone chose that moment to pull the fire alarm.  I was so relieved I almost peed my pants.  I knew I could slip away during the chaos of the evacuation.  I had it all planned out.  I would run home and tell mom what happened so she and dad could help me.  Just as our class lined up, Mr. Bebon grabs me by my neck with one hand, he has my nemesis in the other.  No escaping this time.  I don't remember what the punishment was and that is basically all I remember of 6th grade.  The year to  come would shadow all of the years to follow.

Dwight D. Eisenhower Jr. High School.  I loved that place, I hated that place.  Changing classes for the first time.  Having lockers for the first time.  Tons of new faces.  Again, one of the few white kids in the school.  I started out in the honor society again this year.  The Deltas.  Blue and white uniforms.  Standing duty in the halls at class changings.  I could definitely live without this, and eventually I did.  My grades dropped to the point that I was ousted from the Honor Society.  Who cares.  It was just another way for me to stand out - even worse than I already did.  

I don't know how many elementary schools emptied into this one junior high, but it was crowded - and the new kids - the ones I didn't know - had their own kind of mean.  I remember being devastated at one point in the school year because some really nasty girls had started the rumor that my brother and I were having sex together.  That cut so deep in so many different ways.  It was probably because I wasn't allowed to date, neither was he.  We weren't old enough, according to our parents.  It really doesn't matter why they did it, once it was said there was no going back.

The only refuge I had at this school was the band hall.  I can still smell the band hall.  For some reason I felt safe there.  In the band hall I could stand on my own two feet.  My favorite place was the instrument room.  It smelled of instrument polish and valve oil.  It was safe.  Mr. Sidel, the band director, was safe.  Don't ask me why, I just knew.  During my 7th grade year I played the flute in the 7th grade band and the french horn in the 8th grade band.  Band was the only place I felt on equal footing with everyone else.  It was the only time I really felt like a member of a team.  It felt good.  I think that this was the most secure I had felt since coming to the United States.

Little did I know, my world was about to change yet again....

Beautiful Bloggable Me 

Another Brief Aside

I have just seen my son off to yet another campout with the Boy Scouts.  He sure does love camping and all things Boy Scout.  Between BSA and Church Group his social calendar is busier than mine.  I am thrilled that he has these outlets.  He is very smart and needs the stimulation.  I miss him when he is camping and on Mission Trips, but I am glad that he is able to do all the things I never got to.

Okay, I'm happy for him, but my gut will always wonder where he is and what is going on.  A couple of weeks ago my husband comes home from the Scout meeting with him and informs me that in July our son will be gone for a whole week.  Let me repeat that - he will be gone a whole week - at Boy Scout Summer Camp in West Texas.  I think (though some would disagree) that I now know what a guy feels like when he is kicked in the balls.  I literally had to catch my breath and compose myself before speaking. 

My head and heart are saying hooray for him.  He will have a blast and everything will be fine.  My gut and my past are screaming in agony.  NOOOOO, he can't leave us for a whole week, and not so far away.  I can't watch him and protect him so far from home.  My head is saying - you know all the leaders and kids who are going, he'll be fine.  He'll have a great time and nothing will happen to him.  My gut just doesn't trust anyone with my child.

This is where my resolve to keep my past as far from him as I can wars with my anger and mistrust of the world.  I have always said that my past is a part of me, but it doesn't dictate who I am...until now.  How can I separate the two me's?  It's not that I can't let go of him.  I realize that he needs these experiences in order to grow.  It is my fear that wants to hold on to him and never let him be hurt.  He is excited and I am trying to be excited for him, but I gotta tell you, it is going to be the longest week of my life. 

When he gets home, all jazzed up from the trip, I will be the most relieved parent on the planet.  I will share his experiences and moments of discovery, and I will be truly happy for him - but I will be happier for me.  Is that as selfish as it sounds?  I can't help it.

All I can ask is for God to watch over my child and help him make good choices and decisions.

But I am still scared.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

Down Hill and Up Again

Hill, Michelle's last name was Hill.  As warped as it may seem, considering what I talked about last time, I really enjoyed being at her house.  I would watch as her mother "scratched" her head before washing it and wonder what the deal was.  I loved the music that was always blaring, it was groovy - "don't rock the boat baby".  It wasn't all bad, just the pretend playing.  Playing dr. 

