Mama's Tears

By Carlene Heeter

Carlene was stressed out and physically broken down from the abundance of suffering life continued to dump on her. The domino effect of the events left her weary and every time she thought she was over an emotional hump, another storm would come along and destroy her progress. She couldn’t focus on anything and had lost her desire to function. She fought one physical ailment after another, went through a bitter divorce, and found her second “dream marriage” on the rocks. Carlene faced the challenge of raising boys in a troublesome society. Despite her best efforts, her oldest son ended up incarcerated on what she felt was a bogus charge. Life had dealt her a bad hand with nothing positive in sight.

Feeling like she had been cursed with a plague, no one could convince Carlene that she wasn’t the twentieth century job, and just like him she was holding on to a tested faith and praying, God to fix things for her. She had to find a way to get out of this rut, or it was going to suck the life right out of her.

This book is about one mother’s trials and tribulations and God enabled her to carry on when all appeared hopeless. She shares her breakdown in faith and perseverance when she was powerless and her breakthrough. As you read her sequence of trials, you will surely be able to relate to many events in this book. Get your box of Kleenex ready for her story is guaranteed to make you laugh, cry, want to fight and even rejoice.

For more information visit www.mamastears.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carlene Heeter
• Release date: Apr 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781604146714

Carlene Heeter

Carlene D. Heeter was born and raised in Indianaplis, Indiana. She holds a Master’s of Science in Management degree from Indiana Wesleyan University. Married to her husband Kevin, for over twenty years, they have four children and two grandchildren. Carlene was stressed out and physically broken down from the abundance of suffering life continued to dump on her. The domino effect of the events left her weary and every time she thought she was over an emotional hump, another storm would come along and destroy her progress. She couldn’t focus on anything and had lost her desire to function. She fought one physical ailment after another, went through a bitter divorce, and found her second “dream marriage” on the rocks. Carlene faced the challenge of raising boys in a troublesome society. Despite her best efforts, her oldest son ended up incarcerated on what she felt was a bogus charge. Life had dealt her a bad hand with nothing positive in sight. Feeling like she had been cursed with a plague, no one could convince Carlene that she wasn’t the twentieth century job, and just like him she was holding on to a tested faith and praying, God to fix things for her. She had to find a way to get out of this rut, or it was going to suck the life right out of her. This book is about one mother’s trials and tribulations and God enabled her to carry on when all appeared hopeless. She shares her breakdown in faith and perseverance when she was powerless and her breakthrough. As you read her sequence of trials, you will surely be able to relate to many events in this book. Get your box of Kleenex ready for her story is guaranteed to make you laugh, cry, want to fight and even rejoice. For more information, visit www.mamastears.com

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Mama’s Tears

By

Carlene D. Heeter

Smashwords ebook published by Fideli Publishing Inc.

Copyright 2013, Carlene D. Heeter

No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Fideli Publishing.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-1-60414-671-4

Professional Photos: David Dickens Graphic Design: Jamie Rachal Website Design: Gregory Heeter

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Vannessa A. Reynolds (A mother who endured more than I) I salute these three phenomenal mothers: Naomi Berry, Hope Martin and Brenda Shores

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all, I acknowledge and thank God for his constant protection, for showing me the way and for molding me into the person I have become. I am so grateful for God’s blessing to not only endure my experiences, but for giving me the ability to write about them. Thank you Lord. A special thanks to my husband Kevin Heeter, a man who knows the true meaning of For better or worse. You have been a wonderful husband, father and friend who rose to the occasion. I really have you to thank for completion of this book, because you refused to let me quit. Thanks again for the bling-bling it was a great motivator, but above all thanks for your love, commitment and for not giving up on us. Thanks Dr. Eugene White, without you there would be no book. You not only encouraged me to tell my story, you insisted I write it for all to read. Thanks for pushing me and making me realize I had the ability. My mothers: Nadine Franklin and Sallie Pulse I equally thank you for your mixture of ingredients, discipline and love. I would not be the person I am without the combination. God knew far before I did that I would need two special mothers like you. To my children, Aaron Forney, Chalynn Heeter, Kavonna Tiggs and JR Forney thanks for forgiving my faults, down days and loving me in spite of. Each of you have your own special place in my heart. I love you all. To my mother-in-law Norma Elliott, thank you for your acceptance, love and support. Special thanks for supporting JR and never missing a week of writing him for over seven years. Your support is immeasurable. My mother-in-law Patricia N. Heeter, thank you for your unconditional love, friendship and support. You’ve really come through for me on many occasions. God knows I would not have been able to complete this project without your help. Thank you! My sister Valerie Johnson thanks for all the free counseling sessions and listening for countless hours. Thanks for being there when I needed you the most. My sister Donna Pulse thanks for your love and support as well. I love you both. To my Godfather Moses Gray who has supported me beyond measure I say, Thanks a million for being the world’s best father and friend. I love you. My brother James Smith, I would have to dedicate a whole page to cover my appreciation of the things you’ve done, so I’ll simplify it by saying, thanks for everything, for not giving up on me and most of all for your support over the years. My brother Toby Miller, anyone who knows you knows a dedicated and loving man who leads by example. You are a man with a huge heart and have become very special to me. Thanks for your love and support. My brother-in-law Eric Heeter who is a true example of what family and Christianity is all about. Thanks for sticking by me and mending what is now a bonded relationship and for your prayers when I didn’t have the strength to pray for myself.

