What was, what could have been, what is
Dear J.,
I apologize. I haven't written lately. I was ill last week and then way too busy and this week has been the same thing. Prior to that, well, I've slept since then J..
I'll spare you the details of my "illness" and move straight to what I want to write for today. Sunday, April 3rd marks the 24th birthday of my sister, Valerie. At least what would have been her 24th birthday. Actually, what it marks is the anniversary of our discovering her existence, the turmoil surrounding it and her death, having never taken a breath in this world.
I can only give you my version and it is rather limited since I was a child at the time and this happens to be one of those "skeletons" that has found its way to a dark corner of the closet. I attempt to remove it every once in a while but when I do, I find that parts of it are missing. The same parts I've been looking for are always still missing.
The night before her birth/death/discovery, I was 12 years old and had decided, for whatever reason to camp out overnight on the living room floor. So I had brought in my blankets, pillow, etc. and had taken up residence. I didn't sleep well that night. The reason being my mother was up all night long. Walking a path through the house. (of course, I would put all sorts of pieces together in later years but for now, I'll stick with my 12 year old memories). I would wake up several times that night to find her up and pacing. I noticed that, each time I woke up, her stomach was growing. I questioned her and she told me to go to sleep. Not being one to sacrifice sleep unnecessarily (and probably relieving my mother of her ever curious youngest child), I did as I was told. My dad rose early to leave for the factory. Usually by about 6:15 am. I don't remember any conversations between the two of them but he was gone as usual when I woke up to get ready for school. By then, my mother's belly was HUGE-ANTIC. My eyes must have looked as though they would pop. My brother Chuck (who would have been around 17) acted curious but didn't really pay too much attention. As I was getting ready for school (he had quit at 16 years of age, the bum), she had called my oldest brother Doug to come take her to the hospital. He rushed to the house. I remember placing my hands on my mother's stomach and feeling how rock hard it was. I also remember my comment. "I don't know what you ate, Mommy but I don't want any!" Little did I know that I was touching my sister in her last few moments of life.
At the end of the school day, I came home to find my dad on the phone (he is NOT a phone person) and my brothers cleaning the house (also something they didn't do). They told me to hurry up and help them cause the funeral director was coming to the house. I freaked. I thought my mom had died. They said that Mom was fine, she was in the hospital but she had a baby and it died. LIARS! But as I spoke those words, I could hear my dad talking to my aunt and uncle on the phone, saying something about a baby and no, he didn't know. He had been called to the hospital from work. And then what was clearly a referral to me, he said he would need the weekend. I was getting shipped off. I was so confused J.. How could this all be true? How could my mother had had a baby? She hadn't even looked pregnant. I was 12 but I was the baby. I had not a clue about pregnancy nor had I paid any attention to other pregnant women. I didn't even like babies. All they seemed to do was cry and their diapers were nothing but huge smelly messes! Something I'd experienced a few times and detested. How does one have a baby overnight? She didn't show any signs of pregnancy. At least, not until that morning. It didn't make sense. I couldn't even see my mom in the hospital. My dad took me to Lapel and dropped me off at my cousin Tina's house. She would relate what she knew and we would discuss it all weekend. But there wasn't much more to find out. At least, not where we kids could learn. By the time Sunday rolled around, I had only one question on my mind. Was it a boy or a girl? That question was easy enough for my Dad to answer. It was a girl. I had a sister. I had always wanted a sister. Now I had one. But she was dead. That wasn't how I'd pictured that.
My dad asked me if I wanted to attend the funeral. Whether it was out of fear or denial or whatever, I said no. I was told not to speak of this. I didn't understand why. I would soon enough though. I really did want to talk about it but I learned two things very quickly. News (especially the kind people aren't supposed to talk about) travels fast. And I learned from a fellow student that lived in the same town that it was a secret that my dad didn't want out for a reason. People were already gossiping and rumors, whether true or not, were circulating faster than a bulk email. As fast as gossip spreads it is a true wonder that everyone in this world doesn't yet know about Jesus.
I had barely walked into class, still reeling from everything and this classmate of mine, bless her gossiping heart, blindsided me. She had told several people in class and then asked me about it. I tried to deny it but it was obvious she knew more about it than I did. I was ashamed and hurt. I wasn't prepared for how to handle it. Finally I attacked her verbally, desperately wanting her to shut up. I accused her of being horrible. How dare she talk about my mother and father that way and didn't she have any respect? I just learned that my sister had died! How insensitive could she be?!?! Out of fear or shock or whatever, she shut up. Denial seemed to work well for me so I adopted denial as my coping mechanism. I shed no tears. I expressed no interest verbally to anyone but my cousin and I did not ask questions of my dad about her unless he brought up the subject first.
