Early Marriage to G

Continued from the last post.

Actually, when I stood up to him and made sure he got to K.P. Duty on time, it wasn't the first serious incident. That happened just weeks after the wedding and almost ended the marriage before it began.

It started as some small spat whose origin doesn't even matter. I was still so new in Wilmington, I wasn't yet working the night shift. We were both working that evening and it was time to go to work. We'd been grumbling at each other awhile and were still bickering on the way to work. G was driving through a residential neighborhood and we came upon a group of kids playing ball in the street. About a dozen 9 to 12 year olds. G slowed down to a crawl, but didn't stop, forcing the kids to move a little faster to get out of the way. About half way through, one of the smaller boys threw the ball at the side of our car. It hit hard in G's door. He slammed on the brakes and was out of the car so fast, I was still confused as to what had happened. I saw G grab a small boy by the shoulder and start to shake him while yelling obsenities. The other kids were screeming and scattering, except for one or two older boys who were yelling at G, but afraid to approach. I scrambled out of the car and went after G. I was trying to get him to let go of the sobbing child, when parents started coming out of the houses. I heard a man tell someone to call the police and I started begging them not to and kept tugging on G who had let go of the child. I just wanted to get him into the car and get out of there before the police were involved. But, he was yelling at the man about the ball the kid had thrown and who was going to pay for the damage to his car. The man was threatening jail for touching his son. It was starting to look like a riot with neighbors coming from all over. I had never been so scared in my life. I'd never seen anyone act like that in my life. G finally realized a crowd had gathered and he wasn't going to win this one. I was able to drag him to the car and I hurried around to get in and we left. I kept expecting to be stopped by the police. I was shaken to my soul. We didn't speak a word. I didn't know what to say and he was still too mad to talk. He pulled up in front of G.T.E. and I got out, still without a word and went straight inside.

I certainly wasn't thinking of confroning him, I was very frightened. I spent most of that shift expecting some policeman to show up. Eight hours later, when he picked me up, I was prepared to tell him this was a mistake and I was going back to Marion. But the man who picked me up was very contrite and kept apologizing and promising nothing like that would ever happen again. I still hadn't said anything, and I didn't say anything. Once again, I just let it slide and took the easy way out. That is one promise he kept. Nothing like that ever did happen again. There was never another threat of police being involved or any show of that kind of loss of control. I wonder if it scared him as much as it did me, or did the police talk to him after I left? I never asked.

I was beginning to wonder if G had lied to me about the orders to Germany. Christmas came and went and we were still in Wilmington. I was wondering if it had been a trick to move up our wedding date. It's true what they say about the service. Hurry up and wait. The orders came down and within two weeks he was on his way to Germany and I was back with my parents waiting for him to send for me. Hurry up and wait.

Going home again after a few months of marriage was strange. Where did I fit in now. I had quit my job because G said it would only be a few weeks for him to settle and send for me. I was only home a couple of days when C.K.F.'s Mother phoned me. She was the Manager of a Motel/Restaurant. There was a big Oil Boom in the next county and every hotel and motel room in several counties was full of oilmen and wildcatters. She needed help with her P.B.X. switchboard and wanted me to train some girls for her. There were so many men that they were using the rooms in shifts. One group slept while the other worked. Then they ate while the rooms were made ready for the next group to use the rooms. Motel and restaurant were both full and busy every hour. I started just helping train everyone on the P.B.X. Then I helped cover the desk where both the motel and diners paid. Soon I was going in at 5 A.M. to do the wake up calls at 5 and 5:30 and 6 a.m. so the maids could get the rooms cleaned for the next group. Now I was having the time of my life. Instead of the usual, "This is your 5 a.m. (or 5:30 or 6 a.m.) wake up call. I started singing to the tune of Reveille, "You gotta get up. You gotta get up. You gotta get up; It's Morning." Over and over for an hour. Pretty soon the girls in the office were joining in and we sang every morning till our throats hurt. This meant we could be heard in the dinning room too. It was like starting every day with a party. By helping my best friends Mother, it wasn't like a real job. I did get paid, but we all knew it was temporary. Soon the men we were waking up were coming to the dinning room through the office to see the "voices." And the other shift was upset because no one woke them up with a song.

After wake up calls I was making sure everyone knew how to work the P.B.X. because everyone in the office had to be able to cover everything. They were so busy and it was hard to find enough people to work. I took Mom with me one morning, just to hear the wake up calls, and L hired her on the spot. It was the first job outside the home Mom had ever had. Mom didn't have to go in as early as I did, but she went in with me anyway. We were having so much fun working together. And, L was very happy to have the extra help, even with my silliness.

I was almost disappointed when G sent me my airline ticket and it was time to leave for Germany. That job was the most fun a job could ever be. It only lasted two months.

Wilmington

G was stationed at the Nike Missal Site in Wilmington. About 2 1/2 hours away, but when you're in the service, you aren't free to leave just because you aren't on duty. He had been assigned to work in the Commanders Office. This gave him a chance to find out what his new orders would be, before he was suppose to. If you know anything about our armed services, you've heard the expression, "Hurry up and wait." He had no idea when this was going to happen, but he knew they were going to send him to Germany on a two year tour of duty.

He wasn't exactly happy about it when he got the chance to visit and tell me. He had been stewing about it and already made up his mind that I was either going with him or the engagement was off. And, I had to decide right away, because if we weren't married before the orders came down, he wouldn't be allowed to take me with him.

How could I possibly turn down a chance to travel across the ocean and live for two years in a strange country. I was so excited. I didn't even think twice about marrying this man I'd had doubts about before. I had been so sure I wanted him to grow up first, and see where it took us. And here I was agreeing to marriage so that I could travel. Just goes to show....I wasn't as mature myself as I'd thought I was. (Now I see it.)

Of course, my folks were not happy at all with this turn of events either. I must say, I had their support. If I wanted this, they were going to let me cross that ocean. They quickly planned a small wedding. I made arrangements with G.T.E. to transfer my job to their Wilmington branch. G and I were married on Sept. 3, 1963. Just three months (not three years) after I graduated.

G and I moved to an apartment in Wilmington and I went to work at their telephone switchboard. I quickly discovered the training I'd gotten in Marion, (their home office) had given me more knowledge than the supervisors in Wilmington. I didn't have the experience, and I wasn't familiar with the area and it's businesses. That lack of familiarity was a handicap to overcome, but the job itself and knowledge of the equipment put me in a good position. I didn't have to work a split shift and the others didn't have to work through the night. I got to work the midnight to eight shift with one other older woman. We had the switchboard (and the whole building) to ourselves without a supervisor standing guard. G got on a night shift too, and he was able to take me to work and pick me up.

Along with the Army base, Wilmington was home to a college and the Clinton County Air Force Base. The town was full of young people our age. The town was small and the job was not as strict. In Marion, we were not allowed to speak to anyone. Connect and Dis-connect. Speak pleasantly, but don't talk. "long distance" and "number please" and that was just about it. Night shift was even more relaxed than days. My little old lady co-worker discovered I could handle the slow pace of nights, and she was soon falling asleep at her board. Or, staying in the lounge altogether. I was soon recognizing voices. Especially the men on switchboard at the army and air force bases. One of them asked me to help him connect to another switchboard on another base in another state, and from there we base jumped and connected him to his family in Oregon. All on local calls with no long distance fees. They called it base jumping and we did it for several servicemen who had good reasons to contact their loved ones. When you do this everyone stays connected, so the call goes through. I got to have a lot of conversations with a lot of families. I could also conference both base switchboards (and G's office) so we could all talk all night when things were slow. Night time switchboards can be pretty dull, but this livened things up a lot. The service men were good about only doing this for men with good reasons, and if I should have felt guilty, I didn't. The lines were not being used and no one was hurt and a lot of families shared some pretty important news. And, I got to be part of it.

Not all my most interesting conversations were like that. One stormy night (add "dark and" will make me feel like Snoopy.) when the connection was bad, I had to relay directions to a young farmer who's horse was having trouble delivering a colt and he and the Vet. couldn't hear each other. The three of us delivered the colt per phone instructions. That made me feel good. But, I will never forget the night that made me feel sick. I was called in early the day John F. Kennedy was killed. The switchboard was completely lit and stayed lit all night. We had to bring in a dozen other operators that night. All the young people, Air Force, Army and Wilmington College needed to talk to their families. Everyone was as distressed as if J.F.K. had been one of their own. I cried all night and was emotionally drained for days. It was awful.

Have you noticed, I was newly married, living in a strange town away from my family for the first time, and all I've talked about is my job? That is a pretty good clue as to how things were going. I've avoided the main story.

G absolutely hated being in the Army. Living under that kind of authority brought out the worst in his personality. He had to have some control, and I was the only thing available. My weakness has always been that I'm too willing to please. Anything to keep the peace. (OK, maybe not anymore, but this is then.) And, by understanding the why and what of his actions just made me try harder to make it easier on him. Lecturing that this was temporary, and he had to do it, etc. etc., was too much like being a nag. And I didn't want to go there.

He was still a Pvt. Everytime he was promoted to P.F.C., he would do something stupid and be busted back down. I began to feel like his Mother just trying to keep him out of trouble. Like one time when he was sleeping. He was suppose to report early for K.P. duty because he was already in trouble. He didn't want to get up and go. I tried and tried to get him up. I begged, I shouted, and I cried. Finally, I'd had enough. I picked up the side of the mattress and actually rolled him off on the floor. Must have been some adrenalin involved. His own adrenalin was flowing after he hit that floor in a sound sleep. He came right back up with fists raised and his face twisted in rage. Thank goodness the bed was between us. He had time to see the look on my face, and he backed down. It was the first time I stood up to him. It didn't happen often, but I will only be pushed so far.

