And She Finally Learned

By Sue Tinder

When one thinks of heather or of roses, images of beautiful flowering plants come to mind with a rainbow of colors, softness, and sweet aroma to fill the senses. Yet, for a woman named Heather Rose, her life is anything but as she comes of age in a world of rejection, broken heartedness, and cleverly crafted lies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257442409

Book preview

And She Finally Learned

by

Sue Tinder

And She Finally Learned by Sue Tinder

Copyright ©2005 by Sue Tinder. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means -electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Disclaimer: Any similarities between the contents of this book and actual persons, places or events is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 1-4116-6795-6

eISBN: 978-1-25744-240-9

This book is dedicated to:

the greatest man I have ever known,

my father, John Clinton Tinder;

to my sons, James and Matthew,

who created many a challenge

for this single parent;

and to my dearest friends,

Howard & Elizabeth Crown.

INTRODUCTION

At fifty-one years of age, Heather Rose found herself walking up the two flights of stairs of an obscure office building. She had a prescheduled appointment to meet with a mental health counselor whose office was located on the second floor.

The precursors to this day were all the years of struggles which came from a life of broken relation-ships, economic ruin, and domestic violence. These resulted in two unbearable weeks of sleeplessness, uncontrollable tears, the inability to function in her professional and private lives, and the deepest despair she had ever known.

Heather checked her watch before climbing the stairs. She would be at the counselor’s office the suggested thirty minutes early to complete necessary insurance paperwork. Her mind suddenly tripped back to the previous Saturday morning.

It was two o’clock in the wee hours on that day when she finally admitted to herself she needed help. She recognized that things were so out of control in her life that if she did not get immediate help she would not be able to keep body and soul together. Heather had that moment so many people have experienced, that of being on the brink of no return.

The office was easily located at the top of the stairs. It was, as she had been told, the third door down from the stairway. She stopped on the other side of the door and took a deep breath before entering the office. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the belief that seeking counseling was a sign of weakness, feeblemindedness. No, she forced the thought. Being in the condition I’m in is weakness.

The receptionist looked over the desk at Heather the moment she stepped through the doorway. She smiled briefly, May I help you?

Heather stopped in her tracks, I have an appointment with Cloi.

The receptionist made a few taps on a computer keyboard, Your name?

She stepped up to the counter and said her name in a barely audible voice. Heather Rose, she responded as she slowly looked around the waiting room.

Go ahead and have a seat, the receptionist directed. I will let Cloi know you’re here. It will be a few minutes. She’s in with someone right now.

Heather nodded and looked at the available seating in the small waiting room. There were six chairs, four of which were occupied by other patients or clients as Cloi would say. Three men and one woman were seated, watching her as they flipped through magazines. Heather felt wholly uncomfortable and hesitated before finally taking a seat actually slumping in the chair.

For almost an hour she sat there broken and numb with nearly all the outward looks of a bag lady. Heather’s eyes focused on the purse in her lap. Psychologically she could not bear the scrutinizing looks of the other clients. Her mind was flooded with a myriad of memories. It was in this moment that she realized the little purse was probably the only thing about her life that was together, organized.

Heather’s thoughts were broken when a well- dressed elderly female entered the waiting room. Heather? she asked.

Heather barely looked up as she nodded her head.

If you will come with me. I’m Cloi, by the way, she shook Heather’s hand lightly.

Heather followed Cloi down the short hall to her office. It was decorated much as a living room might be. There was a sofa, two overstuffed chairs, coffee table, floor lamp, and end tables. Cloi’s desk was off in a corner.

Have a seat, Cloi motioned as she closed the door.

Heather found the larger of the two chairs and let herself crumple into it. It was as if it possessed a sense of security with it. Cloi pulled up a chair across from her.

An hour later, Cloi handed a tissue box to Heather. It is really important that you let it out. Allow all those feelings to surface, recognize them, and most importantly realize it’s not your fault. You did not deserve to be treated that way. You also need to come to terms with those behaviors. Those are their short-comings in character, not yours.

Not mine? I let those bastards do that to me and it’s not my fault? Heather erupted in anger at herself.

No, Heather, it is not your fault. You were taken advantage of. Users, predators, whatever tag one wishes to label them with sought you out. You didn’t go out there and say, hey, come here, kick me, kick me hard now did you?

Heather shook her head, Why? Why did they do that to me?

It’s a power thing with certain personality types. To hurt the innocent. You have a very good heart, you are a very good person, Cloi explained.

All the explanations in the world could not help Heather understand why those things had happened to her. Why certain people would have ever targeted her in such a manner. Why someone she loved would purpose to hurt her.

Cloi calmly gazed into Heather’s eyes. She could see there was a flood of confusion raging within her client’s mind. Heather, she got her attention. You should feel hurt. You are a very worthwhile person who deserves far better. She paused a moment then continued, You are rightfully hurt and angry because deep inside you know you’re not to blame. It was their behavior not yours.

Heather broke into weeping. She could hear all of Cloi’s words but her mind could not process the meaning behind them. Heather was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. All she could feel, think of was filled with pain.

It was an excruciating pain that racked every ounce of her being as though it was consuming her. Her stomach was nauseated, her head throbbed, and worst of all her heart was shattered into a million bits like fine crystal.

