One Life: A True Story

By Karee Stardens

From suffering childhood abuse and mistreatment in foster care to experiencing little miracles and ultimate survival, this story may open your eyes to the shadows lurking behind open doors. So many people have no idea while others seem to struggle alone, and still others only want to give up on life. My name is Karee Stardens and I wish to share bits of my story with you in hopes that someone out there will some day be encouraged, knowing that they do not stand alone.


"What do you mean 'if'? Anything is possible if a person believes," Mark 9:23 NLT

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456729905

Karee Stardens

Fragile heart Pulsing no blood Trying to move Ready to run The sun and the moon Will crash and collide Until I am gone Until I stand high Above yesterday Far from today All these stains Cannot remain So up on the roof I'll drop the disguise And in the main room Say kind goodbyes Shattered glass Turned to silver Thrown to the ground, Disappearing forever My heart in pieces still fragile.... still on the ground

Book preview

One Life

Karee Stardens

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2011 Karee Stardens. All Rights Reserved

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

First published by AuthorHouse 01/04/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2990-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-2991-2 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011900413

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

I dedicate this book to the hurting people searching for someone who cares. God cares, you just have to allow Him to show it, and it takes time. This book is a hard read, but hopefully it will encourage you. I also dedicate this book to the folks who helped to make it happen. You know who you are, and I love you very much.

DISCLAIMER!!!

Please remember I am not bashing anyone – that is not the intent. You will see it as the book progresses. The events of this book are as told (word for word) by the girl who went through the events. They not fictional, but the names of all the people and locations are changed for their protection. Any similar events in similar places with similar names are strictly coincidental. This book deals with mature subjects and contains some vulgar dialect.

Intro:

Where does everything begin? Why do we face the challenges that we do? Why does it seem like we are picked for certain situations? What do you do when there is no where to go? Who do you turn to when you’re alone? How can we keep going when no one will help us? It seems like life chooses it’s heroes from a set of broken hearts.

I had a fair share of terror and pain, but after watching many people in similar situations try and stumble, then fall…how did I end up with courage? Why do I have hope? What have I got to offer? Who knows. It is a given fact that every single human being faces challenges throughout the course of life; some to more degrees and some with voices that need to be heard.

What trials and tribulations teach is that there is a way to face your fears and survive. There is a way to find the strength to live, to walk, to cry, to breathe, to laugh. It is the worst when you are alone, but there is an end to suffering. There is always a way out. It is called hope. Not death, like some people think.

This story is about a girl who dreaded going home after school every day for fear of what she may have to face. That little girl was sad, hurt, confused, frustrated and angry like most people are or have been. Her family was broken since she was young and she was the brunt of many cruel jokes and accusations.

She did not know much about the real world or what kinds of people are out there, but she was thrown in there with a heavy past. That vulnerable girl was me. Writing this book is admitting that what happened was abuse, but now it is over. I know that by doing this I will leap over the burning bridges set by a sad childhood. Hopefully the things that happened and how they were faced and conquered will encourage somebody who is in a similar situation to persevere.

My name is Karee Stardens; I am currently twenty-one and in my third year of a Bachelor in Comprehensive Music degree with emphasis on voice and piano performance. Sounds official, doesn’t it? Hopefully you will see the effects that God and music persistently had (and have) in my life. God was working through good and bad people from day one and it is fantastic to see his work once it is recognized…

Chapter One

Is it weird to remember being born? Because I think I do. I don’t remember actually coming out of Joan, but the cold of the hospitable room; a bright rectangle (a hospital light) and another baby crying loudly, (a twin brother, Ephraim). I can even recall the image of a doctor wearing a mouth cover…thingy like one sees in the movies.

Ephraim and I were separated at birth because we were born two months premature. His lungs were under developed and I had low iron and protein in my blood and weak bones, so into the incubators we went like little chicks. But that was not the only time we stayed at the hospital. We made frequent trips to doctors and stayed in the hospital for a while. I received lots of needles and we had to take a lot of pills; for what, who knows? Obviously we were sick a lot.

We were separated for a few months just after our births because Ephraim fell sick with his underdeveloped lungs, landing in the hospital for two weeks. Then I grew ill with lead poisoning from eating paint and stayed in the hospital for a few months. I had osteoporosis in my right leg and my bones were degrading. At the age of five I weighed 12.2 kg and my bones showed the maturity of that of an early three year old.

