My Dearest Melody

By B.D. Crockett

A woman's deeply personal story of sin, song, and redemption told in letters to a never-born child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avendis Press
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393684619

Book preview

1

Incursion

Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?

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If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

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If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.

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If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,

even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.

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Psalms 139:7-12 (ESV)

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My Dearest Melody,

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I was wishing for a lifetime supply of Valium instead of eating the two store-bought chocolate chip cookies handed to me on a white paper towel. Eating anything risked the embarrassment of throwing up all over the floor, and I certainly didn’t want to draw any more attention. The goal was to stabilize my blood sugar so I wouldn’t become dizzy or pass out unexpectedly. That was a no-no, and complications were highly frowned upon. I kept reminding myself of this as I numbly studied the pink-and-green flower design circling the plastic, shot-size Dixie cup nestled in my hand. It was half filled with generic-brand orange juice. There’s no telling how long the juice had been sitting on the recovery-room table, but I had to take a deep breath and swallow it to get the tasteless cookies down my parched throat. A couple of shots of Jack Daniels would have been greatly appreciated, but no one really seemed to care what I wanted or even needed. That was the standard modus operandi I had grown to accept.

The evil deed was done. It was over with, and I wanted to run as far as my quivering body could carry me. I wanted to be rescued from this masked, legalized house of horrors, and I wanted to hide in the arms of anyone who was willing to embrace me. I wanted to be held and I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry as loud and as long as my body and mind would allow.

The crying would have to wait. The choices on my mental menu that day were almost nil to none.

Show up.

Take care of the problem.

Forget whatever happened.

I wish it had been that easy. But, unfortunately, loss is never easy to forget.

Recovering, but

Forever proud to be,

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Your Loving Mother

2

Rainbow

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

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Revelation 21:4 (ESV)

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My Dearest Melody,

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I didn’t think about where you were going the day you and I parted. All I could think about was where I was going. Your father had made the appointment and drove me there himself. I trusted he was taking me to a reputable, licensed clinic and I didn’t even ask him the name of it. We had to be there by 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, so in order not to arouse my parents’ suspicions, I spent the night with your father’s best friend’s girlfriend. Since we were close friends, my mother didn’t question or pry into my plans. I fabricated a story of going on an all-day shopping trip. Oh, if only she had known and understood the pressure that weighed on me.

I can’t say I remember much about the drive to the clinic. There was little conversation between your father and me, and I wanted the day to hurry up and be over with. I wanted to snap my fingers and find myself resting on the opposite side of darkness. I wanted to exit from bad and enter into good and not have to look back. I longed for somewhere safe and protective so I would no longer be afraid. I wanted to be in a place where I didn’t have to cover up mistakes or be in emotional pain—a place where death and deception weren’t thumbing their noses at me.

I was wishing for an exit strategy from sin—my sin, your father’s sin and every outside sin that had entangled our lives. I wanted to be removed from the world, from the ugliness of my situation, from other people and from myself.

I wanted to be where you are.

When I was six years old, I sang my first real solo, Somewhere Over the Rainbow at my end-of-year kindergarten graduation commencement. I had to memorize the words to the song, and they are buried deep within the confines of my mental file cabinet. I was somewhat hesitant to be the star of the show—having to sing before a large audience of proud parents and other invited guests. But, I did it, and I can still remember standing on a gold bath mat singing the familiar tune with my classmates following me in a cheerful chorus of Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Arm in arm we were marching toward a bright future of happiness and success.

Whenever the classic movie The Wizard of Oz comes on TV, I wistfully sing along with Judy Garland as she searches for that perfect place where all her troubles melt away like lemon drops. It never fails to take me back to a rose-colored, six-year-old world full of innocence, purity and wonder.

In the Kansas barnyard scene, right before Dorothy sings, she asks her little dog the question, Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It’s not a place you can get to by a boat or a train . . .

There is such a place, Melody, and you know it well. I’ve read and been told bits and pieces about it, but you know much, much more than I.

What is it like my sweet daughter? Can written words not adequately describe its beauty and perfection?

What is it like to never have to deal with sadness? What’s it like to never have to wipe a tear away? I wonder what it’s like having the absence of death or mourning or pain. How does it feel to be free of sin and fear? What is it like to wake up joyful everyday, knowing not a single bad thing is going to happen to anyone, anywhere?

As a child, I felt very close to the place where you live. It was just around the corner, not too far away from my mind’s eye. But sadly, as I became older and more intimate with sin and rebellion, the place became much like the description Dorothy speaks of—far, far away . . . behind the moon . . . beyond the rain.

In the clinic reception area, I had decided it was a place I would never get to see.

Somewhere between junior high and high school, the little Dorothy in me stopped following my own happy yellow brick road. I’m not sure exactly when or how it happened, but my free spirit and curiosity took me down a hazardous detour, and I got lost in a dark forest of insecurity, doubt and low self-esteem. It was far from being the magical place my famous counterpart visited. My nonconforming principles were exchanged for misleading hay and stubble. My heart became corroded with shame and selfish pride, and unhealthy compromise became a measly substitute for courage as the need to please others steadily increased.

On that cold, dreary day in January, I was certain the only suitable place I was heading toward was Hell.

I wanted to be