JTB and his Father

In 1976, JT was 11 years old. TK was going to start kindergarden, and I was thinking about going back to work. That thought didn't last long when I started having real trouble with JT.

He became surly with me. Argumentative, always angry, and he seemed full of bitterness. It was all directed at me. It didn't take a lot of thought on my part to imagine where this was coming from. After missing from the boys life, his Father was now showing interest in JT. GB was on his third marriage, but JT remained his only son. There were 4 or 5 daughters now. When G first called and asked if JT could visit, I was all for it. Surely after all these years, it could only be a good thing.

JT had asked me about his Father several times over the years. I stuck to the standard, "If you can't say anything good, don't say anything." I'd never resolved my own bitterness. I just told JT it was never about anything he did, his Father and I had just not been happy. I also told him to talk to Grandma and Grandpa Chief if he had questions about Gary and who he was. And, I refused to say more.

That proved to be so wrong. GB, from his first visit, had been telling our son I'd been the one to leave him. Nothing about leaving me with rent due and taking the car and all our money and leaving the state. He told me to stay with his parents till he came back. Whenever. But, I'd phoned my own parents, and my Brother, S came to take me back home. (In a neighboring county.) G made it sound like he'd come home to find me gone, and our apartment empty. (I'd even left the T.V. and other things with his parents.) I just took JT and me. Even worse, G told our son that W and I were having an affair before I left. Some affair. When G and I got back from Germany, W was stationed in St. Louis. G and W had gotten together during the 3 day pass when W was sent to Germany. That's one long distance affair. G always managed to twist the truth enough that let JT put together what he knew with what his Father told him, and with my silance, it made me look terrible.

This all came to a head one day in 1977, when JT was shouting at me and called me a whore. I had never been so shocked in my life. I'd never imagined G would do that. The boy was 12, and it was pure hate he threw at me that day. It was late summer and he'd just returned from another visit to northern Ohio with G.

I put my son in the car and took him to Grandma and Grandpa Chief. I knew I was putting them in a very hard situation, but who else could help JT know the truth? And, I knew they would be honest. Bless their wonderful Souls. They were great. They tried to defend me without totally condemming their own son. JT wouldn't talk, but I thought he was listening. Details were given and excuses were made. But, it didn't really help. I believe JT's need to have his real Father's love was the overpowering force. My son wasn't willing to forgive me for what he still believed was my fault. He was never convinced that I hadn't lied to him for years.

Next I wrote a letter to the Minister who'd counceled G and I before the divorce. He wrote JT a letter that I handed to JT without opening. I still don't know what it said, but JT wouldn't soften.

He started to school and his grades suffered. Learning had never been a problem for him. He was angry at me all the time and things just kept getting worse.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, I became desperate. This was effecting my whole family and everything was falling apart. I'm not sure if it was my idea or Grandma Chief's, but it was decided that JT would live with them temporarily. I didn't think it would last long with Grandpa Chief's daily council. JT loved and trusted his GrandFather.

Then JT and his Grandparents went to his Fathers for Thanksgiving. And, JT didn't come back. It was 3 months before his 13th birthday and I lost my son to G. The courts changed custody at JT's request when he turned 13 in February.

Our Blue Spruce

This is a little story that should have been told earlier.

While living in the basement that first Christmas after W and I were married, we had bought a live blue spruce tree. Our first Christmas Tree. The first chance we got after Christmas , we planted our tree in the front yard. It was a not too cold, wet day that was good for the tree, but miserable weather for us. I still remember planting that tree clearly. I took a picture of JT standing beside the tree that spring. Then again the following spring, another picture of a growing JT and the growing blue spruce. The third spring, W took the picture of JT and me, because I was very pregnant. Then another picture of JT and his brother the spring TK was almost a year old standing beside our healthy 6 foot plus blue spruce tree. Without at first intending it, I'd started a family tradition. But, it ended with only one picture of both boys. Because just before that next Christmas, someone cut down and stole our tree.

I was devastated. I cried all day and I cried harder every time I looked out the window at that raw stump where our first Christmas Tree had been. The Sheriff was called of course. But, he didn't seem to take the theft seriously. It didn't look like anyone would be looking for the culprits. So I wrote a letter to the Editor of the local newspaper explaining how it hadn't just been a blue spruce tree. I told about the pictures and what that first Christmas Tree meant to a new family hoping for a long future together watching our tree and our kids grow. I wanted to shame someone into realizing what their careless, foolish act had caused. I wanted them to feel our pain and know they had spoiled our Christmas by taking our beautiful tree.

The letter touched the Editor. He sent a photographer out to take a picture of JT and TK standing beside the cut stump of our tree. Then they put the picture and my letter on the Front Page Center of the paper.

It didn't actually help. No one ever came forward to snitch and no charges were ever pressed. Since the tree had actually been taken away, our insurance did replace the tree. Everyone seemed to think that was good enough. But, I never did take any pictures of my boys beside the new tree. It just wasn't the same.

The Neighborhood Grew

The neighbors who had the little girl that JT started to school with, moved away. The family that moved in had two boys. Mike was a year younger then JT and Donnie was a year or two younger than his brother. These were the boys who were at our house a lot. Their house was on a one acre lot in an open field, so our woods was more appealing. At first they were almost our only neighbors. An older couple lived across the road from the lower tip of our land. JT did strike up a relationship with them, but I tried to keep him from bothering them. Though, I'm sure he was down there more than I knew.