When Ephraim and I were two or three we stayed in the hospital over Christmas. Sadly we never received anything from our parents, not even a quick visit. For the most part Ephraim and I were kept together in the same room until close to Christmas Eve I got sick and was put in the care room. On Christmas Eve night, a Santa Claus toured each room giving toys and candy to each child in the ward.

With a big booming, HO! HO! HO! Santa wished all the young children a Merry Christmas and distributed his gifts. I received a soft stuffed teddy bear that was white with big friendly brown eyes. He wore a fuzzy red ribbon around his neck that flourished into a big bow just underneath his furry chin.

When Santa was about to leave, I called out his name and he came over. His face does not come to mind, but I do remember lots of curly white hair and the festive Santa hat, as well as the large white gloved hand that handed me the teddy. It was into that giant white hand where I placed my last chocolate kiss. It melted because I held onto it for so long but Santa did not seem to mind.

On Christmas Day the cheerful nurses called Ephraim and me out of bed in the morning, along with all the other kids in the ward. Of course being young children, we rushed excitedly into the hospital’s cafeteria. I ran alongside my brother and burst into the large newly emptied and decorated room, and to our utter delight we saw Santa waiting for us kids in the middle of the festivity.

Ephraim and I stood there among the other kids watching Santa pull his big stocking down from his shoulder and open it for the kids. He also held several coloring kits that had ten markers with ten Walt Disney cartoon posters to color and some stickers of the Disney characters, differing per movie.

Occasionally Santa set his big stocking on his shoulder, heaved a ho, ho, ho, and most of the children including Ephraim and me shrieked in delight. I turned and told Ephraim that I wanted one of the coloring kits. By the time Santa came around, he had only three of those kits left but plenty of other girls were reaching for one too.

As if reading my thoughts, he looked down with big jolly blue eyes and said, "Which one do you want?" I looked at him for a minute then scrutinized the plastic bags in his hand. There was one of Cinderella, Snow White, and Beauty and the Beast.

This one, I said, grabbing the Beauty and the Beast one. No wait, this one! I gave him back the Beauty one and took Snow White instead. Ephraim received a big red fire engine truck and some other little cars. This story is one of many but it is one of the best because the hospital was a good place for us to be. There was food (even though we hoarded it under the bed and our pillows and drank out of the toilets); we had each other and were very well taken care of. A friendly woman named Lexi made frequent visits and took care of us by visiting, bringing treats and making us laugh.

Talking to a social worker recently, she said that when we were in the hospital – which we were many times – Ephraim and I gained significant body weight and mental responsiveness. She said that every time we went home we lost weight and went flat – unresponsive. She said that we did not even cry because the effort hurt to do so.

Growing up was hard but it could have been worse. Dad was not an alcoholic and mother did no drugs. In fact they had a good, solid relationship; they both believe in God and claim Christianity. We attended church every Sunday and had family devotions once a week later on in time. We had food, shelter and clothes and were in a good Catholic school, thanks to the long hours our parents worked to foot the bills. Our parents and two sisters got along and even had pets, but there is a down side to this. Notice the comment that our parents and two sisters got along instead of we all got along? Well that’s exactly how it was. Ephraim and I were the black lambs, the fifth wheels, the runts, the odd ones out, the underdogs - you name it.

Jocelyn is three years older than Ephraim and me; Susie is one year younger. Our mother was beautiful with her long dark hair that she wore parted to the side with her bangs curled. She had a beautiful smile with rosy red lips and straight white teeth. Our father was handsome, very tall with light skin, dark hair and blue eyes. All in all we are a good looking family…but that’s about it.

Ephraim and I never had a room to call our own for long due to construction on the house later on, but Jocelyn and Susie each had their own rooms while we slept in the porch or on the floor between their rooms like I did on this particular night. We never had many toys or much clothes but our sisters had a lot. We also were not allowed to eat sweets or watch television or movies, again unlike our sisters.

Well it was late that night and I was lying on the floor with a blanket and pillow in the hallway between Jocelyn and Susie’s bedrooms, but sleep would not come. Getting restless, I sat up, rubbed my eyes and peered into the kitchen, wanting to talk to Ephraim who was out in the porch. I knew it was not allowed, for a severe punishment would transpire for the both of us if that were to happen.

While gazing into the kitchen I spied a large container sitting on top of the table with candy jutting out over the edge. After carefully inspecting both bedrooms to make sure both Susie and Jocelyn were asleep, I tiptoed lightly over to the jar, stuck my little hand in and pulled out a few flavored toffees, a Tootsie Roll and some pink bubble gum.

