A Mothers Heart: Beverly’S True Story

By Joan Judson

This book you hold in your hand may be small in size but the story it tells is huge!

The message
Trust Gods Grace
He does not do miracles half way!

This is a true story written from the heart without benefit of accomplished writers skills. There are no long descriptive pages meant to build suspenselife can do that all on its own. How many of us live our lives routinelygoing along day after day assuming things will always go as we plan? This mother found the peaceful, normal life she so treasured, turned upside down in a split second. How she coped (or didnt cope) is chronicled in these pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456733681

Joan Judson

Joan Judson is the mother of four children, three daughters, Terry, Cindy and Beverly, one son David. She and her husband were married in 1951 and make their home in Woodbury, CT. They have six grandchildren, Christine, Steven, Rebecca, Heather, Michelle and Donald and four great-grandchildren, Dylan, David, Max and Anna. Her heart and life center fully around her faith, her family and her home. In this book she has recounted the true story of a horrific accident which, but for the grace of God, nearly took Beverly’s life at the age of nineteen. She presents the story just as they lived it. It has taken her thirty years to finally put into words what that time was like for her family. She had kept notes and doctor reports which she referred to for medical details. Even after so many years had passed it was, at times, overwhelming for her to relive the memories she had to in order to diligently record the days, weeks, months and years that encompass Bev’s story. She had set the manuscript aside again and again through tout the years until 2008 when a dear friend convinced her “it’s time…it’s now or never…if you don’t write it now Bev’s story will never be told. Time doesn’t wait for you forever.”

Book preview

Contents

Introduction

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

….Epilogue…

Introduction

Sometimes life comes at us so fast we are left shaking our heads, wondering what happened, and we suddenly realize that we are not as in control of our lives as we like to think we are.

It was 3:00 AM, the morning of September 16, 1977 that I faced all parent’s worst fear. I answered a knock at our door to find a police officer

standing there; he had come to tell us that almost 2 hours earlier the car our precious 19 year old daughter was driving had been involved in a head-on collision.

As the days passed I came to realize that in order to survive this ‘soul testing’ event that our family had been so unexpectedly thrust into, I had to ‘let go and let God’ and lean fully on His Grace.

The task of writing this book has been a difficult one for me. Many times over the years I have started to write this story and emotion has so overwhelmed me that it has stopped me in my tracks, and I would tuck the unfinished work away, deep into a closet, and put it out of my mind until it would once again begin to nag at my thoughts.

To enable me to fully tell what happened I had to revisit and relive every painful memory. Only through constant prayer and the encouragement of others have I been able to finally persist with this endeavor. There were so called co-incidences that I believe were God’s intervention. I am writing the story just as it happened, just as I lived it, you, the reader, can decide.

Personal interviews with several EMT’s, medical personnel, medical records and notes I had kept as events unfolded in 1977 have been my guide, prodding my memory and releasing floods of images that I have kept deeply buried for many years. The urge to get this story on paper has been with me for a long time and as another year passes the though keeps nagging at me If not now…When? If God calls me home before I complete this than Beverly’s story will never be told, and I think He wants it told.

In early spring, 2008, I joined an adult education writing class taught by an enthusiastic young woman named Elizabeth. I liked her instantly. I felt I could trust her with the details of the experience that I had held inside myself for 31 years. Elizabeth encouraged me to just get started…just DO IT…I had to tell it as I lived it. She made me realize that if Beverly’s story was ever to be told it would have to be told by me, so I began once again. When it got too intense for me to handle I would put it aside for a day or two then go back to it again. In my mind I could hear Elizabeth’s encouraging voice saying…just dry your eyes and keep on writing.

As my youngest child lie in a coma, just inches from death I believe that God gave me the instruction to give her a ‘strength transfusion’ and I know for sure, many, many times He has reached down and done the same for me.

In writing this book I have exposed my heart …wide open…full view… for every reader to see. That is why I have titled this book A Mother’s Heart. Look deep inside the heart and you will find the tiny mustard seed…the faith that gets us through the tough times. I don’t know how anyone could get through life without that faith.