Okay, we are at a new school, Antonio Olivares Elementary school.  a huge, modern, open floor plan thing where it was never quiet.  Michelle is still around at this point, but I know she is leaving, she told me.  I feel like my best friend is going away forever, which she is, I never heard from her once they moved.

I wander, friendless, alone.  There are a couple of girls on my block, but the only way they will play with me is if I swallow dry pieces of dog poop like pills first.  Looking back, it was humiliating, but hey, I wasn't alone.  Then my hill becomes less steep.

The first time I saw her, she was wearing a rabbit fur coat.  She has long wavy hair and is the most popular girl in school.  Of course, I'm not cool enough for her.  I don't speak Spanish, I don't have cool clothes.  I wanted her for my friend.  MY friend.

One day, without even checking with Mom, I follow her home, straggling behind her and the group of friends she is with.  I watch as they go to her house.  I finally get my nerve up enough to go and ring the doorbell.  A woman opens the door and asks me in.  The girls are all in the backyard.  I am not welcome, but the woman tells her daughter that I am a guest in their home and that she should be nice to me. 

That's how it all started.  We are still friends today.  She had something I desperately needed - no siblings, and I had just what she needed - rowdy brothers to play with.  I can't tell you when we became "sisters", I just know that we are and always will be.  We can go months without talking and it's like it was just a day.

I don't know if she knows, I have tried to tell her, how much her friendship has meant all these years.  It was her father who bought me my first makeup.  He took me to the makeup counter at JC Penney's and she helped pick out my colors.  I was so excited and proud.  I don't remember what my parents said about the makeup - I don't think I was even allowed to wear it yet.  I think that's why her father got if for me, he knew and he cared.  All the other girls were wearing it and I stuck out like a sore thumb.

My years of hell were behind me, but again, the damage was done and nothing was going to repair my injured psyche.

Okay,  4th grade.  I am secure in my friendships.  My life is somewhat normal, if you discount the odd fascination I had with sex and my own body.  I knew something was wrong, but it would be a long time before I knew what.

Our family had Bassett Hounds.  Short little lazy fat dogs.  Adorable, but too small to scare the meaner peoples of the neighborhood away from our house.  The kids actually laughed at them and threw rocks at them through the fence.  Dad decides we need a better watch dog.  One day he comes home with a St. Bernard.  Beautiful animal, and I LOVE animals!  One day, out of the blue, the dog decides to bite me.  Did you know that you can fit a 4th grader's face in the mouth of a St. Bernard?

All I remember is putting a hand to my face and saying - "He bit me!"

The emergency room at Wilford Hall Medical Center.  Lights, stabbing pain in my face.  Tugging, Dr's talking.  My Dad never left my side. 

It took close to 200 stitches to close up all of the wounds on my face.  I am bandaged up, given anti-biotics and sent home.  If I wasn't an interesting enough insect for the bullies at school yet, now, I had hit the trifecta - and the bullies weren't all kids.  My 4th grade teacher herself called me dogface.  She was a particular nasty piece of works.  She took great pleasure in tormenting her students - except for her favorites.

This was really my year for being "different".  The dog bite wasn't enough, my Dad decided I was too moody, cried too easily.  Off to group therapy.  Get picked up from school, in front of everyone by my Dad and go off to become "normal".  I was moody,  I did cry too easily, hell, I even slumped around with bent shoulders.  The dr. was consulted as to whether or not I needed a back brace - good grief - please paint a target on me! My Dad even took me to the dr. because my boobs weren't developing evenly - one was bigger than the other - PLEASE!!!!  I don't know how, but I did survive 4th grade.

5th grade - what a change!  My teacher is a soft spoken, loving, gentle southern lady.  She even knew the relatives of Laura Ingalls Wilder - my hero.  How I envied Laura Ingalls Wilder. 

I breezed through fifth grade in relative security.  If I didn't play dodge ball I was safe, I got left alone.  I spent most of my recess time on the far outskirts of the play ground and dirt field it was attached to.  I even made a few other friends out there. 

One of them lived in a junkyard - literally.  Her back yard was scrap cars and all kinds of cool junk.  The perfect place to play hide-n-seek or just hang out in.  I love junkyards.

I spent the night at another friends house.  I spent the night slapping and picking at the fleas that covered me in her house.  We didn't even sleep in the same room.  I don't know what the purpose of us having a sleep over was.  We didn't even get to stay up late.  I hate fleas.

All this time, I still had my favorite friend.

