Behind These Eyes: One Agoraphobic's Journey To A Meaningful Life

By Ellen Isaksen

e.a. isaksen (Ellen) takes us along with her on her journey through a non-traditional life filled with adventure and pain and life affirming experiences. Ellen suffers from a severe form of agoraphobia that keeps her basically housebound, but not out of the game of life. While her story may not have the typical end we anticipate in a book about overcoming a disability, overcoming a disability is what she achieved. Ellen learned and now teaches us how to co-exist with a condition that requires both respect and creativity.

"Behind These Eyes" is an intensely compelling memoir that reads like an adventure story. The author shares the intimate details of her challenges with agoraphobia over the decades in the hope that even one person might benefit from her journey. This book is a testament to the power of perseverance, creativity and pure willingness to strive to be all you can be. It demonstrates living proof that self-actualization can be achieved no matter what the obstacles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellen Isaksen
• Release date: Jun 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301516858

Ellen Isaksen

e.a.isaksen (Ellen) was born on Staten Island in New York City. She has been challenged with a severe anxiety and panic disorder which resulted in becoming agoraphobic at the age of thirteen. She spent much of her life undiagnosed and therefore had to find the courage to cope with her disorder without the benefit of proper interventions. She managed to complete her college education and got her Associates Degree from Staten Island Community College and later got her Bachelor’s Degree from Richmond College, also on Staten Island. After receiving her college degrees she became employed by the Willowbrook Developmental Center for the developmentally disabled where she worked as a Psychiatric Social Worker for about ten years. She was later transferred to Gowanda Psychiatric Center in Gowanda New York.In her mid thirties, Ellen moved to Florida where she worked briefly as an addictions counselor at an in-patient cocaine rehabilitation center. Shortly thereafter she decided to leave her profession to develop her creative skills and an entirely new world opened up for her. She became a web page designer and also began writing poetry and has many pieces of poetry published in various anthologies. She developed a supportive web site for agoraphobics several years ago and was eventually discovered by playwrights and a screen writer and was asked to consult on two plays and one movie that involved an agoraphobic character. She is the recipient of the Prometheus 2000 "The Muse of Fire" Poetry Award and also received a Certificate of Achievement in June 2000 for a poem published in "The American Poetry Annual." She has received several other certificates of achievement for poetry.Today Ellen is living happily in Central Florida as a writer who also maintains a small home-based business doing custom design and printing. She shares her life with her two dogs and her parrot, Graycie. At the time of this writing she is basically homebound, but continues to live a full and productive life. Her inspirational book, Behind These Eyes: One Agoraphobic's Journey To A Meaningful Life is about overcoming life’s obstacles. It was enthusiastically written in the hopes that others who have limitations of any kind may come to realize that a robust and happy life can be obtained no matter how far one can or cannot move out of their physical or emotional comfort zone. It’s about being willing to continually put one foot in front of the other to see where it takes you. It’s about never giving up because at any moment a whole new world can be just around the corner. It’s about “Crying and washing the dishes anyway.”

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FOREWORD

Ellen Isaksen takes us along with her on her journey through a non-traditional life filled with adventure and pain and life affirming experiences. Ellen suffers from a severe form of agoraphobia that keeps her basically housebound, but not out of the game of life. While her story may not have the typical successful end we anticipate in a book about overcoming a disability, overcoming a disability is what she achieved. Ellen learned and is now teaching us how to co-exist with a condition that requires both respect and creativity. I am humbled by her accomplishments and in awe of her integrity and ability to love and forgive people for being who they are. It has been my great pleasure to accompany her on part of her journey as we learned from each other. Ellen learned to accept herself as is and I learned that the ability to love and share and grow can show itself in many subtle and hidden ways. As you read Ellen’s story, you will see her as I see her, an unsung hero. Learn from her story and reach out to the heights in your own life, whether you are a world traveler or confined to your home. You are the one in control of how you manage your life, how you interpret your experiences, and how you love and grow through the people you meet. Allow Ellen’s story to be your inspiration.