We had bought the property, supposedly about 5 acres, from Virginia, who was the city auditor. She owned about 7 acres and only used it for a weekend getaway. Due to her job, she had to keep her city residence. There was a small one room cabin for her escape to the country. But, mowing and keeping up the property convinced this older lady to sell the bigger chunk of it. It was wide at her end and pie shaped to a point on the lower side of the hill. Wedged between the woods and the road. Her section was flat and our upper end stayed flat till it started the slope that allowed us to put our garage under the house.

Later, Virginia brought in a large house trailer, but still only spent occasional summer weekends out there. Another weekend retreat was directly across the road from Virginia. This was what W and I loved most about the property. We had the area pretty much to ourselves. Then a niece of Virginia's was married and Virginia gave her property to Beth and Carl. So all of a sudden we had full time neighbors in the trailor. Then an older couple built a new house in the woods right across from our house. Soon another new house went in just below them across from our lower yard.

This was ok with my boys. Beth and Carl kept foster kids. A brother and sister at first, though they didn't stay long. And, the new family in the second new house had a younger son close in age to TK, so now he had someone to play with too. Their oldest son was quite a bit older and the girl was close to JT's age, but she didn't play with the neighborhood boys all that much, and I never remember her associating with the foster girl.

But, along with neighbors came some problems. JT's dog, Duke was our first problem. The old couple right across from us had a tiny rat terrier. Mrs. G liked to take her dog out with her to get the mail. Duke had grown up mostly running free, and now had to be tied all the time. Even when the kids played out. Mrs. G was terrified of Duke. She couldn't even carry her tiny dog outside without Duke lunging and growling and barking up a storm. We kept getting heavier chains, but still he would manage to quickly wear them down and break them. So we had to find Duke a new home. We'd had him for around 8 years, and that was hard. But, there was no way we could be the neighbors who terrified Mrs. G. and Duke couldn't be left off his chain at all anymore. He just hated that "rat."

Beth and Carl had two German Shepherds. Eagle was an older dog who had been professionally trained as a guard dog. Carl worked with the younger dog, Thunder, and he was also well trained. Both dogs had been raised inside and were only out when accompanied by Beth or Carl, except for brief times outside before the couple went to work. Carl usually took Thunder with him to work. Leaving Eagle alone in the trailer all day. As Eagle got even older, Beth sometimes left him with me when she made a quick run to town. He was beautiful, and a perfect gentleman and I enjoyed having him around. Then Eagle showed up at my door early one morning on a cold winter day. I assumed Beth had gone off to work forgetting he was out to do his business. I let him in and he stayed with me all day. After work, she came looking for him. She had called and called that morning and he didn't come. She was worried, but had to go to work, hoping he would come to me. It took us a few more times, but we realized Eagle had decided to stay with me so he wouldn't be locked in the trailor alone all day. We left it that way. He was Beth's dog, except when she was at work. Then he was mine.

The second time Beth and Carl fostered a child, he was a nephew of Carl's who'd gotten into trouble. Cliff was a few years older then JT. A bit of a wild boy who was hard to control. Not the best influence for my up for anything son. We were all keeping an eye on the kids and Cliff seemed to be settling in. Then one summer afternoon Beth trusted those two boys a bit too much. They were in the yard between our homes when she had to run to town. She told them to let me know she would be gone awhile, and she left. But, Cliff and JT didn't tell me. They got into a bottle of Beth and Carl's vodka. (Or maybe it was Gin.) When I went out my back door to see where they were, they were sitting in her yard. It looked innocent and I went back inside without checking further. When Beth got back home, they were still in her yard, but both boys had passed out. They'd killed a brand new bottle. And, Beth thought she'd killed them. She was yelling for me, but I didnt' know what to do. She had a friend on the EMS squad, and she called him right away. The boys were ok, but it was a warning we took seriously. Neither boy was trusted again. (At least when they were together.) It was a relief to me when Cliff was finally returned to his parents.

(Consider this a P.S.) I feel I should tell the rest of Cliffs story. He wasn't a bad boy. His time with Beth and Carl helped and he really did turn his life around. But, it ended horribly. As a very young man, Cliff and a girlfriend were driving on the interstate in a light misty rain. No one will ever know just what happened, but he lost control. The pickup rolled up on the drivers side and burst into flames. Other drivers were able to pull the girl out of the truck, but no one could get to Cliff. After all he'd accomplished, Cliff died that day.

A Guard Dog Named Duke

Duke was a mixed breed, a short rough haired dog who looked rather like a Golden Lab. He'd been JT's constant companion while we were building the house, and I've already written about some of their exploits. But, a few others are just Dukes.

Duke was still only a half grown pup when he came out of the woods one day all bloody. One ear was torn and his nose and muzzle had been riped open. There were also cuts on his chest and legs. The vet said it looked like he'd tangled with a coon, and if that was the case, he was lucky to be alive. We knew of two ponds and a creek within a half mile or so, so we believed the vet was right. But, this didn't end with one episode. Twice more our young dog came home with more battle wounds. We'd never had to tie him up, but this seemed to be a good time to start. Except that when he wanted loose, he'd just break the chain and take off. Even though each time, W bought a heavier chain. Then, shortly after he'd gained his full size and bulk, (and was breaking 500 pound test weight chains) he proudly carried his dead trophy home and dropped it at W's feet. It was the biggest coon I'd ever seen. W was so proud of our mutt, he saved the skull and showed it off to everyone who would look at it. W's six foot tall with long fingers. With the nose of that skull at the tips of his fingers, the back of the skull reached almost to his elbow. It took Duke a half year and scars he carried all his life; which greatly added to his ferocious look, but he earned his trophy.