Finally complete, I present this story to you…just as we lived it…

…God Bless the reader…

Dedication

I dedicate this book to…

…Ken Minor and Dr Curtis Tate…

God put both of them in the right place at the right time!

Without them this would be an entirely different story.

…to the Woodbury Volunteer Ambulance Association, the EMT’s also the medical staff at St. Mary’s Hospital and Rehab staff at Gaylord Hospital and Easter Seals Rehab Center in Waterbury. May God Bless you all…always

I would also like to thank several people for their encouragement as I struggled with putting Bev’s story into words;

…Elizabeth Hannon… for convincing me that I could do it!

…Molly Tate… who read my rough manuscript and encouraged me to keep working, insisted that it should be published.

…my sister and brother-in-law Carolyn and Bob Dains,

who agreed with Molly and encouraged me not to eliminate text that I feared would be too personal to share.

…my dear husband Floyd and Bev’s siblings Terry, Cindy and David… who lived through every moment of this story with me.

…Donnie…now a grown man addressed as Don, who continues to provide strength and purpose for us all.

Most of all… I dedicate this to my precious Beverly with her indomitable spirit of survival and the secret she lives with and continues to personify to everyone she encounters…

life is a gift and it is good!

Chapter One

The early morning sun sent pink and orange shafts of light filtering through our bedroom blinds creating long ribbons of warm shimmering color across the soft cream colored walls. A light breeze pushes its way through the open window, swaying the sage curtains causing them to dance slightly. I draw in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, my hands reaching over my head toward the top of my bed as I arched my back and stretched to release my lingering sleepiness. The residue of sleep slowly begins to dissolve from my eyes as I let my head sink back deeper into the softness of my pillow for just another minute. Still not fully awake, my thoughts drift back and settle on the dream I had last night. It was the same one, in almost every detail, that I had had several times over the last few weeks. It seemed so real…so disturbing…my mind couldn’t let go of it.

I pulled back the covers and slowly sat up on the side of my bed as Floyd came out of our bathroom, already showered and dressed, he greeted me.

"Good morning sleepy head, ‘thought maybe you were going to sleep all day…What’s for breakfast?"

I quickly reached for my robe and met him in the kitchen as we readied ourselves for our busy day, the memory of that darn dream still lingering, heavy, in my mind.

The kitchen was lit by the morning sun, golden rays making the yellow room even brighter this morning. I loved the color of this room, always so welcoming whatever time of day I entered it. I started a pot of coffee and popped some bread into the toaster. I quickly made two sandwiches and stuffed the lunch box with extra goodies. Floyd was off out the door and on his way to work by 7:00.

Through the window by the table I could see the birds splashing in the birdbath, flying to and fro from the feeders, busily feeding their young, taking grass and twigs to the nest in the birch tree just outside the kitchen door. It was such a peaceful scene to look upon, yet I wasn’t feeling very peaceful at all. I still felt disturbed….uneasy….unsettled, and I couldn’t really say why.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and settled into my favorite chair by my kitchen table, leaned back and breathed in the familiar aroma as I reached for the newspaper.

There was an article on the front page about an upcoming event…May 1st. 1969. Oh my gosh I thought, in eight days I’ll be 34 years old…it’s funny but I really don’t feel any different then when I was twenty! I started to read the article but I couldn’t concentrate on the print. My mind started to wander from reading and my attention was drawn to the view outside the window. I became lost in thought as I again relived last nights dream.

I had read a magazine article that suggested that if you write down what you dream it might help you understand it, so I reached for a pad and started writing the details while the memories were fresh in my mind.

I am standing in front of a large pleasant home. There are many children milling about. The conversation is that more room is needed for the children. I have been instructed to open a room that has been closed for a long time, an old part of the house. From outside of the house I struggle to open the heavy doors that are made of dark wood with a gold color plate in the center and long handles in the middle of the metal plate. There are unusual looking windows in the top of the door.