1963

G recovered quickly and didn't need surgery. I stayed at the hospital most of that weekend. His parents were there briefly on Sunday, then said to call when he was released and they left. Monday, I had to go back to school. C.A.S. had spread word of the accident before I got there. I wanted to go back to the hospital after school, but my brother needed our car. Remember the friend who lost his girlfriends ring on a hayride and I hunted through straw all night to find it? Well, he told me he'd take me to the hospital. He had an errand near there and could leave me and pick me up later. What he didn't tell me was that he'd be driving his sisters little M.G. and his buddy would be going too. After school, I found B. and J. and a very small two seat midget of a car. B. drove. J. stuffed himself into the "boot" and they took me to see my boyfriend. When we got to the hospital, poor J. was so cramped we could barely uncurl him to get him out of the car. It was funny, but I told them to go on and I'd find another way home.

G was in great spirits and said they were going to release him in the morning and he'd be home before I got out of school. I called home and then waited with G till my brother came to pick me up. Mom never mentioned the grounding or that G wasn't allowed to come back for a month. The next weekend he was back and driving an old car his Dad had owned forever. They had even named it Nellie. It reminded me of the "51 Chevy that Mom refused to ever drive again. G continued to drive Nellie and didn't even seem to be in any hurry to buy another car.

G had been lectured after the accident. His Father was annoyed at his lack of maturity or focus or goals. If G wanted my sympathy when he told me, I'm afraid he didn't get it. I was crazy about him, but I wasn't blindly in love. There was a lot of conversation every which way, and in the end G decided he would enlist in the Army. He wasn't interested in going back to college like his parents wanted. He was still rebelling.

My parents were real happy with this decision. Dad believed the Army would be good for him. Make him grow up a bit. Mom saw it as a way to seperate us. Then I made both my parents very unhappy with me. G asked me to marry him and I said yes. Under the condition we wait till he had finished his service. That was agreeable with him, and I was the first girl in the Senior class to show up with a diamond on my finger. Mom calmed down when I assured her the wedding was three years away. Dad didn't speak to me for months.

G went off to basic training and I concentrated on my school classes and activities. We expected G to be stationed far away after basic. It was a scary time. The Cuban Missal Crisis and the Viet Nam War were in the news. Not to mention Nuclear Bombs and Russia. But, I saw it as a good omen, when his break between basic training and assignment couldn't have been timed more perfectly. I got to take him to my Senior Prom and he was in Uniform. His assignment was Wilmington, Ohio. I was engaged and my Father was speaking to me again. I was a happy girl when I graduated in 1963.

I had started looking for a job before graduation and was hired by General Telephone Company to be a Long Distance Operator. I had turned our car over to my brother and wanted an apartment close to the job. My Phy. Ed. teacher was quitting at our school and returning to her home state. She set it up so I could move into her apartment. Another good omen. I graduated on Saturday, moved on Sunday and started training at G.T.E. on that very Monday.

It was all very exciting. At first. During training I was working days. My friends could hang out at my apartment with me. But, once training was over, I discovered I would be working a split shift. Four hours on, then off four hours and then back to work for four more hours. Which really messes up a whole 12 hours. And, the hours changed each day, so my friends couldn't keep up with my schedule. They gradually stopped visiting as summer progressed and there was more to do. Then there was a ridiculous dress code at work. We entered work from an alley, climbed up three floors and were restricted to a break room and the equipment floor. No one ever saw us, but we had to wear dresses and our hair had to be kept combed. In other words I couldn't join my friends at the pool during my four hours off. There wasn't time to get to the pool, hang out, get dressed and dried and back to that third floor. Or do much of anything else without a car. Everyone else was off till College or working days and free in the evening. My second four hour work shift took up my evenings.

My apartment was upstairs in a large old house and had one very big room, plus a bathroom. One wall had a small fridge, cook top and sink. No oven. There was also a very large walk in closet. And, I had a fireplace too. There were three other apartments on the second floor. I shared a wall with Howard. He was a young bachelor who taught at our local branch of O.S.U. The other apartments were occupied by a truck driver who was seldom there and a young woman who worked in an office. Neither one of them spoke to us. If they were home, they were locked in their rooms. Howard and I became friends. He promised my Mother he's watch out for me. His teaching schedule meant he was home at odd hours too. Our doors were often left open and we talked back and forth from our rooms.

The floor downstairs was taken up by an Architects office and their drawing tables and one other apartment occupied by a sweet little old retired lady. There was a full kitchen at the bottom of a beautiful wide winding stairway. Everyone in the house had full access to the kitchen. I loved to bake and used the kitchen a lot. When I baked the smell would bring the architects in to share cookies or cake. So, even though I wan't happy with my work hours, there were compensations. I became interested in the designs the architects were working on. They explained a lot of their work and talked to me and accepted my ideas. This became a hobby that I still play with. I must have a barrell full of floor plans I've drawn over the years.

I think I would have been content to go on like that for quite awhile. But, G and the Army were about to turn my world upside down.

G and his '55 Chevy

G still had his '55 Chevy. But, our double dates were mostly in W's new convertable. It never occured to me to wonder why he couldn't afford a new car too. It did occure to me that he wasn't as mature or responsible as W. My parents were right about his personality. But, as far as I was concerned, his over self confidence was an improvement over my previous dates personality. I could see his faults, but I was sure he'd been raised right and I believed he'd eventually outgrow the attitude. Mostly, I loved the way he was so protective of me in emotional ways. He went out of his way to make me feel important to him and good about myself. It was a thrilling change to be up on that pedestal.

He was also a bit rebelious. Not so much as to be a problem. He was too smart for that. But he was pleased to beat the system in small ways when he thought he could get away with it. It amused me and was something else I figured he'd outgrow. He always wanted to charge ahead, any time he was told no.

Like the night we were in his car, and had already taken P home and G and W were taking me home. I warned him to slow down for one of our counties raised rail road tracks. He stopped the car right there in the middle of the county road and asked me if I thought he needed advice about driving. That was a new side of him and I wasn't sure if he was angry or just felt challenged. Taking a laughing tone, I explained that this particular R.R. track had a way of launching you into space if you took it too fast. G looked at me a moment, then grinned. He backed his car up several yards, then gunned it and headed for those tracks. I was sitting between him and W and there wasn't anything to hang on to. So, I raised my arms and pushed my palms against the roof of the car. W must have decided I knew what I was doing and he followed my example. We hit the rise, went up and over the tracks and flew half the length of the pasture beside the road. When the car landed, it hit hard enough to raise all three of us up off the seat. Even with our hands pressed against the roof, W and I were tossed about. G had a death grip on the steering wheel, so he fared a little better than we did. When he got control and stopped the car, we discoverd we'd broken the seats back and it was tipped into the back seat. I was sorta angry, but I must admit, it had been a thrill too. We were ok, and I hoped maybe he'd learned something, though I wan't sure of that. We sat right where we'd stopped on that county road and caught our breaths. G made sure we were ok, cussed a bit about the broken seat and then took me home. I didn't tell my parents, of course. But, I did think about the guys having that hour drive home with no support at their back. And, I wondered what G would tell his parents about the broken seat. It's a wonder he didn't destroy the car. I found out later that G and W managed to fix the seat before his parents found out. And if anything else was broken, they never told me. I had, half heartedly scolded him after all.

One of the few times G and I had a date without our friends along, he'd taken me out to eat in Ohio's capital city. On the freeway home we were singing, and he was serenading me, and we were talking and lost in our own little world. We missed our exit and I didn't even realize it till I saw a sign for a town way north of home. We got turned around and headed back, but this meant I was going to miss my curfew by way over an hour. Mom was waiting for me and pretty mad. I'd never done it before, but she didn't want to know why. She told G that he couldn't come back for a month and I was grounded that long. This was extreme and not like my parents at all. Mom had always listened to my side before setting punishment. I knew she'd been worried and I knew better than to argue right then. But, G tried to change her mind. He was just making her madder, and then he got mad. By then, I knew him well enought to know he shouldn't be driving in that state. He left throwing gravel in the drive.

Mom sat down at the kitchen table with her cold coffee, and I sat down too. We didn't say anything at first. Then she asked me to go on to bed and we could talk in the morning. I just told her I wanted to wait a bit because I expected a phone call saying G had been in an accident.

And, that is just what happened. The phone rang after awhile and it was C.A.S.'s Father. (My early 4-H and first double date friend.) G has missed a curve in front of their house and ended up in the pasture between their house and the roller skating rink. The ambulance had already taken him to the hospital and he had asked Mr. S. to call us and not his parents. I was still dressed and Mom hurried to dress and tell Dad where we were going. We had no idea how bad it was. The only thing Mr. S. had told us on the phone was that the car was totaled.

G was very lucky. He had rolled his car several times, both sideways and end for end. Mr. S's. fence was wrapped around the car so tight, they had to cut G out. There weren't any broken bones, but there was internal bleeding. They didn't think he would need surgery, but were going to keep him several days to make sure the bleeding stopped.

Mom phoned his parents, and to her amazement, they told her they'd drive up sometime the next day, since it didn't sound serious. If that had been one of us, she'd have been there immediately. (Just like we were.) Mom and I both stayed at the hospital with G the night. G was distraught about Mom being mad at him. He kept telling her he was sorry and wanted her so say it was going to be ok. Instead of a "cocky showoff" she realized he was more of an insecure young man who's parents weren't concerned enough to rush to his side when he needed them. She still didn't totally like or trust him, but she understood him better.

The Foursome

P and I had gone to different grade schools. Then three schools consolidated and we were in the same high school. But, we had known each other for years because we grew up on farms and showed in 4-H against each other. She had Shorthorn cattle and I had Angus, but we were in the same barns at the county fair. She only showed at our local fair though and not on the show road. The afternoon G showed up at my house with W, he suggested calling P. She had also been at the O.S.U. concert and G knew her from there. P and I hadn't been real close before then, but the four of us really clicked. Both men had been out of school two years and had jobs. So most of those early dates were at our school functions.