Still his animosity only extended to other animals. He was a big mutt who loved people. W worked a swing shift in a factory and I was alone with the boys one night when a rock came through the bedroom window over the garage. Mine, thank goodness, not JT's. I'd heard them pull in the driveway. I'm the one who doesn't turn on the lights when something wakes me up. I feel that gives me the advantage, because with a light on, they could see me and I still wouldn't see them. Even an outside light would alert them to my presence and I'd lose my advantage. This car had at least four young men and possibly more. They were obviously very drunk and out believing they were having fun. I had already phoned the Sheriff before the rock broke my window. That gave me my first real fear, and I decided it was time to get W's gun. I was worried that the group would split up and I couldn't cover all sides of the house. The Sheriff's office had already warned me not to shoot anyone until they came into the house, or I'd be the one in trouble. Yeah, right! But, these drunks weren't interested in the house and they stayed together. Duke was tied up just below the driveway and his growling and barking seemed to be holding their attention. It was just too dark to actually see what was going on. Duke wasn't growling anymore and the commotion out there seemed to be turning into a party again. Then I heard a car door open and turned in time to see Duke getting into their car with them! Some watchdog! They took him with them and headed down the road again!

When the Sheriff's Deputies finally arrived, they took my report and said these guys had been stopping at every 4th or 5th house. They never entered a house, but threw rocks through windows and when they found a car outside, they damaged it. I was mad. If those Deputy's knew the route, which should be obvious after a few call ins, why didn't they go on down the road and catch them. No, they stopped at each call in, took the report and went on to the next. It was obvious to me that they didn't want to meet the drunks.

Our Duke was the only one to join them. The next morning the Sheriff returned Duke to us. They had left him in the country store at the village about 6 miles away, where they stole more beer and cigarettes. But, they were never caught. Duke was the only witness, and he wasn't talking.

JT and the Tri Rod

JT hadn't seen much of his Father in those early years after the divorce. Within another few years GB was divorced again and moved to northern Ohio, near where his sister had settled. JT (JTB) was still spending a weekend each month with his Grandparents, RB and MB. MB had always called his grandson "Chief" and somehow that got translated into JT calling his Grandparents, Grandpa Chief and Grandma Chief. They just lived a few miles from our new home and I was able to continue a good relationship with my ex-in-laws. They were perfectly aware of their sons actions and never blamed me for the breakup. I don't know how much JT really missed his Father, but he still had his Father's family in his life on a regular basis. As far as divorces go, I guess I chose to believe this one wasn't too hard on JT.

JT joined cub scouts, but wasn't interested in 4-H. Then he and W discovered something called a Tri Rod. I've tried to find one on the internet, but will have to rely on my memory. I knew they hadn't been made for years, but my search turned up nothing even close. It was a three wheeled, low to the ground, 8 horse engine, go-cart kind of contraption. It looked sharp with a yellow gold fiberglass body. You sat low between the back wheels with you legs stretched out in front of you and steered with two handlebars that extended from the single front wheel up between your knees.

It was not street legal, but could traverse almost any ground. The 8 horse engine had enough power to carry anyone anywhere. Yet, it was easy to handle and I wasn't afraid to let young JT take off on it. With acres of woods and fields behind us, he had plenty of room to roam and explore. The neighbors let him on their property with just a promise from me that I wouldn't blame them if he got hurt. Soon we had trails all through the woods and JT and his friends were content to play with the Tri Rod day after day. Some of the wider logging trails behind us offered some perfect, natural jumping spots. I did wonder how many wild mushrooms they had destroyed with their trails, but I was glad to see my son making some of the same country memories that I'd had. Though mine were on horseback and his was with an 8 horse engine.

There were some bumps and bruises, but there was never a serious accident. Though I discovered for myself how close we must have come to some. I was riding back in the woods one day on a old lumber trail. There was a rather sharp curve and just before the curve there was a big wheel rut that I discovered could launch you right into a tree where the trail curved away. I was able to avoid the collision, but when I came to a stop, I noticed where bark had been skinned repeatedly right up the side of that tree. It was obvious JT and/or his riends had been sent flying into that tree on more than one occasion.

I also learned first hand, that the single front wheel would climb right up a tree if you lost control and got off your path. That was a thrill. Almost lying on your back with your legs above your head and with all that power pointed at the treetops above you. Imagine if the back wheels had still been able to make contact too. Our county is hilly and our woods also had a steep revine right behind the house. Then there was a small pasture behind the woods. There was a lot of land unfenced, and all kinds of terrain to roam in. And JT's Tri Rod got a lot of hard use. But, TK was too young, at that time, to ride. Things had changed by the time he was old enough to ride the Tri Rod. So his riding memories would be of a different home. The six years between brothers, and unforseen circumstances, made their childhoods very different.

The Psychic Son

TK used to stop playing and look toward the telephone before it would even ring. His Father started to ask him who was calling before he answered the phone, and the child always knew.

I've read that this isn't totally unusual in a lot of young children. But when we tried to learn if it was possible to encourage him in ways that would help develop the ability without his outgrowing it, we couldn't find anything to help.

The Sunday paper was running a regular feature to test psychic abilities. It was a game that W enjoyed each week with his son. Each week he went through that test and TK always surprised us with his accuracy. But it was still the kind of thing, back then, you'd rather keep in the family, and we didn't talk about it with others.