A special thanks to Dr. Al and Coke Long for everything you two have done for JR over the years. I can’t begin to express my gratitude for your kindness and love towards him. You have been more than wonderful to my son and have supported him in ways beyond our imagination. Steve Spencer, thank you for stepping up and showing us the true meaning of making a positive difference in a stranger’s life. The support you’ve given JR during his incarceration and the help you’re offering beyond is a blessing to us. You’ve been so kind and I can’t thank you enough. To my minister Peter Martin, Sr. and wife Hope, thank you for your prayers, support, encouragements and most of all thanks for being my friend. I love you both. To the attorneys who have worked endless hours to help JR and his case, I say thanks a thousand times over. I appreciate all of you: Bruce Donaldson, Novella Nedeff, Joel Schumm, Sheryl L. Lynch, Marcel Pratt and Jimmie Tic Tac McMillian, Jr. Each of you knows your contributions and most importantly God knows what you’ve done. To my medical support: Mike McBride, P.A., Dr. Bennett Desadier and Harry Anderson, LCSW, thank you all for literally keeping me together and healthy. I appreciate you more than words can express. Special thanks to my new found friend Nancy Gilliam, my editor who gave her all and cried with me while perfecting my work. Thanks for your encouragement and faith in my project. Thanks to the following authors: Omar Tyree, Rhonda Lawson, Denise Spiller, Patrick Oliver and Nancie Boggs for personal coaching, advice and support. David Dickens, professional photographer, thank you for your vision, wisdom and for putting your heart into producing my photos. The vision for my cover would not have become a reality without your work. Jamie Rachal, graphic designer, thank you for bringing my cover to life and for your ability to catch the eye of readers. I also appreciate you rescuing this project. Gregory Heeter, my brother-in-law thanks for designing and maintaining my Webpage.

I appreciate your work as well. Damon Burns thanks for your suggestions and willingness to help. A special thanks to Judge Robert R. Altice for your contribution to my book cover by allowing me to use your photo. Having an actual judge pictured helped make my cover realistic. My sincere appreciation to each of you, I would not have been able to complete this project without your collective contributions.

I cannot give accolades without mentioning a few close friends: Phyllis Miller Britt, my lifelong friend for more than 40 years, and to think not one single argument between two girls. You’ve been more than a friend; you’ve been my sister. Thanks for putting up with me and for literally fighting my battles. I love you girl. Major Bill Benjamin thanks for all your support, law enforcement connections and meetings on behalf of JR. I especially appreciate your help with my cover photography. Its completion would not have been possible without you. M. Jay Barlow my giant friend; thanks for all you’ve done over the years and for sticking by me. Ashanti (Mark Reed), thank you for your friendship, encouragement and advice. Hazel Martin, my church mother, a woman who has truly walked in my shoes. Thanks for sharing my pain, crying with me and for all your encouragement. Brenda Shores, thanks for your love and constant support of JR and me. Bill Edwards, thank you for pushing me and not letting up. I appreciate your encouragement and faith in my ability. Angeleta Beverly thanks for your support, love, encouragement and for providing me with materials and leads. Most of all thanks for being a true friend. You too have been a blessing in my life. To my little cousin Trevar Donnell Liles thanks for your letters of encouragement and support. Keep your head up and keep the faith. Your time is coming; you’ll be home soon.

I saved the best for last. I give honor and thanks to my two guardian angels: my brother Frank Sloan who has always and I mean always been by my side. If I was sick, sad or rejoicing you were there. If I was in a jump rope contest I could look up and count on you being on the sideline cheering me on. There are no words to express my love and appreciation for the world’s best brother, you! Thanks for being my strength and for your intense love for me. I love you too! To my Aunt Sue Lindsey, thank you for the countless times you’ve been by my side, you too have celebrated, cried, prayed and rejoiced with me when no one else was there. God knew I would need a special aunt like you in my life to keep me grounded and to help get me through the good and bad times. Thank you both for being my soul supporters and source of strength. I could not have made it this far with out either of you.