One day at school, the guys surprised us by showing up during our lunch period. They just walked into the cafeteria and sat with us. That had never been done in our country school before and it caused quite a stir. I was kinda pleased and kinda embarrassed. At the end of lunch, they left and we went to our next class. It was interupted when P and I were called to the Principals Office. I swear that was the only time I'd ever been called in. We were told there wasn't actually any rule against guests for lunch, it had never come up. But .....Please don't do it again! It was disruptive and the school didn't want a problem. I don't know how they both got off work to show up like that, but I knew I didn't want to be called into the Principals office again. P seemed to think it was just funny. I think she enjoyed the uproar.

When we met them, they were both driving '55 Chevy's. They worked at different factories in their town and they both still lived with their parents. When nothing was going on at school, they took us to their town to show us off. We were taken to meet each of their families during one of those trips to their town. G's family lived in a small village and his Father worked in the same factory G did. W's family lived in the main town, but he had grown up on a farm and he also worked in the same factory as his Father. Both men had one sister who was 6 years younger and both men's Mothers had the same first name.

Shortly after we started the double dates, W bought a 1963 (brand new) Chevy Impala. It was white with red interior and it was a convertable with bucket seats. (Which were a novelty back then.) What a thrill. How we enjoyed that car. W would be in the drivers seat and he controlled the gas, clutch and brake. P would sit real close and do the steering. And, I'd be crammed next to P where I could shift gears. While G kept us in time with chants to keep it all going smooth. Four of us in two bucket seats driving in sync. Then one day we were stopped in the guys town by a policeman who made G and I get in the back seat. He said what we were doing wasn't legal. But, he let us off with a warning and a shake of his head and a lot of mumbling. As soon as we got to the edge of their town, we climbed back in front and went back home all in sync again.

P lived clear across the school district from me, also on a gravel road. One day we had been to the other town and we were cutting it close on time. P was afraid she would be grounded if she was late getting home. We were flying down her road when her neighbors goose flew up in front of us. The wind was blowing and the car was kicking us so much dust we didn't see the goose in time. We had the top down on the convertable and the goose hit the front window post on the passenger side. G and I were covered in feathers and goose blood and guts. W didn't even slow down. There were feathers everywhere, but P was spared the rest of it. P didn't want her folks to know we had been driving that fast on the gravel road. (Parents are funny that way.) Or that we had killed the neighbors goose. So, when we got her home, she jumped out and told us to get out of there. We left without being caught, blood feathers and all. Once away from her neighborhood, we stopped and tried to get some of the mess out of the car and off G and I. Not an easy thing to do in the middle of nowhere. W had escaped the messy part too, and was just picking at feathers. G and I picked the biggest globs off, but the blood was just smearing around. Looking at G, it was funny. Feeling it on me, wasn't. We finally gave up and they took me on home. There wasn't any way to hide it from my Mother. When I first walked into the kitchen, my Mothers face showed her shock and fear. G was right behind me, and looked just as bad. Once she was sure we were ok, Mom couldn't stop laughing. We wiped up what we could first, then all went to work on W's new convertable. Then the guys went on their way while I took a bath.

When P and I got to school after that, her neighbor boy sat in home room and told the class about how someone had slaughtered his goose and how he only found bits and parts of it. He was so upset and P and I had a hard time acting like we didn't know anything about it. We were glad he had told his story before we had a chance to tell of our adventure. After that, we didn't dare say anything to anyone. Which was hard. It was such a great story.

After W.R.W.

School was out for the summer. At first I avoided my friends. I guess my family attributed that to my breaking up with W.R. and thought it was normal. I'm sure they had no idea of what had happened. They liked W.R. and trusted him as much as I had. At first I wanted Mom to ask questions. She must have thought I'd bring it up if I wanted to talk. Then, once I knew I wasn't pregnant, I was afraid someone would ask questions and I just wanted to forget as soon as possible. I wanted to put the whole thing behind me. I had written to Jan, but told her not to come down. I'd avoided crying, and was afraid if I had her with me, I'd breakdown for sure.

I was 17 and had my senior year ahead of me. I wasn't looking forward to going back to school where people would find out we'd broken up again and might ask questions. But, I had the summer and 4-H and Gypsy and farm chores to help bring things back to normal before then. W.R. did phone a few times, but only came to the house once. Per my request, Mom was hanging up on him and she met him at the door and told him she thought I meant it this time. He gave up after that and I didn't hear from him again. It seemed to be over. If I could just get past it.

Some of the guys from our 4-H club had always hung around during the summer. Helping with the fields or just hanging out with Dad. I was always treated like everyones sister. Either teased or ignored. That actually helped me get through those first weeks. By mid summer, when the fairs started, I was acting normal. Not that I felt normal yet. It had been such a sudden and violent betrayal, and I was beginning to realize I was going to have to deal with it alone. Some of my best friends went to the fairs with me again. They didn't seem to think anything was different. After all, I had broken up with W.R. so many times before. They probably didn't think it would last this time either.

At our county fair that summer, one of the regular crowd had gotten a '57 T-Bird. I think he was just wanting to show it off, but he did take me home from the fair one evening. Then later at the state fair he took me off the grounds to find something to eat. In our group, that practically amounted to a date. I'd known him since we were 10, but he lived several counties away and I only saw him fair weeks at the county fairs we both attended. I probably wasn't very encouraging that summer either. It was too soon. I never saw him after the last fair and then after graduation I didn't go to the fairs the next summer.

School started and things settled into routine. My teacher made me Editor of the School Paper, which took up a lot of time. Then practice for Carousel started.

About the same time school started, G.B. showed up at my house. The same G.B. who had been C's. on again/off again. The one she met on the O.S.U. campus. He asked me for a date and I turned him down. I told C what he had done. She deserved to know. She told me I should have accepted him if I wanted, she wasn't interested in him and didn't care. I still thought he was sleezy, asking me out when he knew C and I were friends. Later on, he showed up again and he had a buddy with him. They wanted me to call a friend and just go get ice cream or something. I suggested calling C and G had the grace to be embarrassed and stammer that it was a bad idea. He didn't "mean to hurt her." I called P and we went out with them. G's friend was also W. Not the same name and he didn't go by both first and middle name. Just W. The four of us had a great time and before I knew it, I was part of a couple again. G and W were both two years older then P and I. They had jobs in factories and lived an hour away.

G shared my interest in music. He had a good singing voice and we sounded great together. But, his real talent was with any musical instrument he picked up. In school he had played the Sax. in the band and in a dance band. He also played a mean honkey tonk piano. We were wandering through a mall one Saturday and he made a bee line for a music store. They had a piano sitting there and he sat down and started to play. Pretty soon a crowd had gathered. He loved that kind of attention and the store manager was encouraging. (We were drawing a lot of people in) G filled that store with people coming in to listen and he was playing everything (not just honkey tonk) that anyone suggested. Someone thought they would stump him by suggesting, "Flight of the Bumblebee" G just grinned and said a piece like that deserved better than a piano. He moved over to an organ and played it. I was hooked. He was so totally opposit from the moody W.R. G was not only fun all the time, he was comfortable with strangers and in any group. My parrents didn't like him though. Dad said he was "cocky" and Mom agreed he was a "show off". But, I was having fun. It was fun to be with P and W too and we were relaxed with each other. A real foursome. In fact, at some of our school dances, we kept hearing people wonder who was with who. We were all together.

I'm not sure how the conversation started. But, I know we were sitting in W's car in my driveway and the conversation had turned serious. That was the night I confided what W.R. had done to me. They were very supportive and talked with me till I had it all out. It was that conversation that finally started my real healing. And made me ignore what my parents thought of G.

My Friend Jan

I met Jan on the O.S.U. campus during that week we represented our schools in a special state wide concert. I think this concert was replaced by what is now known as The All Ohio State Choir and The All Ohio State Band. When we went in 1961, it was a week spent in dorms on campus with lessons and practices followed by a large concert.

Jan was starting her Senior year in northern Ohio right on Lake Erie. I was only a Sophomore. I was a little surprised when we found more in common than our not wanting to go to the dances and social events that went with the weeks activities. We were both going steady with boys back home and didn't think we should be dancing and meeting more boys.

Jan was tall, almost 6' and had a models thin figure. She was also as beautiful as a model. With delicate features and perfect hair. She came from an average sized town on Lake Erie. She told me about her life and I talked about mine. They were very different lives. She was an only child and grew up with summers on the lake and clam bakes and beach parties.

We kept in touch after that week by mail and a few phone calls. We both like to write and there were lots of letters. Telling each other things we couldn't say to our friends. When Jan graduated, she got a job and an apartment in Toledo. She wanted me to come up and stay with her for a weekend. Mom hadn't met her and said she would have to come visit us first, so my parents could meet her. It was the summer before my Junior year. Jan came to stay with us and it didn't take my folks long to see what a sweet person she was.

After she left, Mom did ask me something that bothered me for a long time. I still don't know what she meant. Mom asked me if there was something wrong with Jan's health. Not that I knew of. Jan didn't always eat right and she was sometimes anemic. Sometimes she complained of having no energy. I thought Mom was just refering to Jan's thinness. But, Mom said something strange. She said there was "a shadow in Jan's eyes". As far as I knew there wasn't anything wrong and I let it go.

