Born, Broken, Blessed II

By Sadie E. Hamer

Book, Born, Broken, Blessed II speaks about the life of a woman named Madison; she was born into a struggling marriage between her parents that led her into a generational curse. Madison spent her entire adult life seeking love in all the wrong places before her strongest desire was met. Madison found out through her faith that true love

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Feb 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950947799

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BORN, BROKEN, BLESSED II

Copyright © 2020 by Sadie E. Hamer

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-950947-78-2

ISBN eBook: 978-1-950947-79-9

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

ReadersMagnet, LLC

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Book design copyright © 2020 by ReadersMagnet, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ericka Walker

Interior design by Shemaryl Evans

Contents

Born, Broken, Blessed

Chapter 1: From the Cradle

Chapter 2: Married with Children

Chapter 3: Second Time Around

Chapter 4: Affairs

Chapter 5: More Changes

Chapter 6: Broken

Chapter 7: Spiritual Walk

Chapter 8: Plan Falls Through

Chapter 9: Standing on

the Word of God

Chapter 10: About Spiritual Growth

Chapter 11: Looking At a Miracle

Chapter 12: Mystery Man

Chapter 13: Meeting the Parents

Chapter 14: The Bar-b-cue

Chapter 15: God’s Plan

Standing on Planted Seeds

Part One: My Source

Chapter 1: Gods’ Will for Me

Chapter 2: Relying Totally on God

Part Two: Strongholds

Chapter 3: Heaviness

Chapter 4: Fear

Chapter 5: Freedom from

Financial Bondage

Part Three: Steps into my Purpose

Chapter 6: Message for Women

Chapter 7: Relationships

Chapter 8: Family

Chapter 9: Raising Men

Part Four: Fruit

Chapter 10: Cultivating

Good Ground

Part Five: Attributes of God

Chapter 11: Faith

Chapter 12: Patience

Chapter 13: Love

Chapter 14: Peace

Chapter 15: Gentleness

Chapter 16: Meekness

Part Six: Give Him Glory

Chapter 17: Praise

Chapter 18: Worship

Chapter 19: Blessings

Chapter 20: He’s Already Done Enough

Part Seven: Yes it Hurts

Chapter 21: Death is Life for Us

Chapter 22: He’s the True Comforter

Part Eight: What God Has for Us

Chapter 23: Attitude Check

Chapter 24: Obedience

Chapter 25: Dutiful to Authority

Part Nine: Choose your Position

Chapter 26: Look out for the Set-up

Chapter 27: We Have a S.O.S. Responder

Part Ten: Be Steadfast in the Process

Chapter 28: PBPGINFWMY

Chapter 29: Live your Testimony

Part Eleven: Changed by the Word

Chapter 30: Remove the Fish-Scales

Part Twelve: We’re in the Best Hands

Chapter 31: Whole World

is in His Hands

Take off the Mask

Chapter 1: Do the Right Thing

Chapter 2: Temptation

Chapter 3: A Few Good Women

Chapter 4: We all Need Somebody

Chapter 5: Power Belongs to God

Chapter 6: Karma and Forgiveness

Chapter 7: No Room for Drama

Chapter 8: A Woman of Courage

Chapter 9: Wake up Sisters,

Stop Playing Games

Born, Broken, Blessed

Chapter 1

From the Cradle

According to a man-made birth certificate, I was born in Goshen, Virginia, was given the name Madison Washington and weighed in at 2.5 pounds. My parents, Felicia and Dallas Washington, gave birth to me at home, so I never went to a hospital. And I never saw the likes of an incubator–I was simply loved into good health. I was so small that my mother had a special pillow made just for holding me. Otherwise, I would have slipped right through the elbow of those who held me! I am the fourth born of that consummated marriage, with three older siblings, Taylor, Vaughn and Dallas, Jr. (the oldest, a.k.a., DJ) and a younger sister named Paige.

The advantage of knowing our father was not an option for us due to unfavorable conditions. So, what can I say about him–only a few things I heard when I became an adult and they weren’t good.

My mother was an honest, hard-working woman. She worked in the seafood industry shucking oysters and squeezing clams. After that job ended she worked in a sewing factory making heavy army coats receiving piecework salary. Machines have now replaced some of the physical labor she performed in different jobs. After my mother worked all week long, my father demanded she give her money to him.