It’s evident I could go on and on. Please know that I cannot begin to thank or remember everyone who has been an inspiration or instrumental throughout my life. If you were omitted, Please charge it to my mind and not my heart. (I stole this saying from Michelle. I love you too.)

Life is a journey of choices and it only takes a second to make the right or wrong decision, which can alter your days forever… (Unknown)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prelude

Chapter 1 Reflections

Chapter 2 Labor of Love

Chapter 3 My Babies, Please!

Chapter 4 New Beginning

Chapter 5 Rock…Roll…Bounce

Chapter 6 The Beat Goes On

Chapter 7 Family Ties

Chapter 8 Missing Pee Wee

Chapter 9 The Thrill is Gone

Chapter 10 Out of Time

Chapter 11 Battle Field

Chapter 12 O.R.

Chapter 13 Ivory Tower

Chapter 14 Touch Down!

Chapter 15 The Warning

Chapter 16 The Rock

Chapter 17 School Days

Chapter 18 Losing Dad

Chapter 19 Dooms Day

Chapter 20 S.W.A.T.

Chapter 21 Visitation

Chapter 22 Knocked Down

Chapter 23 Grandma!

Chapter 24 The Verdict

Chapter 25 Trials on Every Hand

Chapter 26 Sweet Pea!

Chapter 27 Holidays

Prelude

I used to be afraid of dying; now I was wondering if the grave would be better than the life I was living. After all, I felt lonely, betrayed and full of hate. My days were as dark as my nights, and I had gotten to the point where I liked it that way. I had become a walking zombie, wishing God would take me out of my misery. Murphy’s Law had finally taken its toll on me, and I couldn’t imagine anyone’s problems outweighing mine or envision how anyone could possibly feel worse than I did. The question, Lord, what else can go wrong? Don’t ask, because I did and things kept getting worse. If anyone has ever told you there is always someone worse off than you, then they must have been talking about me.

As a child, I had dreams like every other young girl of living a fairy tale life with a happy marriage, perfect children, a successful career, blissful years with few storms and a happy ending. Who would have guessed a caring person like me would have been dealt such a raw deal? A life with a perplexed childhood, a marriage that went beyond sour and children who would break my heart into a thousand pieces. A life where I felt abandoned by friends and family. A life in which I experienced the domino effect of losing loved ones to death and never finding the perfect job. If these heartaches were not enough, then anything else that could go wrong did.

I was at a point where I felt my whole life had been a journey of disappointing events that had taken me to hell and back. And if hell wasn’t enough, the hurt, agony and never-ending tears only known to a mother was topped off by the hands of so-called justice.

Yet, I survived!

Chapter 1

Reflections

I can remember everything just like it was yesterday. It was a typical morning. As I rolled over and began to awaken from my sleep, I could feel Kevin’s empty spot in the bed. He knew how I was in the mornings; therefore, he would not dare open the blinds or make a sound. The room was just the way I liked it, dark and quiet. God forbid he would let some sunshine into this dull dreary room, or dare say a word to me until I acknowledged him first. Kevin never knew what kind of mood I was going to wake up in and to avoid chaos, he would just walk by, look down, give me a smile, but never say a word. On a good day I felt sorry for him, because I knew he was trying hard to savor what little peace we had left in our marriage. I knew I had become hard to live with, and Kevin was very patient with me. When he agreed to for better or worse, I’m sure this was not what he had in mind.

If Kevin could have had things his way, he would have woken up, opened the blinds, turned on the radio and gotten dressed to the smooth sounds of jazz. Kevin is a quiet man with a contented soul. Nothing in life ever seemed to surprise or force him to change his way of thinking. I envied him for his strength and attitude, but always reminded myself that he could not possibly feel my pain because the problems I was experiencing were mine and not his. I kept telling myself that his ship could be rocked too if he had experienced half of what I was going through. I loved Kevin and he knew it, just as he knew my soul had been drained.

I could tell by the look on his face he felt pity for me as he slowly watched me sink further and further into depression, and felt helpless because there was nothing he could do to help me. Although I was not the person Kevin had come to know, love and marry, he never gave up on me nor lost the hope that one day I would return to the lively spirit I was when we first met.