The first weekend I stayed with Jan in her apartment, we didn't even go out. We just had so much to talk about. I did try, in indirect ways, to get Jan to talk about her health. But, if anything was known, she didn't let on. In one of those odd coincidences that happen occasionally, we were talking about different religions. Jan was raised Catholic and I was Methodist, and we were trying to decide what other Church we could go to Sunday morning that would give us a new experience. There was a knock on her door and we discovered two college men trying to earn some extra money by selling Family Bibles. They didn't sell very many more that evening. Jan invited them in and the four of us spent a couple hours discussing the differences in religious beliefs. (I'm pretty sure this was before I met Dad's Jewish friends) I had done a research paper on the subject in school, so I was able to keep up with the conversation. The subject of my still being in high school never happened to come up. Jan told where she worked and that I was her friend and that was it. The four of us agreed to meet at a Salvation Army Service on Sunday morning. It was the only service none of us had ever attended. (It was also the last time I ever went to one of their services. They passed us a money plate SIX times.) After the service, they took us out to eat and then they took me to the bus station. That was my first weekend in Toledo with Jan. She continued to see one of those fellows for awhile, but it didn't last long. Jan was always being asked out and she dated a lot. But, none of them ever lasted long. She would write to me that they just weren't what she wanted, but she didn't know what she did want.

We spent quite a few weekends together. We loved going to the Toledo Museum and to the galleries around Toledo. And, every Sunday morning we went to a different church. When she came to the farm, she loved helping with chores. She liked to brush Gypsy, but I never got her to ride. That scared her. She grew quite fond of my habit of hiding in the haymow and talking for hours. She came to visit when I sang in Carousel. I was dating G.B. then and he brought along a friend for Jan. It was the only time we actually double dated.

Once I'd met Dad's Jewish friends and was also going up to visit them, I had to bring them and Jan together. After all they all lived in Toledo. They sort of adopted Jan and she was with them even when I wasn't there. She was thrilled at the chance to learn more of their religion. Jan didn't ever "preach" to anyone. Her sweet soul said it all. She was such a peaceful person to be around. We wrote so many letters back and forth and told each other everything. I never had a sister, but I've been lucky enough to have several friends who were better than sisters.

When I graduated and got a job, it was harder to find time, and money, for the bus trips to Toledo. We managed a few. I had an apartment too, right after graduation. Then G.B. and I were engaged, but not planning to marry till he got out of the Army. But, he got his orders to go to Germany for two years. He told me we could get married now, so I could go with him to Germany, or the wedding was off. He didn't want to go away for two years while he was engaged. So, I suddenly got married, (Jan was there) and went to Germany. But, first Gary and I spent another weekend with Jan in Toledo. It was the last time I ever saw her.

We continued to write several times a week. I arrived in Germany the first week in March. The following Christmas, her letters suddenly stopped. I kept writing. Asking what was wrong. Worrying. I didn't hear anything and I was so far away. I wrote Mom to see if she could find Jan's parents address. I didn't have it in Germany. I knew something awful had happened. Jan would not have stopped writing if she could write. I kept sending letters anyway. It was May before I got a letter from Jan's Mother. All of my letters had been forwarded to her. She apologised, she couldn't bring herself to write sooner. Jan and an old boyfriend had gone to a year round drive in theater during the Christmas holidays. Instead of renting the heater the theater had available, they left the car running. They had both died of carbon monoxide poisoning. So far away.

Old Keepsakes

Some things just have to be kept. I have a few things that value has nothing to do with, I just won't part with them. The older I get, the more they mean to me

The farm we grew up on wasn't owned by our parents. Mrs. Lepp owned it. She and her husband didn't farm and I believe she had inherited it. They were sweet people and very good landlords. I remember them visiting us after a trip to Canada. I remember that sounded "rich". To be able to travel. And, Canada sounded so far away when they talked about it. I don't remember what gifts they brought the rest of my family, but I still have mine. A small statue of a deer fawn. About 3 inches high and made of bronze. It is sitting on my T.V., just like it sat on every T.V. in every house I've ever had. I've long since forgotten why it was originally so important to me, but I couldn't part with it now. I've hung on to it through every husband and every move and every year since I was a small child. My oldest keepsake.

One of the other things I've hung on to is a coin. Brother S was being punished for some such long forgotten. He had been told to sit on the cistern till they told him he could get up. That was really the only punishment that ever worked with S. He laughed at spankings. Yelling didn't effect him. Grounding didn't work either. But, not being allowed to move did bother him. Feeling sorry for him, I was sitting there with him, listening while he grumbled. He was kicking up the dirt in front of the cistern and had dug a shallow hole with his shoe, when something caught his eye. Picking it up, he realized he had a coin. But, we didn't recognize it. It was the wrong size and it was very dark in color. Even after we rubbed it clean. One side has a shield like picture and the words IN GOD WE TRUST on a ribbon and the year 1867. Civil War era. The other side says UNITED STATES OF AMERICA around the edge, surrounding a circular bundle of wheat with 2 cents in the middle. S and I got very excited. We imagined a treasure buried by the old cistern during the civil war. We spent a lot of time off and on over the next few days digging around that cistern. But, we never found anything else. S lost interest and let me buy his 2 cent piece for a dime so he could buy a comic book. (Which gives you an idea of how long ago that was!) I have the coin in front of me right now. At 139 years old, it's in amazing shape. I got a good deal for a dime, but the last time I looked it up.....it will never make me rich.

I also have an expansion I.D. bracelet. I can't remember when or where I got it, but I must have been pretty small. It doesn't come near going over my hand now. It's engraved with all three of my maiden name initials.

The most precious keepsake to me, involves an opal ring that my brothers went together to get me one year for my birthday. Not my birthstone, but I'd always loved and wanted an opal. Marquise shaped in a 10K band. It meant a lot to me that they would do that. I wore it for years. Then one day I was opening the trunk of the car when it got away from me. The lid hit my hand hard and the opal was shattered. So was I. I kept all the pieces I could find in my jewelry box with the band. It lay in my jewelry box for a long time. Then one day I had an idea. I reset the band with my Niece's birthstone. Since I didn't have any daughters and since her Dad had given it to me, I thought she would like to have it. I still have the pieces of opal and though they aren't big enough to do anything with, they do remind me of the brothers who mean so much to me.

That's what old keepsakes are for.

Going Steady

His name was W.R.W. This was not the same W that became by second husband.

I met him at a Basketball Tournament Game my freshman year. Basketball was "THE" sport in our county and our school usually had a great team. I'd gone to the tournament with my parents, but I sat with my classmates. W.R. was sitting in a row above us and started teasing me because I got so excited and when I stood up, I blocked his view.

Back at school, I discovered he was in one of my study halls. I'd never even noticed him before. Now, I'd been told I couldn't date till I was 15, so when he asked me out, I told him why I couldn't go. He wanted to know when I'd be 15 and I told him. April. He did wait and asked me again in mid April. Mom let me accept even though I wasn't actually 15 till the end of April. W.R. was that first date that Mom met with a shotgun and a growling dog.

W.R. was one year ahead of me in school, but he had missed a year of school due to Rheumatic Fever when he was younger. So he was two years older and he had his own car. He was an only child and he was a bit spoiled and a lot moody. I was more outgoing and too willing to accept and forgive.

Those first dates were doubles with my friend, C.S. and her boyfriend J.W. C.S. and I were in 4-H together. (She is the one I was with when I shot G.H. in the shoulder with the pellet gun.) We took our dates to some of the county fairs that summer. The guys both thought fairs meant what we called "the grounds" Where the rides and games and food were. To C.S. and I, the fair was the cattle barns and the show ring. That was unknown territory to them. (Fun, work and a lot cheaper place to hang out than the grounds.) Everything on our farm was new to W.R.. The farm and my rambunctious family must have been part of the initial attraction to this only child. He hung around on our farm as much as he dated me.

C.S. also lived on a farm near the edge of town. Across a pasture from a roller skating rink. Long before we were allowed to date boys, she and I had been getting off the school bus, grabbing our skates from her room and walking to the rink a couple times a week. I can't say that we were talented, but we could skate. So we also took our dates to the rink. Her date, J.W. got pretty good at it. W.R. never did and he was the kind who wouldn't do what he wasn't good at. Then, C.S. dropped out of 4-H soon after the double date skating ended. She had totally discovered boys, (As my Mom would say) and she and I drifted apart. We never fought or anything and we still got together occasionally, but I wasn't comfortable with her on dates anymore.

That was the summer our music teacher chose several of us to represent our school in a state wide concert. We got to live in dorm rooms and study on the O.S.U. campus for a week preparing for the concert. This included both chorus and orchestra. Since we were from a small school (just over 60 in my class) with music in common, the kids that went were all friends. One of my closest friends, C.K.F. was in both band and choir, so she was kept pretty busy that week. I had more time on my hands, since I only practiced with the choir. But, since I was "going steady" with W.R., I skipped the dances and social gatherings. By doing so, I met another girl from northern Ohio who was also going steady. We spent most of our free time together and started a friendship that led to Greyhound Bus trips back and forth for both of us. C.F. on the other hand, found a boy friend that week. His name was G.M.B. We never double dated and I only mention this because 2 years later, C.F. and I traded boy friends. She went with W.R. for awhile and I dated G.M.B. In fact he became my first husband. But, I don't want to skip the two years before all of that.

C.F. and G.M.B. lived almost 50 miles apart. It was an, on again off again, kind of friendship. During the off agains, she was sometimes dating a guy named B.G. We did double date and those are some of my favorite memories. They were a lot alike in personality. By that, I mean always cheerful and always fun to be around. Even moody W.R. would cheer up and have fun when we were with them. It was C.F. and B.G. that got caught in the attic with us when we hid from the police at the haunted house. The four of us learned to ice skate on my Uncles farm pond. The four of us visited a small cavern where C.F. managed to get stuck in a tight space between rocks. I took pictures of B.G. when he managed to climb a tree during a picnic, then became afraid to climb down. Then there was the time B.G. got stuck between the marble column and wall of the Warren G. Harding memorial. Just going out to eat with them was fun. And since theirs was more of a friendship than girl friend/boy friend thing, going to movies was never embarrassing. Just a lot of laughing and loads of fun. (C.F. and I are still friends. I just talked to her on the phone Saturday.)