I also had something else.  I had a NEED,  a NEED to find God.  I loved going to Church.  I went with whomever I could.  I did Catholic, Baptist and a few that I have no clue, let's just call them very enthusiastic Christians. 

At one Church, I personally witnessed mass hysteria, heck, I even joined in.  I remember, I had a cast on my arm (I was soooo clumsy) and I couldn't stop sobbing.  Their father actually had to carry me to the truck from the service.  I have never experienced that again. 

God always WAS.  I knew he was there somewhere, I just needed to find him.  I needed to find that next window to step through. 

Beautiful, Bloggable Me

Start Spreading the News

Where were we?  Oh, yeah, the plane lands in beautiful New York.  I couldn't tell you where specifically, but we were state-side.  

To my parents knowledge, we were supposed to go to Colorado Springs from New York - but wait - a new packet of orders waiting for Dad.  We are to proceed to San Antonio, TX - do not pass go, do not collect $200. 

Now, to some people, this would not be an issue, however, my father being who he was, had already researched schools in Colorado Springs and picked a place for us to live, close to the base of course.  San Antonio was an unknown, a mystery to us all. 

To San Antonio then.  Brooks AFB, we are housed here temporarily until Dad can find a house close to Kelly AFB - his new duty station, and until our household goods arrive from over-seas.  We don't even have a car.  Somewhere Dad finds a VW Bug - mind you, we are a family of 7 - he finds a bug.  The baby sits on Mom's lap, the three older boys share the backseat and I lay on the top of the backseat.  It was like a window ledge.  One day the window ledge gave out and I found to my delight a little cubby sort of place for me to sit more comfortably.  We tootle around S.A. in this bug and then a house is found near the base and our furnishings arrive.  Compared to housing today, this house was tiny.  It had three four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, dining/kitchen room and a not too small backyard.  What this house also had was the area of S.A. it was located in - the armpit of TX.

In this neighborhood I would make my first new friends, and enemies.  The family that lived next door were very nice, unfortunately they barely spoke English, and Spanish sounding so much like Italian to me I immediately tried talking in Italian.  I was greeted by Texmex Spanish and a wall came crashing down in my poor little brain.  To this day, I have been unable to learn Spanish - the mental block is too firmly entrenched.  The girl I met, however, would become one of my best friends and her parents always welcomed me in their home.  I can still smell homemade tortillas cooking over an open flame on the stove, and oh, the beans were heavenly.

Dad had to report to duty asap so he did not really get a good chance to investigate the schools, or the area.  For a while, I attended a private school with my older brother, but was so unhappy there I actually wrote a paper, perfectly I might add, in mirror script.  My parents were advised to pull me out and send me to public school.  So I went, and this is where everything spins out of my control and my life is forever changed.  Hutchins Elementary School, armpit of S.A., TX.  I was ill equipped to deal with the peers I encountered here.  I had been taught to be respectful, honest, trustworthy and trusting.  Trusting - this is the most dangerous thing a child can be taught to be. 

This particular blog is going to be the most difficult to get through, I think.  So much happened in that period of my life.  It has totally made me who I am today, and as weird as that sounds, good has come out of the bad.

The Bad

Her name was Michelle.  I don't remember her last name, all I remember is that we made friends quickly and fast - as in we were fast friends. 

She had brothers and sisters in Jr. High and High School.  We were little 2nd graders who looked up to everyone older than us.  We loved playing together, but then her brothers and sisters decided to play too.  I still remember the first time her older brother "played" with me.  There was no easing into it, no mild molestation, it was full on sex from the beginning.  When he was done with me that first time, I thought he had urinated on me until he told me that I was silly, this was the stuff that made babies. 

I walked around terrified for the longest time thinking I was going to have a baby and wondering what I would tell my parents.  Of course this didn't happen, 2nd graders are incapable of procreation, but I didn't know that. 

These games went on forever and eventually other neighborhood boys joined in.  I can still go back today and point out the houses where I was, bottom line, raped, and where I was taught to perform a strip-tease.  My older brother was also part of these games.  We really had no clue. 

My "games" went on until about 4th - 5th grade.  I don't really remember, I just know it kept happening day after day, week after week --- forever.

Michelle finally moved away, but that didn't matter, the damage was done.  My "games" may have finally ended, but there were still issues.  Our Uncle lived with our Grandmother just across the street from us.  He tried "feeling me up"  a couple of times, but I was so uncomfortable with this that I said something to Mom and she put a stop to it.  Don't ask me why I didn't tell her about the other stuff, I was a kid, what did I know?  All I knew was that Uncle was an adult and that somehow made it different.