Kevin leaned forward just as he always does to kiss me good-bye when he leaves for work. Even though I was withdrawn, I welcomed the kiss because I needed affection in the worse way, but only when I wanted it. I had become so withdrawn and lifeless. Nothing was right. And as much as I loved attending church services growing up, I had come to the point where I even hated going to church. I don’t think my new attitude was about attending services as much as not wanting to face the people. I was tired of asking for prayer, had lost my faith and had shut out most of if not all my friends and family. As a matter of fact, I hated the world and everything in it. At this point, nothing or no one could do anything to satisfy me or make me happy. I just wanted to be left alone to soak in my sorrow.

I heard the door shut as Kevin left the house, and instead of getting up and getting ready for work I laid there thinking of reasons why I did not want to go into the office. In my opinion, I was a fairly dedicated employee and had accumulated plenty of sick leave, so calling in would be no big deal for me. I knew before I attempted to get out of bed that I was not going in, so I rolled over and called my supervisor. As always, I felt compelled to tell the truth.

‘I’m having a really bad day and need some time off, so I will not be coming in today. Hopefully I will be feeling better tomorrow and will see you then.’

My boss always appreciated my honesty and responded by saying, I understand, and hope you feel better.

After hanging up the phone, I lay back down, began to stare at the walls and said to myself, ‘I hate that place too.’ Man, I had so much bitterness stored up inside that I had begun to hate myself and the person I had become. For months, I felt like I had really given my all to trying to pull myself together, but instead of getting better I had gotten to the point where I just did not care about much of anything. My hair and nails were a mess. I had even pushed my better clothes to the back of the closet and stored all my jewelry except a watch and my wedding ring. Everyone that knew me well thought I had lost my mind for sure when I quit wearing jewelry. After all, I was known as the ‘diamond queen’ to friends and family. It was unusual to see me without my jewelry and not ‘bling-blinging’. Many urged me to get my jewelry out, and to put it all on at the same time as if that would make me feel better. I thought they were being ridiculous when they suggested such a thing, and then I would picture myself looking like ‘Mrs. T’. The thought of looking stupid like that just upset me more. Diamonds and glitter just were not doing the trick anymore. At this point in my life, anyone could have asked me for their favorite piece of jewelry and I would have given it to them without thought. I would have said, ‘Take it; take it all, who cares?’ All I wanted was peace of mind and to feel better.

As I continued to lie in the bed with no intention of getting up to eat or shower, I began to question how I had gotten to this point of such gloom and despair. I drew my body into a ball of security as my mind began to reflect on my past; a past filled with enough pain and confusion of its own. I began to have thoughts of my childhood, school days, my first marriage and the experience of delivering my first child. Going back in time was a bad idea, because every thought that came to mind seemed to have painful memories, which gave me an even bigger excuse to feel sorry for myself. The thoughts began to play like a movie in my head and reminded me first of how confusing my childhood was.

My life was that of a storybook, but far from being a fairy tale. And if it were a tale, the closest thing I could think of would be that of Cinderella. I grew up with two sets of parents whose lifestyles were totally different. Talk about being complicated, I was torn between two families, trying to please everybody and never feeling like I fit or belonged anywhere. No one had a clue or seemed to understand the pain I felt when I had to leave one home and go to the other. By the time I got to my new destination each time, I had to reprogram both my thoughts and actions to adapt to the particular environment. After I had been at either place for a while I would be okay, but the switch was always hard to make.

My memories of one family’s lifestyle were the perfect television model with a hard working husband, a stay home mom, three kids (which included me), a big house in the ‘good’ neighborhood and a religious background with strict moral values.

My other family were God-fearing people too, but was what I would call the ghetto Brady Bunch. We were a family of eight with a working dad, a mom on welfare and a house you might consider being just shy of the Projects. Even though the lifestyle had a lot to be desired and things were tight, everyone was happy and the house was full of love. My ghetto family had the party house, and you could bet on card playing, loud music and the smell of fried fish every Friday night.

With all the traveling back and forth on the weekends and holidays, I was constantly trying to figure out what kind of person I wanted to be. On one hand, I loved going to church and the life I presumed came with being religious, but at the same time I did not want to be a ‘holy roller’ all the time. A little beer, a good card game and dancing till midnight did not seem all that bad to me. I wanted what I thought was the perfect family life, and I wanted to be like just like Mama. After all, she was rich in my eyes and was treated like a queen.

Daddy had a good job at the Foundry, and Mama had everything her heart desired. I never saw her when she was not smiling and seemingly on top of the world. Daddy loved her and made sure she had the best of everything. Mama and Daddy always had a nice big house with pretty furniture that stayed clean, and there was even a sitting room just for company. They even owned rental property. If you owned anything back in the day, then you had arrived and were considered well off. Mama always wore nice jewelry, designer clothes and kept a new car. She always drove a white Cadillac, and you could see her coming from a mile away. She was truly the Ms. Thang as we know it today. A lady. The image of a perfect wife, mother, and what a Christian woman should be.