W.R. and I continued to date my sophomore and junior years. He was a football quarterback. (Despite the history of Rheumatic Fever) So, I went to football games. We went to school dances. But, he never liked to dance. I was still busy with 4-H and school musicals and plays and other activities. I was going steady, but it was not the most important thing in my life. Mostly because his moodiness was a problem for me. We broke up several times. The first time I broke up with him, he put a real guilt trip on me. He threw his ring away and told me his life was over. I was young and that scared me, and I agreed to try again. When he was a junior, he asked me to go to the Junior/Senior Prom. That should have been the end for me. He left me alone for the whole dance and spent the evening playing cards with the "singles" in the study hall. The other couple at our table were as embarrassed as I was, and the fellow went off and hauled W.R. back. But, he sulked and didn't dance a single dance with me. I can't give you a single good reason now why I stayed with him.

Except that each time I broke up with him, I found myself alone and left out of things. If you weren't part of a couple, you weren't invited to many activities. I probably didn't give it enough time, but no one else asked me out. My brother J told me much later (too late) that W.R. had something to do with that. Each time, I let myself be talked into going back with W.R. Then Dad had that bad accident when I was 16 and W.R. was so good to him. Both parents liked W.R. and he did have good qualities and he came from a family I liked and got along with. It was just that his moodiness was making me unhappy, and the longer I went with him, the more possessive he became. According to everyone, we were a couple and I felt trapped.

We'd been dating almost two years when he graduated. I'd never really dated anyone else. There had been some friends I'd run around with, mostly at fairs, during some of the breakups. Not really dates, just friends hanging out together. Enough for me to know that I would never be happy with W.R. I knew I didn't want to spend my future with him.

I tried to tell him that when he graduated. He had asked me to quit school and marry him. That was totally out of the question for me. No one in my family had ever quit school. I was not gong to be the first. That evening went very wrong when I refused to marry him. We argued and I wouldn't back down again. It was over and I wanted him to take me home. Today it would be called "date rape." Back then there were no words for it. He believed he could make me marry him if I became pregnant. He also told me that we had gone together so long that no one would believe we hadn't already been "doing it." I believed my parents and those who mattered would believe me. But, he was right, there were plenty of others who would always doubt. In 1962, I just couldn't face that.

He took me home thinking he'd won. But, I refused to see him again. I told Mom not to take his phone calls or let him in the house. I wanted her to ask why, but, she never did. I was lucky. I didn't get pregnant and I never went out with him again. I never told my family, but I did eventually confide in a couple of friends who helped me forgive myself.

I have debated long and hard with myself about telling this. I didn't want to. It has taken several days and many re-writes to get it down. BUT, it is important and I hope it will be of some good to the young people I care about. Because, even someone who you've known for years and trusted may not be who or what you think they are. "Raging Hormones" is not just an expression. Way back in centuries past, when people only lived 30 or 40 years, it was probably necessary for the proliferation of the species. Now it is a trap that will change your future. Even though I was lucky enough not to get pregnant, that isn't the only pit fall that will effect your life. What happens in your early years will be with you forever. You can survive. You can cope. Your can grow emotionally. Life can be good. But, you will never forget.

The main lesson I need to pass on to my loved young ones is this. Date rape (any rape) is better understood today and you don't have to handle it alone. If you can't avoid it, get help. GET HELP IMMEDIATELY. YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME.

A.V.M. Time Bomb

Note: This story starts in the last post, "My Condition" An Arterial Venous Malformation (A.V.M.) is explained there.

Since I learned how not to pass out when I was still pretty young, I grew up trying to hide the problem. If I was playing with a group, I would just step back and watch while "the feeling" retreated. Actually it was easier back then. Now, I know why. At the time I didn't understand any of it. When we are young, our blood vessels are elastic. As we age, we gradually lose more and more of that elasticity. So, stopping when I felt that hurting pressure was enough to give the blood in my head more of a chance to drain. I was able to get through the teen years without a lot of unwanted attention.

In my 20's, when we finally had Mom's diagnosis, I was experiencing worse pain in my head. Adulthood, responsibilities and caring for a baby (and stress) were causing more problems. Talking to Mom about her M.S. symptoms had us both wondering. The Doctors kept telling Mom that M.S. isn't hereditary. The problem was, neither one of us had any reason to trust Doctors by then. Still, I didn't really think it was M.S. After all, I could make the dizzyness and the worst of the pain go away by resting. Which also made me doubt that it was real. I had long since accepted that it had something to do with my mind and lazyness. After all the word lazy had been prominent throughout my childhood. Or, maybe my mind was just sharing sympathy pains with Mom.

When I was 26, I had my second son with my second husband. Just about a month before T was born, I woke up one morning to find myself blind in one eye and almost no vision in the other. My hubby phoned his Mother and went off to work. She came right over and as soon as she thought the Eye Doctor might be in his office, she was on the phone to him. He had us come in immediately. I really liked this Doctor and had been seeing him for several years. He had me wearing contact lenses. Back then, the hard kind. After he examined me and asked his questions, he phoned and Eye Surgery Specialist. Twenty five miles away in another town. And my Mother-In-Law took me right down there. To make a long story short, our eyes have a substance called vitreous, a gel like substance that fills the back of our eyes. It helps hold the round shape. I have no vitreous, just some scar tissue. The hormonal changes, and water retention of pregnancy had caused the scar tissue to pull at the retinae. Not enough to tear, just to pull it out of shape. A gazillion questions, but mainly.... How had I gotten through the first pregnancy? Would my vision return? There were no answers....again. The eye surgeon saw me several times a week till I delivered T, just to stay on top of things. There wasn't anything he could do. My vision returned on it's own within a couple of days, and nothing worse happened. But, the Doctor did insist my Husband come in . He told him what to do if it happened again, or if there were signs of a tear in the retinae. He warned my Husband never to slap me or give any blow to my head. That wasn't a concern, W was never violent. But, the idea that a blow to my head could blind me, was a concern. How had I gotten past all the exploits of childhood and horse back riding with it's falls? I only had one conclusion. God had given me the A.V.M. for some reason, but he was also taking care of me.

This new discovery gave Mom and I a lot to talk about. It wasn't any part of M.S., but what did it mean. If there was a birth defect in my eyes, did it have something to do with the rest. Again, the Doctors didn't know! That was in 1971. It would be another 7 years before I'd find out........the hard way.

My husband, W and I had built our own home when we married in 1968, with the help of family. (That is another story) This house was out in the country. But, within a few years it was surrounded on all sides by neighbors and new construction. We had been dreaming of a log home in a woods. Late in 1976 we found 38 acres to build on. We were able to clear a lot of woods that fall; lay out our driveway and decide where we wanted the house. We had visited New Hampshire and ordered our logs. Hand peeled and cut top and bottom to six inches, with the sides left whole. All summer of 1977, we worked on the log home. Mostly alone. His parents were gone and mine were older and sick. Friends stopped by when they could, but we did most of the work. And, I was in trouble. The higher the wall got, the harder it was for me to lift them. Some of those logs weighed up to 300 lbs. Winter forced us to stop, before we had gotten as far as we expected. We started again early in the spring of 1978. I was 33 years old and had lost my brother J in January. Our log walls were now higher than my head, and every log I lifted gave me "the feeling." The pain was constant and I seemed to be dizzy most of the time. Stopping didn't help anymore. I blamed it on the grief of J's death and stress. There was still so much to do on the log home and we'd spent so much time already. The bank was pressing us to finish. So, I was pushing myself past any point I ever had before.

This is going to get confusing. I wanted to keep the stories of the log home and J's death and my marriages for their own posts. But, they are much to intertwined at this point to seperate. So, I will stick to the A.V.I. as much as I can, and you can know that I will eventually fill in details on the other stories later.

The day I lost consciousness, (lifting logs) W put me and T (son J was at his Fathers) in the car and took me the one hour drive to my parents house. So, I ended up in a Marion hospital instead of in our own town. Mom kept T and after W admitted me, he went back home. He didn't even call her to say I'd been admitted. She had to call the hospital.

I was still unconscious when I was admitted. Pretty much, most of that time is fuzzy to me. I have a few vivid memories, a few hazy ones and the rest was filled in later. They started with a C.A.T. scan. Surgery was in the works. But, by the time the last scan was done, just before surgery, the could tell there was no further bleeding. They believed the vein that had burst was tiny. It didn't have enough pressure to keep bleeding once it's surrounding area was full of blood. That saved my life. If the vein had been larger, I would probably have been dead before W got me to Marion. Or, if not dead, I'd have been one of the "vegetables" They kept me in the hospital after I regained consciousness to try to determine how extensive the A.V.M. was. They needed to know if it, or any part of it, could be removed. It took several more days to determine what they were going to do with me. They planned their tests. It was one of those tests that is my most vivid memory.

A new Doctor I hadn't seen before came into my room with a release paper for me to sign. He explained they were going to have to do exploritory surgery, or I could agree to a text that might save me from brain surgery. OK, easy choice there. Till I read the release papers. It stated that if my vocal cords were paralized during the test, I wouldn't sue the hospital or the Doctor. Paralized? Never speak again? That, or brain surgery? I broke down. I needed Mom. But, Mom was sick and stuck at home with my T. I phoned her. I signed the paper. I tore the paper up. I phoned Mom again. But, she didn't answer the phone. She was walking through my hospital room door. One neighbor had T and another brought Mom to me. We cried together, then Mom went after the Doctor. She had questions to ask.