The funeral took place Monday or Tuesday of that week and only 7 people were in attendance. Present, to my knowledge were, my father, my two brothers, my aunt and uncle, the gravedigger, and the funeral director. My father snapped a couple of pictures of her in her casket. He named her Valerie Rose. I saw those pictures twice and then they disappeared. Although it was years ago, I remember staring at my face. She looked just like me, who looked just like my mother. She was beautiful. She looked as though she were sleeping. The casket was very small. My mother was still in the hospital.
Shortly after that, my mother returned home from the hospital. Shortly after that, she told me one day that she was going to spend the night with her mother, my grandmother. She lived four houses away, around the corner. She never returned. And I lost an entire year to the recesses of my mind. What I thought was a timeframe of two days was an entire year plus two days. I stood with my friend on the front porch and dad was with us. He said, "Well, it's been a year since your mom left." And I looked at him like he was nuts. I said, "It's only been two days, Daddy." Then it was his turn to look at me like I was the one who was nuts. On top of that, my friend looked at me like that too. Somehow I knew I was the one who was wrong. He said, "Now April, it's been a year. " He was talking but at that moment, I didn't hear anything. Things were reeling in my head. Why couldn't I remember? A year? That's impossible. How does one forget an entire year? I thought about school....memories were there. But what had I done at home? Where had I been? What had I missed? Is that possible?
It became apparent from their reaction that this was not normal and they viewed it as a major concern. So I shut up. I didn't speak of it again until years later. It was easier if I denied that too. But I would repeatedly over the years, try to regain some sense of what happened during that year.
My mother filed for divorce. I'd like to say it was simple and not very traumatic. It wasn't. To keep with the subject I'll give you the short version. She fought for custody and child support. I chose my father and that ticked her off. She threatened. She fought. They fought. I was a go between. My grandmother kept things going.
The picture of Valerie disappeared. My father said my mother had it. My mother said my father had it. Today, it still remains a mystery. At church one Saturday, my cousin and I overheard my aunt and uncle discussing our "skeleton" and how members of our family (the most undesirable and most dysfunctional members) had threatened to go to the cemetery to dig Valerie up to see who she looked like. My eyes had never bugged out of my head so much in my life. In the timeframe of a couple months, I had had more shocks than I could count. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My cousin and I were able to find out that apparently, my father had had a vasectomy and it was felt that it couldn't possibly be his child. In those days, it is highly possible that the vasectomy had not held up and Valerie could very well have been my father's child. Regardless, he had claimed her and put a headstone at her grave that said, Valerie Rose, daughter of James and Darlene. Whether it was his or not, he was claiming her and daring anyone to say different. That marked her as his. I liken it to a dog "marking" their territory.
A few months later, I visited her grave for the first time. Curiousity had finally gotten the better of me. The cemetery was a couple miles away and my cousin and I walked out there. She showed it to me. I had not cried tears, I didn't feel much. I didn't feel much at all during those days.
As years passed, I would mark her birthday by myself. I would ride out to her grave and sit there. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes not even for a minute. I noted different things on her stone. A porcelain baby shoe....flowers....an angel.....etc. I never knew where they were coming from. Early on, I had asked a couple of questions about it but nothing that was just mere curiousity. I didn't ask for details that my dad would have not wanted to provide. But now, I was alone. No one discussed it. I would watch my mother for reactions during shows that had babies or the commercial for Angel Soft toilet paper that had the babies with angel wings. She either looked away or got a stone look on her face. I watched her face every year on Valerie's birthday. If she was feeling anything, she was drowning it in alcohol. Never at home but she'd hit the bars after work, hanging with whomever and drinking. Not as a result of just that, but I think a combination of everything in her life. My mother was a very unhappy woman. That, too, is another subject for another day.
As I grew up and became an adult, I would mark her birthdays and wonder what she would be like. How might my life be with a little sister? How would things have been different? She would have been 12 years younger than I and that means I probably would have led a very different life having a sister to care for. Would my parents have gotten divorced anyway? Would she live with Mom or Dad if they did?
