Momma, Why?: A True Story of Savage Parental Abuse

By Diane Jones

"Her name is Diane Jones. Today her presence is calm and
warm. I knew her as a quiet, terrified child struggling to grow
up, nay, even to stay alive in a large violent matriarchal family.
There was no father figure, only a sequence of men. Diane was
thirteen years old when I first met her. Through a program in the
California Department of Social Services, I had been assigned to
be Big Sister to a younger sister of Diane. This younger sister
was also badly abused both in maternal violence and in sexual
abuse, as was Diane, but to a much lesser degree. I thought of
Diane's mother as a raging bull with massive mood swings from
manipulative and charming to a cruel, mean and evil woman. I
myself was afraid of her. If I had known what was really going
on during the years I worked with the family, I would not have
had the power to do anything about it. My only hope and
motivation at that time was to give them a view of what life was
like from a different perspective and thus help them be kinder to
their children. I am always appalled by the fact that Social
Services felt it was best to keep children connected to their
families no matter how monstrous the evil in the home.
Twenty-six years later, we are all wiser."

MELANIE TAYLOR

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 1, 2003
• ISBN: 9781403364609

Diane Jones

Restore the “Art of Caring” and promote a spirit of “Excellence” to the Nursing Profession. I hope and pray some how to provoke and motivate some of you to re-light this torch and carry it to the finish line. Diane Jones has served the public for thirty years, first as a Certified Nursing Assistant, next as a Licensed Vocational Nurse, and now as Registered Nurse. Over the years, she has been both amazed with the benefits of advanced medical technology and troubled by the decline in the ability of health care professionals to actually “Care” for the people they care for. When she entered the Healthcare Profession she vowed to herself that she would never compromise her values as a nurse and she would give her patients the best care possible regardless of race or creed. She would “Care” for people. In- spite of many obstacles, she has kept that vow. The accounts I give are written according to the best of my memory and are not intended to implicate any person or agency. They are given to memorialize my experiences and hopefully prepare or encourage someone else to face the harsh realities of my profession. The names of persons and businesses have been changed or omitted to protect my interest, my family and my publisher from any retaliation by any who may feel the need to do so. My employee records have been included to lend credibility to the accounts I have shared. Sincerely, Diane S. Jones RN

Book preview

MOMMA, WHY?

A true story of savage parental abuse

By

Diane Jones

© 2002 by Diane Jones. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 1-4033-6460-5 (Electronic)

ISBN: 1-4033-6461-3 (Softcover)

ISBN: 1-4033-6462-1 (Dustjacket)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2002093962

1stBooks-rev. 09/13/02

Contents

Disclaimer:

A Touch From God

Interviewer’s Comment

Momma, Why?

First Interview With Diane Jones: Getting Started

Second And Third Interviews With Diane Jones: Family

Fourth And Fifth Interview With Diane Jones: Survival

Sixth Interview With Diane: Key Examples

Seventh Interview With Diane Jones: James And The House

For The People Of The World

About The Book Cover

About The Author

Disclaimer:

The tale in this book is the true story of myself, Diane Jones. It is not intended in any way to place blame or to demean anyone referred to, it merely represents my remembrance of my life in my family. Only the names, times and some places are changed to protect all of us, the innocent as well as the guilty.

If you cannot, or do not accept any part of the above, please return this book to its publisher and get your money refunded.

A TOUCH FROM GOD

I would like to dedicate this book to my Heavenly Father, whose wisdom, strength, and guidance pointed me in the right direction.

Diane Jones

Interviewer’s Comment

Whether by design or by accident, each of us fall into this world in absolute openness. It is the circumstances of our birth which set us on whatever course we follow. And, it is in the hands and hearts of our keepers whether we thrive, whether we are destined to have to fight and scrap our way, or whether we surrender to the whims of our captors. In any case, there are those who survive even the most heinous treatment and bear no malice toward those by whom they were abused and misused. Are they high on God’s list of favored children—or are the Gods testing the mettle of Humankind for readiness for the next step in evolution? Either way, they are God’s children.

Here is the tale of one of them-a girl named Diane.

Momma, Why?

