A break from transitions to complain!

If I hear or see one more report about Tom Cruise and his fiancee's WONDERFUL news about her being pregnant, I will barf. What is wrong with the media and the viewers/listeners who seem to hunger for erstwhile news such as this? I use the term news lightly here!

In my day (and yes, I admit to and proud of being old fashioned), getting a woman pregnant without first the sanctity of marriage was not something about which was publicly spoken, much less blatantly announced by all forms of media. I can't help but wonder what kind of example this movie star believes he is setting for the generation following behind him.

I use Tom Cruise as an example here - there are many others supposedly held in high esteem by the public who have proudly displayed infidelity, cruelty, (maybe even murder) abuse, thievery, and unwed pregnancies as a means of getting their share of free publicity.

Am I the only weird person left in this crazy world of ours who believes such is wrong? What has happened to the morals of our country that we, the people, would insist on not only hearing and seeing, but praising and congratulating, the immorality of others? Why should I even care?

I'd like to believe I'm not entirely alone with this kind of - pardon the use of the word - reporting. I'd also like to think there is something badly wrong with a person who boasts about immoral activity. Yes, yes, I know... it goes on all the time all over the world. But, do we (or more precisely, I) have to be subjected to such no matter what television channel I select or what radio station I listen to or what newspaper or magazine I read?

Mickey Finn has spouted off!

A tragedy transition for the entire family.

For nearly two years my children and I flourished. Work was going well (got two raises at regular day job), acquired many new accounting clients, was able to quit night job, kids were growing like weeds, and there was much laughter, security, peace, and contentment in our home.

Until the bottom fell out of everything. At the end of August of the second year, I answered the phone at work at 10:30 in the morning, believing it to be my youngest son calling to say "I wuv you, Mum" as he did every morning. However, the call was from a very rude, crude, and socially unacceptable woman who brusquely told me "You better get to the emergency room now or you won't see your baby alive." As I screamed and threw the phone in an attempt to rush out of the office, my boss lady (who happened to be a retired nurse) picked up the phone to find out what had happened. She drove me to the hospital, where I found my youngest son, who had already died. The only way I recognized him was from the shoes he was wearing.

The boys were playing softball in the front yard, while Linda (my terrific neighbor and friend) was acting as umpire. Erin, who would have been 4 years old in March, was pitching to #1 son when a car careened into our yard, hitting Erin and throwing him onto the roof of the garage. The car then sped off, but #2 son was able to write down the tag number. How, I will never know (neither does he!). Linda called for an ambulance which arrived in record time (or so I was told), Erin was extricated from the roof, and Linda and all the kids (hers and mine) were rounded up into her car and they followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Details become rather fuzzy here, but to the best of my recollection, the driver of the car was found and determined to have been a drunk 16-year old boy who had just gotten his driver's license one week before. I never did learn why he was drunk at that time of the day.

My boss put out a collection bowl at work for employees to contribute for my benefit - collected nearly one thousand dollars, but one of the employees stole it! Local Catholic church brought food and money the day I was making funeral arrangements. Just after my boss and I left from making funeral arrangements and were on our way to purchase clothes for my dead son in which to be buried, we were broad-sided on the passenger side by a pick-up truck. Three weeks later I came to in the hospital. Thankfully, my boss received only minor injuries.

I missed my son's funeral. I missed the fact that my parents had been threatened into coming to help (by the chief of police). I missed the fact that my homeowner's insurance paid for the funeral because my son was killed on our property. I missed knowing that the local radio station put out a plea for help from the community, which resulted in grandmothers, teenagers, church members, and police men and women being with my boys while I was hospitalized. I missed my son's funeral.

For three more weeks, I remained in the hospital in a full body cast - practically every bone in both my legs and 8 ribs were crushed. Plus, my lungs and spleen had been punctured, meaning I had surgery during the three weeks when I remained unconscious. When I went home, both legs were in casts from the bottom of my feet to ...., well use your imagination! I could not work, obviously. I caught up on mortgage payments and paid ahead for nearly a year, because the doctor told me it would be "a long while before I could work again." Made arrangements with the power and phone companies, and paid off the car. I was broke, but had weekly unemployment checks to count on...or so I thought. That proved to be false, because I had to appear IN PERSON to fill out the forms (which I was not able to do). And I didn't qualify for any food stamps or welfare aid because I owned property!

Because of the concern of the community, however, the freezer and cupboards were well stocked with food - seemed like enough to feed an army for a year! Not so, but it appeared that way to me at the time. The casts were cut off my legs in the middle of November, but I couldn't walk. Had to learn all over again, with the help of braces, crutches, canes, and lots and lots and lots of therapy. Medical bills never arrived and when I questioned "Why not," I was told "Don't worry, it's being taken care of." Telling me not to worry is like telling a yapping dog not to bark!

Christmas was getting ever closer and there was no money coming in. My kids were terrific, though. They allowed as how if I promised to not fix any pinto beans for Christmas dinner, they would glady settle for a meat loaf! We had a good laugh about that!