Mama influenced my behavior and molded me into the woman I would become. As I grew into an adult and became a wife and mother of my own, I ended up being more like her than anyone would have imagined. Her lifestyle had me believing the only way you could have nice things and be happy was to go to church and never do anything wrong. I also thought if you lived right, God would give you everything you asked for, and all would be well. In my eyes, this was the way things were meant to be.

In my life with my ghetto family, things were much different. My mother was a special mother. She had six kids at home, worked for the County Hospital, and received assistance from the Welfare Department. The only transportation she had was the city bus or a taxicab. She did the best she could. She was a soldier who gave up everything for her children. My mother taught me that family needs came first no matter what it took. I cannot help but laugh when I think back on how she used to have us kids help her dodge the rent man. It was always a big game to us and we loved to play, because it was the only time we could tell a lie and get away with it. Thinking of ways we could get rid of the rent man the next time around is what made this game fun.

My stepfather was a good man, because back in the 50’s and 60’s, a man just did not take in a woman or marry her if she had a number of kids. Franklin (as we called him) was the exception to the rule. We did not have much in way of material things, but my stepfather gave us what he could. He worked hard and loved us all as though we were his own and made sure what we did have stayed neat and clean. Exceptional is what he was, a man that would give you the shirt off his back and expected nothing but your best in return.

With six children living in one house, you could almost count on a fight breaking out every hour. The feuds would never last long, because there was always someone else to play with, and no matter what the cause you knew somebody would take your side. Everybody had to come together eventually, and there was never a need for apologies. There were so many of us that in order to keep up with other children in the neighborhood, we would swap shoes and clothes so it looked like we had more than we actually did. Having a bike, going to the movies or taking family vacations was out of the question in this household, because there was only enough money for food, rent and the essentials. I guess you could say I had the best of both worlds and learned the value of each first hand.

At age ten, I was a child who helped my mother cook, clean, and watch after my younger siblings. I didn’t mind helping, because I knew she couldn’t do it all. Besides, working at the hospital had to be stressful enough. Taking on such great responsibilities forced me to grow up fast and introduced me to one of the greatest scares of my life. I remember the day my mother had given birth to her last child; a healthy baby boy she named Gary. I was so excited about the new baby and his Baby Magic smell. He was my Chunky Chunk and gave me something to cuddle, rock and love.

My mother and the new baby had only been home a day when my stepfather had gone in to check on her. She was supposed to be sleeping, but instead he found her lying unconscious in a puddle of blood. She was hemorrhaging in her sleep, and the sight forced him into a panic. He came running out of the room. Paramedics were called and when they came, they rushed her back to the hospital. I thought I would be a big girl, help out and go straighten things up, but when I walked into the bedroom I got the biggest shock of my life. I had walked into a pool of blood, the worst image I had ever seen. There was blood everywhere. I had never seen so much red in my life, and it was much more than my young eyes could bear. The very sight made me question if my mother had an ounce of blood left in her body, and if she was ever coming back.

As young as I was my feelings were correct and confirmed when I overheard Franklin and his mother having a conversation. I was standing in the other room when I heard my mother was very sick, had lost too much blood, and the doctors didn’t think she was going to make it. Then they started dividing up my mother’s children, my brothers and sister.

Wardell can stay with Ms. Coleman; Callie will take Carlene and maybe Debbie, too. Aunt Annie can take Keith and Jeffrey. And Robert, you can keep your two. It was bad enough hearing that my mother might not be coming home, but separating the family would be devastating. The other kids wouldn’t understand, and every last one of them would be scared to death. Oh Lord, this cannot be happening, I thought.

I prayed day and night and begged God to heal my mother’s feeble body. We needed her; I needed her and wasn’t ready for her to go. Not yet. She was far too young. She was our mother, and we needed her. Nobody would take care of her children the way she would. Oh God, what were we going to do? What was I going to do? I would pray. I knew I couldn’t let the rest of the kids find out what was going on, so instead of interjecting and letting them know I heard the plans, I slipped away as if I had never heard a word and continued to pray. I prayed like I had never prayed before and knew my prayers were being heard. They had to be, because I was sincere and had been good, too. I just knew God was going to answer my prayers. He just had to.

I had cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, but I never gave up the faith. No one could convince me that my mother wasn’t coming home. I just knew she would be home soon, because I knew God had heard my every plea and was going to answer. After a while, I didn’t feel sad anymore; my spirits had been lifted. I had a newfound strength and realized it was time for me to stop crying. I had to be a big girl and get myself together, because I had things to do. I had to take care of the kids and get the house in order, so I went back to business as usual.