Looking back, I sometimes wish I hadn't put a stop to things with Uncle, maybe then he would have left my brother alone?  Who knows?  He was a pedophile, most likely unpreferrential, since he had girly magazines in the trunk by his bed, but he still went after my brother and none of us knew.  I always used to wonder why he preferred my brother's company to mine when friends would visit him from home.  He also used to prefer my friends company when he did take us out, like to the zoo or something.  I used be jealous because he would pay more attention to my friends than to me, his own niece.

In the long run, he got his.  He died a slow painful death of lung cancer.  I should know, I was there.  I sat in his hospital room and counted his breaths and watched him in agony.  This may seem cold, un-Christian, but it is what it is.  It is my belief that people who molest children should die slow, agonizing deaths.

I didn't tell my mother about what happened to me until I was 13 or 14.  When I did tell her, she responded by saying that it was a good thing I hadn't told sooner or my Father would be in prison for murdering the boys involved.  Maybe I had sensed this long ago and that was why I hadn't said anything.  As it was, it wasn't until we left S.A. that I did tell her.

Okay, I need a break.  I'll get back with the rest of this story later.  Thanks for sticking with me.

Beautiful, Bloggable Me

A (Brief?) Aside

I would like to take a look at grief and forgiveness today.  Both of these things are really on my heart, have been for a couple of days.

Grief entered my heart just a few minutes ago when I learned of the death of a wonderful woman.  She was there to help us with Christopher's education when no one else would.  Susan Owens was the Principle at Round Rock Christian Academy for (I believe) over 30 years.  I got to know her as we worked together to make sure that Christopher was getting the education he needed and the molding as a person that all young people need.  She was an amazingly loving, Christian woman who was there in some of the hardest times of my life, and Christopher's life.  We will miss her and be forever grateful for what she brought to our family.  My heart goes out to her husband, children and grand-children whom she loved most dearly.

The topic of forgiveness entered my heart the other night as I cried through the movie version of an incredible book that will always have a place on my book shelf - Amish Grace.  

I cried through the book, and seeing the raw emotions of these gentle people on screen, portrayed so well, I cried through the movie.  If you have not read the book, you really should.  This book could teach all of us a vital lesson, regardless of what Churches we belong to.  

As I watched the movie and recalled the book, one huge question drummed in my mind.  Would I, as a parent, be able to forgive anyone who harmed my child in any way?  Some of the young ladies survived their ordeal at the Nickel Mines School, but 5 did not.  If Christopher were to come to any harm, well, the thought leaves me with the sickest of sickest feelings in my gut.  If he were not here, there would be a hole in my heart and life.  How can one face this, and also forgive this?  I think I would go mad and rage against anyone who tried to tell me that it was God's will, that He had called my child home to him.  Yet, I have always believed that God has a purpose and a plan for each of us, so how can I sit here and question God's will?

The Amish members of the Nickel Mines community gave us an example of God's Grace in times of tragedy.  They also shared with the English community their wisdom and strength in this awful time.  

Many people think that forgiveness is a one time thing.  You forgive and you forget the wrong that has been done to you.  The wise men and women of this community taught me a new understanding of forgiveness.  

I would like to share with you some of their wisdom and strength.  The following are direct quotes from the book Amish Grace, and also from the movie.  You will find no names following these quotes, the Amish are a humble people and seek no individual attention, but act as a community and give all credit to God.

"This is about living our lives with a calm courage that understands that survival lies in reaching out, not striking back."

"Just because I have forgiven, does not mean the pain goes away.  I wake up and the pain tears me apart inside, but then I hand the pain to God, and I forgive the person who caused the pain and I feel better for it.  This I sometimes have to do many times a day.  Forgiving does not mean the absence of pain, but rather, forgiving is the only way to handle the pain.  If I did not forgive, sometimes many times a day, and turn to God, I would wonder how a person stays sane."

"We are not the only victims here.  This poor woman lost her husband, her children lost a father.  This was not their doing, how can we turn our backs on our own neighbor?"

I should note here, that the woman in question is the wife of the man who killed these girls.  She was welcomed as a neighbor and the Amish grieved her loss as much as they grieved their own.  A group of Elders visited her home and extended the hand of love and offered any help she might need.  They brought food and toys for the children and attended her husband's funeral in full support of her and her family.

