My 1 Story

Psalm 139:13-16 You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb. I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are your works! My very self you knew; my bones were not hidden from you. When I was being made in secret, fashioned as in the depths of the earth. Your eyes foresaw my action: in your book all are written down; my days were shaped before one came to be. I was a cradle catholic from birth. Going to church Sunday mornings were a normal part of my life. When we couldn’t afford the gas, we would walk the mile and a half to and from church.

My father was a lector or as I used to think of him “God’s helper,” at the masses. After the second reading, I would quietly walk up the aisle to meet him, hug him, and whisper “Good Job Daddy!” He would pick me up and take me back to our pew. I had my care bear heart shaped wallet always full of coins from my piggy bank to give to God for the “poor and needy” people. I never realized we were one of those people. Matthew 18: 4-5 “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” Growing up it seemed normal to fish with my Dad, clean and fry them up for dinner or do odd jobs with him. At 2 and 3 years of age, I was a great landscaper and accompanied him on many jobs. Life was great. Our one bedroom farmhouse on 2 acres seemed like a castle to the little me.

When I was three and a half my maternal uncle, Uncle Matt, committed suicide. I only knew that he went to live with God, and my cousin, Cathy couldn’t go see him. I kept looking for him in church, but didn’t fully understand why he wasn’t at the house of God. At this same time, my mother was pregnant with my sister. Uncle Matt was supposed to be the Godfather but my mother decided to have Uncle John take his place. After knowing of his death, my mother had gone outside to get some firewood for the wood-burning stove while I was napping, to heat the house. There, by the wood pile, wearing his army uniform, Uncle Matt looked at her and said “Everything is going to be all right,” Then floated up and was gone. This was my first confirmation God answered prayers. My mother had been so distressed over his death that many thought she would lose the baby. She seemed to be replaced by calmness. At 3 years of age, I knew my prayers were being listened to and answered. 1 Corinthians 1:6-8 as the testimony to Christ was confirmed among you, so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will keep you firm to the end, irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

My sister was born. I got to visit her at the hospital, at almost 4 years of age, and felt proud. When she came home, my mother wouldn’t allow anyone to hold the baby but herself, resulting in the baby screaming anytime anyone tried to pick her up. A new baby meant a new job for Dad. Landscaping 6 days a week paid the bills and left nothing left over. He picked up any odd jobs offered to provide for us. One winter, he had picked up a job cutting down some trees but the chainsaw slipped on icy bark and hit his left triceps area of his arm. I prayed and prayed for Daddy to be ok. He came home from the hospital with stitches and 2 immobile fingers. He was bedridden for a while due to a cut tendon. Six months later he became an insurance salesman and worked six days a week to save. Matthew 25:35-36 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me. One afternoon the 4 year old version of me decided to play Mom. My mother was watching “As the World Turns,” like usual, and I learned at a young age not to talk to her, or be in the room with her when her soap operas were on. For 2 hours a day, I needed to be invisible, and if I wasn’t a slap on the face or a good shaking reminded me of this. This particular afternoon the baby was crying, and Mom was into her soaps. I vaguely remember praying “God help me make baby happy,” then let down the safety bar on the crib and climbed into her crib, picked her up and carefully climbed out of the crib with her in my arms. Mom must have heard the cries get closer; she came into the kitchen, saw me holding the baby, snatched her out of my arms, and broke a wooden spoon on my behind. This was one of many broken utensils.

With the baby in the picture, the next 4 years I was my Dad’s little buddy. My mom seemed to have a one child limit and had pushed me aside in order to fully devote herself to the baby. My father was working 6 days a week to make up for my mother not working at all; I was put into daycare and then elementary school. I rode the school bus home so Mom wouldn’t miss her soaps, since school let out right in the middle of “As the World Turns.” When I was in the middle of first grade, my life changed quickly. We were listening to my teacher read, when we heard loud sirens; this was a first, because all though we lived in a small country town, the fire truck usually never passed our school. My paternal grandmother had taught me to always pray for whoever is in need of the sirens because someone obviously is in need and extra prayers help. My prayer was simple “Please be with the person the sirens are going to.” I don’t remember much of the sequence of events that morning, just that a good family friend came into my classroom, spoke with my teacher, then took me out of class. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, I just remember praying “Please let Mommy and Baby be ok.” Psalm 91: 14-16 Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high. All who call upon me I will answer; I will be with them in distress; I will deliver them and give them honor. With length of days I will satisfy them and show them my saving power. My mom told me the house burned down and nothing was left. With everyone safe, no bruises or cuts, I knew yet again that God answered my prayers. That night, our “Family” the community, opened their arms. We spent a few nights at my best friend’s house, and then a few more at a hotel before a friend of a friend found us a rental house. The two bedrooms, one bath and extra dining room made my “castle” look small. Our garage even had 2 automatic doors and a mud room which became a playroom. A few nights later we watched the firemen knock down the rest of my fortress and bury it. Isaiah 26:5 He humbles those in high places and the lofty city he brings down; he tumbles it to the ground, levels it with the dust.