A couple of weeks had passed, and I was looking out the window when a cab pulled up in front of the house. A very thin, pale, almost white looking woman stepped out. She was frail and walked slowly taking one step at a time. I thought she was an old lady until she turned around. When I saw her face, I knew exactly who she was. That lady was my mother. She was walking slowly, but there she was right before my eyes. My mother was alive and well, and she was home!

I knew it! I knew she would come back. My heart started racing with happiness, and I was overjoyed. Excitedly I jumped up, praised God first and then ran towards her yelling,

‘Mama, you’re home. Thank God you’re home. We missed you; we missed you so much!’

It didn’t matter that my mother was weak and frail. She was home. God had answered my prayers, and I knew at that very moment that everything was going to be all right.

I grew up an active but sickly child. I was an aggressive, friendly and likable person, but due to my personality, always seemed to be misunderstood. I constantly heard negative comments, which hurt my feelings. But as I matured, I learned that no matter what I did whether good or bad, someone would find something to say about it, and there would always be someone who didn’t like me. I was a short and very thin girl, actually what you call skinny. Frequent compliments that I was beautiful made me feel I had to be over friendly or people would think I was arrogant and stuck up. I could not win for losing, but I eventually learned to be myself.

An average student in school, I loved being competitive and staying busy. My grades were not the best, and I felt like I skated through high school on my charming personality, because all my teachers adored me. I had what you call a ‘silver tongue’, which helped me get by with almost anything. My involvement in sports kept me out of trouble. I played volleyball, participated in track and field and competed in sewing competitions. I also worked in the school office as a co-ed student, and my favorite of all, I was a cheerleader throughout junior high and high school. All I knew was, ‘Yea, rah, yea’ and was the skinniest thing holding pom-poms that you’d ever want to see. I looked like a toothpick with two big Afro puffs mounted on each side of my head, and if I leaned too far to one side you’d think I was going to tip over.

I was pretty popular. The majority of my classmates knew me and to my knowledge, I did not have any enemies. Even as a youngster, I was dedicated to one love and loyal to my friends. It was a trait that stuck with me. I was the type of girl who loved hard and only had eyes for one boy at a time.

Back in high school, those eyes were for a boy named Henry Royce. He was about six foot two, slim but muscular, light-complexion and a sports jock. Henry had a silver cap on his front tooth that chilled my spine every time he smiled. He was most teenaged girls’ fantasy, and I was so much in love with him that I couldn’t see straight. All of our friends and family thought we made the perfect couple. His family and I got along well and they were crazy about me. We were Mr. Jock and Ms. Co-Captain of the cheerleading squad.

Friday nights were always exciting and special to me, because Henry would come by the house and pick me up before the games. I’d be dressed in my cheerleading outfit and he in his game jersey, and we’d walk to the games together. His parents would pick us up after the games and then treat us to White Castle before dropping me off at home. It was a weekly treat.

Contrary to what many believed, I wasn’t a ‘fast’ girl at all. After all, I was saving myself for marriage and was scared to death I would burn in hell if I had sex before I said, ‘I Do.’ Henry was always the perfect gentleman and said it was okay if I was not ready. He loved me enough to wait. Boy, oh boy, Henry was the love of my life. I got warm just thinking about him and giggled every time someone mentioned his name. I was happy being Henry’s girl. We always had fun, did typical teenager things and were always together. Going into my last year of high school I figured I had held out long enough and for what seemed like forever. If I wanted to hold on to my man, I felt it was time to give in and do what other girls were doing. I had convinced myself making love would be okay; after all we were a match made in heaven and were so much in love I just knew we were going to get married. Besides, I assumed if a woman gave her most valuable possession to a man, it would guarantee his love forever. I was really in love and my heart skipped a beat every time I met Henry in the cafeteria for lunch. I wore his class ring and sported his Letter jacket and thought we had the perfect love, but my dear sweet Henry ended up breaking my heart into tiny little pieces. Little did I know when I called myself waiting and being committed to our relationship I was the only one committed, because good ole Henry Royce was not.

We had a lover’s quarrel and a lousy two-week break-up. Henry proved his undying love during that time by dating and getting one of my closest friends pregnant, and she wasn’t even the girl we were fighting about. Once Henry found himself in the situation, he tried to ease my pain by telling me that he got caught up in the moment because he was angry and trying to make me jealous. That was one argument and dreadful game that cost us both more than we’d ever bargained for. Having a baby, and by someone else, how could he? I was beyond being hurt. I was devastated and never thought I would ever get over the agony. My world had come to an end. I was sick and cried everyday when I heard the news that my only love had fathered a child and was going to have a baby by someone else. I couldn’t sleep, lost my appetite and was mad at the world. I thought it would take forever to get over Henry and that catastrophe, but life eventually went on.