Now some quotes, also from the book, but not from the Amish.  Everett L. Worthington was asked, by the author, to help in the understanding of forgiveness in the face of such an evil act.

"Decisional forgiveness is a personal commitment to control negative behavior, even if negative emotions continue...promises not to act in revenge or avoidance, but it doesn't necessarily make a person feel less unforgiving."

"Emotional forgiveness happens when negative emotions, resentment, hostility, and even hatred are replaced by positive feelings."

Did I miss something somewhere?  Is it so easy to replace negative emotions with positive ones?  Is this possible?  Could I do it?  These are questions we all must ask ourselves, sometimes many times a day. 

With the plethora of hate in the world today, I ask the simple question:  Are we able to forgive and extend the hand of friendship to those around us? 

Maybe we need to start in our own houses and work our way out.  Forgiveness, I think, is like crime - it gets easier after the first time.

My prayer is that we can learn from our neighbors, take the lessons to heart and do our best to apply them in our own lives.

As to my original question.  I don't know if I would be able to forgive someone who injured my child and I pray to God I need never find out.

Beautiful Bloggable Me

The Clean Slate

Okay,  in order to go forward we must needs go back a little. 

Explanation:  I was on the roof because in Italy that was the backyard.  Laundry was hung on the roof, dogs and all pets lived on the roof.  I should state that it was, actually, our dog who pushed me off the edge.  It was also our dog who let Mom know where I was, she saw his chain dangling over the edge and that is how she found me. 

So here I am, a clean slate.  The only memory I have from this is pain - not the pain you might be thinking.  I don't recall the pain from my injuries - but I move forward too soon.  After I was retrieved from the roof and woke up in the Italian hospital, the Air Force - due to the severity of my condition - commandeered a civilian flight and had me flown to Wiesbaden, Germany.  The plane had to fly below a certain altitude because I had a blood clot behind or in one of my ears.  Above a certain altitude and the clot breaks free and lodges where it can do more damage.  So, below some certain altitude I am flown to Germany. 

Here I spent a long period with my legs in traction and casts on my arms.  I was in traction so long that I actually developed an ulcer on the side of my leg, the scar from which you can still see today. My parents took turns staying with me in the hospital, while back in Italy the other parent took care of the family with help from our military and village friends.  It was during this time that I remember the pain.  Back then the best pain reliever was Morphine and I got plenty of it - until the day I asked for it.  The doctor said that when a five year old asks for a shot, it is time to say no.  Of all the pain I could have remembered this one was the worst.  I can definitely empathize with anyone suffering withdrawals from any kind of drug.  The pain wracks your whole body and you see/hear some funky stuff - kind of like dawn of the dead- you are alive and awake, but you aren't and you can't sleep either.  You are caught in an in-between world that exists only for you.

After traction came the body cast.  From my shoulders to my toes and both arms all immobilized by plaster.  The itching was unbearable - it was truly a difficult time for my entire family.  I was allowed to return to Italy in the body cast and I spent the time in the arms of those who loved me.  I know it was as difficult for them as it was for me.  Can you imagine the whining of a five year old with an itch that can't be scratched?  I also remember my family having to put my "potty bowl" underneath me whenever I had to go.  As I recall, it was red.  I remember how it felt being on it.  I remember how it felt when someone (either one of my parents or one of my two oldest brothers) lifted me using the bar that was in place between my legs to stabilize the cast.  I think about it now and get a lurch in my stomach at the memory of it. 

I couldn't tell you how long I was in the cast - forever maybe?  I can tell you that when I went back to Germany and had it removed all of my skin was brown and crackly dry - I thought the itching was bad before!  What followed the removal was a long time in rehab.  The hospital had these stainless steel, deep whirlpools that I used to have to sit in because that was the only way I could bend my legs without pain.  I would sit in one and look down through the bubbles and see my legs moving and be surprised that I could do it. I also remember sitting in bathtubs of warm water to re-hydrate my poor skin. 

By the time I left Weisbaden for the last time I was able to walk with crutches - barely.  On my return to Italy I was miserable.  It had been cold in Germany so I was wearing red wool tights, but Italy was fairly warm.  I was standing propped against my bed, covered in my beloved "Ballerina" bead spread.  It was so pretty with pink and blue ballerina's all over it - I had it for a long time, even after it was wearing thin.  So, here I was propped against my bed in my room, at home,finally.  I realize I need to go to the bathroom.  I called for my Mother to help me - she was busy - she called back to get my crutches and go on my own - the only problem was they were on one side of the room and I was on the other.  Do you have any idea how itchy wool tights can be when you wet yourself?  I imagine you don't since most tights today are not real wool.  I stood there, and wet myself, and cried.  When Mom was able to come to me I know she felt bad because she didn't realize I couldn't reach my crutches.  She got me cleaned up and that is last memory I have of my recovery time.