Till the evening it wasn't our secret anymore. It was Eucher night and our turn to host our friends. Each month the host served refreshments, so the others didn't usually bring anything. TK was about 4 years old. He ran to the door to meet one of our guests with the words, "Can I have a peanut butter cookie?" (Of course it was spoken clearly but as a child would pronounce the words.) Diana was just coming up the steps and she stopped dead in her tracks with an amazed look on her face. She was carrying a tupperware container and I had to ask if it really contained peanut butter cookies. She came on in just asking how he knew. That night there were games to test TK as well as card games. But, TK quickly became bored with the adults and just wanted to play with the other kids. He wouldn't be forced into entertaining anyone. JT would have loved the attention, but TK couldn't be bothered.

It was so easy for him, when he wanted to do it. But, other then telling us just before someone phoned or came to visit, he didn't seem interested in telling us very much else. Unless it caught the attention of a small boy...such as the cookies.

Despite the Sunday paper tests that he seemed to enjoy as a game with his Father, gradually TK just seemed to lose interest. Any ability he retained as he grew, became his own secret and not something he wanted his family showing off to friends.

Now that Psychics are showing up more and more on T.V. and in the news, I can't help wondering why some children have and keep the talent, and others either lose or choose to hide it. Why does it slide away from some and become all important for others? It's obvious that for some it's so important that they fake it. But, my experience with a small boy, convinces me that for some, it's real.

A Toddler's Revenge

I wanted to be an easy going Mom. One who handled things as they came up with fairness and wisdom. I always thought that was my own Mothers strength. Never favoring one child and giving punishment where needed. Mom was always willing to hear all sides and could even change her mind if she felt she'd acted to quickly.

Now I found myself, not with kids close in age, but two boys with diverse ages and abilities. And, the older son was ALWAYS responsible for the spats I was suppose to settle. As TK was trying to pull himself up and take his first steps, JT was discovering new ways to tease the little one. Sometimes pushing him over as soon as he got into position and other times waiting till the first little foot came off the floor. Never a hard shove, JT wasn't mean. All it took was a bit of a nudge, or a bump with a shoulder or hip. He would even push the object of TK's desire a bit at a time till TK would fall trying to reach something.

It was terribly frustrating for TK....and for me too. Yelling was totally worthless. JT didn't care. Swats and outright spankings didn't faze JT. I could send him to his room or a far corner, but time was against me. It always started again. And, it went on and on, and I thought my younger son would grow up hating his older brother.

One day when TK was about two, the older son tormented the younger son till I was ready to scream. JT was just getting better at not getting caught. A snack bar seperated the kitchen from the family room where the boys were playing. Trying to catch JT in the act, I furtively watched when they didn't realize I was watching. Wouldn't you know that was when JT would be occupied with his match box cars and actually innocent. It was TK who I caught in the act. Thank goodness, I wouldn't have believed this if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

TK had also noticed his tormentor had forgotten him for the moment. He picked up his Fathers tin of pipe tobacco in both little hands and was sneaking up behind his brother. I was mildly amused. Deciding to let this play out, I just watched. I believed JT deserved this punishment, and if the little one was able to protect himself, maybe my job would be easier. Besides, how much force could a two year old exert?

WHAM! Oh my, OH MY, what a shock. I should have stopped the child. I was a horrid Mother. The sound of that tin can colliding with JT's head sounded like the dead horrid clang of a cracked bell. But to my toddler it was a sound of pure joy. Then there was the silence of shock. TK dropped his weapon, clapped his hands gleefully, and hurried away as if not responsible for his brother who was curled up in a ball, holding his head and too surprised to even cry. By the time the eight year old found his voice and his breath to let out a wail, the two year old was innocently playing in another corner of the room.

JT had an awful knot on his head. But, once I was sure his head hadn't split wide open, my sympathies returned to the receiver of months of torment. I instructed JT to think about what had happened. I told him I believed he probably deserved what he got and he better remember it the next time he felt like picking on his brother. Of course that one incident didn't solve the problem, but I must say....the playing field had shifted a bit.

Little Problems

When school started again, JT came home with chicken pox, which he promptly passed to his baby brother. So I had a 6 year old and a 3 month old sick. At least the baby couldn't scratch and JT was too ornery to get really sick. This was a pattern they followed. TK had all the childhood illnesses before he started school. And JT breezed through all of them with very little trouble. I was lucky with my boys. They both got through childhood without any broken bones or stitches or serious illness. Actually, the earliest injury for each was something they each managed to duplicate when each was a toddler.

JT was two and I was still living with Mom and Dad, before marrying WP, when he had his accident. I had gone to a ball game with an old school friend to watch her brother play. We were up in the stands at a city park and JT was playing back and forth in the row beside me with a Tonka Truck. A ball came over the fence and hit my son in the face, knocking him down under the bleachers. Those stands were totally enclosed and none of us adults could get down to him. Another older child had to climb down and lift JT up to me. He was a bloody mess and Patty and I didn't wait for help. She drove us to the hospital. It would have been the equivelant of a broken nose, but they told me the cartiledge on a child that young isn't formed yet. It looked awful, but he would be ok. When TK was a toddler, he also managed to get hit in the face with a ball that one of JT's friends hit in our own back yard. My second son had the same bloody, bruised face I'd seen on his brother.

Then as a teenager, TK managed to break his nose again. He was running to school in the dark and took a shorcut. He ran into a wire cable that caught him right across his nose.

JT somehow managed to avoid any of the serious accidents. But, TK gave us the real scare on his Fathers birthday when the boy was only 7 or 8. Years later he told me about floating above his body, and he was able to describe what I'd done while he was lying on the ground as I tried to get to him. Those details will have to wait. If I try to describe what led up to the fall, I will have to go into way to many things that happened later in this story. It was the only time either of my boys was put in the hospital. At least as children.