When she refused to give her hard-earned household bill money to my father, he would fight her and take it from her anyway. He used her money for drinking, gambling and his other women. When I was merely three months old, an infant laying in a clothes-basket on the kitchen table, my father came home drunk one evening and began cursing and fighting my mother.

Madison is not my child! he said. This, among other things, probably was an attempt to justify his wrongdoing. He used any excuse to start a fight with my mother (to keep from feeling guilty, I guess). Of course, I really don’t know all of the details, but one time, in his rage, he threw a dish at her, which, instead, hit me on the head and landed in the basket where I was laying. Whether it was accidental or not is not important; the fact remains that it hit a baby’s head–mine! I still wear the scar in my scalp.

That was the night my mother picked up a cast-iron skillet and busted my father over his head with it, literally splitting his head open. The very next day, my mother decided to leave him and take the four of us children away from him, for good. I, of course, heard bits and pieces of that story many years later.

I kind of followed suit with whatever my older siblings said or did; that’s the way it was in the Fifties. I was right there with them, no matter what, being the youngest (Paige wasn’t born, yet) and clueless. Our mother worked sun-up to sundown to make ends meet. She left us in her sister’s care. Aunt Alexis always kept us so that our mother could work. One particular day, while playing in the front yard, our father drove his car up into the yard and said to us kids,

Get in this car, now!

Our aunt was in the house and did not hear the car pull into the yard. We were petrified, but we did as we were told and got into the car. We were too young to realize that we were being kidnapped from our mother.

It seemed like we rode for miles, far away from where we lived. When we reached our destination, our father told us that we would be living at his home from now on. This place was known as Rockwell Farm. It sounded like the name of a penitentiary then, and still does now. That evening, we met our father’s live-in girlfriend and her children. There was no friendly reception for four nervously shaken children who only wanted to get back home to their mother.

We were offered some food, which we politely declined. We kind of stood around looking awkward. After all, we had no idea of what was going on or what to expect. At nightfall, my father said,

Take a bath and get ready for bed, as though we were in a stranger’s house. Yes, he was our father, but we had neither seen him nor been with him for about three years. For all we knew, our father could have been a masked murderer. The one thing we knew was that something wasn’t right. Our father brought us upstairs and told us to go to bed.

The four of us slept in the same room. We lay there on our backs, too scared to move. It seemed like the longest night, ever, as we looked towards the ceiling in the dark, wondering why our mother had not come to get us. We didn’t know what was going on, and I don’t believe we slept at all that night.

The morning finally came and we were offered breakfast. Again, we declined the meal. I remember that we were offered whatever food was left after the other children had already eaten, because were not allowed to sit down at the table with them and have our meals as a whole family. After about the third day of refusing meals, we couldn’t hold out any longer, so we accepted the food and ate it.

Our father forbade us to enter into certain areas of the house. There were times when he actually treated us like prisoners. DJ and Vaughn were even tied to a metal bed and beaten once for little-or-no reason at all. As for Taylor and me, we were very careful not to get in our father’s way. It seemed like he did mean and neglectful things to us just to impress his girlfriend and her children. He went shopping and purchased nice things for his girlfriend’s children, and then gave us their hand-me-downs or unwanted items–clothes, toys or whatever–right in front of them.

The four of us ended up staying with him for about two months after our mother reported the kidnapping to the police department. First of all she could not prove that he had taken us, and even if she could prove it, she didn’t know where to begin to search.

The police said,

There’s nothing we can do, since the children are with their biological father. There are no laws against a father having his children.

Secondly, there were no children’s services or free legal assistance available to her. Being only about twenty-three years old herself, how was she going to pay for a lawyer or private investigator to find us?

From the time that we arrived at our father’s home, DJ took the lead and whatever he told us younger ones to do, we did. If he said,

Don’t eat, we didn’t. If he said, Don’t sleep, we didn’t. He was only eight years old, but he took good care of us, and we trusted him. After all, we had to trust somebody.

One night, after we were alone in the upstairs room, DJ whispered to us,

I have a plan. But we must wait for the right time to make sure that we don’t get caught.

