Chapter One -- The beginning...

Hello out there! :) Welcome to my rambling writings, LOL. As you've already read in the welcome message (it's right under the blog name, in case you missed it! LOL), this blog is about my life: it's the story of my journey from a violent, alcoholic home where i was abused in EVERY way possible, to my disasterous subsequent first marriage to an abusive and violent person, to where I am today. I'm not sharing this to "be in the spotlight" or whatever... i'm sharing because I know millions of people have gone or are going thru this very thing right now. And for those of you who aren't... it's highly possible you know someone who is -- even if you don't know it! I'll update this about every week or so, but with my goofy work and college schedule, and the kids, and hubby.... ! :-) Will do my best. :)

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COPYRIGHT 2004. MAY NOT REPRODUCED

IN ANY WAY.

I will begin my story at the beginning, which is usually the best place to start. On
February 10, 1973, I made my surprise entrance into this world. According to family legend (as told to me by my Aunt May and brother Andrew), my arrival was a complete and total shock because allegedly, my mother was not even aware that she was pregnant. The story goes that upon investigating my mother’s frantic scream, my brother Andrew was sent to race down the street to the local doctor’s house; our family physician (“Dr. Sugar,” we called him) delivered me in the bathtub. I weighed approximately 4 ½ pounds, if that, but was otherwise healthy.

I was the third child born to E.M., Sr. and N.J.L. My brother David is approximately 14 years older than me; my brother Andrew is almost 13 years older than me. My mother was 38 at the time of my birth; my father was 36.

Of course, my earliest memories are scattered and somewhat fuzzy, but I do remember living in (what seemed to me) a large house on Lullwater Road in Decatur, Georgia. I remember we had a back yard/patio with a stone and wrought iron fence, where my brothers hosted parties occasionally. Further back, we had a large chain-link fenced yard with a small barn or some short of storage shed. I remember the rotting brown wood in the flooring, and how that same shed once housed a float my brothers were building for a high school parade. I don’t remember actually seeing the completed float, but I do remember seeing the work in progress. We had at least one dog that I can clearly remember, a German Shepherd named Hushka who was my self-appointed guard dog. She would sleep under my crib and growl if anyone dared to comenear; in the event I woke up in the night, she would retrieve the nearest adult.

I remember an orange kitchen counter (typical of the 70’s!) where I would sit while my mother was on the phone for what seemed to be long periods of time. I would amuse myself by dropping puzzle pieces, papers, and whatever else would fit down into the crack between the counter and the kitchen wall, not realizing (or not caring) that in order to retrieve the stuff, the counter would have to be pulled away from the wall. As far as I know, there are still puzzle pieces in the wall of that same kitchen!

Each night, my mother would zip up my white “feet” pajamas with red stripes (like a candy cane) and I would recite the Lord’s Prayer and the traditional “Now I lay me, down to sleep….” then I would look out the window and say “goodnight” to the moon, the free-standing garage we had, and whatever else I saw around. During the very earliest years while we lived in Decatur, this routine never varied. However, that was the extent of any discussions about God. God was not a part of our day-to-day lives; saying prayers at night was just something that was done “just because.” The idea that He is personally interested in our lives and seeks a relationship with us was apparently unheard of. Or, at least, nobody told me!

I have shadowy recollections of things being “not quite right,” and of my father being in my room at night sometimes, but as I was so young, these memories are very foggy and undefined…more of a sense or feeling than a solid memory. However, as the years went on, I was provided with many more experiences to remember – and try to forget!