Beginning Life

The older I get and the more people I lose in my life, the more I reflect. I reached 50 last year and more importantly, I lost my mother. I’m not going to lie- our relationship was a rollercoaster and I’m just trying to work that out. This world is in an age of information. some of it is hurtful and some is helpful. I’m in a place right now where I’m trying to heal and I’m trying to grow, all the while my own mortality has become very real to me. I don’t know if I go back to the beginning or if I sort through everything as it comes to me. I know that everybody has something. I also know that it’s never just one thing. My mother was very big on justifying and asking why but I know she never quite had peace… I mean total peace... The kind of peace that can’t be shaken. She couldn’t move on from anything. I don’t want to be that person. Some days I am that person.

I believe I’ve been through almost every therapy known in the US. I’m a part of the Prozac nation generation. I also have a personal relationship with Jesus which gives me hope. This struggle is still very rea, however. My biggest fear is leaving this earth and not having my boys understand me at all or more than that- for my boys to feel sorry for me. I want them to have a good rooted faith and have the type of thoughts and memories about me that God intended for a child to have with its mother. I want them to know that I love them each independently and unconditionally and that I advocated for them no matter what the circumstance. Maybe the beginning is a good place to start, maybe it isn’t, I’ll see where my brain takes me, I guess. I’m usually all over the place so I’m sure my brain will skip around daily to whatever my heart is working out. My life is my truth, and I would love to see it the way that it is, warts and all. I know that God sees me that way and still loves me. It took me a long time to know that and yet I still struggle with peace and joy without blame and shame. I’m still a hot mess most days so here it goes. If you’ve read this far feel free to work it out with me.

Some simple facts to start… I was born August 22, 1972, the youngest of three in Lebanon, (near Hershey) PA. My father was 33 and a purple heart recipient fresh out of Vietnam, who was an emotionally wounded man when he got there and even more so when he left. I don’t think his physical scars ever compared to his mental and emotional scars from what I’ve been told. He was in Germany when I was born and didn’t meet me until I was six months old. I was told he rejected me from day one and I cried too much for him. I was also told that he didn’t believe I was really his child because I didn’t look like my brother or sister. My mother was 27 and Lebanon was her hometown. I’m assuming she stayed stateside just for my birth. I never asked. She told me that when I was born that she called her mother to let her know that she’d had another girl (which she was happy about) but that I was very ugly. I’ve heard that story my entire life. I came home to a sister who was 6 at the time and apparently a “daddy’s girl” who wasn’t crazy about another girl in the house. My brother was 16 months old and a “mommy’s and daddy’s boy” but somehow claimed me from day one. I believe he thought I was a gift for him and treated me as his favorite gift for the remainder of his life, but more on all that later.

So that’s the very beginning- the foundation of my existence on this earth. I was an ugly, unwanted little troublemaker. Just those facts/stories alone messed me up for years. The words children hear really do matter, especially from their parents. So do the words they don’t hear.

 1 Corinthians 13:6-7 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

I wanted to and tried with all my sons to speak in love with all of my words with them, but failed too many times to count. I carry that with me always. I haven’t always spoken in love and that’s what we all need most…especially from our parents.