Every evening, just before the sun went down, our father summoned us to the room that the four of us shared. We knew the routine–he came to the room to check on us each night like a correctional officer. DJ told us the same thing every night,

Keep your eyes closed tight and don’t move, and we did, to pretend we were Sleeping.

After what seemed like forever, the night to execute the plan finally came. When our father finished his nightly check and returned to his other family, DJ told us we’d be leaving that night.

The house was real quiet and DJ ascertained that everyone in the house was asleep. It was around midnight, and I felt someone tapping me on my shoulder; I looked up, it was DJ. He put his hand over my mouth and his index finger over his lips and said in a very low whispering tone, to get up and follow him, because we were leaving.

As DJ made sure that the four of us were ready to face the journey, we found ourselves tip-toeing through the house, praying that the steps didn’t creak and wake up our father. It would have been devastating for us to be caught trying to run away.

We made it out of the house OK; we walked then ran down the highway. We were afraid of the dark and anything that moved. Every time a car light beamed on us, we ducked into the bushes and hid until it passed by. We were petrified at the thought that our father possibly noticed we were missing and may have begun searching for us. Or, there was the possibility that he called the police and reported that we were missing. Just the thought of returning to him was horrifying–we would be punished for life. I walked until I couldn’t walk anymore. I tried to sit down but DJ kept saying,

You’ve got to keep walking; we’ve got to get somewhere before the sun comes up.

When the time came that I couldn’t take another step, DJ stooped down low to the ground and told me to get on his shoulders.

He carried me, and so we continued our journey, which seemed to be never-ending. DJ looked around, and saw that we came upon this big house. None of us could take another step, so DJ decided that this house was our shelter for the night. At no time did DJ let on that he had any idea of where we were. He only said,

We’ll get under this porch, and rest awhile.

We crawled under the porch. Then, a little while later, DJ left the three of us under the porch and went into the owner’s garden. When he returned, he brought back some stolen dirt-covered sweet potatoes. After we wiped the dirt off the sweet potatoes using the clothes on our backs, we ate them raw. Outside of a bellyache, we were fine.

I must have fallen asleep just as the sun began to come up. The next thing I heard was a man’s voice saying,

You kids come out from under this porch, right now!

He brought us into the house and began asking us questions. Lo, and behold! We had coincidently stumbled onto my mother’s brother’s property! DJ, then, realized that he was our Uncle Irvin, who none of us remembered ever meeting, but his house did look familiar to DJ. Suddenly, all four of us began talking at the same time, trying to tell him all about our ordeal. Uncle Irvin immediately contacted my mother on her neighbor’s phone and told her,

Your children are safe at my house.

Then, he went into his kitchen and pulled out so much food that we didn’t know what to eat first. My mother came to Uncle Irvin’s home and we were all reunited.

Our mother immediately found a house farther away, which put some distance between our father and us. She believed that we were safer, and we wouldn’t harbor the fear of our father snatching us up out of the yard again. There really weren’t any laws forbidding him from doing just that.

Then it happened! Five months later, a knock came on the front door. My mother always taught us not to open the door unless we knew who was on the other side of it.

As usual, DJ asked,

Whose there? We heard a voice say, It’s me, your father. We took off running through the house screaming, and shouting, It’s him, it’s him! Our mother went to the front door, snatched it open and confronted him saying, What do you want? She was not afraid of him anymore. There he stood, acting like the kind, loving father, but we all knew that it was a façade. We saw his mean streak, so we knew a wolf in sheep’s clothing when we saw one. So again, she asked him, What do you want here?

He said, I would like to see my children. She pushed the door half closed and told all four of us,

Your daddy is here and he wants to see you. We probably looked at each other as though we saw the real boogieman himself. As usual, DJ spoke up for himself and for all of us, We’re not going out there because we don’t want to see him.

My mother opened the door and gave him our reply and he left. Days later, my father filed papers through the courts in an attempt to gain custody. The judge allowed us to stay with our mother and there was no contact between him and us for years. As a matter of fact, we all became adults before we ever heard from or saw him again. I know that I had a father, but I don’t ever recall saying the word, Daddy, in my entire life–but I was blessed to have my mother and her love.