Flora Zaken-Greenberg, Ph.D.

Licensed Psychologist

DEDICATION

This book is lovingly dedicated to anyone who has been judged, ridiculed or persecuted for being perceived as different in any way. Let your love light shine through so that you can be all that you can be. The world needs you.

Lord, you made me different

And I promise I will try

To awaken all the others

Through the love shown in my eyes.

My heart becomes so weary,

Yet I honor my whole life,

My soul sings of Truth,

of Love, Peace and Light.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Acknowledgements

PART I NEW YORK

Chapter 1 A Visit to Ms. Liberty

Chapter 2 Panic Strikes

Chapter 3 Back to the Beginning

Chapter 4 Isolation

Chapter 5 Validation

Chapter 6 The New Neighborhood

Chapter 7 Early Experiences with Men

Chapter 8 Starting Over

Chapter 9 The Ultimate Abandonment

Chapter 10 Back to School

Chapter 11 Miss Ahern

Chapter 12 Meet Gibran – The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Chapter 13 Peace and Freedom

Chapter 14 Nellie Belle

Chapter 15 First Love

Chapter 16 Life-changing Loss

Chapter 17 Moving on

Chapter 18 Reuniting with Mom

Chapter 19 The Geographic Cure

Chapter 20 Following that Inner Voice

PART II: FLORIDA

Chapter 21 Life Begins in Florida

Chapter 22 Renee

Chapter 23 Systematic Desensitization

Chapter 24 One of Life's Teachers

Chapter 25 Life at the Compound

Chapter 26 The Secret's Out

Chapter 27 Life with Jeanne

Chapter 28 Reaching Out for Help

Chapter 29 Back to Work

Chapter 30 Helping Paula

Chapter 31 She's Not in the Casket

Chapter 32 Online!

Chapter 33 First Long Distance Relationship

Chapter 34 The Year of the Poetry

Chapter 35 The Visible Power of Positive Thought

Chapter 36 The Unexpected Happens

Chapter 37 Been Here Before

Chapter 38 Mom Comes Home

Chapter 39 Brilynn and the Impossible Dream

Chapter 40 Battling Cancer

Chapter 41 Juggling

Chapter 42 Respite?

Chapter 43 Fighting the Good Fight

Epilogue: Tying it up

About The Author

Recommended Reading

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to take a moment to give my heartfelt thanks to those who have either helped me with the writing of this book or who have helped me along my life’s journey.

I would like to thank my lifelong friend Karen Caddell for just being present in my life for over fifty years. The opening chapters of this book describe the beginning of our budding friendship and the years have not altered our bond. I am sorry to say that my cherished friend lost her courageous battle with cancer as I am writing this book. My heart will always be with you my beloved friend. Happy Trails to you!

Additionally, I would like to thank Flora Greenberg and David Wallace for being such dedicated and caring counselors. You are both such wonderful sounding boards and keep me motivated to be all I can be.

To my high school teacher, Sheila Ahern, I want to give my sincerest gratitude for going so far beyond your job description to help me during those early tender years. You got me started on a life path that has offered me so many irreplaceable insights and wonderful memories. You helped me to realize what is most important in life.

I would also like to pay special tribute to Jeanne Kelly, one of my life’s biggest teachers. Through good times and challenging times she never ceased to leave me with a critical life lesson.

I would like to thank Sylvia Watson and Claire Wilkinson for the exquisite help they offered me with the care of my mother and Jeanne Kelly during their final days on this earth.

I would also like to thank Judith Haire, Karen Hartley and Luci Waddell for all their expertise in bringing this book to its conclusion. I could not have done it without you.

Finally, I offer my thanks to all those who were a part of my life and enabled me to tell this story so that even one person might glimpse some insights from it to live a more hopeful and productive life.

BEHIND THESE EYES

If you could see behind my eyes

You’d have the answer to all the whys.

Behind these eyes and streaming tears

Lies the secret of a thousand fears...

A thousand fears,

A million tears,

The heartbreak of my childhood years.