I snuck back to the blanket on the floor and munched on them while squinting at a storybook belonging to Susie. Jocelyn must have heard or pretended to be asleep because she woke up, came over and asked what I was doing.

Nothing, I said innocently curling up over the candies. She started to push my shoulder, trying to reveal the treats.

Dooon’t, I whined sadly, and curled up even tighter.

Well move! she said and aggressively shoved me over, revealing the stolen goods.

MOM! Karee stole some candy! Jocelyn called, holding me down unnecessarily.

Mother came out of her bedroom with her bathrobe on, looking sleepy and disheveled.

What’s going on? she asked blinking tiredly.

Karee stole some candy, Jocelyn repeated.

Did you? mother asked, her dark eyes gathering severity.

No, mom, I lied quietly, getting nervous.

"Yes she did – I found these. She was hiding them. She wouldn’t let me see what she

had," Jocelyn said, holding out the sweets. She got a kick out of doing such things.

Why did you steal that, hm?! Mom asked, slowly raising her voice while she

grabbed my ear and jerked me closer to her. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she lifted her hand high and slammed it across my head with a resounding smack. I became so scared that I had an accident. She slapped my face so hard that it stung as I crashed into the back door. She made me clean up the mess and then sent me to sleep in the porch without a pillow or blanket, bringing the dog and Ephraim inside.

The next day there was no lunch and mom and dad came to talk to me. A short while passed before father began to hit my little hands with a long wooden spoon. When I refused to cry, mom said hit her harder; she’s not crying. The lesson learned was that the sooner I cried the sooner they left…for the time being.

Well fortunately for us, Ephraim and I gained our own room for the first time ever, but it was different than Jocelyn or Susie’s. Our parents did not have a lot of money… sometimes they went to the food bank where people donated toys and clothes and even gave them money. They still made the house look nice by painting Jocelyn’s room and the living room with bright colors, lights, toys, mats, nice curtains and a radio. For the first while Susie slept with our parents because the other bedroom was used for storage.

Our bedroom was bare with a mattress for Ephraim and a garbage bag for me since I wet the bed, but when that ended, there were two mattresses. We had a light but were not allowed to turn it on (we probably would have kept it on all the time anyway), and so our room was bland, fairly empty, colorless and silent. There was a bucket for us to use the washroom and dressers for our clothes. We had a few toys – Ephraim had crayon cars (that we ended up fighting over and eating – I ate the red car), and I had a plastic white tea set that I chewed on. Ephraim had a brown teddy that he clutched while he slept and I held a speckled cat that I still have today.

We were allowed to turn the light only when we were about to go out somewhere, especially in the winter when we put on our snow suits. Then, wearing big winter boots, we had to walk or run back and forth between the back wall and the door until everyone else was ready. Sometimes we got blisters on our feet and mother popped them with a pin and cleaned them up. It was odd because mom seemed to genuinely care as she popped them, yet she was the reason we had them in the first place.

Most of the time Ephraim and I resided in the room all day and night, except to use the washroom and grab our meals…or if we were in trouble. Before we entered kindergarten, both mother and father worked long hard days so they hired a much needed babysitter named Sarah who looked after Jocelyn and Susie for the day.

Sometimes before mother left for work she entered our room, made us lie down, flat

down on the ground and threatened us:

You’d better not say anything while I’m gone, do you hear me?

We had to answer yes, mom.

If you do, you’ll be very sorry! Understand? then she kicked one of us for emphasis. The babysitter was a short term good friend of mother’s but she never knew there were two more little kids hidden in a back room – she just knew not to go into that room because our sisters said they were not allowed to…which was true. They weren’t.

One day during the summer of my third year, Sarah was in the kitchen preparing a snack for our sisters. Ephraim and I had been in the room all day without food and hardly ate anything the day before. It was a hot day…and I was dying of thirst. I was having trouble breathing from the stuffiness of the room and we were too little to reach the window to open it. Crying silently was not helping anymore.

I’m hungry, I whined to Ephraim without much energy, rocking back and forth.

Me too, he answered listlessly.

I’m really thirsty, I complained in the silent room. We both sat there dirty, hungry and depressed. Finally I asked Ephraim what we should do.

We could ask the babysitter for some water, he suggested without much conviction. We were both fully aware of mom’s threats and knew her capacity to carry them out. The room was silent for a while until I asked How?