As I reflect, we moved to a house where one could say that we lived in the lowest poverty level. Our house had neither an indoor bathroom nor running water. Daily, we carried buckets of water from a well in order to cook, wash dishes, and bathe as well as wash clothes (on an aluminum wash-board). We kept the house warm by burning wood (we gathered kindling and wood ourselves) in an old-fashioned woodstove. I remember my mother brought all of us four children walking through the woods looking for laurel. It looked like holly and was used to make decorative wreaths. We wrapped it in bundles, tied a rope around each bundle and sold them by the pound to earn money and help make ends meet. We also worked for farmers in their fields and picked strawberries, blueberries, tomatoes or whatever was in season. We learned to survive at very young age.

We moved frequently. As a matter of fact, I believe we moved at least once a year during the first twelve years of my life. It always seemed to be around a holiday. It was either Labor Day or the Fourth of July when a parade or something big in the community was about to start. Just out of the blue my mother would say those horrible words,

We’re moving today, so start packing.

I hated it, but what was I going to do–I was only about five years old. In the town where we lived, to attend school, we walked a mile to and from school, everyday. I dreaded that walk, so much. One day, on our way to school, I had this big idea to throw my brown bag lunch over the bridge. I thought that if I had no lunch, I wouldn’t have to go to school. But, again, there was DJ to the rescue. He gave me his lunch and made me keep on walking to school. DJ, Vaughn, and Taylor were happy to give my mother a full report of that day’s journey to school. Even though all I had in that brown paper bag was either a potted meat sandwich or a peanut butter with King’s syrup sandwich, I ended up on punishment because we could not afford to be wasteful.

Another undesirable childhood memory for me was with this boy named Sean Smith. He was about my age, but twice my size. Sean harassed me almost everyday. He was a bully, and he hit and pushed me all the time when DJ wasn’t around. I got so mad at him for doing that, but I was afraid of him. So, one day I decided to tell DJ, and I really packed it on thick, too. DJ said,

Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.

A few days later, as the school bell rang, DJ hid along side of the school building and waited for Sean to start agitating me. DJ came out of hiding and told Sean,

You better not ever hit Madison, again. Then, DJ held Sean still and told me, Hit him. And I did–about three or four times. Sean never attempted to bother me again.

Another memory happened, one day, as I was outside playing in the yard, which was located across the street from the local post office. The postmaster, Mr. Thompson, lived in an apartment on the second floor. He called me, and me being a child, I went over to see what he wanted. He lured me inside with some candy and attempted to molest me. The only thing that prevented him from doing so, was that I heard my mother calling me and I took off running. I knew I had better get back across that street before she got outside and didn’t see me. I went into the house.

Where were you? my mother asked. When I told her, she asked me, What were you doing in the post office?

I told her that Mr. Thompson called me over there to give me some candy and that he touched me. She went storming across the street, ready to do bodily harm, but Mr. Thompson didn’t come to the door. Afterward, she tried to file a report with the police. They refused to accept the complaint because it was based on the accusation of a child. The laws were quite different then. Today, if any type of suspected child abuse is reported, whether sexual, verbal or physical, somebody is going to be investigated. I vaguely remember hearing something about Mr. Thompson. He was charged and arrested for fondling some other children years later.

Well, it was moving time again–out of town. I hoped, so desperately, that this move was the last for a long while. My mother said,

We move a lot because I’m always trying to find a place with better living conditions.

We moved so often, it seemed like we were a pack of gypsies. Now, I know that my mother did the best she could, even if it meant constantly moving. Although we moved to a new town, turns out, that we again, just moved to another lower side of town. That section of town was like a sub-division of the rest of the town–it was across the tracks. The well-to-do people lived up-town and the less fortunate people lived across the tracks. Keep in mind that the entire length of the town was only about a mile long. If you drove on the main street and blinked your eyes, you were in the next town.

The people actually were segregated, according to status. One time after school, I walked with a classmate to her home in the up-town section so she could ask permission to play at my house for a while. Her father worked for the local police department and her mother was a stay-at-home mom. When we arrived, her mother came to the door. My classmate asked her mother’s permission to go home with me to play for a while.

Her mother began shouting,

No, you cannot play with her because she’s not right for you!