On Christmas Eve, I was really demoralized for my kids - even though they were putting on a brave front for me. It had just gotten dark outside and I'd finished our annual reading of "The Night Before Christmas" when I heard a noise from outside. With help from the 3 boys, we all hobbled to the front door and opened it. There wasn't a soul around, but there, on the front lawn was a fully-decorated Christmas tree, wrapped gifts by what looked to be in the hundreds, three huge baskets of fruit, six very large boxes of food (including all the fixings for Christmas dinner), and taped on the front door was an envelope. Through all the hoorays and yippees and floods of tears of joy, we managed to get everything inside the house - including the envelope, on which was printed "Do Not Open Until Christmas."

My boys and I had a wonderful time preparing a turkey, making cranberry sauce, baking pies, and of course, gingerbread men for the rest of the evening. Each time tears of gratitude would pour down my cheeks, my kids would rush over with tissue, wipe them away, and say "There REALLY is a Santa, Mom, just like you always said." In between crying and cooking, I called everyone I could think of to ask who was responsible for our wonderful Christmas, and nobody knew anything!

Christmas morning was absolutely wonderful bedlam! The boys all found new shoes, new clothes, sporting equipment, and scads of toys and games. I also received a new coat, gift certificates from local department stores, and a free haircut from a local beauty salon. Then, #1 son brought me the envelope to open. Inside was a Cashier's Check in the amount of $4,000.00 drawn on a local bank. I was still in the dark as to who was responsible for this wonderful Christmas and remained so for nearly a year. I finally discovered the Police Department had adopted us as their needy family for Christmas and went all out for us!

Grieving for the loss of my son was a long, slow process because I had to deal with my three boys who saw their brother get killed. Thankfully, communication between us had always been open and truthful about everything from the time each of them were able to comprehend, which really helped all of us get through the grieving process. The ensuing months after Christmas were calm and serene, occasionally disrupted by a nightmare or sudden tears by each of us out of the blue. As time went on, though, we adjusted to our loss and life became stable once again.

We all learned to let go of Erin - he'd only been lend-leased to us for a while.

Transitions - 2nd posting

The day I walked away from abuse - both mental and physical - was a definite transition for me. I had no idea what "normal" should be, but I knew I wanted it badly. It didn't matter to me anymore that I was considered to be ugly - I was smart! In fact, I've only wished once in my life to be beautiful and smart rather than ugly and smart! And, as a result of knowing I had intelligence and could do anything I set my mind to do, I set about doing just that.

The boys and I moved into a local motel - close to where the older boys went to school. I found work, and applied for an FHA house. Everything seemed to work in my favor - I qualified as an FHA applicant for a brand-new brick, 3 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath, attached garage, living room, dining room, kitchen, den, and utility room included HOME. Payments were minimal, to say the least, and we moved in before the kitchen cabinets were completely installed!

I started doing accounting at home for small businesses, and worked as Night Manager for a 7/11 Store! Remember the good old 7/11 stores? Because of that job, I was able to buy a car, get furniture for my home, and bought new appliances. I believe the first couple of years as a single mother were some of the happiest in my life. Working all of the time, except the weekends, wasn't all that bad - the kids usually came with me to the 7/11 at night. When we weren't busy, we would make a game of stocking the shelves. I developed quite a pitching arm during those nights, and my kids learned a lot about math and economics.

Weekends I didn't work at ANYTHING other than paying all of my attention to the boys. Their baseball games, band practices, scout meetings, etc., were usually always during the week, so we made a point of keeping the weekends just for us. Whatever the boys wanted to do, within reason and if finances allowed, we would do.

Those years as a single mom were both wonderfully exciting and overpoweringly terrifying for me. I second-guessed myself about practically everything. Thank God for my next door neighbor, Linda, who became my mentor and babysitter extrordinaire! She knew everyone in the small town where we lived and made sure everyone came to know me - that story will appear in another entry! She used to get on my case in a big way because I wouldn't ask for child support or alimony or any help from the ex! However, she came to understand my need to succeed on my own efforts and supported me mightily with encouragement, lots of hugs, and a soft place to fall!

The first few months of this transition, I would find myself flinching every time someone at work raised a hand - he/she might just be reaching for a file folder or to turn on a light. I saw my reflection in a store window one afternoon, and I was all slumped over as if I were completely defeated and beaten down. That night, while talking with Linda about it, she remarked "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, but decided you would have to be the one to determine when to stand tall and look the world squarely in the eye." Wow, what a powerful statement that proved to be for me! My transition from that defeated little girl to a confident and achieving woman began in that instant! The strength I gained from being completely on my own, responsible for my boys and our lives, and making decisions which would influence me for the rest of my life and remain steadfast within the very fiber of my being today.

Transitions - a continuing tale

We will all go through transitions in our lives. They begin at birth and continue to occur through and including death. If this posting rambles a bit, I sincerely apologize as much is ebbing and flowing through my mind concerning the transitions which have taken place in my life. I honestly want to put everything in chronological order, but sometimes my fingers get ahead (and often behind) my thought processes!