The darkness trapped so deep within-

Kept hidden is the mortal sin.

For life does not allow the truth

To surface and remain aloof.

A thousand fears,

A million tears,

The heartbreak of my childhood years.

If only you could come to know

The wondrous being here below,

And unlock the secrets hidden here

And hold my heart so near and dear.

A thousand fears,

A million tears,

The heartbreak of my childhood years.

But you can't know

What can't be seen-

What's buried forever

In between...

Those thousand fears

And million tears-

Those heartbreaks from my childhood years.

PART I

NEW YORK

CHAPTER 1

The day was hot and steamy; it was mid-July in the bustling city of New York. I lived on Staten Island, which to this day few people realize is a part of New York City. The Big Apple was just five cents and a ferryboat ride away. High school was out for the summer and there were still several weeks left to enjoy the freedom those torrid months brought. Karen, aka Ka, and I had been friends since the latter years of grammar school. She was a year ahead of me in school but that never seemed to matter. We became the BFF’s of the fifties and sixties. We lived on the same block, each on a different side of the main drag cutting across the tiny island. We met when I was about ten years old and for years we walked back to school together at lunchtime, eating our Twinkies and Ring Dings purchased from the local corner store. After school and on weekends we were virtually inseparable.

On this particular vacation day Karen and I decided to hop the ferry and take a ride over to Battery Park in Manhattan. The miniature park was located right where you get off the ferry on the Manhattan side. It was a charming place where you could endlessly watch people just being themselves. Actually, most of Manhattan was like that. You could do almost anything and no one paid any attention; people felt free to be who they were. That was my favorite thing about the big city, especially Greenwich Village.

Battery Park was also the home base for a few excursion boat rides. For a mere pittance you could take a tour ride around Manhattan Island or you could head up to Bear Mountain or simply make a short jaunt over to the infamous Statue of Liberty. On this day we opted to make our first and only visit to the Lady of Liberty. Little did I realize that my life would change forever that day.

The ferryboat docked almost at the feet of the Lady. The passengers got off quickly, wiping their brows from the sizzling temperatures and soaking humidity. The mist cast from the Hudson River was of little comfort. Heck, we were young and could take it! I had just finished my first year of high school and was placed in the Honors Class. I was somewhat apprehensive about going back to school with all the stiff competition, so I was determined to make this summer a fun and interesting one.

The crowd of tourists dispersed themselves all over the tiny fourteen-plus acre island. Some enjoyed walking in the breeze while others headed straight for the gift shop which displayed tons of miniature, bronze-like statues of Ms. Liberty all lined up in order of size. Karen and I headed directly for the base of the statue and began the hike upward. The first thing we noticed, besides the oppressive heat, was the incredible narrowness of the staircase which shot almost straight up. It was like walking up a winding elevator shaft.

Once we were committed to walking there was no turning back as there were streams of people behind us and no room to turn around and go back down. With each vertical step we took the space became more and more confining and the steps grew more and more narrow. The air seemed to evaporate as it became increasingly dark, but we inched our way to the top. The windows along the climb were few and far between, making the whole event feel like a bad experience in an amusement park’s not-so-fun house. The most overpowering feeling was that of being trapped. At long last we arrived at the top and could catch our breath. Finally a choice of going back down or continuing to the crown of Lady Liberty! Of course we had to experience the whole enchilada, so off we went, onward and upward! We climbed the rest of the way and experienced a once-in-a-lifetime view of the majestic New York Harbor and New York City. It was all so breathtaking, both literally and figuratively. I did not realize at that moment just what an impact this adventure would have on me.

Karen and I decided we had enough climbing for one day and shuffled down the steps to the base and boarded the excursion boat back to Battery Park. Whew, back on semi-home turf! We were both exhausted so we headed for the Staten Island Ferry terminal and home. Once on board we bolted to the concession stand and had a tall drink and one of the ferry’s famous large soft pretzels. It felt like a little bit of heaven. With waves crashing against the pilings, we pulled into the dock at Staten Island about twenty minutes later. Now, just one more leg to our trip: the #107 bus down Forest Avenue. In another twenty-five minutes we were home sweet home.