When I was pregnant with Rikki, fear struck. What if whatever happened to Valerie happened to me? What had happened? I needed to know. I had to have answers. So I started with the people that would most likely know. The secret keepers. My aunt used to be a nurse. She would know alot of information. And certainly she wouldn't withhold it from me being pregnant and all. And my cousin was pregnant too. So we solicited information from her. We figured out she had bound herself through the entire pregnancy so she could hide it. My mother had a very boxy type figure and had always been "plump". She did a great job because I NEVER noticed. I hugged her throughout her pregnancy and she slept with my dad as well but I never knew. I finally received my answer at a lamaze class in which my mother was coaching me. I had tried talking to her about it for the first time a few weeks before the class. She had refused to say anything. But we sat in class and we were discussing things that could go wrong, etc. Sometimes, the lining of the sac can be torn away from the uterine wall. The teacher was very adamant when she said, if that happens, you best be at the hospital because there is very little time to save the baby. It's as good as dead within minutes. Through discussions and replaying history over and over, we determined the events went something like this:
The night my mother kept me up 24 years ago, she had gone into labor. She was up walking through the pains because she had not ever told anyone about the baby. My dad might figure it out and she didn't want to deal with it. How she figured she'd get by with a baby I don't know but my mother is a piece of work. Because of the labor, she had had to take whatever she had used to bind herself off. Finally having room to move, her womb, Valerie, etc. started to expand. Too quickly. Had she done this a little at a time to allow her womb to stretch, I wonder if my sister would have lived. We'll never know but I suspect it might have helped at least let her reach the hospital. She was full term. So it stands to reason that everything expanded too quickly, tore the sac away from the uterine wall and she was too late getting to the hospital. What I felt that morning when I felt her stomach was a contraction. When I had Rikki, I felt the same thing. The news relieved me of worrying about Rikki but now I had to realize the extent of what my mother had done.
Of course, I feel Valerie's death a little harder this year. Mom died in November and this month will also bring her birthday. It dawned on me that my father had said what a hard time he was having last week. He was really missing my mom. If he remembered, he was also grieving the birthday of a daughter he never knew. And he was tormented for years by the things that appeared on her grave. It wasn't until about 5 years ago that we went to the cemetery together and I learned that my father thought that another man was placing those things on Valerie's grave. He was jealous. He was hurt and his soul was tormented by the thought of another man having fathered this child he claimed. How I wish DNA testing had been done in that time. I could finally help put his soul to rest on it. I had discovered 13 years prior to that, when I was 18 who had been placing things on her grave. I was at my mom/grandma's house looking in the cupboard for something to eat. There, on the shelf, were all those things I had seen on her grave. My grandmother was the guilty party. And, on occasion, my brother Chuck. I told my dad about that, horrified he had lived so long with this heartbreak. I had no clue how he was grieving or how often he visited her grave.
So when he told me last week that he was really missing my mom (even though he had been divorced from her longer than he had been married to her), I realized that he was also missing Valerie. I sent him a book that I had had and then I called him. We didn't speak of Valerie (just in case he hadn't made the connection) and we didn't speak of Mom. We just sat and talked and I told him how I loved him. Hoping that when he received the book I sent (entitled, I wasn't ready to say goodbye) that he would find something helpful. And then I promised him I'd come home sometime after my surgery in May...as soon as I could drive.
I still have questions about Valerie. I still wonder about her and what she would be like today. I hope to see her one day in heaven. I wonder if I will ever know the answers to my questions about her and my mom and that whole mess. Will my dad ever know for sure if she was truly his or is it enough to have claimed her with the faith that it didn't matter. She was going to be his by his own believing. Having believed it hard enough to make it true?
I don't blame God. He has actually turned out alot of good from this. I could make a very long list of all the blessings, lessons, and good that have come as a result of Valerie's appearance in our lives. I'm not sorry she was there and while I wish she were with us today, alive and well, she isn't and that is okay. I accept what happened years ago. I have never recovered my memory of that year. I don't know that I want to. Obviously, it was traumatic enough that my body felt it needed to protect itself. I'm curious...as always. I'd like to recover it, but if God said, at the flick of a switch, you'll have it back, just say the word. I have to say that I would hesitate. What was so bad that my mind shut down and filed it away where I can't find it on my own?
It has locked it away. I accept that I might not ever recall that year. I accept that I might recall that year and it might be horribly painful. I will face it no matter what comes. So only time will tell.
As far as my mother is concerned, that is a sore spot that I have had with her that will never be resolved as I would like. I will have to come to terms with it in a different way since she's gone. There's lots I need to come to terms with. I don't know how I feel about all she did. I don't allow myself to dwell there for too long. I have enough drama in my life without dredging up too much of the past at one time.
Thanks for being there for me J., I appreciate it.