Two Sons

Raising two sons with six years between them kept me occupied. TK was born in the summer, so JT was out of school and home every day. He should have been old enough to help, at least by doing things for himself. But right from the beginning, I had to keep an eye on big brother, as well as the baby. JT just couldn't resist teasing his baby brother.

Not just the usual poking and tickling. He was always finding new ways to amuse himself. Like one hot day when I was doing laundry in the basement. JT was drinking kool aid and TK was dozing in his carrier seat. I thought if I put the baby on the floor and asked JT to call me if he woke up, it would be safe to slip downstairs quickly. I'd left the door open and I was able to hear JT when he started to giggle. I just knew it was time to sneak upstairs and check things out. Yup, there was JT with an ice cube from his kool aid, making the baby gasp and jerk by placing the cold ice on exposed baby skin. That boy found more ways to tease than I could ever imagine. JT kept me on my toes all day and the baby kept me awake all night.

Even after we got past the new born stage, TK turned out to be as light a sleeper and as short a sleeper as I'd always been. At first I'd put my new born in our bedroom. But, we were keeping each other awake with every movement. So I moved him into the dining room where he had to stay till his Father finished the bedroom that was his. Which took longer than expected. TK was pulling himself up in his crib before the room was finished. That was when he discovered the light switch on the wall over his crib. The one that turned on the outside pole light in the yard. He would wake up in the night and play with the switch, watching the yard light go on and off through the dining rooms bay window. That light also shown through my bedroom window, and when it started going on and off, I would get up too and go play with him till he got drowsy again. It was our own alone time while everyone else slept. He wasn't fussy or hungry, just awake. Like me.

After Ruths Death

I stopped going to Church after Ruth died. At first it was because we had trouble finding a minister who would perform the funeral. We had attended to the same Methodist Church Ruth had been a member of since she was a child. It was her country Church I started going to when I married her son. That minister refused to do the service because she was a suicide. We were turned down a second time before another Methodist Minister of the biggest congregation in our town contacted us with apologies for the others and offered his services. He talked to us and he talked to her sisters and her neighbors. And, he read the second suicide letter that she had left us. Without ever having met her, he gave us a beautiful service. But, I didn't want to ever see the folks again at Ruth's Church who turned their backs on us. I did drive into town for awhile to attend the real ministers Church. But, W wouldn't go with me. Then that minister was transfered and I never felt confortable going alone with this rich, high class congregation who always dressed better than I could afford. Gradually, I just stopped going. I wasn't getting help in dealing with Ruths death. When I tried to talk to anyone about it, they just wanted details about the gruesomeness of it. I wanted to talk about who Ruth had been before she got sick. Mom was taking it hard too. We both felt the guilt that always accompanies a suicide. We wished we'd done more to help Ruth or insist her family had taken her illness more seriously. Mom said she wished she'd asked and checked on those prescriptions Ruth was taking. I was angry at how her family seemed to just go on as though she'd never been.

My Father-In-Law re-married just months after Ruth died. Then when his new wife became sick with a blood disease, he divorced her and was married again within a year. That marriage did last, but I gave up on him when TK's birthday and Christmas passed and his GrandFather never even acknowledged him. Though he was still fussing over his daughters twins, and the grandkids of his third wife. I was blamed for the rift when I wrote the man a letter telling him what I thought of his treatment of his son and grandson. We weren't invited to anything after that. TK met the man when he was older, long after my second divorce, but he grew up without knowing his GrandFather. My own family was the only family TK really knew.

Ruth was the anchor, the strength of the family. When she died, everything changed. It took me years to get over her death. I was still hurting when another suicide overwhelmed me.

My Mother-In-Laws Terrible Death

My wonderful, caring Mother-In-Law changed radically and suddenly. A depression like malady descended, in what seemed to me, out of nowhere. She had been so active and healthy and now she was worried and consumed with the idea that she had cancer. Her own Mother had died of colon cancer after a long battle, and during the last years of her life, had been passed between Ruth and her sisters each 6 months to be taken care of. Ruth kept telling me she didn't want us to have to take care of her like that. But, the Doctors couldn't find cancer. Her husband had her committed to a psychiatric hospital. I was just the Daughter-In-Law and none of my suggestions were listened to. When she was released from the hospital, she came home with too many prescriptions. Her daughters family was away at college. Ruth's sisters and a neighbor and I spent all the time we could with her. Some days she seemed more like herself, then she would slip back into confusion where we couldn't reach her. I took her on visits back to my own Mothers house. Ruth would talk to us and most of the visits went well. I would hope things would work out, but Mom and I were worried.

Ruth died in 1973, but I can't even remember what month it was. Sometime in the summer.

I was in the yard with my sons and our neighbor when W came home early from working 2nd shift. His Father had worked days and returned home to find a suicide note on the kitchen table. He didn't even go to her. He went across the street to get the young woman who had cared so much for Ruth. It was Janet who had to go into W's old room, that was now Ruths sewing room, and find Ruth on a couch with layers of a lightweight blue drycleaners plastig bag tied around her head and sucked into her throat, suffocating her. Janet tried to pull free the plastic, but knew it had been too late for hours. Ruth hadn't even struggled. She was on her back, peacefully, with her Bible on her chest and her arms crossed over it.