Even as a small child, I realized then, that we could only play together in the absence of her parents. The sad thing about it was that the two of us didn’t care what part of town either one of us was from. She was not stuck-up like her parents. So, we agreed to keep our friendship a secret and to be satisfied with being able to play together at school or whenever we could.

The foundation of our family while growing up was built on love and not material things. Our clothing was always cleaned and pressed, even though it was second-hand most of the time. I remember wearing shoes containing a hand-drawn cardboard sole inside them until my mother could afford to buy me a new pair. We had very few toys. Once, Taylor and I made dolls from glass soda bottles. We placed cornhusks inside each bottle, then, wrapped a rubber band around the top so we could comb it like hair. DJ and Vaughn were happy just to have a set of GI Joe men and a homemade slingshot. We learned when we were very young to be thankful for what we had, and we probably were happier than most kids. On holidays, when people sat down to a four-course meal, we were grateful just to have a meal to eat.

On weekends, we routinely played dress-up and imitated movie stars, comedians and singers. Then, we entertained our mother–she laughed so hard! Sometimes, for an outing in the evenings, my mother and one of her girlfriends brought Taylor and me out riding around just to see the city lights. It didn’t matter whether it was the Christmas Holiday Season, or not, we just enjoyed seeing the bright lights. Times may have been rough coming up, a lot different from today, but through it all, we still had a lot of fun.

When I was about ten years old, along came Paige, my youngest sister; she was a beautiful little baby. My siblings and I were so happy when she came into our lives, even though she took away some of mother’s attention from us (especially me, since I was the youngest).

Remembering the people who were an influence in my life as a child comes easily. The first person who comes to mind is my grandmother who gave me sound encouragement through spiritual doctrine–she loved the Lord. She lost her eyesight the same year that DJ was born. She continued to live alone for many years after surgery to restore her eyesight failed. She did not give up on living her life to the fullest, and she always put the Lord ahead of everything else.

When we were small children, our mother brought us to visit our grandmother almost every Sunday. We looked forward to visiting with her, after grandmother returned home from attending her church services. She never missed an opportunity to hear the word of God being preached.

The time came when grandmother could no longer independently care for herself, so she came to live with us. She changed our lives; it was mandatory that we attend church services several nights a week and all day long on Sundays. Grandmother was quite humorous; she said anything to make us laugh. For example, because of her blindness, we took turns reading the Bible to her whenever she asked. Sometimes, we were ornery and attempted to skip over several words while reading to her. We thought she wouldn’t notice, but she always did and said,

I’m blind, not dumb!

She really made us laugh!

My mother, who was strong in many ways, was a good provider. She taught us right from wrong, to respect others and to be honest. My mother believed in working for a living. She always said,

If a man doesn’t work, he will steal.

Most of all, she taught us to be independent, and to believe in something and stand up for it.

The next person who had an impact on my future was a substitute teacher known as Mr. D. When I was in fourth grade, this girl and I wanted to fight one another. We always seemed to clash. One day, we planned to fight after school. But when the teacher found out, he held me after school, not in detention, but long enough for her to get home. I was so mad, because I really wanted to throw down. So, because of him I was not expelled from school for fighting. Mr. D. always said,

You can be and do anything that you want to in life if you want it bad enough. I always looked forward to his class whenever he substituted. Mr. D. was more than a teacher–he was a mentor, and he showed compassion for his students.

I remember the time in my life when I had my first crush, on a boy named Joey. I was pretty sure that he liked me too; but we never told each other, so there were never any fireworks! I remember babysitting two little boys in the evenings after school for my mother’s friend, Ms. Brooks. She gave me two dollars a day and allowed me to hit the convenience store across from her house before she left for work. I purchased a soda and a bag of potato chips for fifty cents, total.

Eighth-grade graduation time came, and I scored in the top ten of my class. I had big dreams like most teenagers. I wanted to be an airline stewardess, a teacher, or somebody with a professional background. Those dreams, or perhaps my own personal fantasies, were shattered and I will explain why, shortly. My priorities got all mixed up, and I became more concerned with boys than with my education or career. I took on my first real paying job that summer. I got a job through a program for teenagers as a youth counselor, and provided recreational activities for pre-school kids. (The following summer, I also worked that program but as a receptionist for the Borough Police Department. It’s a good thing that computers were not around at that time because I had little or no experience using a keyboard! Basically, my duties included filing papers and answering phones.) I actually received a printed out paycheck minus tax deductions. Although it was my paycheck, my mother was the overseer of my money, so this taught me to spend it wisely. I bought clothes and school supplies instead of spending it foolishly.