In the end, I had the test and I could still speak, but there is more to tell about that test. They took me down to a room with an odd looking table with straps and a motor on one end. Once strapped down to the table, (talk about scary!!!) they flipped a switch on the motor. But, nothing happened. No one told me anything or would answer my questions. They discussed their problem as if I wasn't there and scurried around. I didn't feel like a 33 year old woman, I felt like a terrified kid. Eventually, a maintenence man came into the room with a huge drill. He gave me a wink. The very first human contact I had felt in that room. I couldn't see just what he was doing, it was above my head, and with the strap across my forehead, I couldn't move. But, the maintenance man explained the motor didn't work and he was going to use the drill to do the motors job. Suddenly I heard that drill just behind and below my right ear. It was a painful noise that close to my head and it vibrated the whole table I was strapped to. Then I realized my feet were going up and my head was going down. The table was tipping so that I was essentially standing on my head. At least now the straps made sense. Once the table and I were in position, the Doctor spoke from behind me. He seemed to be sitting on a stool. He told me they were going to put a small tube into a vein in my throat and thread it up (no down now) into my head. I would have to be conscious so I could speak and answer questions as he worked. That would let him know if he was doing damage to my vocal cords. It was awful. Torture. He tried to get into the vein 2 or 3 times on one side of my throat and when he couldn't, he tried the other side. It was like a nurse who has trouble trying to start an I.V. Except, I was upside down and he was sticking a needle into my throat. I've had Doctors tell me after surgery that I have a high pain tolerance, but that was the worst. I was warned not to cry or they would have to stop and try again the next day. Once he finally had his tube inserted where he wanted it, (I was visable on some sort of scan or x-ray) they added a dye or whatever. It felt VERY warm. Not quite pain, but with the rest, I couldn't tell the difference by then. Besides, being on my head that long, with the blood settling there, I had a horrid head ache anyway. They took some x-ray pictures then, I could hear that whirring clunk clunk sound I associate with x-rays. Removing the tube wasn't quite as bad as putting it in, but it still hurt. Then the test was over and I could go back to my room.

Mom was waiting for me when I got back. I felt like I'd been tortured for hours. Before I could describe to Mom what they'd done, my throat started to swell on both sides and pretty soon I couldn't talk. Which totally freaked me out. Several nurses had stayed close and they assured me it was just swelling and my vocal cords were fine. They were there to make sure the swelling didn't effect my breathing. I couldn't talk or eat or drink for over 48 hours. The ice chips were all I could have and I had one in my mouth most of the time. It was the only thing that eased my burning throat.

The next day, before I could talk yet, Mom and Dad were both with me when another Doctor I hadn't seen before came in with a couple of the x-rays. What I saw was terrifying and I was glad my folks were with me. Mom knew what questions to ask and just what the Doctor was telling us. I saw a skull and right in the center was a fist sized mess that looked like the roots of a plant that is so pot bound you can't shake the dirt off. Blood vessels in all sizes wrapped in, under, over and around each other so tightly I couldn't imagine any brain wrapped in that mess. And, you couldn't tell where it started and where it ended. And that was exactly the problem. They couldn't remove it because it was too deep in my head and it had no beginning and no end. That was when they told the three of us that I probably wouldn't live. We had just lost J a few months before. It didn't seem real to me, and I couldn't even talk anyway. But, it was very real to my parents. I think it just took longer for it to sink in to me. I was on some pretty strong meds to keep me calm after that test the day before.

I was worried about my parents. Especially Mom. She had been through so much. I don't know how she survived this added burden. Except that she turned to anger to get through. Once the Doctors had their answers, they couldn't seem to get rid of me fast enough. As soon as the swelling in my throat was down and I could talk and eat again, they dismissed me. That is when I learned that Mom had been trying to reach W. My husband hadn't been back to see me since he'd admitted me. Mom turned her anger on him and it helped keep her focus off her fear. They took me home with them when I was dismissed. W finally answered the phone at home and came up to get me and T. He took me home and we never talked about my A.V.M. You see, W avoided all things he didn't want to deal with. He did aplologise for not coming to the hospital. He explained that hospital smells made him sick.

That was 28 years ago now. I'm not dead and I'm still doing quite well with the time bomb in my head. Because, I know how to be lazy and when to be lazy.

My Condition

(If you haven't read, "What's next." just before this post; please do so. Please and Thank You.)

In simple words, I was told, a disease is something you get. Like Mom's M.S. A condition on the other hand is something you have. Often, something you were born with.

I was born with Wyburn Mason Syndrome. Or, more commonly just called Arterial Venous Malformation. Or A.V.M. Which means there is a cluster of extra blood veins/vessels that are tangled in a big knot, like yarn that has been played with by a cat, and they baloon in my head. They baloon because the blood flow goes to my head but isn't able to return to my heart as fast as it arrived. So, as it pumps into my head, the pressure builds. A lot of these vessels are very tiny and this knot of vessels is rather large and deep in the center of my head. In 1978 I had an aneurysm in my head. I was born in 1945. Which means 33 years of knowing something wasn't right, but, like Mom, being told they couldn't find anything wrong.

I was too young to even remember the first symptoms. But they scared my Mother, who as the trained nurse, knew they shouldn't happen. When I was calm and quiet, all was well. But, when I ran or played hard, I would suddenly pass out. Strong emotion could also lead to brief periods of wobblyness. Once while playing outside, I wobbled and took a bad tumble down the basement stairs. The kind of stairs that open to the outside of the house by two swing apart doors parallel to the ground. The ones that were always open when Mom was doing laundry in the cellar and hanging it outside. That tumble left me with a crooked tooth that I still have. Which is one of the reasons I've been told about it. It took me long enough to regain consciousness, to give Mom a real scare. Mom told me I was unconscious much to often as a small child, and she knew something was wrong, but the Doctors couldn't find anything.

Eventually, perhaps in self preservation, I instinctively learned to avoid passing out by stopping what I was doing as soon as "that feeling" was noticed. Still young, and without being fully aware of it, I learned that when I felt "the feeling", I would be ok if I gave it a little bit of time before continuing, and if I proceeded slower and gentler. Thus, I was able to avoid actually passing out.

As the years passed, Dad didn't connect my "lazyness" to those earlier episodes. Mom was always more compassionate and understanding. Dad would get very upset with me if I wasn't doing enough fast enough. I would especially run into problems where lifting or moving something heavy was involved. And, that includes a lot of chores on a farm. When I felt that pressure, or things would go out of focus or I'd feel dizzy or weak, I just wouldn't be able to push through it. The odd part was that it might only take a couple of minutes or it could take 15 minutes or so after I stopped to feel fine again. When it was over, it was totally over. No left over sensations to let me know it had been real. I began to doubt my own sanity....or at least my own "quality of character." Sometimes I wondered if I really was lazily avoiding work. Except that this was also interfering with my fun. I could never run as far as I wanted. Or tumble as long, or skate as long. There always had to be those stupid breaks, when everyone else was still going strong. Maybe that's why I loved the Indian leg wrestling. One quick action and then rest awhile. And, riding Gypsy never caused me pain either.

Oh, I haven't mentioned the pain. Of course, back then I didn't know about the pain. I had no way of knowing that everyone didn't feel the same thing I did. I'd lived with it every day of my life. Now, I just have to jump ahead again and tell you how I discovered the pain. This happened several months after I finally had my diagnosis. I could no longer work full time, but staying home waiting to die just wasn't acceptable either. (They told me after the aneurysm, that it was just the first one and there would be more and I probably wouldn't live a year.) ((That was a bad year.)) Anyway, I was working part time with a vending machine company. While cleaning the inside of a machine at the Hospital, (a good place to have a part time job in my condition.) I touched a bare wire with a wet wash cloth. It knocked me out cold. I don't even remember falling. I came to slowly in the Emergency Room. Confused and not knowing what had happened, the first thing I did realize was that I couldn't feel my head. I panicked. I very much remember yelling, "Where's my head. I can't feel my head." I kept yelling and trying to get my hands up to feel my head. Try to imagine the Nurse who had been checking my heart and suddenly I'm yelling about my head and thrashing around. All she knows is I've had an electrical shock. Why am I yelling about my head. It's my heart she's been worried about. This woman is practically laying across me to keep me from falling off the exam table and I'm trying to get my hands up to my head and still yelling that I can't feel my head. She has shouted for help with the crazy woman and then she yells at me, "You are using your mouth, so your head must be right where it belongs. Now, settle down!" That sank in. She was right. But, what an odd sensation, I'd always felt my head before. As I calmed down, I realized there was a stinging, tingle, creepyness sensation that was very uncomfortable all over my body. And, there was that achyness/pressure in my heart area that should have been in my head. I did not like this new feeling at all. I was in the Emergency Room quite awhile. By the time that stinging tingle had gone, the headache was back. So, don't suggest shock treatments to me. The headache I can live with; the stingtingle I'm not so sure of.

I've mentioned that my family yelled a lot. We never threw things at each other or hit or slapped. But, I did grow up yelling. And, that is one of the things that makes my head hurt worse. And, one of the hardest things to control when I'm angry. And, if I don't yell, I tense up and that is just as bad. A changing barometer and the corresponding weather always makes the pain bad. Almost unbearable at times. Heavy lifting, pushing and pulling all cause extra pain and "that feeling." The feeling that reminds me I'm living with a time bomb in my head. And, I've already way outlived the time they gave me. In other words, my pain is a pain. I don't look sick, I probably do look lazy to anyone who doesn't know my story. I can be working along, and sometimes just have to stop and sit, before I can go on as if nothing had happened. Still, living with this now is so much easier than it was when I didn't know what was wrong. And, I didn't know what was wrong till one of those little blood vessels exploded in my head when I was 33. I'll talk about that in my next post.

What's Next?

I originally had a plan to start at the beginning of my life and keep this cronologically in order. That didn't last long. I find that memories are not cronolological. Or, maybe it's just that my memories aren't even logical. Which brings me to my present dilemma. What's next?