Typical of me, I was a forgiving soul. I even went to the hospital the day the baby was born. That hospital visit was more for me than anyone, mainly because I needed to make sure this whole thing wasn’t a hoax. But, it was definitely real and the nightmare I thought I was living. Henry had the most beautiful baby boy, and he looked just like his father. When I laid eyes on his son for the first time, I couldn’t help but cry. There was no doubt and no need to explain my emotions. Henry was a proud father, owned up to his responsibility and married my friend, and the mother of his child. They ended up being the couple I dreamed we would always be.

It took a while but I survived the drama, picked up my heart, sprouted a new pair of wings and obtained a cocky attitude. Being in love had taught me a lesson and now I had something to prove to the world. I became superwoman and from then on, I began to date older guys. I had a new boyfriend, and he had a car and a job. I felt grown up and special when I’d come running out of the school building to be picked up by a guy with hair on his face driving his own car. It was so cool having him jump out of his freshly waxed car to open the door for me. I’m not so sure his gesture was for me, and I honestly believed he opened the door to prevent me from leaving fingerprints. After the cool scene, we would drive away while everyone else my age walked home. Riding in the car one day, I made a promise to myself that I would never be hurt by love again, and vowed from that moment on everything was going to be about me.

Now that life was all about me and what I wanted, I started focusing on my goals, graduated from high school, and had great intentions of going on to college. As I began to talk about leaving for school, I started hearing horror stories about how expensive college was and that it would take me years to repay student loans. I didn’t understand what a grant meant, and my school counselor didn’t explain it to me. So, I believed the stories and imagined trying to pay back all that money. I got scared and decided not to take the grant and to get a job instead of going to school. It wasn’t until years later that I found out I had turned down a ‘free ride’ to Ball State University by returning a full grant. It was then that I realized I had blown my chances of going to school and the mistake I had made. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. After all, everyone I knew growing up in my neighborhood had dreams of working for the Post Office, and I was no different. I followed suit and applied to work for the Postal Service, too. I didn’t get far with that endeavor, because I didn’t pass the postal exam. Imagine that. After the disappointment of flunking the test and being in denial that I couldn’t pass a simple test, it was off to

J.C. Penney’s on the Circle to apply for a job. At least there I could get a paycheck and a discount on clothes, too. I thought getting a job at Penney’s would be the life, so I submitted the application, and was hired as their receptionist. From that point on, my problems escalated.

Chapter 2

Labor of Love

After landing what I thought was the perfect job, low and behold, I met my first husband and the man who would father my two ghetto children. Speaking of lust, my eyes got me into trouble when I caught a glimpse of the shadow of this tall thin man as he walked through the door to clock in for work one day. I tried to play the shy game when we made eye contact, and quickly turned my head as if I was not interested. Wilbert was his name and he was tall, very thin, with coco brown skin and the most beautiful head of hair a man could have without looking like a woman. His head was full of fluffy curly locks. He was very nice looking, an immaculate dresser, well mannered, and he had money, too. A lot of women at J.C. Penney’s were attracted to Wil, but of course he was interested in me.

It didn’t take long before Wil asked me out on a date, and I accepted. The courtship was that of an enchanting story and a year later, we were united in holy matrimony. I thought marriage would be a way to escape all the confusion, and would give me an opportunity to take control of my life and make my own decisions. So, marriage it was. A bride just a month shy of being eighteen years old, I thought I knew what I was doing.

Wil and I had the church wedding of the century with rainbow colors, seven bridesmaids, seven groomsmen, three flower girls and two ring bearers. The guys were dressed in white tuxedos with cummerbunds that matched the girls’ dresses. My dress was pure white satin covered with lace and accented with pearls and a seven-foot train that trailed behind. The day and the décor couldn’t have been more beautiful with over three hundred people in attendance. It was a beautiful sunny and 80 degree day in July. After the ceremony, we took a ride around the Monument Circle in a white limo to the reception, which was at Mama and Daddy’s house in the backyard. The acre lot was wooded and naturally decorated with bright green leaves and berries on the fruit trees. The leaves on the big oak trees couldn’t have been greener that day. The rest of the yard was accented with jumbo handmade paper flowers made out of tissue placed throughout the yard with coordinating streamers and bows hanging all over the place. Nothing could have been closer to a rainbow in the sky.