I apologize. I haven't written lately. I was ill last week and then way too busy and this week has been the same thing. Prior to that, well, I've slept since then J..
I'll spare you the details of my "illness" and move straight to what I want to write for today. Sunday, April 3rd marks the 24th birthday of my sister, Valerie. At least what would have been her 24th birthday. Actually, what it marks is the anniversary of our discovering her existence, the turmoil surrounding it and her death, having never taken a breath in this world.
I can only give you my version and it is rather limited since I was a child at the time and this happens to be one of those "skeletons" that has found its way to a dark corner of the closet. I attempt to remove it every once in a while but when I do, I find that parts of it are missing. The same parts I've been looking for are always still missing.
The night before her birth/death/discovery, I was 12 years old and had decided, for whatever reason to camp out overnight on the living room floor. So I had brought in my blankets, pillow, etc. and had taken up residence. I didn't sleep well that night. The reason being my mother was up all night long. Walking a path through the house. (of course, I would put all sorts of pieces together in later years but for now, I'll stick with my 12 year old memories). I would wake up several times that night to find her up and pacing. I noticed that, each time I woke up, her stomach was growing. I questioned her and she told me to go to sleep. Not being one to sacrifice sleep unnecessarily (and probably relieving my mother of her ever curious youngest child), I did as I was told. My dad rose early to leave for the factory. Usually by about 6:15 am. I don't remember any conversations between the two of them but he was gone as usual when I woke up to get ready for school. By then, my mother's belly was HUGE-ANTIC. My eyes must have looked as though they would pop. My brother Chuck (who would have been around 17) acted curious but didn't really pay too much attention. As I was getting ready for school (he had quit at 16 years of age, the bum), she had called my oldest brother Doug to come take her to the hospital. He rushed to the house. I remember placing my hands on my mother's stomach and feeling how rock hard it was. I also remember my comment. "I don't know what you ate, Mommy but I don't want any!" Little did I know that I was touching my sister in her last few moments of life.
At the end of the school day, I came home to find my dad on the phone (he is NOT a phone person) and my brothers cleaning the house (also something they didn't do). They told me to hurry up and help them cause the funeral director was coming to the house. I freaked. I thought my mom had died. They said that Mom was fine, she was in the hospital but she had a baby and it died. LIARS! But as I spoke those words, I could hear my dad talking to my aunt and uncle on the phone, saying something about a baby and no, he didn't know. He had been called to the hospital from work. And then what was clearly a referral to me, he said he would need the weekend. I was getting shipped off. I was so confused J.. How could this all be true? How could my mother had had a baby? She hadn't even looked pregnant. I was 12 but I was the baby. I had not a clue about pregnancy nor had I paid any attention to other pregnant women. I didn't even like babies. All they seemed to do was cry and their diapers were nothing but huge smelly messes! Something I'd experienced a few times and detested. How does one have a baby overnight? She didn't show any signs of pregnancy. At least, not until that morning. It didn't make sense. I couldn't even see my mom in the hospital. My dad took me to Lapel and dropped me off at my cousin Tina's house. She would relate what she knew and we would discuss it all weekend. But there wasn't much more to find out. At least, not where we kids could learn. By the time Sunday rolled around, I had only one question on my mind. Was it a boy or a girl? That question was easy enough for my Dad to answer. It was a girl. I had a sister. I had always wanted a sister. Now I had one. But she was dead. That wasn't how I'd pictured that.
My dad asked me if I wanted to attend the funeral. Whether it was out of fear or denial or whatever, I said no. I was told not to speak of this. I didn't understand why. I would soon enough though. I really did want to talk about it but I learned two things very quickly. News (especially the kind people aren't supposed to talk about) travels fast. And I learned from a fellow student that lived in the same town that it was a secret that my dad didn't want out for a reason. People were already gossiping and rumors, whether true or not, were circulating faster than a bulk email. As fast as gossip spreads it is a true wonder that everyone in this world doesn't yet know about Jesus.
I had barely walked into class, still reeling from everything and this classmate of mine, bless her gossiping heart, blindsided me. She had told several people in class and then asked me about it. I tried to deny it but it was obvious she knew more about it than I did. I was ashamed and hurt. I wasn't prepared for how to handle it. Finally I attacked her verbally, desperately wanting her to shut up. I accused her of being horrible. How dare she talk about my mother and father that way and didn't she have any respect? I just learned that my sister had died! How insensitive could she be?!?! Out of fear or shock or whatever, she shut up. Denial seemed to work well for me so I adopted denial as my coping mechanism. I shed no tears. I expressed no interest verbally to anyone but my cousin and I did not ask questions of my dad about her unless he brought up the subject first.