When the squad got there, it was Janet who had to be calmed. Her husband never went into the room. He called W and waited. It was all over and Ruth was gone before W came out to get me. All I ever knew was what Janet could tell me. We clung to each other, and the actions of Ruth's family baffeled us. W never talked to me about it and went right back to work after the funeral as if nothing had happened. There wasn't even an autopsy. Ruth had left a second suicide note on her husbands pillow. She knew the police would take the one on the table. This second note, actually a three page letter, told each of us she loved us and didn't want us to have to take care of her because she still believed she was dying of cancer. I never found out if she really had cancer, her family didn't care or seem to want to know. Again, as the Daughter-In-Law, I was ignored. I had so many questions and over the years they have just multiplied. Before lying down to die, Ruth had cleaned her whole house and even put out brand new towells in the bathroom. Her house was ready for the ones who would gather after the funeral to eat. Janet told me even the squad members couldn't believe she hadn't struggled. They had never seen anything like it. How can anyone calmly suffocate? But, worst to me was that only Janet, Ruth's sisters and I couldn't control our tears.

Possibly the worst reaction of all came from Ruths daughter. After the funeral when everyone gathered back at the house for a meal brought in by neighbors and Church Members, my sister-in-law and I were alone in Ruths kitchen trying to gather and organize food that Ruths sisters were carrying to the sunporch. Ruth had her own way of doing things and I was trying to honor her memory by following the way she always wanted things in her kitchen. Her daughter laughed at me, turned sarcastic and told me, "She's not here, we don't have to do it like that anymore." I was shocked, then angry, then crushed. I ran outside to my own Mother and just bawled. I never even tried to be polite to my sister-in-law after that. I avoided her. I pretty much avoided my father-in-law too. But, I did manage to be polite when I had to be around him.

As I write a draft on paper of this, I'm sitting in my car, in a pouring rain, just twenty feet or so from Ruths grave. The flower arrangement with the angel, that I put out last Memorial Day is still there. It still looks ok and I'll leave it. Her sisters are gone now too and I don't believe anyone but me still goes to her grave. Her husband is buried beside her. I didn't even push the leaves off of his side of the plaque. And, I still don't understand why or how she could have died like that.

Then Came Bowling

Those first years following T K's birth, now seem to me to be some of my good years. They were normal and wonderfully boring. The calm before the tumultuous years that were going to pile up on me.

W and I were the young couple who had it all. The home we wanted in the country with five acres backed by woods. Two boys who were totally different and kept me busy and entertained. I got to be a stay at home Mom. W and I had friends to play euchre (cards) with. We both loved to bowl and joined a Sunday night league, that I eventually became the sectretary/treasurer for. I also joined a Thursday afternoon womans league that also expanded our list of friends. I had first bowled with my parents and later substituted for Mom when she was too sick. W was new to the game, but took to it easily. Then JT wanted to bowl too and I became a Jr. League Coach. When I volunteered for that, the propriorter of our lanes offered me a chance to become a certified bowling instructor. He paid for and included me in Brunswick sponsered lessons offered to their employees. Once I was certified to teach, this wonderful man bought a bus and set up an after school program for kids. He picked them up after school at a different grade school each day of the week and I worked with them for two hours. Then their parents picked them up. We (JT, W and I) got to bowl all we wanted and TK had a playpen at the alley and later had the run of the concourse and the nursery sponsered by the lanes.

With all this experience, I got my average up to 182, with a high game of 268 and a high series that kept the record for women in our county for several years. (Till another bowling proprietor's kids grew up and smashed every record we had.) W kept his own average right up there with me (no records for him, the men were more competition) and we enjoyed competing with each other.

My brothers had married and the family grew and holidays were busy multi-family affairs. W's only sister had twin sons. His family treated both my boys as their own. By brother, S had a daughter 6 months older than TK. Brother J had gotten out of the Marines and married but didn't have kids. Mom's M.S. was in a period of remission. Life was going in the direction where life is good.

Not perfect. I never expected perfect. I was willing to overlook those little annoyances that everyone faces. W was sometimes too strict with JT, but I never saw any indication of a repeat of that first bruised bottom episode. But, my parents picked up on some of the strictness. We were all at my family one holiday and my brothers were playing with JT where you let a child stand on your toes and walk him around. JT would have been 6 or 7. When he wore the others out, he ran to W and stepped on the toes of his cowboy boots. To W, that was a no-no. His boots were always in high polish. He pushed JT away and the child sat down too hard. It upset everyone, but I tried to see W's side. But, the rift had started and my family never really liked W and was always very critical of his treatment of JT. It put me in the middle and upset me, but I never saw any real animosity and thought everyone was over reacting.

W was hard to live with in other ways. He'd been spoiled by Ruth. She spoiled her whole family. She never worked outside her home, which was always spotless. Her family always came first and were her whole world. W wasn't only particular about favorite foods, he went to the extreme of having to have certain brands. I was never allowed to buy anything but Pennington Bread. Skippy Peanut Butter. On and on. And he had a favorite chocolate cake recipe. It was made with lard. NEVER Crisco or any other substitute. And, get this, the lard and sugar had to be creamed by hand. I don't mean, with a spoon I mean getting my hands into the lard and sugar and letting my body warmth cream the mixture. He could tell if a mixer was used by the texture of the finished cake. It was a quirk that rather amused me and I didn't mind....when I was home all the time and off work and had the time to play housewife. But, it infuriated my Mother right from the beginning. She believed if I didn't put him in his place and knock some of the selfishness out of him early, I was going to be sorry later. And she wasn't shy about telling me so when we were alone.

So no, life wasn't perfect. But, it was close enough. and he was loyal and a hard worker. After living with G's infidelity, I was willing to enjoy what we had. But, it didn't last. The first horror slammed into us in 1973 when we lost Ruth. Not naturally. It never should have happened. And, it changed my world forever.