I don’t know, Ephraim answered. We continued to rock back and forth, lifeless and hopelessly stared into space for a short length of time. We were both too chicken to leave the room because Jocelyn and Susie were told to keep an eye on us. Thinking of a way to make noise without speaking, I clutched the speckled toy cat and scanned the bedroom, looking for anything that would attract the attention of the babysitter. My eyes roamed the small darkening room and came to rest at last on a tiny white plastic plate from the tea set. The edge of it was full of teeth marks from my gnawing.

I picked it up and tossed it so that it banged the door loudly when the baby sitter was in the kitchen. One of my sisters, perhaps it was Susie who was with Sarah also noticed the noise. When Sarah asked What was that? Susie became frightened and quickly said, Nothing! It was nothing! but she was a bad liar…she still is.

Now that Sarah was curious, she replied No, I think there is something in that room. She must have started towards the bedroom door…but Jocelyn caught wind of what was happening and tried to stop Sarah from trespassing.

Mom said we’re not allowed in there, she said with authority, but not enough of it.

Sarah let her curiosity get the best of her and headed to the room. I could hear her footsteps…and they had stopped outside of the door. My sisters tried to warn her against turning the knob but it was too late. When she opened the door, her face was aghast. She saw two tiny, sad, dirty little three-year-olds sitting on the floor of a dark, smelly bedroom, staring at her with round, sad and very scared eyes. She just gawked at us for the longest time, and Ephraim and I grew frightened thinking she would get angry with us. Jocelyn and Susie fell silent in the living room and the babysitter opened the door a little bit wider, highlighting our fear. The light of the kitchen hurt our eyes.

What do you want? she asked us softly.

Can – can I have some water? I whispered timidly.

Yeah, she said numbly and took us into the kitchen, gave us a piece of bread with peanut butter on it and a glass of water. Unfortunately after that Sarah never babysat for us again. When mother got home, after Jocelyn told her the events of the afternoon, she called me out of the room. She was not impressed.

Why were you making noise in your room? she demanded.

Because I was thirsty… I answered my voice quiet with fear.

What did I tell you this morning? she asked frostily.

Not to make any noise while you were gone, I said to the ground.

"Look at me when I’m talking to you! she stormed, you knew not to make any noises while your father and I were at work yet you disobeyed me – why did you hound the babysitter, huh? You were thirsty, come here."

She harshly beckoned me over to the sink to stand in front of her. I went obligingly. She handed me a glass of milk and said here drink this, so I did. I was surprised that she was being generous, but could not understand why she seemed so angry doing so. Well I soon learnt what she was really doing. After my seventh drink of orange juice, milk or water, my stomach bloated as the mixture curdled. When mom held out my eighth drink I declined with a polite no thank you.

Her dark eyes flashed a warning as she said here and made me drink the next glass of milk. She towered over me, saying things like "you’re a glutinous pig, or you disgust me, or you make me sick, the entire time. Before she had her fill of pumping me with liquids I started crying, wondering why she was doing this to me. She grabbed my hair and made me look into her tired, angry face saying you wanted a drink, now you don’t want it? Take it! She shook her head and said stop your crying. No one feels sorry for you!"

When I did not stop crying, she forced even more drinks into my now sorely swollen belly. I felt about to explode and hoped to die soon. I asked permission to use the washroom and got: you have to go pee so you can drink some more? Go, but come back here when you’re done. We’re not finished yet. When I finally sat on the toilet, I leaned over and puked everywhere.

There was this stupid rule in the house that Ephraim and I had to use the washroom with door wide open while mother stood over us making sure that we only used one toilet paper square for number one, two for number two. It was creepy. Anyway, I barfed up all the liquids and when mom came to observe my use of the washroom she couldn’t help spotting the vomit, there was so much of it. She cuffed my head a number of times and then directed me get my favorite underwear to clean the mess. How weird is that?

While I was scrubbing the bathroom rug on hands and knees, mother stood high and mighty over her scruffy, sad, now sick three year old and just after the puke was all cleaned up, thought back about her punishment and said, I should have made you eat your puke. However, it was too late so she settled for chasing me to my room yelling and trying to hit me with her evil spoon.

I ran, terrified of her. On the way to the room, I slipped and crashed to the floor. Mom whacked me really hard on the belly, shoulders and back with the spoon. I waved my arms and legs and cried out in terror and pain, scrambling back to my feet and running away. She continued to chase and yell at me.

I scurried over to the room, obeying her demands of hurry up, get in there! and dashed in with a shriek of terror before she could hit me. My stomach was upset because of the combination of the drinks, the throwing up, and the running, and I was hurting emotionally. I told Ephraim what happened then sat by myself in a corner rocking back and forth, crying softly. From then on when I went to the washroom, I cupped my hands together to drink water after I washed them to quench my thirst, but only when no one was looking. Ephraim did the same…only he got caught.