The funeral took place Monday or Tuesday of that week and only 7 people were in attendance. Present, to my knowledge were, my father, my two brothers, my aunt and uncle, the gravedigger, and the funeral director. My father snapped a couple of pictures of her in her casket. He named her Valerie Rose. I saw those pictures twice and then they disappeared. Although it was years ago, I remember staring at my face. She looked just like me, who looked just like my mother. She was beautiful. She looked as though she were sleeping. The casket was very small. My mother was still in the hospital.
Shortly after that, my mother returned home from the hospital. Shortly after that, she told me one day that she was going to spend the night with her mother, my grandmother. She lived four houses away, around the corner. She never returned. And I lost an entire year to the recesses of my mind. What I thought was a timeframe of two days was an entire year plus two days. I stood with my friend on the front porch and dad was with us. He said, "Well, it's been a year since your mom left." And I looked at him like he was nuts. I said, "It's only been two days, Daddy." Then it was his turn to look at me like I was the one who was nuts. On top of that, my friend looked at me like that too. Somehow I knew I was the one who was wrong. He said, "Now April, it's been a year. " He was talking but at that moment, I didn't hear anything. Things were reeling in my head. Why couldn't I remember? A year? That's impossible. How does one forget an entire year? I thought about school....memories were there. But what had I done at home? Where had I been? What had I missed? Is that possible?
It became apparent from their reaction that this was not normal and they viewed it as a major concern. So I shut up. I didn't speak of it again until years later. It was easier if I denied that too. But I would repeatedly over the years, try to regain some sense of what happened during that year.
My mother filed for divorce. I'd like to say it was simple and not very traumatic. It wasn't. To keep with the subject I'll give you the short version. She fought for custody and child support. I chose my father and that ticked her off. She threatened. She fought. They fought. I was a go between. My grandmother kept things going.
The picture of Valerie disappeared. My father said my mother had it. My mother said my father had it. Today, it still remains a mystery. At church one Saturday, my cousin and I overheard my aunt and uncle discussing our "skeleton" and how members of our family (the most undesirable and most dysfunctional members) had threatened to go to the cemetery to dig Valerie up to see who she looked like. My eyes had never bugged out of my head so much in my life. In the timeframe of a couple months, I had had more shocks than I could count. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My cousin and I were able to find out that apparently, my father had had a vasectomy and it was felt that it couldn't possibly be his child. In those days, it is highly possible that the vasectomy had not held up and Valerie could very well have been my father's child. Regardless, he had claimed her and put a headstone at her grave that said, Valerie Rose, daughter of James and Darlene. Whether it was his or not, he was claiming her and daring anyone to say different. That marked her as his. I liken it to a dog "marking" their territory.
A few months later, I visited her grave for the first time. Curiousity had finally gotten the better of me. The cemetery was a couple miles away and my cousin and I walked out there. She showed it to me. I had not cried tears, I didn't feel much. I didn't feel much at all during those days.
As years passed, I would mark her birthday by myself. I would ride out to her grave and sit there. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes not even for a minute. I noted different things on her stone. A porcelain baby shoe....flowers....an angel.....etc. I never knew where they were coming from. Early on, I had asked a couple of questions about it but nothing that was just mere curiousity. I didn't ask for details that my dad would have not wanted to provide. But now, I was alone. No one discussed it. I would watch my mother for reactions during shows that had babies or the commercial for Angel Soft toilet paper that had the babies with angel wings. She either looked away or got a stone look on her face. I watched her face every year on Valerie's birthday. If she was feeling anything, she was drowning it in alcohol. Never at home but she'd hit the bars after work, hanging with whomever and drinking. Not as a result of just that, but I think a combination of everything in her life. My mother was a very unhappy woman. That, too, is another subject for another day.
As I grew up and became an adult, I would mark her birthdays and wonder what she would be like. How might my life be with a little sister? How would things have been different? She would have been 12 years younger than I and that means I probably would have led a very different life having a sister to care for. Would my parents have gotten divorced anyway? Would she live with Mom or Dad if they did?