Another Baby Boy

When labor started, I had W take me to my parents house first. I couldn't believe it was actually starting late the evening before the baby was due. I believed it would turn into a false labor. How could this baby be on time when I'd waited so long the first time?

My family sat up with me till well after midnight. When it became obvious this baby was ready, Dad stayed with J T who had been put to bed. Mom phoned the In-Laws and then went with W and I to the hospital. I remember how much trouble W was having staying awake. Remembering how G had signed me in an gone back home to bed, I told W all I expected of him was to stay awake with me. In 1971 this hospital didn't allow Fathers to wait in the labor rooms or enter a delivery room. Some hospitals did, and I was surprised by that. During those early hours I was allowed to walk out to sit with W and Mom for short periods. Then the waters broke and I was kept in my room. But, there were two nurses who never left my side. I felt spoiled. My Doctor had appeared within an hour after I was admitted. He came and went every hour, but I teased him about taking naps when he wasn't with me. He didn't deny it, he just grinned. Remember this was a man who had known me since I was about 14.

Somewhere around 6 A.M. he checked on my again and decided he had time to slip down to the cafeteria for breakfast, telling me he would be right back. Once again, when it happened, it all happened at once. J T had been born in a hallway on the way to the delivery room. I just barely made it to the delivery room again. They paged the Doctor to hurry. He showed up out of breath and running with his white coattails flying. I just had to laugh and he grumbled at me something about new white hairs on his head that were all my fault. My second son arrived just as easily as J T had, on the run, just as we entered the delivery room. (By the way, I suffered a broken tailbone with both babies, not to mention the stitches.)

Then my new baby scared the happy mood right out of everyone. They couldn't get him to breathe. They took him away from me to the other side of the room. There were several tense moments or minutes or what seemed like forever to me. Then I heard him cry and you could feel the tension melt from the room. But, they didn't bring him to me. He was taken away to be checked over. I didn't even get a glimpse of him, though they kept assuring me he would be fine.

After a bit, I was put on a clean gurney and taken past W and my Mother and my In-Laws who had arived since I'd been out. There was W, asleep on a couch while our elders talked. He didn't know yet he was a Father. I was still too scared for the baby to even scold him, but I did notice. Waking him with the scary news of trouble seemed punishment enough. They followed while I was taken to a room to wait for assurance that baby T K would be OK. I have no idea now how long we waited, but we were all together when they brought the baby to my room. And my doctor was right behind him ready to show Mom the new white hairs we had given him.

T K was very congested and we were kept in the hospital an extra day because he had stopped breathing a couple more times. Once when they brought him to me. I didn't even try the call button. I started yelling at the top of my lungs for a Nurse. Believe me, I can yell, and they came running. Then they let us leave when we promised to go to Moms house for a few more days before leaving the county for home. (W, of course, went back to work.) My brothers and their wives and the rest of my family were in and out of Moms house all the time we were there. It was wonderful, but I'm sure she was relieved and needed rest when we left. T K was a tiny, skinny little spider of a baby. That's what I called him those first few days...my blond spider. Or maybe he just seemed that way after the size of his brother. But, he stayed healthy after his rocky beginning. And, I didn't have any more trouble with my eyes for years.

The third trimester

Except for it's extended length, the first pregnancy had gone smoothly and easily. Which I was grateful for, being so very far from home. When I went past the 9th month, there were some early comments about my making a mistake on the date of my missed period. But, their own records showed the heartbeat and quickening, etc. were on line with my dates. That pregnancy lasted 11 months. And gave me a big, long baby.

This time my doctor promised I'd feel spoiled after that experience. Unlike the army/airforce, he believed in inducing labor when indicated. I was relaxed and happy throughout this second pregnancy. W and I had tried for almost three years to get pregnant. The house was finished (except for the baby's room) and we were settled in. It all seemed to be falling into place.

Then with just over a month still to wait, I woke up one morning and opened my eyes to blurred, dark, blindness. Nothing from one eye and dark shadows from the other. Suddenly and without any warning. I was terrified. And, for the first time my second husband gave me an indication of what lie ahead. He phoned his Mother and left J T and I alone to go off to work before she could get to me. He felt his duty was in providing income over the support I needed. He left that up to Ruth, his Mother.

She was there quickly. School was almost over and she got J T ready and sent him off on his bus. Before the bus had even arrived, she'd phoned my eye Doctor and he told her to bring me in before he would have even normally opened the office. He was wonderful. He'd been the one to convince me to quit the secretarial work when my vision deteriorated too quickly. He'd put me in contacs and wanted to make sure there was no infection or problem with them. He found the problem with the vitreous and the scar tissue, but told us he didn't understand it. He made a phone call and asked Ruth to take me to the surgeon right away. The rest of this story was posted back on March 18. 06, and you can find it in my archive.

Ruth helped me get through it all. But, we never talked about her sons actions. I made up my mind to be glad he considered it important to be at work every day. I could accept that he wasn't comfortable with "female problems and emotions." After all, my own Father took care of Mom, but he wasn't always patient when she wanted comfort. (But, he WAS there) Mom didn't have the support of her own Mother, but I had two wonderful Mothers to talk to and lean on.

Gradually my vision returned to it's normal bad shape and two eye Doctors were seeing me regularly throughout that last month of pregnancy. There wasn't anything they could do, but just having them check on me every few days was a big help. Even if some of their interest might have been due to the uniqueness of this strange condition.

The gynecologist kept his promise to spoil me. He saw me twice the last week before my due date. But he didn't have to induce labor. This baby actually arrived on the due date. Right on time.