The first thing I see as I enter the room are three cubes of ice, about 8 inches square, right inside the door and I notice they are starting to melt on the carpet. There are massive bay windows each side of the door that go almost to the ceiling, which looks like it is 20 feet high. A huge dark colored grand piano sits in front of the bay window to the right. On the wall to the left are book cases with heavy, dark, bound books, two large dark paintings of period dressed men hang on the wall above the book cases. As I walk into the room I can see that ahead of me is a very unusual balcony. It is painted a creamy color that looks like it has aged. It has beautiful, old fashioned script writing on its inward curved front. There are stairs that go up along the left wall, that lead to the balcony. It seems strange to me that the stairs are so wide just to go to that balcony. I can see nothing at the top of the stairs.

The room is very dimly lit, everything is dark colors, the rug, the furniture and the paneling. I can see a door on the right wall toward the back of the room that connects this room to the rest of the house, and as I start to walk toward that door I notice a child and her mother, standing there, waiting for me. The little girl is about 8 years old. There seemed to be a lot of emphasis on her gentle personality and her flawless beauty. The child happily skipped off to see what is down the hall. As she leaves, the mother turns to me and says, to think, she was with Kennedy. The mother speaks in such a compassionate, loving and gentle tone of voice…… All of a sudden I hear the child start to scream….a horrifying, blood curdling scream…. I am afraid, but I start toward the hall where the child’s screams are coming from. The child comes running out through the door, just as I get to the hallway entrance. She frantically pulls on my clothing, trying to keep me back. She does not want me to see through that door…. or to look down that hall…. to see what has made her so afraid. I keep moving forward anyway as the child tugs at my clothing, until I can see through the door. I look down a long narrow hallway with many doors on both sides of it and there are small signs protruding outwardly over each door. I can’t see what made the child so frightened.

I awake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. The child in my dream looked like my Beverly, dark hair, fair skin and the same sweet demeanor.

14.jpg

This is the child I saw in my dream…Beverly…age 7

Chapter Two

It was early May, 1970 and in many ways my life was beginning to be simplified. Our family of six had been squeezed into our tiny five rooms, one bathroom house for all these years and now our dream had at last come true. Our new big house on the hill was finally complete and we were now officially moved in. David, now 17, was to have the bedroom on the lower level, adjoining the family room (which would soon have a pool table as its center focal point.) He was more than pleased with this arrangement.

Terry, 16, had chosen light lilac colored walls for her room and a white four poster bed with two matching bureaus and a bed side stand. Delicate white curtains trimmed in lilac gave the room a fairy-tale appearance. She just loved having her privacy, at last.

Cindy and Bev would be sharing the large north bedroom with twin beds and beautiful flowered bedspreads with matching curtains that they had picked out of the Sears catalog. They each had their own closet and bureaus with shelves where they could display their personal treasures. They were all delighted to finally have their own space, for the three girls had been cramped into one small upstairs bedroom at the little house and the battles for personal space occurred almost daily.

Floyd and I would now have our own master bedroom with our own private bathroom. Oh what a luxury! ! !.

Once we were settled into our new home each day quickly formed a routine. The flurry of the morning rush, Floyd off to work by 7am, the girls usually made the bus on time. David, now a senior, owned a truck so he drove to school and he didn’t have to contend with the daily bus ride anymore, (or the times he had missed the bus and I would drive him to school. Oh the embarrassment of having your Mother drive you to school when you’re a senior, "Just let me off here at the corner" he would say.)

With Floyd off to work and the kids off to school the house became very silent. The temptation to just sit and enjoy the piece and quite for an extended period of time was very appealing but I knew that I better not dally too long, I had a busy day ahead, I had more to do than I’d ever accomplish before I had to leave for work at 4:30.

I noticed that the bird feeder was about empty so that would be my first chore. I walked outside with a scoop of sunflower seed in one hand and my coffee cup in