I grew up in a very abusive environment - notice I didn't use the word "home." My two brothers could do no wrong - they not only were handsome, wonderful, smart, etc., etc., but they were perfect in every way imaginable. I understood hate and the damage it can do at a very young age. There are very few bones of my body which weren't broken during my childhood as a result of severe beatings for imagined wrongs I had commited. An unexplainable strength developed within my very being - best I can remember it occurred sometime after my grandmother died.

Girls of my generation were not taught anything about life. However, this girl was not permitted to get a drink of water without asking permission. There was no going to the ice box for a snack or having a cookie after school. The hours I sat in a straight-backed chair placed stragically in the kitchen until my mother determined I could do my homework, mop the floor, or be locked in my bedroom haunted me for years.

I had no idea what was happening to me on my 17th birthday when I started menstruating. I truly believed if a boy kissed me, I would get pregnant. I was not permitted to have friends come to visit and I definitely was not permitted to visit any of my friends' homes. I wasn't allowed to use the telephone - and if anyone called me, I was punished.

I always worked to "Help support the family." What I was really doing was maintaining a steady flow of booze for my parents. At the age of 14, I went to work at an ice cream parlor about five blocks away from where I lived. I worked there every summer until I graduated from highschool. Helen and Tom - whom I called Mater and Pater - were absolutely wonderful to me. The summer after completing my Junior year, I met a fellow! He would come in three times a week, always ordered the same thing, and always left me a five dollar tip. I remember telling my mother the first time I met this fellow "I've met the guy I'm going to marry." I had no idea what marriage entailed, I only knew it meant I could get away from my parents!

He was permitted to come to to meet my parents, and he literally asked for my hand in marriage. That evening, my mother accused me of being a tramp and began to beat on me. For the first time ever, I stood perfectly still and just stared at her with what, I am sure, was pure hate eminating from my eyes. As she dropped her fists, I asked her "You won't ever try to do that to me again, will you?" It was the beginning of what I thought would be a wonderful transition.

I'd saved money for a wedding dress - gave it to my mother so she could order my dress from the Speigel catalogue. The dress never arrived. I was forbidden to consider getting married in ANY church. My cousin gave me a suit she'd outgrown so I would have something nice in which to get married. On July 7, 1956 I got married by a Justice of the Peace in my mother's kitchen with my mother as our only witness. That afternoon, on U. S. Highway 1 at a rest area, my husband raped me in the front seat of his '49 Plymouth. After driving for what seemed like days (but was really about 15 hours) we ended up in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina where I was to babysit for my husband's sister - she and her husband were going on vacation.

I thought I'd gotten away from cruelty and abusiveness by getting married. What a wonderful life I would have! I'd found a nice job at a high-end jewelry store, learned how to drive, I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to eat it, I could talk on the phone for hours if I chose to do so, I visited friends and had friends come to visit me, and I didn't have to be around my parents unless I absolutely wanted to! But, this euphoric state only lasted for about six months.

My transition from abused daughter to happy wife never happened. I'd only gone from the frying pan into the fire. When it became apparent I wasn't pregnant right away, I was beaten and subjected to hurtful sex at all hours of the day and night. I had to quit my job because the viciousness of the attacks upon me left me with highly visible bruising. Then, my husband got drafted into the Army! For the next 12 years, I was pregnant for what seemed to be ALL THE TIME. I had six children and miscarried 4 times in between full-term pregnancies.

Our 12th wedding anniversary was celebrated with me in the hospital recovering from a miscarriage. We had already buried a son who died from pneumonia and a daughter who died from Crib Death. We had four beautiful sons aged 9, 5, 4, and 2. The next day, upon arriving home, my husband informed me he wanted to get me pregnant as soon as possible, because he was on orders for Viet Nam. My transition truly began at that moment when I responded, "You won't ever touch me again unless I want you to do so. You will never force me again or I will kill you." He later told me that for the first time, he was honestly afraid of me.

While he was gone overseas, I sought and received counselling. Imagine my surprise when I learned that being an abuser or being abused is NOT NORMAL. I was horrified to learn that I wasn't completely alone - there were many, many other women out there who were experiencing the same kind of abuse as me! And being told the only person who can really help me is ME set me back on my heels. When I was told each of us has a choice we can make concerning how we live - stay and continue to accept abusive treatment or leave and begin a new life free of pain.

He extended his tour of duty in Viet Nam for another year. During that second year of his absence, I hired an attorney to prepare divorce papers to serve when he returned. And, I kept him informed through letters of what I was doing. The day he returned and walked in the front door, I handed him the papers for him to sign. With no argument, he signed them, and the boys and I left and never looked back!

The two times I stood up for myself - against my mother and my husband - empowered me mightily. Never again would I be abused and mistreated by anyone for any reason. The transition from abused to empowered has sustained me to this day.