Daily I went to the spot of ruins to feed my cat, who I was told had run away. Later, as I was reading the newspaper, I found out she had perished in the fire. I didn’t tell my parents I knew this until much later in life. We build a house over the old one’s remains and enjoyed the 3 bedroom 2 bath upgrade.

That August my second baby sister was born. Sister 1 was now my responsibility since Sister 2 was the newest baby. That summer we moved to Racine, Wisconsin to be closer to my mother’s family. It was made pretty apparent that we were the black sheep and they didn’t really want us around. We went to family functions but anytime something was broken our out of place it was always my sister’s or my fault. I went to a Catholic school and attended mass every Sunday, but the ten year old version of me didn’t feel the friendliness or the home feeling of my old community.

One night, the summer before I started my new school, my Dad didn’t come home. He had a golf outing an hour away. I remember sitting on the couch looking out the front window praying for God to have the next truck be Dad’s. It wasn’t until the next morning we got the news. Dad was on his way home, got sleepy, drifted off the road, and hit a telephone pole. His bumper and hood of his car was crinkled like an accordion. We were dropped off at our maternal grandparent’s house while my mother and Uncle went to go get Dad from the hospital. I didn’t find out until later that alcohol was the main factor.

I started school and was chastised, teased and bullied throughout fourth through eighth grade. I internalized it, and never told anyone. Sister 1 was getting it too and I did everything I could to help her and take the bullying away. At home it was worse, and I knew I had to have sister 1′s back. Sister 2, all though starting kindergarten, was still the baby and perfect in every way. Sister 1 turned to me, and I turned to my diary. It helped to write out what I couldn’t talk out. In a way, my daily entries were prayers to God. Our mother became more and more aggressive with us. The threat of “If you tell your father, he will spank you and punish you worse,” kept us from talking to our father. I was called ugly, stupid, fat, and every name under the sun by my mother. She told me I would never get married and never amount to anything. The teasing at school worsened and there was no break at home. I refused to let her see me cry and it was hard, but I trained myself not to cry. Thoughts of suicide frequented my mind, always with the thought of what would happen to my sisters if I weren’t here?

One night my mother dragged Sister 1 down the hallway by her hair, picked her up by her neck, and threw her into her bed (the top of a bunk bed). This was all because sister 1 took a toy that sister 2 had wanted. Another time sister 1 and I were playing Barbies. She wanted them to be ballerina dancers and I wanted them to be cheerleaders. We began to argue and were called to the kitchen. I will never forget the words spoken by our mother, or the wild look in her eyes, as she handed us both sharp steak knives. She told us “Go back downstairs and fight it out with these, whoever comes back upstairs alive will be my daughter.” Of course we ran to our rooms and cried. We were held under water in our pool until we nearly passed out, and once in winter I was locked out of the house wearing just a thin night gown, only to be yelled at for crouching under the window to stay warm in the cold wind and snow. We were threatened enough to know not to tell. I think my Dad maybe had an idea things weren’t okay at home, as he began having “late nights at work.” He would get us girls up early, and we would pray and read the bible together and then watch an episode of Flipper. Then we’d get ready and go to school, but at nights he was rarely home. When he came home early, we three, Sister 1, Dad and I, would camp out in the basement until bedtimes. Many times Dad and I would just talk. These were the moments that I felt normal.

One night, my mother woke me up out of a deep sleep. I’m not sure what time it was, but I do know it was late. She had heard a noise at the back door and wanted me to investigate it. I opened the door to a windy ice rainstorm. My father lay at the foot of the back porch, asleep with a small line of blood trickling down his nose. Apparently he had tried to get inside, stumbled on the steps, fell forward, scraped his nose, and passed out. My mother called the cops while I was outside trying to get my Dad up. The ambulance came and helped him inside. My prayers started sounding like this “Please Lord, bless my sisters and me. Get my Dad home safe and help my Mom learn to love us.” Revelations 21:4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, for the old order has passed away.