I want very much to go right into my own medical condition. I feel it should follow soon after Mom's story. Like Mom's Multiple Sclerosis, my own story starts young, and if I tell it all, you end up years from where you start. And, all the stories in between get skipped. Still, knowing the long story might help you understand all the in between short stories when I go back to them.

If your mind is following my mind, this will make sense to you. If not, we've proved my logic leaves something to be desired. Or, if not, your logic is as undesirable as mine. In either case, you are still with me, or......I'm talking to myself. And, I've talked myself into talking about my condition. Next post, please.

A Serious Crush

Do you remember your first real crush? (Betcha do!) The one that catches you by surprise because the feelings are all so new and confusing. If you are lucky, he is just as confused about you. Then no matter how you try to hide it, everyone notices. All the other kids in the class love to tease you both. Those big people put that awful name on it. Puppy Love. Have they really forgotten how embarrassing that is? Or, don't they care? And, when it's a one sided crush.....that must be THE mostest, worstest, cruelest thing fate can hand you.

I was lucky. He liked me too. His name was M.D. (Really) He was one of the popular boys in 6th grade and I sorta liked him then. But, something happened in 7th grade. I seemed to be thinking of him all the time. And, most amazingly, he was ignoring the other girls and only teasing me. Remember......boys that age......they show attention by teasing. It embarrassed me, but he seemed to enjoy drawing attention to us. Even in class. He would wink at me openly, and then he would do or say somthing to make me turn red. I was very good at turning red. Sometimes I could feel it start at my neck and go all the way to the roots of my hair. Other times, it seemed to start at those same roots and go all the way to my toes. Then M would blow me a kiss and mouth the word, "Sorry". The class loved it, and I would even catch the teacher sometimes trying to hide a smile.

Like the day M, who was sitting in the next desk on my left, (in the front row) acted like his ink pen had run out of ink. He shook it a few times, then asked me in a whisper if I had a spare pen. He wasn't drawing attention to us and seemed sincere. I gave him my extra pen. A little while later, when our teacher was changing subjects and there was a general rustling in class, he offered my pen back. I reached for it, but he had unscrewed it in the middle and I only got one end of it. I'm holding one end and he has the other. But, he won't give me his end or take mine. He wants to hold his end while I put my end back on. So, I reach across to slide it over the ink tube, but he moves it just enough to make me miss. I try again. He is giving me that beautiful smile that simply won't let me be annoyed with him. Besides, it was kinda funny and kinda fun too. Except that the class has stopped rustling, and we are now the center of attention......again. The teacher waits for me to try to re-connect my pen a third time, without success. Everyone is laughing now, and being a Teacher, she must regain control of her class. I will remember all of my life what her choice of punishment was for disrupting class. Actually it was the same thing she always did. She sent me and M to the fire escape. One of those enclosed concrete stairwells that lead outside in old brick buildings. Both of us. Together. Alone. M let out an indian type "Yippee" of joy. And I died. I think that was when the teacher realized what she'd done. I mean, sending kids to the cold dark fire escape was her usual punishment. But, this was the first time two students had gone together. She usually left a student out there for 10 minutes. We were called back in almost immediately. Wish I could say I got a kiss in the fire escape. Or, tell you to use your own imagination. Actually, M was a gentleman once we were alone. I learned he was "all show and no go." Once alone with me, he seemed as embarrassed as I was. That made him seem more real, and I liked him better for it. We talked about something forgotten, and before we could relax, we were returned to the classroom. When we were called back in, he held the door open and bowed me on ahead to enter first. The boys were snickering and the girls were grinning. We ignored everyone and took our seats. And, neither one of us would say a word about what had happened in the concrete stairwell when the others gathered around at recess. We just smiled. It was the first secret I ever shared with a boy.

M was such a happy guy. He was a born leader too. He organized us to surprise a favorite teacher with a party on her birthday. He got permission to use an empty room down in the basement. Some of us decorated it during a recess and then at lunch he got her to the basement on some pretext. She really was surprised. Mostly, I remember how he loved to come up with new ways to say, "That's the way the cookie crumbles." He never repeated anything. It would turn into "mop flops", "balloon pops", "grass grows", "tire leaks", "water wets." He could take an old saying and play with the words. Everything had to be original, and his mind was so quick with it. I was challenged to keep up with him, but it was so much fun. Yup, everyone liked M and I was the lucky one M liked. It was a glorious year.

That ended suddenly, before the year was really over. M was part of a large family who lived in a rented home on a farm owned by our neighbor. The house caught fire, and Thank God, everyone made it out ok. But, the house was destroyed. The family had to quickly find a new home. And, they didn't find one in our school district. In fact, they didn't even stay in Marion County. It was sudden and it was absolute. And, I was devistated.

We were only in the 7th grade. I'm sure it would have ended anyway, sooner or later. It would have been nice though, to see where it took me. That seemed such an unfair way to loose my first real crush. Even though we were so young, and never really dated, he really was my first real boyfriend. I can still think of him with a smile and affection.

Is that really what "puppy love" is? Not so much the who....but the feeling. The memory of how it felt. The first real connection with another person who makes you feel good about yourself. The silly, but meaningful secret you first share with the oposit sex. The very first time you start to wonder how it will be when you have someone outside your family to wonder about the future with. Surely, no matter how long it lasted, or how it ended, that first serious crush is forever important. It changes us. It's the one we don't want to forget, and can always wonder, "What if..."

God Be With You M, where ever you are.

California Second cousin

I can bet, you can think of someone from your growing years who made you feel awkward and even a little bit inferior. My someone was the daughter of Mom's cousin. A California girl.

We had nothing in common, except family and our birthday. Our Mother's had grown up cousins and best friends. E was like the sister Mom never had. She was the daughter of Granddad S's sister. But E wasn't as lucky as Mom. Remember it was war time. Mom and Dad married and he went off to war. E's boyfriend went off to war and then she discovered she was pregnant. No marriage, and he didn't come home from the war. That's all I know, and I didn't learn that till much, much later. Mom was E's biggest support during the scandal that always brought ruin to a young woman in the mid '40's. The two women actually went into labor together and shared a hospital room. C.A.B. was born two hours before I was. Our Mother's called us "the twins" and we share the same middle name. They were together constantly, till Dad took Mom to Iowa. Then E took C to California where no one knew her story. I don't know if C ever knew her story, she sure never acted like it, and it was never mentioned when they visited Ohio. E was soon married in California and had a second little girl. They only made it back to Ohio a few times. One of those times was when we stayed with Granddad and Grandmom S and C and I were told about the ghost in the cemetary near their house. The night we had so much trouble going to sleep.

The visit that made me feel so awkward was the year we were 12 going on 13 and 18. That is, I was going on 13 and C was going on 18. She was already wearing a BRA!!!! She had already had her first date. (I couldn't date till I was 15) She wore bikini's to the beach. She lived in Ventura near Disneyland. She was tiny, petite, beautiful, sophisticated, and DEVELOPED. She was a California Woman and I was a mid-Ohio country girl. We had gotten along ok on previous visits, but this was different. Still, our Mothers were best of friends. C and I would probably never have spent more than 10 minutes together under any other circumstances. Expecially since she could see the difference as well as I could. And, she wasn't above letting me know it.

Usually on those visits, we got together in Van Wert. This time the family gathered at our farm for a weekend. Mom's parents were there too. Which was more than our farm house really had room for. Granddad S had a Nash Rambler that he had won in a dealership contest. It was all decked out in the newest options available in 1957. One of which was a front seat that folded down and joined the back seat in a quite comfortable bed. So, it was decided that C and I could camp out in the car. An adventure that I loved. But, I discovered my city cousin wasn't as comfortable in the country as I was. As soon as it got dark, the farm sounds were turning C into a quivering ball of terror. Every time I'd doze off, she would shake me awake to identify some new noise. Cows. Hogs. Tree branches in the wind. Farm cats. (Ever heard one of them screech?) A family of owls. Bats. Even insects. It went on and on. Sheer exhaustion finally let me ignore her. Till just before dawn. I woke up feeling like I couldn't breathe. I was gasping, but still couldn't get any air. C was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin and it didn't look like she was breathing well either. As I came more awake, I realized she had rolled up the cars windows tight. Now the advertisements for the Nash Rambler said that it was airtight enough to float on a lake. Our windows were steamed over and I realized just how airtight that car was. I bounded for the nearest window and had my head hanging our gasping for a full lung of fresh country air. Then I started yelling at C that she could have killed us. She was crying and with great big sobs she was trying to tell me how scared she was with the windows down.

That's how I realized I wouldn't trade her city sophisication for my country smarts for anything in the world. I never did manage to convince C that we were safer in my country then in her city. But, I bet it was true even back then.

We only saw each other on one more visit after that. Maybe it was our teen activities that kept them from coming back to Ohio. Or we just grew up. We wrote a few times, but still didn't have anything in common. Even our Mothers grew apart and the letters eventually stopped. Or something happened that I don't know about. Once Granddad S was gone, we didn't hear much from any of that side of the family. They were Granddads family and it seemed that if Grandmom couldn't have family, she didn't want Granddad to either. I do think of "my twin" once in a while. But, I don't know where she is or even what her name could be by now. And, I'm sure if I did find her, we still wouldn't have anything in common. That side of the family is really unknown to me. Another legacy from Mom's Mother.

Multiple Sclerosis and Mom

I spent almost a year with Mom and Dad after my divorce. JT was still in diapers when we moved in. For a month or so, S was living there too. Mom and Dad had left the farm and were living in Marion. It was a big two story house. Dad offered me a chance to go back to business college or to the beauty acadamy. I chose the business college. But, that meant Mom was raising my son every day while I was in school. And, having a hard time doing it. A toddler is probably the worst age for a sick person to handle. The first chance I had, I took a job and quit school. I was working in an office and I found someone to take care of my son. At home. She was suppose to do what she could to help Mom too. Mom didn't tell me right away, but the young woman I was spending most of my wages on, was only helping till JT was put down for his nap. Then she went to bed too and didn't get up till just before I got home. Which put the responsibility of my child right back on Mom. Every afternoon, when her own energy was at it's lowest.

