Background of the Little Girl

Before I started blogging, I made several attempts at writing a "book" as a tool for therapeutic writing.  I got about 44 pages written when I realized I was getting bogged down in structure, timing, details, semantics, correct grammar, always complete sentences.  I had 25 chapters titled and would jump around depending on where my thoughts were on any given day.  I have those pieces saved for reference.  

Today I want to take you inside the life of a little girl who was by all standards defined by negative experiences at a very young age. Of course the little girl is me.  My only purpose in sharing these personal details is that it will help others better understand my early abandonment issues (separated from parents) and now as I see the finality of my life those feelings of abandonment once again rear their ugly head.  With Denny, I came to realize my value as a human being.  His love made me feel special; made me feel confident; gave me the security and unconditional love I had always longed for.  His human touch, his voice, his physical presence and his reassuring guidance are what I miss most.  

So here is an excerpt from the beginning of a "book" started months ago......  and oh by the way the book title is :  WITH A PATCH ON HER EYE (as a little girl I had lazy eye and I wore a patch for about three years)

This is the story of love, grief and faith.  My hope is that by writing this, I can finally put my childhood, my married life and the past 10 years of Alzheimer’s in perspective.  As time passes, I know my plans for life only carried me as far as God allowed.  It was always HIS plan that prevailed.  God’s plan took me to the darkest times of despair. During those periods of darkness there was much loneliness, sorrow, insecurity, shame and grief. As a young adult, I did all I could to escape that darkness hoping never to return or mention it in the future.  It has taken me 60+ years and the death of my husband to better understand what that was all about.  It took me a lifetime to see the good in a somewhat tragic story of loss and loneliness.  But now I see clearly that all I experienced in life has given me an understanding and sensitivity to how God works miracles in our lives.  I keep walking away from writing this story because I feel inadequate to put this in words.  But now I am compelled with all my imperfections and shortcomings to express in the best way possible …. What I have learned about faith, hope, love and Alzheimer’s.

In telling my story, I should start with some background information.  My mother was seven years old when her father passed.  By all accounts, he was the nurturing and loving parent. My mother was promptly sent to live with a married sister who had no children.  For reasons unknown to me, my mother spent her summers at home but was expected to work cleaning and caring for children during the week only to bring the money home to her mom on weekends then return again. Then at the young age 14 my mother married with her mother’s prompting.  At age 15 – she had me.  At age 17- she had my brother.  And by age 19 she was divorced at a time when divorce was not acceptable in society.  She sought help from family to keep this little family together but was encouraged to put us in an orphanage.  Mom chose instead to find a good church family to care for us while she worked in an Ordinance Plant during the war.  They were good people who had children our ages but they were not our parents. This period of time was difficult.  Countless nights were spent crying softly wondering what was happening…“Where was my mom?  When would she return? Why didn’t anyone care?”   To avoid the hurt, I kept myself mentally busy caring for and protecting (when needed) my little brother. You might say I became a surrogate mother.  At the age of 7, our family was reunited when Mom married our step dad.  Everyone was happy!  So happy that he went on to file for adoption so we were indeed one family. 

Before the adoption, our last name was different from our parents. Different last names tagged the children of divorce.  And in those days, divorce was unacceptable in society.  Children with divorced parents were not accepted with other children.  There was a stigma that hurt when you are young and you hear “you can’t play with her – her parents are divorced”. In the community, I was an outcast but in school I found a place where I could feel good about myself.  I wasn’t the smartest little girl in my class but I worked very hard.  I soon learned that in school, I could share a common bond with others who were working hard.  There were no acceptable excuses – “you are from divorced family, you are a child of poverty, your mother had only an 8^th grade education“--- no, at school there were no excuses!  No limitations were put in place.  The only expectation was to work hard and do my best. So throughout my early  years of school, I was nobody in the neighborhood but somebody in the classroom.

Then at age 10 additional siblings began to arrive.  Financially times were difficult.  Poverty was visible.  Mother had to work nights and Dad worked days returning home to care for kids.  In all honesty, being the oldest it was apparent to me at a young age (fact or perception) that I was responsible for caring for younger siblings, cooking and cleaning the house. 

I tell you this story because here was a child who by today’s standards did NOT have a chance to be successful in life.  She was born into poverty, divorced parents (who had no more than an 8^TH grade education), and lived on the wrong side of town.  But when she went to school – she found a place to “feel like she measured up to other people” because she carried no “labels”.