It was quite a draining adventure, but as two young teenagers we felt we could still squeeze more out of this precious summer vacation day. We decided to go to our individual homes and have dinner, then meet again in an hour or so to go see Quintin and Ed at the local bowling alley and maybe roll a game or two. Alas, that was not the wisest decision I could have made.

Karen and I met at the designated time and again boarded the #107 bus heading down Forest Avenue toward the bowling alley. I felt totally depleted, but at fourteen years of age energy was presumed to be in endless supply. I clearly expected to catch my second wind before we arrived; however, about three-quarters of the way there I noticed I was feeling very strange.

CHAPTER 2

Looking out the cloudy window of the #107 I noticed that daylight had turned to dusk. I felt a cloak of darkness envelop me. Suddenly I felt like I was living in a dream, bordering on a nightmare. I was scared, but of what? I felt myself distant; the people on the bus, even Karen, seemed like they were talking all around me, but were a million miles away. I could see their lips moving but could not connect with what I was hearing. I was so deep into my own head that I felt I could not reach out and touch the real world. I knew where I was, I knew on some level what was going on, and I knew the problem was within me, but what was the problem? I deduced that it must have something to do with the long and exhausting day I had, but nonetheless I knew I was experiencing sensations I had never had before. It seemed like I was playing out a role from a sci-fi thriller movie.

I opted not to say anything to my best friend at first, believing this would surely pass at any moment. Suddenly the #107 stopped directly in front of the Knotty Pine Bowling Alley and with a giant whishing sound, the doors opened. We got out and headed inside to the main desk, our eyes seeking out Quintin or Ed. We saw Quintin, who was the manager of the lanes, at the concession stand and strolled over to say hi. The lighting in this area seemed to trigger my feelings of strangeness even further. As I spoke to Quint, I was trying to check myself to see if I was making sense. I could not shake this most odd feeling and I became more and more frightened. I felt as if I were in the middle of an out-of-body experience.

As I felt my heart rate heighten and the fear magnify, I finally broke down and told Karen I was not feeling well and knew I had to leave. She asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t say anything except that I was feeling weird and felt compelled to go home. She didn’t hassle me and we left the bowling alley and walked over to the bus stop. By now it was totally dark outside, which added to the fear, which was now turning to terror. But why?

I managed to hold onto my sanity and I arrived home. As I walked up the dead-end street to my house I noticed my mother sitting on the front stoop. This was a very unusual sight, as Mom was usually not at home or stayed inside the house. I suppose she had decided to get some air due to the inordinate heat of the day. We did not have air conditioning in our house on Llewellyn Place, so being outdoors was the only way you could catch a gulp of breathable air on this particular day.

It came time to make the decision of exactly what I should say to my mother. Should I tell her I felt like I was going crazy? Should I blurt out that her perfectly behaved, honor roll student had suddenly gone insane? That was honestly how I was feeling. I finally simply told her I felt nervous and scared and that things felt odd but I had no idea why. My mother, who never appeared overly concerned about anything—especially us kids—said to go to bed and I’d probably feel better in the morning. God, I hoped she was right. My logical self bought the idea because, after all, don’t all things go away after a good night’s sleep when you are a young teen?

Morning broke and the sun was shining very brightly in my small bedroom. There was only enough space for a twin bed in this room and one long desk-like piece of furniture that served both as a countertop space for school books as well as a clothes dresser in the space below. A vinyl accordion-type door served as the separator between my room and my mother’s. I also lived with my brother Harry, who was four years older than me and in college. He commuted back and forth to Pace College in New York City, so I saw little of him. He was a marketing major whose only goal in life was to become a millionaire. He eventually succeeded I believe, at least on paper. I also had a sister named Ellie, who was living with my father since my parents divorced some ten years earlier. Ellie was six years older and sadly she and I had no communication since the divorce. I had wished on this day that she would somehow magically appear to offer some comfort.