Midway through eighth grade my Dad was transferred to Lansing, Michigan. We were split up for six months, but visited Dad every other weekend. I always looked forward to these weekends. We moved after I graduated eighth grade. A new start, a new home. We lived in a one bedroom apartment that summer while our house was being built and everything seemed to be getting better. God truly answered my prayers. My Mom still wouldn’t hug or kiss anyone of us, but she was being nicer. It was the calm before the storm. Shortly before we moved into our new home, my father came up missing again. He was due home around 6pm and was still gone by noon the next day. My mother was no help, and made us believe he was dead on the side of the road, causing a panic among my sisters. I had to try to soothe them. He came home that evening after spending all night and day in the hospital, as we were told, sobering up. He turned to a Christian Counselor and an AA group and to this day has not smoked or drank, 13 years and counting. As my father got better, my mother got worse. Every few nights she would take off, telling us she was going to drive over a bridge. She even spent a weekend in her truck in below zero weather one time to prove to us that she was dead. She told us girls that the three mistakes she ever made in life were us three girls, and resorted to repeatedly hitting and smacking sister 2, as sister 2 was now in fourth grade and didn’t want to hold her mom’s hand at school anymore. By this time I was making most dinners, doing the laundry and cleaning and taking care of my sisters. Every time she went after a sister, I would intervene. It seemed like sister 1 was often her target, and I jumped in the middle more times than I can remember. Jeremiah 15:18 Why is my pain continuous, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? You have indeed become for me a treacherous brook, whose waters do not abide. We went through therapy and counseling, I finally told my Dad what was going on. My Dad became my rock. He listened, and hugged, and was great. Each time a therapist mentioned bipolar or manic depression, my mother found a reason to not continue with that therapist. The fifth therapist told my parents they needed to make a decision. My mother had moved into an apartment and wanted back in the house. We were experiencing a calm atmosphere and didn’t want her home. My parents were divorced, sole custody granted to my father. This was a relief to us, but a shock to all of our neighbors and friends. We were the perfect “Leave it to Beaver” family, by appearance. We lost a lot of friends due to the divorce, but were finally at peace. My mother and her entire family refused all contacts with my sisters and I since then, because they feel that it was my sister’s and my fault that all of this happened. Lamentations 5:22 For now you have indeed rejected us and in full measure turned your wrath against us.

A year later I was married to my boyfriend of five years. He was with me through the roughest parts of my life, and I figured I owed him that. Plus I was proving my mother wrong. I COULD get married, and I WAS attractive. Repeated use of drugs, alcohol, 3 credit cards maxed out in my name, and multiple girls came in between our marriage. He didn’t believe in God and disapproved of my church going. I stopped and my prayers were offered less and less. I felt incomplete. We were divorced a year later. I was a failure again. Matthew 5:4 Blessed are those mourn, for they will be comforted.

I moved back in with my Dad, started going back to church again and was feeling better. Isaiah 40:31 They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles’ wings; They will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint. I met a guy and we were engaged. He was Methodist but said he would convert to catholic to me. Because this meant (and still does) mean a lot to my grandparents, I was excited. He just never got around to it. Drugs, alcohol, and an empty savings account broke us up again. I decided to move to Florida after graduating college. My sister and I had a plan. She would follow in 2 years once I was established. I began praying every night and going to mass weekly. God helped my transition to Florida run smoothly, making sure I was safe and blessing me with shelter and a job. Colossians 3:9-11 Since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator. Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. I got a full time and two part time jobs and went to church every Sunday with my paternal grandparents. Mass seemed like a drive through service, we got there 5 minutes before mass started, and walked out after communion (all of this before 8:30AM!)I still felt something was missing. I met another guy, got engaged and went to his church. His band was great, but it was still the “boring routine” to me… stand up, sit down, kneel, repeat… I didn’t feel like I was truly hearing God’s word, and why couldn’t I listen to God myself, why did I have to hear his word through someone else? I didn’t get it. I decided to shop around. My relationship was rocky; my fiancé was controlling and slowly leaning towards degrading. He had a son through a different marriage, but found it unfair that I expected him to raise him just as much as I had to. We recently broke up, and I moved out. I have been doing my own bible study every day that my sister and I are doing at the same time, one with friends once a week, and ironically the One 2 One series at mass at Bridgepoint is reinforcing what I’m doing on my own.

There are still times I feel very lost, over my head, and insecure, but God truly listens to my conversations and answer my prayers on a daily basis. My mother is still convinced my sisters and I ruined her relationship with my father and once a year sends a letter that is half positive and half degrading. I’m finally happy with my church and with the direction my life is going. I’m very much so my father’s daughter, a workaholic but happy with life. I know that God has been with me every step of the way in my life, and has only given me what he knew I could handle. 1 John 4:7-12 Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.

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