The whole family was called to watch him use the washroom …including me. I felt bad and did not watch. We were so little that we still had trouble reaching the sink. When Ephraim struggled to wash his hands, mom hit him hard on the back of the head and told him to hurry up. But it was not only our mother who was abusive.

Unfortunately for us, Jocelyn and Susie had learnt to lie and manipulate as well and no matter what they did or said, it was always us who took the blame. One time Jocelyn strolled into the room that Ephraim and I shared and gave us chocolate, breaking it into small pieces, feeding us one piece at a time and taking turns between us. We had never tasted chocolate before and enjoyed it immensely.

That was extremely nice of her. Maybe she was not allowed to do that because after mom checked on us and asked about the chocolate smeared on our faces, Jocelyn said that we stole chocolate pudding. We got in trouble for blaming Jocelyn but didn’t get hit or anything this time. We were not always that lucky because sometimes our parents set us twins up for humiliation…

Another time Jocelyn entered our bedroom…I think she was sent to do this by mother. She had a large bag of garbage – chicken bones, used Kleenex, lint, dirt from the vacuum, fabric softener sheets, banana peels, apple cores…the works, and she held it open, telling me to get in. When I whined about not wanting to she said that I had to, that the garbage truck was coming and they were going to throw me away. She ordered me to get in, so I did. When I sobbed as I lay in the garbage I got in trouble.

Mother only yelled this time but it made me feel inferior. You don’t want to go with the garbage?! she didn’t ask it like it was funny; she asked it like it was morally incorrect, like she was angry with me for not wanting to.

Ephraim and I were the brunt of many cruel jokes like that, mostly from our mother and Jocelyn. We hardly saw Susie or our father. One of the hardest things was staying in the dark bedroom not allowed to talk to each other, only hearing the joyful commotion of everyone else having fun and being a normal family, forgetting about us.

Another hard thing was standing outside with poop on our bums. If one of us needed to use the washroom, we had to ask mom for permission which was not always granted; no matter how badly we had to go. Surely enough, accidents were the result. Our punishment was to stand outside, (if it was nice out), butt naked and dirty, for the neighbors to see. It wasn’t only the neighbors who saw.

Jocelyn had many friends when she was younger and they were encouraged to humiliate us as well. She invited her friends over and they marched around us singing songs and laughing at our expense, often eating food in front of us, knowing that we wanted it. Once in a while mother commented on letting the flies eat the poop from our bums. However, we were not allowed to cry; we had to bottle up whatever we felt inside.

Those unfortunate circumstances were not the only times that we were allowed outside, though. What I liked was when Ephraim and I were allowed to eat or sit or play outside when it was nice (and we were clean and had clothes on). Once in a while we were given a bag of grapes or some apples to eat on the back steps outside.

Despite the many horrible memories there are some good things that happened, but for my twin or me they always seemed to end badly. Jocelyn and Susie had a bright yellow slip-and-slide mat that they were allowed to set up in the front yard with the sprinklers that we all ran through on hot days. It was fun! But this one time Susie accidentally backed onto a flower that mother had planted beside the front sidewalk, smooshing it to smithereens. I know it was Susie because I saw her do it.

Mother was watching us from the front door and it was one of the few moments when I felt loved by her. Dad was tinkering around the yard and watching us as well. Then mom noticed that her flower was squished and asked who trampled on my flowers? and somehow I knew where the blame was going to land.

We all stopped our playing and laughing and looked at the crushed flower. I must have looked scared or guilty or something…mother asked if I did it but I denied quickly with no, I didn’t. It was Susie, I saw her.

Susie grew just as scared and quickly said No it wasn’t! I didn’t do it!

This time I will let you guess who got into trouble. Yup, you got it…if you guessed it was me. Sigh. I was told an angry "don’t lie!" and sent to my room. I thought that wasn’t too bad until supper time when Ephraim got a huge meal and I received a tiny little scrap. I had to sit and watch him eat all this delicious looking and smelling food, for our mother is a wonderful cook…and she knows it.

Ephraim was given a thick sandwich loaded with meat, vegetables and cheese; I had only one thin slice of stale bread. Ephraim was given a large bowl full of cornflakes; I had only one cornflake with a drop of milk on it. Ephraim was given a large bowl full of noodles…I was given a big bowl with one spoonful of noodles. Ephraim did not understand why he was the only one getting this good food but sharing with me was banned or else he would be sorry, a promise we knew mom was willing to carry out. This didn’t last just the two meals – it was a few days before proper portions came my way again because Susie lied.