After Raising Us

I've already mentioned that my parents sold off the farm equipment (they never owned the farm) and moved to town after they raised my brothers and me. They rented a big two story house on a short quiet street. Mom was having an awful time with all the steps and keeping up with the house. I thought it would be easier for her when I re-married and moved J T and I out. But, she was getting worse. And, the doctors still couldn't pin it down.

Then she developed double vision. She couldn't stand straight or lay her hands on what she wanted. It was in 1969 or 1970 that Dad phoned to tell me she was in University Hospital scheduled for brain surgery. That was where a young intern spent wakeful nights with his patient asking questions. He finally had the suspicion that convinced the Doctors to put off brain surgery and check for Multiple Sclerosis.

Around that same time, the smaller one floor house next door to their rental came on the market and Dad bought it. Mom loved her new home. Eventually, Dad turned a very small room into the laundry, so she didn't even have to use the basement stairs. There were three steps from the kitchen to the garage and an outside entrance. The back yard was fenced in and she still had to use those three steps to let her pets through the garage into the back yard. Mom always had a dog. They just got smaller when she moved to town.

After farming, Dads first job was in the same factory where his brother worked. I never could picture my Dad working in a factory after all those years outside on his own schedule. And of course, he didn't like it. He was studying for a Realty License while I was living with them. But, then he answered an advertisement from an out of state business to sell their roofing supplies to factories and businesses. He seemed to like this, and though he wasn't a high pressure salesman, he was always honest in a way that garnered trust even in those who didn't know him. He was doing well but had a problem with the way they gave out bonuses. They weren't cash. They gave him valuable gifts that he didn't really want and that he had to pay taxes on their cash values. So he felt the bonuses cost him money. Their were some trips and cruises that he and Mom were able to enjoy before she got too sick. But, a couple of diamonds and inches of gold where just stuck away in a safe deposit box at the bank. Mom never had them set because she wouldn't have worn them anyway. He eased out of the selling and connected with an older man and they started a business of applying the product he still believed in. That was his business till he retired.

When Mom was dignosed with M.S., insurance became an issue. With his own business and Moms illness, insurance rates were very high....when he could even get insurance. Several policies were cancelled on them during those years. They were doing ok, but would never be wealthy. My Mother carried guilt and bitterness for that. And, I was the only one she could talk to about it.

As her illness progressed, Dad hired a housekeeper to come over once a week to help. Then even later, he set up a part time office in her laundry room so he could be home more often. And I drove the 50 miles to Marion as often as I could, just to be with her. During my pregnancy, my Mother-In-Law went with me. These two Mothers became friends too, and I just wanted it to always be like that. I loved them both so much.

First Son During Second Pregnancy

At this rate, it may take as long to tell about that second pregnancy as it did to experience it. It's been so hard to keep my mind in the past, with my painful struggle in the present. Fall is setling in and the cooler weather is making my hand stiff and sore. The headaches are bothering me too.

But, back in 1971, my second pregnancy and raising a 6 year old were number one on my chart. It went smoothly till the last trimester. Some of my favorite memories though, had more to do with the son I already had then the baby I was waiting for.

Early one morning I was trying to get J T ready for the school bus. He kept submitting to temptation and couldn't seem to stay at the table long enough to finish his breakfast. I remember losing patience and telling him something about what would happen if he moved or said one more word before he was done eating. He gave me one of his silly grins and finally did as he was told. I had gotten a frozen roast out of the freezer to thaw. J T had two little turtles that one of my brothers had given him. I decided to cut off a sliver from the frozen beef to feed the turtles. I should have waited till it thawed a bit, because the knife slipped and cut my hand badly. I remember standing at the kitchen sink with cold water running over the cut. Then the next thing I remember is re-gaining consiousness on the kitchen floor. When I pulled myself to my feet and turned off the water, I asked my 6 year old why he hadn't helped me or phoned his GrandMother as he's been taught to do in an emergency. With the smugness of an obedient child he told me, "You said not to move till I was done eating." I actually believe it was the first, and last, time he did what he was told. He didn't make it to school that day, and I ended up with four stitches in my hand.

J T was one of those lovable children who couldn't stay out of minor trouble. He even managed to embarrass me his first day of school with his bus driver. I stayed on the front steps while he ran to the drive. The bus doors opened and J T told the driver, "That's my Mom. Isn't she pretty?" The driver got out of his seat and stepped down to the door to look at me. He waved, but thank goodness I couldn't hear what he told J T. It made my son grin from ear to ear as he waved and blew me a kiss and he climbed up on the bus. I received a lot of phone calls over the years from teachers. So many times the first words out of their mouths we, "I just love your son to death, BUT...."

A few years ago, I found myself working with a young man who had gone to school and ridden the bus with J T When he realized who I was, he just started laughing. He said the bus rides were always a riot with J T around. My son kept everyone laughing all the time. He couldn't give me any details, or didn't want to....he just told me how much fun it was.

There was only one serious report from school. Someone insisted both parents come for an immediate conference. A counselor was waiting for J T's stepfather and I with an art project that was colored all in black. After listening to her lecture to us about what dire things this meant, I reached the limit of my patience. No way could anything she was saying apply to my happy go lucky son. I interrupted her to call J T into the room where I asked him if he'd drawn the picture. Looking very confused, he admitted it was. I asked him why it was all in black. J T shrugged his little shoulders and told us, "It was the only crayon left on the table." I was so angry at that woman that day, W P was afraid I'd go into premature labor. She hadn't even talked to the boy. She just saw the picture and jumped to her conclusions. With all the mischief J T started, that was my only negative experience with the school system.