Fast forward a little while, and we are on a plane headed for the United States.  I am wearing a silky (polyester) skirt set in navy blue and red print.  I loved that outfit, I still remember how the skirt swung around my legs.  I remember my white socks and black mary-janes.  I have a doll with me and she is hanging up-side down with her feet lodged in the handle on the back of the seat in front of me and I am brushing her long, silky hair.  My parents and brothers are in the seats around me and none of us knows of the surprise waiting for us when we land in New York.  A surprise that would change all of our lives forever. 

Beautiful Bloggable Me

My First Steps

It is said that when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.  It is our choice whether to step through these windows or not...I have chosen to step. 

It was not too long ago, probably about a year, maybe a year and a half, that I was at a meeting at Church and someone asked me what I was doing there,  it was at this point that I realized I was a Window Stepper.  It was the only answer I could come up with... I was stepping through a window that God had provided for me.  How I got to this particular window, and why I chose to step through it will become more clear as this blog continues, for now, let us just say that at that moment in my life I had become a professional window stepper.

I guess this blog is going to be a sort of journal, and if you choose, you can come on this journey with me.  Maybe you will like it, maybe you won't, but the choice to step through this window is entirely your own.
I hope you will join me, I believe I have some things to say...some pretty profound things...and I hope that they will help you in your journey through life and windows.

I don't remember much about my early childhood, I was a baby.  I know I was born in Colorado Springs at the Air Force Academy hospital.  I know that my father was stationed at NORAD when I was born and that my mother stayed at home and took care of me and my three older brothers (more about them later).  From this point on, my life was a whirlwind of travel from one military posting to another through England, Germany and Italy.  My father at some point left for Vietnam.  I wasn't even talking when he left and when he returned I didn't recognize him.  From our reunion on I am told I was a daddy's girl, had him wrapped around my little finger.  From my later life, I know this to be true - we were very close.

My earliest memory is from Christmas in Germany.  I remember holding a package wrapped in tissue paper and I hear my mother's voice telling me to "be careful - it bites".  Inside was a beautiful golden bear with jointed shoulders and hips and head.  I couldn't tell you what I named him, I just knew he was and that I loved him.  I can also tell you that he is now safely tucked away in my cedar chest - a little weather worn, but still whole and still golden.  He is not alone, but he is the one I remember the most.  Any other memories are not really memories, but sounds and smells and feelings.  Smells are the strongest link to my past.  I can smell warm tar and immediately be taken back to Italy, not any concrete images, but the feelings I felt there.  In looking back, I think Italy was the last place I felt completely safe, maybe that is why I try so hard to go back.

When I was four, my younger brother was born.  I wasn't really thrilled with the idea apparently.  I woke him up from his nap one day and was so afraid of getting into trouble I put a pillow over his face to stop his crying - thank goodness Mom was nearby or I wouldn't have the wonderful brother that he is today.  After Germany we went to Italy and it is here, I believe, my window stepping began.

According to family members, I was a very friendly child.  I would speak to strangers as if I had known them all my life.  I was also very trusting of the world around me.  In the village where we lived I had friends in the neighborhood.  There was the little cat's mother and the cobbler around the corner - I still love the smell of good leather.  There was also the man who stood on the corner in the mornings and gave us children fresh green beans to munch on.  It must have been wonderful - I don't remember.   Somewhere in my fifth year of life, whether beginning or ending I don't know, I fell off of the roof of our apartment and landed two floors below on the roof next door.  Needless to say, I was as broken as a puppet without strings.  Two broken legs, two broken arms, a shattered wrist and, to top it all off, a double skull fracture.

Our neighborhood friends helped get me down, my oldest brother was the first to reach me and he told our mother "her brains are coming out!"  After that an Italian taxi took me to the nearest hospital where I woke up four days later sans memories or capabilities.  I was back in diapers and eating eggs out of the shell with a straw.  Everything I knew or had known was gone, I was a clean slate ready to be written on.

I'll leave this now and come back with Chapter 2 later.  Take care and be well my friends and readers (hopefully both).

Beautiful Bloggable Me