A few years ago Susie and I talked about our childhoods and when she said that she hated the way we were treated I asked her why she never stood up for us. She replied that she was scared that mother would turn on her too, which is quite understandable. When I asked why she made up stories about us to get us into trouble, she avoided the question by mentioning that she was nice to me when no one else was around.

Both sisters did their fair share of damage whether they knew it or not. The more they got away with their bullying, the easier it was for them to do. One time Ephraim ran from the bathroom crying and claiming that Jocelyn sprayed him with really cold water. He got hit, yelled at for lying and sent to our room. When I ventured to the washroom shortly after, Jocelyn sprayed me with hot water, so I ran out crying…and got smacked because Jocelyn said she didn’t do anything. I think she knew what she was doing.

There are a few times in my young childhood that our parents actually cared for us without ulterior motives. Mother liked my hands so she tried out her new nail polishes on my nails to see if she liked it or not. I felt lucky during these times because I was actually picked for something and I often liked the polishes she chose. Once in a while she even let me try on her lipstick!

Another time it was in fact, our father who helped me out. Mother was at work and it was a hot, sunny day outside. I don’t know where Ephraim was but he was not in the bedroom, so he may have been outside. I sat alone on the mattress on the floor rocking back and forth, when a moth that seemed huge to me began to spas, flapping its wings crazily about four or five feet away. I whimpered and tried not to cry because it was scary, but could not stay quiet so I called out dad…? very softly.

Dad did not hear and the moth fluttered closer yet, so I began to cry out loud and whine even louder. Dad heard this time and stepped into the room with his paint-stained coveralls from the yard, asking what the matter was. Fear silenced me, but it was alright because he saw the moth himself. He stooped his six-foot-six frame down to scoop it into his huge hands and smiled as he said it’s alright now, I got it, then left to put it outside. He was so gentle with it! I remember feeling so much better because even though he did not say anything else, his words were encouraging. I did not get in trouble for being scared but was left by myself again.

This next act of love was also on a lovely day, but in the fall. We three girls were running outside; Susie was chasing Jocelyn and I was chasing Susie. The sun shone bright with a gentle breeze that ruffled the bright green and yellow leaves of the trees. As we raced around and around the house picking up speed, I had fun and laughed joyously.

Soon I was catching up to Susie who had a head start to make it fair because she was the youngest. She was a sore loser and was having no luck catching up to Jocelyn, so she turned and roared at me very suddenly. In the excitement and fun, I shrieked and turned so I would not crash into her. Then she chased me and I tripped in my sandals on the cement and fell, landing hard on my knees.

When I wailed loudly, our parents rushed outside to see what was wrong. Both had looks of concern on their faces. I had a rock lodged in my left knee, preventing me from walking back to the house. Mother looked over at dad and said could you carry her into the house? He said sure, and then did so.

It felt weird to be held in father’s arms…but I was in pain so I didn’t think too much about that. Instead I cried. Mother looked at me and said stop crying, but not in her usual harsh way because she knew I was physically hurt. This was a you’re going to have to stop crying if you want this work, kind of way, because to remove the rock from my knee, they needed me to be still. They set me on the top of the dresser and mom tried to pull the rock out as quickly but gently as possible. I bled a lot and cried again.

Mum sighed and looked at father, at my knee, then at me. Stop crying, she said again, a little bit more exasperated, then to dad, will she need stitches?

He looked at my knee, thought for a quick second and said, No, just put some Band-Aids on it, it’ll be fine. So they left to retrieve cotton, salve and Band-Aids.

When they returned, they applied the salve, which stung a bit, then applied pressure to the wound with the cotton, reapplied the salve for it slid off in the flow of blood, put more pressure on my knee, and finished with putting the Band-Aids on really tightly.

There, mom said, satisfied that the wound was not bleeding through the Band-Aids. She smiled, saying gently but firmly, You have to stay inside until this gets better, alright? She honestly seemed to feel bad that I could not go play outside.

I nodded and said yes, mom. Her smile was beautiful and it made me feel better. Then she and dad left the room, closing the door behind them and told my sisters that I wasn’t allowed outside for a while because of the injury. It felt nice but strange for my parents to fuss over me like that.

Over the next few days when Jocelyn, Susie and Ephraim played outside mom opened the window in my