Our family moved on several occasions trying to establish financial stability.  With each move there were new schools, new teachers, new neighbors and new friends.  My insecurities away from school made it difficult for me to find an essential stability for social interactions.  During junior high my family finally settled in a house that became the family homestead (even to this day).  But it was not until I started high school that I experienced a place of acceptance that I yearned for in school and among friends.

As a sophomore in high school, I met a young man in Literature class. What caught my eye was his quiet but cordial demeanor that acknowledged others and welcomed each with a smile.  Later Dennis would become an All-American swimmer and class officer.  He was the guy who was later (junior/senior) nominated for King of the Gala Dance.  In fact, our first date was that Gala Dance.  Girls would ask boys to be their date.  It was my chance to ask this great guy in my literature class to be my date.  But there was no way I would do it face-to-face.  No, I would call him. And of course when I called (girls didn’t call boys back then ).. his mother answered.  He was not home.  He called me later.  I asked if he had a date…he said no.  Then in my awkward way I asked if he would like to go with me.  Before he could even answer, I said “you don’t have to if you don’t want.  I know Jill and some other girls who want to ask you and you may want to go with them.”  He chuckled and said, “Sure I will go with you.”  And that is when it all began.  After that dance we were best friends. His first love was swimming.  With him I felt safe.  The fact that he liked me – made me feel special for the first time. 

As time passed, I became more drawn to this friendship.  Dennis’ life was drastically different than mine.  His mother never worked.  He never went to sleep wondering if someone loved him.  He had two loving parents who supported him in all his life, school and athletic endeavors.  He was a humble person who both admired and respected by many. And most important, he was spiritually strong and exuded his faith in every part of his life.  In our many discussions, I never let my guard down to let him know the depth of my childhood experiences.  Outwardly, I demonstrated the confidence and out-going personality that he was drawn to during those high school years.  Certainly I would not allow myself to revisit those years of sorrow and shame. I thought I could successfully keep it hidden.

Dennis was my ‘best friend’!  We dated, we talked, we went for walks, we discussed faith, we discussed life and of course we discussed the future.  Upon graduation, Dennis accepted a scholarship to swim at Eastern New Mexico University.  I went on to the State College of Iowa for that freshman year.  We wrote letters and dated when we were both home.  With time, things dwindled for him and I was crushed.  Homesick and sad I returned home after that freshman year not to return.  That summer and subsequent summers, we saw one another but the long periods of absence were difficult and the letters were fewer. 

I went on to get a good paying job working on computers. I got a nice apartment with friends and bought a new Camaro ’67.  I finally decided I had to get over this relationship that appeared to be going nowhere.  I started dating a nice young man who had a college education and worked in his dad’s advertising business.  We shared a love of sports cars.  Soon we were in a whirlwind romance.  He too was a spiritual man and with him I felt safe.  Within a few months, he asked me to marry him.  I loved him and said yes!  My parents loved him.  My roommates loved him.  My friends loved him.  One day we were looking at new homes.  It was an amazing day and I felt like I was living a fairy tale.  Then it happened!  We were walking through a master bedroom and John turned to ask me how I like it.  I stuttered to say it was perfect – because it was!  But in that moment, I was stunned by one thought.  I could not imagine going to bed with John!  He was not sexually aggressive so I had not experienced that yearning desire to make love to him.  I understood in that moment that I loved him but was NOT in love with him.  I knew the difference because when I was with Dennis, I could always feel my heart pounding and my desires for him were ever present. Wow!  I remember thinking what do I do now?  Will that come?  Everything else was perfect. 

During my quiet searching for answers, I had to acknowledge to myself that I had fleeting thoughts of Dennis.  What would he think if he knew I was engaged?  Was he dating anyone special?  Did he still have feelings for me?  Needing answers – I called him that summer while he was attending summer school.  We had a lengthy conversation.  It was one where I shared my engagement that was meant with quiet.  I spoke of my indecision.  He spoke of dating another but that did not work out.  We left the conversation with an understanding to speak again soon.  Hanging up – I knew I had to break off the engagement.  Even if Dennis and I never got together, I could not marry John.  But I had to be sure.  Was I just fantasizing about Dennis?? Well I did the unthinkable.  I flew to New Mexico without even telling him I was coming.  I had to see him and look in his eyes and be with him to know for sure.