I finally put a foot out of bed on this gorgeous sunny day and the room started spinning. I wasn’t even sure where I was. I was so hoping that the feelings from the previous night would be but a memory, but unfortunately that was not the case. I walked out into the kitchen and I remember feeling like all the objects around me looked distorted. I spoke to my mother, but again her lips were moving but her voice sounded so far away, as if it was coming from the far end of a tunnel. I was scared and panicked. I think the panic was because I was terrified for no apparent reason. I simply could not make any sense out of what was happening to me. I told my mother how I felt, but again she fluffed it off. I felt the only place of safety was my room, so I retreated there for days on end and barely came out. Finally my mother got the message and brought me to the local family doctor; the trip there was horrific. Looking at the world outside the car windows was unbearable. I seemed to only be able to focus on what was going on inside me. I was scared of the people outside, the trees… I was scared of EVERYTHING! It was reminiscent of the night at the bowling alley. Where did this all come from?

Dr. Donnell examined me, but apparently found nothing unusual. At a later time I found out that the good doctor told my mother he thought I was just feeling sorry for myself because I came from a broken home and I needed to snap out of it! He did eventually make a referral for me to see a psychiatrist named Dr. Quinlan. I had been told that Dr. Quinlan was an older man, but he was much older than I expected. He may have been in his late sixties or even seventy and had many wrinkles on his face to go along with his white hair and mustache. Funny how perspective on age changes as you get older!

Getting to his office down by the Staten Island Ferry terminal was no small feat. My mother worked in the city full-time and was gone from seven o’clock in the morning until about six-thirty at night, so she could not take me. The psychiatrist did not think it was a good idea for me to be home alone, so my mother made arrangements with my next-door neighbor Gale to oversee me. Gale was probably in her late thirties and lived in a very small apartment with her husband and young son. Gale became my life’s savior during that time. She was pretty and fun to be around; truth be told, I think I developed a crush on her. She’d talk to me and hold me from time to time to try and make me feel safe. What I know now is that making me feel safe was the best gift anyone on earth could have given me then. I went back and forth between houses during the day in my quasi-robotic state. Terror flowed through my mind and body 24/7 with each breath I took. It was relentless and I started to feel like an alien from another planet waiting for someone to beam me down answers to the riddle that had become my life. I could never adequately find words to describe what I was feeling. How could I feel this bad, yet look and act so normal to others? Somehow I pulled it off. All I knew for sure was that I was alive and therefore had to move and walk and talk. So I did. Was I insane? I really didn’t know, but it felt like I was living in what insanity must feel like. There was a period of time when I was so frightened that I could not even come out of my bedroom to eat meals, so my dinner plate and resulting dirty dishes were passed back and forth under the vinyl door. I always thought that door looked like a man with his pants too short because it did not reach the floor; however, in this instance the space between the bottom of the door and the floor came in very handy!

Naturally, I lost touch with my best friend Karen, at least for a while. It was often very unnerving for me to see anyone’s face. I was just so afraid of the world and everyone and everything in it. Dr. Quinlan was making me write. I spent endless days in my room doing nothing but journaling. He wanted me to write about my life and anything and everything else that came to mind. Unfortunately, my mother realized I was writing about her and my life at home and tore up the epistle. At one point the doctor thought he might recommend shock treatments for me, but thankfully he abandoned that idea. One day he told me that he didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, but wanted to talk to my family. Reluctantly my mother did go to see him, but I have no idea what the outcome of that conversation was. My brother was also called in and again, I have no idea what transpired behind those closed doors.