All these years went by and all the times I cried I asked myself, Momma, why? You hurt me so much and never told me why. You left me alone all my life with so much pain inside. You hurt me in ways I can’t even describe. But time went by and now you’re gone with no last words, just more pain for me to hold inside. You left me once again for me to ask, Momma, why? Why couldn’t you say you were sorry, or even goodbye? But now it’s time for me to try and put my pain behind.

Your daughter, Diane

Saturday was hot. A desert July hot day. My apprehension, mild, as it is usually is on a new project, had begun to build as I read through the pages of notes before I left the office. The woman I was to interview had been abused from birth and the tale begun in the twenty-four pages of notes submitted, promised to be unusual. Overwhelming, according to the editor’s notes.

I pulled over to the side of the road to review the notes once more before meeting Diane. This was a suffocating mistake! It was too hot. But I wanted one more look at the notes before the interview. I realized two things. First, the person who wrote the notes was intelligent, very intelligent. Second, this was going to be a lot of work. Her formal education had clearly been short-suited. I would have to impose structure and grammar without distorting the power of her story as she told it. I set the sheaf of papers aside and started the engine. The blast of cool air erased the headache I was growing and I moved on to meet my client.

The directions she had given me on the phone were good. They were sufficiently detailed that the absence of that section of Palmdale from my ancient Thomas Guide didn’t matter. I had no trouble finding her house in the modest well-kept neighborhood in which she lived.

Included in the notes were several drawings by Diane’s son, James, Jr., and a photo of Diane as a young girl. I had studied her face for a long time, fingering the edges of the photo trying to absorb some idea of who she was. I kept looking for something that would give me a key to unlock the feelings behind the words on the pages of notes. Had she mailed the notes to us hoping to find someone to turn her story into a-what? I puzzled on this question more than once in the week between finding the request in my in-basket and my first phone call to her. I got no answer from my mind other than a disquieting sense of urgency. A plea almost, as if I had the life line in my hands, her lifeline, and was hesitating to throw it.

Right turn, 1772 Cobblestone, 1775, then 1778. Well, I was here. The heat weighed on me as I gathered my interviewer’s paraphernalia, beating me on the back as I bent forward into the back seat of my

Ford to pull the box out of the car. Tape recorder, pencils, paper, and her notes, all there.

Diane saw me coming and opened the door of her house to greet me. I received a rush of friendliness, a feeling of openness and true welcome from the attractive woman standing in the doorway. What had I expected? Some poor down-trodden soul, red eyes, and all? Not really. But I found myself much relieved by the impression received of the person in the doorway.

Hello, Diane. I presume it’s you. Sorry I took so long to get here. My hour-long delay in the trip from Los Angeles to Palmdale was occasioned by an altercation between a big-rig and an embankment that had slipped into its path. We talked about my small journey and settled at a table neatly placed by a window looking out onto a small vegetable garden. It seemed a lot cooler inside although there was no air conditioning that I could detect. Somehow the breeze passing through open windows on one side and out others on the opposite side fended off the dry monster outside.

She produced three glasses and a large pitcher of fresh lemonade. As I wondered about the third glass, a nice looking gentleman entered the room, smiling as he placed a plate of cookies and fruit on the table.

Nancy, this is my husband, James. He is on his way out, but wanted to meet you before he went.

We exchanged pleasantries and he departed, thanking me for taking an interest in his wife. Diane poured the lemonade, pushing the unused glass off to the side.

Diane, I would like to tape everything we talk about, if that is all right with you. That way I won’t have to try to remember it all or write and talk at the same time. I will just put this little flat mike here between us and turn on the recorder. That way we will have our hands free. (And I must admit, the fruit looked inviting!)

First Interview with Diane Jones: Getting Started

D: Where do we begin, Nancy? There is so much I want to know about you.

I: Actually, I came to interview you, but in the process I’m sure we will get to know each other very well. I want you to understand that in order to turn your notes into something saleable, much more information and a lot of writing is required. Diane, you submitted twenty-four pages of notes and some drawings. There are a lot of questions to answer before those notes are turned into a book.

D: Oh. I know there is a whole lot more needed to finish my book!

There have been several people trying to help me with it, but that

did not work out for several reasons.