When I was pregnant with Rikki, fear struck. What if whatever happened to Valerie happened to me? What had happened? I needed to know. I had to have answers. So I started with the people that would most likely know. The secret keepers. My aunt used to be a nurse. She would know alot of information. And certainly she wouldn't withhold it from me being pregnant and all. And my cousin was pregnant too. So we solicited information from her. We figured out she had bound herself through the entire pregnancy so she could hide it. My mother had a very boxy type figure and had always been "plump". She did a great job because I NEVER noticed. I hugged her throughout her pregnancy and she slept with my dad as well but I never knew. I finally received my answer at a lamaze class in which my mother was coaching me. I had tried talking to her about it for the first time a few weeks before the class. She had refused to say anything. But we sat in class and we were discussing things that could go wrong, etc. Sometimes, the lining of the sac can be torn away from the uterine wall. The teacher was very adamant when she said, if that happens, you best be at the hospital because there is very little time to save the baby. It's as good as dead within minutes. Through discussions and replaying history over and over, we determined the events went something like this:
The night my mother kept me up 24 years ago, she had gone into labor. She was up walking through the pains because she had not ever told anyone about the baby. My dad might figure it out and she didn't want to deal with it. How she figured she'd get by with a baby I don't know but my mother is a piece of work. Because of the labor, she had had to take whatever she had used to bind herself off. Finally having room to move, her womb, Valerie, etc. started to expand. Too quickly. Had she done this a little at a time to allow her womb to stretch, I wonder if my sister would have lived. We'll never know but I suspect it might have helped at least let her reach the hospital. She was full term. So it stands to reason that everything expanded too quickly, tore the sac away from the uterine wall and she was too late getting to the hospital. What I felt that morning when I felt her stomach was a contraction. When I had Rikki, I felt the same thing. The news relieved me of worrying about Rikki but now I had to realize the extent of what my mother had done.
Of course, I feel Valerie's death a little harder this year. Mom died in November and this month will also bring her birthday. It dawned on me that my father had said what a hard time he was having last week. He was really missing my mom. If he remembered, he was also grieving the birthday of a daughter he never knew. And he was tormented for years by the things that appeared on her grave. It wasn't until about 5 years ago that we went to the cemetery together and I learned that my father thought that another man was placing those things on Valerie's grave. He was jealous. He was hurt and his soul was tormented by the thought of another man having fathered this child he claimed. How I wish DNA testing had been done in that time. I could finally help put his soul to rest on it. I had discovered 13 years prior to that, when I was 18 who had been placing things on her grave. I was at my mom/grandma's house looking in the cupboard for something to eat. There, on the shelf, were all those things I had seen on her grave. My grandmother was the guilty party. And, on occasion, my brother Chuck. I told my dad about that, horrified he had lived so long with this heartbreak. I had no clue how he was grieving or how often he visited her grave.
So when he told me last week that he was really missing my mom (even though he had been divorced from her longer than he had been married to her), I realized that he was also missing Valerie. I sent him a book that I had had and then I called him. We didn't speak of Valerie (just in case he hadn't made the connection) and we didn't speak of Mom. We just sat and talked and I told him how I loved him. Hoping that when he received the book I sent (entitled, I wasn't ready to say goodbye) that he would find something helpful. And then I promised him I'd come home sometime after my surgery in May...as soon as I could drive.
I still have questions about Valerie. I still wonder about her and what she would be like today. I hope to see her one day in heaven. I wonder if I will ever know the answers to my questions about her and my mom and that whole mess. Will my dad ever know for sure if she was truly his or is it enough to have claimed her with the faith that it didn't matter. She was going to be his by his own believing. Having believed it hard enough to make it true?
I don't blame God. He has actually turned out alot of good from this. I could make a very long list of all the blessings, lessons, and good that have come as a result of Valerie's appearance in our lives. I'm not sorry she was there and while I wish she were with us today, alive and well, she isn't and that is okay. I accept what happened years ago. I have never recovered my memory of that year. I don't know that I want to. Obviously, it was traumatic enough that my body felt it needed to protect itself. I'm curious...as always. I'd like to recover it, but if God said, at the flick of a switch, you'll have it back, just say the word. I have to say that I would hesitate. What was so bad that my mind shut down and filed it away where I can't find it on my own?
It has locked it away. I accept that I might not ever recall that year. I accept that I might recall that year and it might be horribly painful. I will face it no matter what comes. So only time will tell.
As far as my mother is concerned, that is a sore spot that I have had with her that will never be resolved as I would like. I will have to come to terms with it in a different way since she's gone. There's lots I need to come to terms with. I don't know how I feel about all she did. I don't allow myself to dwell there for too long. I have enough drama in my life without dredging up too much of the past at one time.
Thanks for being there for me J., I appreciate it.
posted by Unknown | 11:59 AM
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