After our limo ride, Wil and I pulled up in the driveway and stepped out of the car to what seemed like thousands of people waiting on our arrival, and whispers about the fact we had caterers dressed in all white and not a one of them were black. Back in the 70’s, an arrangement like that was very unusual, especially at a black wedding. The sight was a surprise to me as well, especially since I ordered the service as part of a package deal and didn’t have a clue the entire staff would be white. Since the color of the caterers seemed to be such a big deal, I thought I should speak to the crowd about the situation. I prepared a speech in my mind and turned to address the crowd in a joking manner to make them aware that the makeup of the staff was just a coincidence. Before I could get their attention and get the words out of my mouth, the thought of people thinking I had it like that was kind of cool. So, I changed my mind at the last minute and decided to let them think what they wanted. I never said a word.

We were in the process of forming a receiving line when all of a sudden, a great wind came out of the west and started blowing the tablecloths and decorations all over the place. A dark cloud appeared overhead like a black blanket in the sky, and blueberries started falling from the trees. In the blink of an eye, my rainbow world was in disarray and my dress was being stained with berries that were hitting the ground like mini bombs. People were running and yelling like the Children of Israel running from Pharaoh. I turned to make sense of the chaos only to find my four-tiered cake in pieces being carried into the house. Next I saw a punch bowl, trays of food and gifts being carried as well. Those that hadn’t run to their cars were headed inside the house. Standing in the midst of the storm and turning from side to side, I wondered if marrying this man was a mistake and a step I would regret for the rest of my life. The storm was a coincidence I’m sure, but I had convinced myself it was a sign.

It was not long after the ceremony that my new husband talked about his desires to start a family. Once again misinterpreting the will of God, I thought getting married, taking care of a home and having babies was what I was supposed to do, so I did not object to starting a family early.

Wil and I tried almost two years to conceive, but nothing happened. My husband wanted children so badly that after months of negative results, he suggested infertility tests. Of course I did not think the problem was with me, so I agreed to the testing and was eager to get started. Surprisingly when the test results came back, the problem was with me after all.

I had always been a sickly person, in and out of hospitals and doctors’ offices trying to find out why I was always in so much pain. I hated getting my monthly cycle because each month, the pain seemed to worsen. My illness had everyone puzzled, and there seemed to be no answers. There was one point where my doctor had my mother in distress thinking I could possibly have cancer. Not knowing for sure what was really wrong, my mother treated me with ease and gave me everything I wanted. My brothers and sister resented me for the special treatment and believe me, I milked it for all I could. I guess you could say I took advantage of the situation.

I was an adolescent with a strong spiritual background who had developed a personal relationship with God early in life. With my beliefs, I knew the God I served would not let his child have cancer. In my mind, there was no way something like that could happen to me. After all, I was only 13 years old, so I knew without a doubt that I could not possibly have cancer, not me.

Yet years later I was confronted with the fact that something was wrong with me. At that point, I began to lose self-esteem and thought I would never have children. What a fear, especially when there was nothing more that I wanted in life.

My desire to conceive resulted in me going to doctor after doctor. Each one probed, analyzed and still came up with nothing. I had never had so many different men check out my behind as I did while I was trying to conceive. I thought to myself there was no wonder I could not produce children, too many men had their hands in the mix.

I was not a quitter and would never give up. Remember, I was the blessed child and once again knew that my God would not disappoint me. God knew my heart, and I wanted children more than anything; so there was no doubt in my mind that he would deliver me and grant me the desires of my heart. With good insurance and perseverance I finally found a doctor that specialized in infertility, good ole Dr. Frank.

Dr. Frank was in his early 40’s and, in my opinion, knew exactly what he was doing. Ole Doc fixed me right up. Dr. Frank held what he called a family counseling session where he and a team of doctors talked to my husband and me about my condition. The doctors explained that my left fallopian tube was blocked and that my ovary was scarred with tissue. We were also told that surgery should help the problem by unblocking the tube, and pregnancy was almost guaranteed within three to six months. I had hope.

Good ole Dr. Frank also promised me relief from the excruciating pain I had been experiencing monthly. I called him the good doctor because he was right. Exactly three months after surgery I was expecting, happy and getting bigger. After being sliced from one side to the other and not being able to walk for three weeks, I thought to myself that I’d better be pregnant. I felt I deserved the outcome they promised, especially since the doctors did not warn me of the pain that would be associated with having that surgery. I would never have agreed to go through with the procedure if I had known the pain would be that excruciating. It was worth it after all, I guess, because I ended up having what I thought was a normal pregnancy.

Just like everything else positive in my life, I seemed to share the excitement