Not too long after I returned to Marion, a man who had been my friends date when we double dated in my senior year, returned from the Army. His Mother had stayed in touch with me and sent him over to Marion to see me. We dated for 10 months, and when he asked me to marry him, I was thrilled. For several reasons. I'd always liked him, even when he was dating my friend P. I also adored his Mother. He and I had a lot in common and I was so sure the love I felt for him would grow. And, I have to admit, getting us out of Moms way had something to do with it. Mom needed peace and quiet and sure wasn't going to get it with a toddler in the house.

We hadn't been married, and living that hour drive away again, very long when Dad phoned me to say Mom was in a Columbus hospital. They had decided she had a brain tumor and surgery was scheduled just a few days later. This time it was double vision that sent her to the Doctor. She had gotten so much worse, so quickly. She would reach for something and it wouldn't be where she saw it. She couldn't even stand still and straight anymore. A young intern gave her an eye patch and it did eliminate the double vision. She had to change it from eye to eye every hour so neither eye would get weak. Along with the double vision, it should have also helped with the problem of reaching for something. But, it didn't, nor did it improve her balance when she tried to stand.

This same intern worked through the night when most patients were sleeping. Since Mom was awake most of the time, he started sitting with her, and asking questions. She talked to him about all the years of strangeness. He started taking notes and asking more questions and when he wasn't on duty, he was researching. He found enough to convince her Doctors to postpone the brain surgery. More tests were completed and for the first time a complete history of her life was put together. There wasn't any test for Multiple Sclerosis in 1968, but they were pretty sure they had found a diagnosis at last. But, there also wasn't any treatment. All they could do was try to treat each symptom as it developed. Eventually they did eliminate the double vision and she could give up the eye patch. But, it seemed like forever to me that she walked bent forward almost looking at the floor. If she tried to stand straight, her equalibrium made her feel like she was falling backwards. She had to see the floor right in front of her to feel safe. She still smoked cigarettes, (she told me it was the only thing she could really taste) but she couldn't feel the heat and her fingers were often burned. She learned to adjust so she could reach the ashtray. It still wasn't where she saw it. That also meant her coffee cup and spoon and fork and everything else wasn't where she saw it. But, she adjusted and knew how far over to reach. I think that problem eased eventually too. But, I'm not sure. She adjusted so well to things and didn't like to talk about them. I never was sure if the problem was gone or she could hide it. With M.S., you never know if a new problem will be permanent or fade on it's own. She treated each as if it would stay and learned to adjust and it wasn't talked about very long.

Mom tried to live as normally as she could. She and Dad were in a bowling league. The other bowlers had to know of her disease and they learned not to run to her every time she fell. She fell a lot, especially bowling. When she was too sick or dizzy or weak to bowl a substitute joined to bowl for her. I was that substitute when I lived with them, then they found someone who was willing to show up on short notice. There was one other notible substitution. Their Church stopped using the organ when Mom was there. Mom could tolerate the piano, but the organs vibrations made her very uncomfortable. Eventually Mom stopped going to Church regularly because she didn't want everything to revolve around her. She only went occasionally and no one could convince her they wanted her there every week, even without the organ music.

Mom said it was the music that kept her away from Church. But, I wasn't convinced. Her faith was slipping away. She had suffered through childhood because of a selfish, bitter Mother. And, she was suffering throughout her adulthood in ways no one could know or fully understand. Why? A great big WHY? There was never a sweeter, more caring, considerate woman. Anywhere. Anytime.

Her M.S. wasn't as aggressive as some can be. She lived a lifetime of recurring periods of horror and then remission. When a test was finally devised to prove it was M.S., she had the test. When new treatments came out, they were tried on her. When the local Hospital put a Neurosurgeon on staff, she was referrred to him. Dr. N. E. took care of her till her death. He was kind, considerate, very smart and he apologised to her many times. He told her he was so sorry he couldn't do more. Medicine just didn't know enough. (He was also my Dr. when I needed a Neurosurgeon. Mom and I both were treated like his family.)

Since her M.S. was considered a slow progressive kind, whe was asked if she would help by talking to the young people just learning they had M.S. It was suppose to help them by meeting a woman who had had it for so many years and still lived in her own home functioning pretty much on her own. She did that for several more years. I was often there when some of these people visited. She was wonderful with them. Encouraging and letting them talk as long as they needed. Then they would leave and she would break down. She was seeing some of them deteriate so quickly. Others were so young and she knew no cure was going to come quick enough to make their lives anywhere near normal. It was tearing her up, but as long as she thought she was helping them, she wouldn't quit. I often drove my hour long drive back home in tears myself. You feel so helpless.

In 1984, Mom and I took a trip. Just the two of us. Four days and three nights, but we were never more than two hours from her home. (And Dr. N.E.) We drove back to the town she was born in and spent her early years. She showed me the house where her Great Grandparents lived. The ones who raised her Mother. And down the street where her Mothers sisters grew up with their Mother. That house wasn't there anymore. We found her first school, but where she lived wasn't there and she couldn't even find anything recognisable. We spent the first night in that town. Then we headed for Van Wert where she grew up. When we went past the house her Father had built and lived with her Mother, there, where we could see it was a dog house. Over it's door was the name "SAM". That made her laugh. Her Father's name was Sam and she thought if very appropriate the dog house was for "Sam." We spent time at St. Marys Lake. We drove in a big circle, away from but, around Marion. We saw the Piatt Castles. But, mostly we just enjoyed the Ohio countryside. Whenever our route crossed a river or water we could park beside, we stopped. I didn't know then that within a year she would be in a wheelchair. But even then she couldn't walk far and I think she knew. Mostly we talked. In the car, beside any water, all night. Neither of us slept much those four days and three nights. We talked the whole time. We had never had trouble talking and that long time together was no different. My Mother was very knowledgable about a great many subjects. I read everything I come across. Our conversations were not gossipy. I learned a lot about what she believed in. I have probably adopted a lot of those beliefs as my own. I think memories of our trip were what made me miss her so much during my walk along Katchamak Bay when she gave me the heart. (You can read about that on this blog. I wrote it on Jan. 17, 06 under Mom and the N.J. Woods)

When we got back home, Dad was frantic, and upset with us. We had enjoyed being together so much, we'd forgotten to even phone home. He hadn't known where we were or when we would return. My husband reacted the same way when I got home.

A year later she was wheelchair bound. By the time Mom had to use the wheelchair, I was spending every other Wednesday afternoon with her. (When she died, I continued those Wednesdays with Grand Mother. Who insisted it had to be every Wednesday and not every other.) We were able to put the wheelchair in my car and go out to lunch at first. That lasted a couple years. She had to give up seeing M.S. patients then. She was getting weak and the M.S. was progressing much faster. She could no longer help others. That was the first time she told me she didn't want to live if she became bedridden. If she had no independance left to her, she wouldn't consider that living. Existing, breathing, that is not living.

She was bedridden a year. Dad kept her at home. He moved his office into the house and took care of her himself. He got a hospital bed for her and set her up in the other bedroom with a T.V. and everything he could think of to help her deal with this. Her mind stayed sharp, but her body let her down. There was a hospice nurse several times a week, but Dad was there 24-7. My Mom just gave up. She meant it when she said that wasn't living and she was ready to die. One afternoon, she asked me to help her end her life. I crashed. I couldn't even talk to her about it. I left her room in tears. Then I had to tell Dad why I was upset. Then I had to convince him not to scold her. He was mad. It was awful.

A few months later, Dad phoned me very early one morning to tell me she had died in her sleep. That was 1989. Dad is gone now too, so I can tell the rest. I went to Marion as quickly as I could. I asked Dad to tell me just what happened. He said she had apparently been stashing her medication. She was the trained nurse and he didn't know what all the meds were for. She had given him several bottles the day before to renew, and he never questioned them. Till he woke up at 4 A.M. and found them scattered and empty. Then he was afraid he might be held responsible and he got rid of the empty bottles before he made the phone calls. She had been so sick so long, no one even suggested an autopsy. Dad was never questioned.

But, that's when it hit me so hard. She died alone. Dad had checked on her before he went to bed. But, she was alone in the room with the hospital bed. I knew I had let her down. If I had helped her, at least she wouldn't have been alone. Dad and I talked. My mind knows she wouldn't have wanted either of us to get in trouble and if we had known and had helped, it would have been considered murder. But, knowing and feeling are two different things. I still believe she didn't deserve to die alone like that. But, I can never blame her for taking her own life. She was just 62, but she had suffered too long.

Is suicide a sin? Yes. That's what we are all taught. I believe life is a contract with God, and to end it before he calls us home is wrong. But, I cannot and will not believe that our loving Father would punish one of his own when an illness wears them down to that level. Isn't it possible that her death and the way she died had a purpose that God was a part of? My mind, my heart, my soul all tell me that there are worse things then death. Pain and suffering without end or hope can be unbearable and surely God understands that. We don't KNOW that her contract with God didn't include her choice of when it was over. My Mother's suicide was not my first experience with it. I've lived with three loved ones dying "too soon" (one of them was the adored Mother-In-Law who helped me marry her son.) The disease Mom and I used to think we shared, is not the disease I have. Actually, mine is not a disease at all. It's a condition I was born with. I have lived my life with pain. Not the unbearable, hopeless, deteriating kind my Mother knew. Just enough to give me an idea of how her life was. And our closeness and endless conversations helped make it clear to me. I have no fear that her suicide condemmed her to eternal torment. My Mother is with God. She was much too wonderful, and she suffered too much on earth not to go to God when this life ended. Regardless of how it ended. Her life taught me that, and I KNOW it's true.