Gale was usually the one who took me via cab to the psychiatrist’s office. The trip was always traumatic. It was truly a dark night of the soul for me. It was as if I was living my life from deep within myself and only occasionally peeking out into the world; my existence was completely fear-based. My mother was cold, distant, and self-centered—at least to us kids. The neighbors and her co-workers worshipped her and never would have believed what she was like at home. She had no desire to tune in to my problem. I guess she thought that all she had to do was see to it that I got to the doctor and that was the end of her responsibility. I do not remember a single time that she talked to me about what was happening or tried to be of comfort. For her, it was life as usual. Her world consisted of her boyfriend Pat, whom she saw almost every weekend, and her job. My brother and I were just beings who happened to inhabit the house. There was trouble—BIG trouble—if we did not behave, so for the most part my brother and I took care of ourselves and didn’t dare to make waves. We fought silently and never really liked one another at all, but the house was quiet. Emotionally empty and quiet.

One day out of the blue, my sister Ellie called me and said she had found out that I was sick. She asked if I’d mind if she came for a quick visit. I was spellbound. Had Dr. Quinlan called her? For years and years I had longed to see my sister and after all this time she wanted to see me. I knew if my Mom found out there would be hell to pay since we were forbidden to have any contact whatsoever with my sister, father, and his new wife (who was also my godmother). My sister was calling from her job at the Social Security office so we didn’t have much time to talk. I quickly said, Yes! I’d love to see you! I said yes with the knowledge that every weekday my mother was a river away working in the city and my brother was off at school. I was home alone. We made a date for her to come and visit me on her lunch hour the next week. I was scared and so excited all at the same time. I knew somehow I had to find a way to stay out of my room, at least for an hour.

The day of her visit finally arrived and I watched the clock with deliberation all morning. Finally it was noon and I knew Ellie would be here at any moment. About ten minutes later an older green Dodge pulled up and stopped in front of my house. A beautiful young woman wearing a plaid skirt with a solid knit top and matching scarf got out. My heart melted. I just wanted to run and hug her and ask her to hold me like she did when I was a toddler, but the sad truth was we were strangers. We lived very diverse lives in two different, albeit close, parts of town. Ellie came in and seemed genuinely glad to see me. Oh my God, my big sister was in my house! She asked me how I was feeling and I did my best to tell her what was going on. What could I tell her since I really didn’t know myself? I think Dr. Quinlan did call her because she eventually went to see him, without my mother’s knowledge. The lunch hour just flew by and before I knew it, it was time for her to leave. She gave me a photo of herself which I have treasured throughout the years and told me she would come back to see me. She left and I felt like I had just been visited by Jesus Himself. I loved and missed my sister so very much.

True to her word, Ellie came to visit me on her lunch hour a few more times, always without my mother being any the wiser. On more than one occasion she mentioned that she had spoken to my father and godmother and they had offered to have me come and stay with them if I felt I needed to leave my mother’s house for any reason. I kept that knowledge on the back burner for a long time.

It came time for school to start again and there was no way in the world I could return. I guess my mother got me some kind of medical leave from school, and I did not attend classes for approximately two years. Karen and I got back in touch. She thought it was great that I was home all day; she and her cousin and a few other friends would cut classes and come to my house to listen to records, dance and eat all the hamburgers we had in the house. Sometimes I could have the kids around for a while and sometimes I couldn’t. I was struggling to adapt to my new way of being in the world. I just kept trying to put one foot in front of the other and live. My life continued on as one huge alien-like experience. I was a smart kid so I tried to analyze every aspect of my life to see what might be happening. Somehow in my gut I knew this all had to do with my early childhood and the abuse and neglect that had occurred. I also thought that there was an outside chance it might have something to do with puberty and hormones. I was a new teenager and had read about some of the difficulties kids could have as they matured. I knew about sex, at least on a limited basis, and was wondering if the fact that my mother’s long-time boyfriend had been staying overnight could be having an effect on me. I wanted to try an experiment and asked my mother if she’d not have him stay overnight for a short while. I was grasping at straws, but felt somehow I needed to find this out for myself. My mother was furious and said, No kid is going to run my life or tell me what to do! I explained why this might be important and she finally said she would think about it. I told her that I would wait until Saturday, and if on that day she and Pat were sitting at the kitchen table having their usual coffee and doughnuts, I’d have my answer.