Cloi patiently waited a few moments until the tears began to subside. She then leaned forward. Okay, Heather, look at me.

Heather did not hear her at first.

Cloi leaned in a bit more and made eye contact with her, Heather, look at me.

Heather wiped her eyes and acknowledged Cloi through quick eye contact.

That’s better, the counselor said reassuringly. Now, you’ve given me the outline of your life. A basic sketch as to who you are and the major events surrounding your life. That’s a good start. Cloi lightly touched Heather’s. Relax. We have as much time as you need.

Heather nodded. Silence filled the air for a space that seemed an eternity. Okay.

All right, Cloi smiled. Let’s start at the beginning with your earliest memories shall we?

Heather nodded.

Cloi sat back in her chair. She was quite sincere in her desire to help this broken female seated before her. It manifested in her eyes. Take a deep breath, wipe your eyes, and start when you are ready.

Heather stared at the tissue box she was holding then looked at Cloi. The counselor was so serene in her speech, her mannerisms. There was nothing gruff about her. It was as though this woman had never suffered one rough incident with anyone. How different they were Heather thought.

Heather?

Heather smiled slightly, took a deep breath, and dabbed her eyes with the wadded up tissue in her hand. She then handed the box of tissues back to Cloi.

Keep them. I have more, Cloi politely told her refusing the tissues. The pair’s eyes met. Heather studied Cloi’s eyes and face. They were warm and gentle and filled with wisdom and understanding. Trust, these were the eyes of someone she could trust.

Heather’s first few words were barely audible and almost slurred. They came slowly. Here, in this stranger’s office her life was poured out in an almost surreal manner. One event at a time over a period of several meetings that spanned months her past, all of it came out.

Together the two of them sifted through her memories, a montage of life-altering events. At each step of the way in the beginning, Heather felt as if she were a third party with merely the knowledge of those experiences. It was as if she were watching a movie.

She was not yet psychologically strong enough to let go of the insulation her mind had built to protect her from the brutal reality that these were her true life experiences. Almost six months passed before Heather could deal with the anguish of what never was, true love.

Chapter One - THE BEGINNING

Heather Rose was born in 1953. She was an unwelcome arrival from the moment her mother knew she was pregnant. Ruth was menopausal and her mind was set that she did not want any more children. As for her father, Clinton, he could ill afford another mouth to feed. Then there were her siblings. One brother and one sister who were quite content being the only son, the only daughter.

Her brother enlisted in the Army one month prior to Heather’s birth. It would be well into her adult years before Heather would get to know him. Elizabeth, her five year-old sister, was very much mommy’s girl and had no intentions of that ever changing. A life-long resentment began months prior to Heather’s birth.

Ruth and Clinton Rose were both Southern born and bred Baptists. As young children they had first hand experience surviving deprivation when the depression swept the country. They learned survival techniques by watching their parents struggle during those hard years.

The Rose’s grew into adulthood as frugal and hard working individuals. Each having a viable trade they could take anywhere. But, no amount of frugality or dedication to their jobs could spare them from the hard times which followed at the end of World War II.

Clinton returned from the war to find eking out a living from his trade of fine cabinet maker nearly impossible. People did not have the funds to invest in the better woods or designs of the past. So, he turned his skills to the building construction industry which was booming. Unfortunately, it was growing in other areas of the country.

The spur in construction jobs did not come in the region they called home, Tennessee. All the growth was much further west, primarily California. Americans were moving there by the drove. Both were resistant to leaving their beloved Smoky Mountains. But, times had changed and their attitudes had to change with it.

Ruth and Clinton were tenacious and struggled for years to maintain their Tennessee home. Clinton had designed and built it at the conclusion of World War II with the monies Ruth had saved during his absence. They owned it outright. But, property taxes and high fuel bills on top of other living costs were not manageable.

Ruth’s teaching income brought in only a few dollars a day. It surely was not enough to tide the couple over during extended periods of unemployment for Clinton. The couple found themselves on the losing end of the economic scale. So, the pair was ultimately forced to sell their much loved, red brick home.

To add insult to injury, their plight was so grievous that Clinton was forced to relocate the family into an 8’x40’ Anderson trailer. The portable home was paid for, had no property taxes associated with it, and could easily be towed behind his pickup. It made all the forthcoming moves west a bit easier physically for the family. Clinton would drive while Ruth sat next to the passenger door. Between them Elizabeth sat with an orange crate in her lap. The rough pine was Heather’s cradle. The only one she ever knew.

Over the next ten years the family moved in excess of thirty times. From the South they headed to various parts of Ohio, California, Arizona, and finally to Nevada.

It seemed the only changes which occurred on a regular basis other than those to their external environment were their daughters’ growth. The girls quickly outgrew the seating arrangements in the single cab pickup. Four people could by no stretch of the imagination sit comfortably in that amount of space.

Elizabeth moaned insistently. She hated that truck and the trailer. Her mother was no better. Ruth constantly nagged at Clinton to settle down, stop living the gypsy lifestyle. Her goal was for him to get rid of that truck and the far too small, rattle trap trailer. Ruth did not skip a day lodging complaints either about Clinton or to him. She worked diligently pushing a change he knew his income could not support.

This battle over the trailer was all because of Ruth’s vanity. To her it was an insult which symbolized trailer trash, poverty; ne’er do wells, vagabonds, and the like. She