I: Well, we will get it finished this time. Let me tell you how I like

to work. In order to draw out of you all the information needed, I

would like to ask you a series of questions you will answer

however you wish. At any time, if you desire, we can stop, we can

change the topic, or I can come back to it at a later time whenever

you feel like continuing. I know I will ask a lot of questions, some of which may be painful for you to answer. I do not ask them to make you feel bad. I ask them because they tell a part of your story, and all parts of your story are part of what you are and what drove you to succeed and build a nice life for yourself and your family, in spite of the bad parts. Once we are finished, you can read the book or have someone read it to you, probably me, and you can delete or change anything in it you wish. We would never call the book finished until you said so. Is that okay with you?

D: Yes. That’s okay with me.

I: Diane, you appear to have made a success of your life in spite of many disadvantages. Can you tell me how you achieved everything you now have, this house, your health, your nice family?

D: Well, I have been married to one very good man, my husband James, for the last four of the eighteen years we have been together, and we have four children. Two of them I had before my husband and I ever met. Through all the mistreatment of my formative years, I maintained a strong belief in God. I spent a lot of time trying to understand why He let me continue to live, under the circumstances of my life, but I figured there was a reason. So I fought to stay alive, I fought to keep my mind, and struggled to do right by my belief that God had a plan for me. Now I still have my battles to fight, but I am proud of where I am now and my nice family.

I: Tell me some of what you know of your family, the family of your early life.

D: I was born in the late nineteen-fifties. My father was Filipino, my mother, Mexican. I have an olive complexion. My skin tans, it does not freckle. My mother had been born in Mexico. She was not mistreated in her childhood, but was rather a spoiled child, spoiled by her father. I am not sure what year she came to the United States, but I was born in Fresno, California. Some of my oldest brothers and sisters may have been born in Fresno as well. My mother had come from Mexico with her family while she was still young and she grew up in Fresno on a farm. My father had been a farm worker. As the family grew, we moved to Venice,

California. This was soon after I was born. My father never became a part of my life, nor did any of his family. Much more about him, I really can’t say.

I: Diane, tell me how you got started on writing your story. There is always a story behind a story and telling it will allow you to become more comfortable with the tape recorder and my presence here.

D: Yes, I am a little nervous.

In regard to how I’ve been able to start to write my book, with the education I was able to get my writing skills were not what I felt good enough to be able to fully express myself. A friend of mine named Lou pointed me to another friend, Sara, who has helped me. But, at that time, due to special circumstances in her own life, she was not able to continue being my writer because she needed to tend to her personal business and find a job. So it left me trying to find another writer. My friend, Sara, gave me all the materials she had worked on so I’d be able to get my book completed. She even gave it to me on computer disc should anyone feel it needed to be edited further. That way it would save

time from being retyped. If it wasn’t that she had had these personal troubles she might have been able to finish it for me. But now I realize what she was able to do was only a very small part of my story. Now this is where one of those strange incidents occurs that lets you know the difference between friends who aren’t and those that are!

When Sara could not do any more, I asked our mutual friend Lou if she knew of anyone else who could write. She suggested someone named Jane. Jane came by on a Saturday, at a quarter to eleven. My young daughter, Summer, was home at the time. Jane came in and I asked her if she wanted something to drink. I gave her a glass of Kool-Aid. She began reading the papers I had but she stopped. Now this is weird. She said she saw all the scratches I had on my arms. I told her I had had a suicidal event just the night before. She started praying. And she told me that she and her husband were demon workers and, therefore, they could work with me. She said I was fighting demons that were in me. She said by the time that she and her husband would get done praying for me, that I would be all right. I asked her, What about the pain that I am suffering? Then she prayed and said that I would not have pain any more. I told her that my daughter had seen what happened to me when I have become suicidal in the past. It is then that I act like a little girl.

My daughter went to the kitchen and the woman (Lou) told my daughter that the demons were trying to get inside of her as well because she is so innocent, like an angel. Demons prefer children because children are easy for demons to get inside of. And my daughter said, You mean my mom has demons in her?

The woman said, "Yes, that is all it is. And she said that they are going to go away. She said they were trying to take over my little girl as well. My daughter, Summer, was only eleven! She told me that she had to pray and to wait for an answer in order for her to take on my book and do my book for me. She