Without fully knowing it, I think I had made up my mind that if she was not even willing to try this experiment, then there was no place in her house for me. I needed for something to change so that I might possibly get some relief from the suffering I was experiencing. I called my sister at work and told her what had transpired. I said that if Mom and Pat were at the table on Saturday I’d be leaving and coming to stay with her and my dad. She replied that it was still fine for me to come and that she’d put my father on alert.

Saturday came and as I woke up I could hear Pat’s and my mother’s voices coming from the kitchen. I got up, said Good morning, and went into the bathroom. When I came out I went right to my room and packed my clothes in a small suitcase. I looked around my room, said a brief Good bye then walked straight past my mother and Pat to the front door. I slowed up a bit to see if anyone would call to me, but that did not happen. I kept going out the door and straight down the street to Willie’s Deli and placed the phone call to Ellie. She only lived about three miles away so she arrived in no time at all. I guess I had always wondered what it might be like to live with my father, his wife, and my sister. I imagined that they had a real family as opposed to the life of isolation I had lived with my mother and brother. My main hope was that something would be different here that might help ease my horrific state of madness. The guilt I felt leaving my mother was enormous, but I needed to try and create a better life for myself.

CHAPTER 3

In no time at all we were at my sister’s house at 925 Forest Avenue, the place where I was born and my grandmother died. I had lived in this house until I was about eight years old, by which time my mother had finally saved enough money following her divorce from my father to purchase a house for her, my brother and me. It was at that time the three of us moved a few miles down the road to Llewellyn Place. However, Ellie had begged to stay with my father after the divorce. So following a short stint living with a friend of his, my father moved into the upstairs apartment on Forest Avenue in order to create a home for himself, his new wife (my mother’s best friend as well as my godmother) and my sister. It was ironic, but due to financial constraints we all lived in that same house until my mother could afford to buy her own home. My mother, brother, and I lived downstairs; my father, stepmother, and sister lived upstairs. My mother had issued the mandate: Under penalty of death, my brother and I were to speak to no one upstairs. This meant from the time I was three years old until now, I had virtually no contact with that part of my family. This house was my roots. The memories I had of living here previously were not good ones. Would this time be better? A ten-year gap was about to be filled…

My father and godmother, now my stepmother, greeted me as I climbed up the long staircase that led to their apartment. I was now entering, and soon to be living in, what was once forbidden territory. As anxious as I was, I had suddenly realized that there was much to be said for the familiar, but had I made a mistake? Could I handle this huge adjustment, especially in the delicate state I was in? So many thoughts raced through my mind as I pretended to be happy to be there. My father was much as I remembered him, but my step-mother had aged considerably. She was thirteen years older than my father to begin with, but she also had serious health issues that made that gap even more pronounced. I kept wondering if my mother would come looking for me. I also wondered if she’d ever guess that I’d end up back here.

My father was a gentle man who had a history of liking his beer. I have no idea if he was an alcoholic or not, but my best guess would be no. He worked hard as a mechanical engineer and enjoyed having a few beers with some cheese and crackers at the end of the day, every day. Usually he just drank his fill, watched some TV and fell asleep in his chair. He went to church every Sunday with his family and enjoyed a good dirty joke every now and again. He took good care of his sickly wife, did most of the housework and all of the shopping. I never heard him complain about any of it. I liked him.

My step-mother was matronly. She watched TV most of the day and did a little knitting here and there. She often did not get dressed, but sat in her recliner in her duster with an afghan over her legs. She was frequently hospitalized, but everyone seemed to take this in stride. My father seemed to genuinely care for this elderly-looking woman. He kept insisting that after life with my mother, this was heaven. I settled into my room and continued taking in my surroundings. I had no idea where life would go from here. I closed my eyes to rest for a bit, when suddenly all of the memories of my early childhood years here in this weather-worn, two-family, green shingled house began to flash before my eyes.

My earliest memory might be questioned by some, but to me it was exquisitely real. I have a crystal-like vision of me outside the front of this house in a navy blue baby carriage. Besides it being odd that one could remember anything at such a young