Labor Day weekend arrived, and there we were, wondering if it was moving time, again. It wasn’t, thank God! We actually started off this school year from the same address as the year before! I was a freshman, and we were bused to an out-of-town district high school, since our small town didn’t have one of its own. I was so nervous because this meant that I would switch classes for the first time, meet new people, and worry whether I would be able to keep up my grades (not to mention, there were three or four times as many cute boys from other sending districts).

My brothers were like the town bicycle mechanics. Their friends hung out at our house, either repairing bikes or making go-carts. Whenever they spotted an old baby carriage in someone’s trash, they hauled it home, removed the wheels and built a go-cart. Truth be told, either my brothers were pretty good at it or the people were crazy, because they actually placed orders with my brothers to make the go-carts! And these people paid about twenty dollars each for a go-cart, even though it was made from pieces of junk!

There was this one guy named Bryce Jones who lived around the corner from us and hung out at our house every day, just like he lived there. Come to find out, he had his eyes set on my big sister, Taylor. Even though, he was one of the cutest boys in town and he was her age, Taylor didn’t give Bryce the time of day, because he wasn’t her type. (Taylor liked boys of the Spanish descent.)

One day, when Bryce was at our house, I remember standing in the doorway peeking at him and probably drooling. At that time, I didn’t know anything about lusting I was too young. As soon as our eyes made contact, I imagined what appeared to be a special kind of look or nod of his head, and right then I knew that I wanted to be his girl. Everyday, I couldn’t wait to get home from school because I imagined that Bryce might be coming to my house, not to see my brothers, but to see me. As Bryce continued to come over everyday, there I was, leaning up against the wall peeking out at him. All of a sudden, this one day, I decided to do something. As soon as our eyes met, I winked at him. Bryce was sixteen and I was fourteen with a crush. He continued to come around, as usual, so a couple of days later I asked him if he wanted to go steady. He said,

Yes.

The only problem that we had then, was figuring out how to keep it on the down low because my brothers were not going to have it. DJ and Vaughn would go ballistic if they thought one of their homeboys was trying to hit on either one of their sisters. As the first few months of going steady passed by, Bryce and I were satisfied just holding hands when we secretly met in the local movie theater.

That summer, Bryce and my brothers, DJ and Vaughn, moved away for a seasonal job working in a fast-food restaurant at the Jersey shore. After Labor Day weekend, when Bryce returned home, we resumed our relationship as though it had never been interrupted. I had just turned sixteen that summer, Bryce was eighteen and we talked about having sex. Even though it would be my first time, I said,

Yes.

We both were naïve, we didn’t use any protection, and of course it only took that one time to turn our situation into a catastrophe. After the sexual encounter, something was quite different about Bryce. When he came over to the house, it was as though he avoided me. We didn’t talk to each other, and he didn’t even come inside the house. He just hung around outside with Vaughn. That one incident changed my whole life.

Two months had gone by, so one day when I came in from school, my mother called out to me. I entered the living room and just stood there. My mother stared at me up and down and she was all up in my face and neck area. The next thing out of her mouth was,

You look like you got a load. (pregnant) I said, Oh no, not me! She said, Just as sure as you’re standing here, you got a load. I wasn’t cleaning a tub full of fish for nothing!

The very next day my mother took me to the doctor, and needless to say, I was just exactly eight weeks pregnant. This, evidently, meant that I got caught just at the beginning of my sophomore year. The next words out of her mouth were,

Who is he? And you had better tell me right now!

So, of course, I had no choice but to tell her the truth. A few days later, Bryce and my brother, Vaughn, pulled into the driveway with two girls in the backseat of Vaughn’s ugly old car. I wanted to kill Bryce, Vaughn, and the two hoochies! My mother went berserk. She marched right out to the car, and began cursing at Bryce, my brother and whoever those two were in the backseat. Maybe Vaughn had no idea about Bryce and me fooling around, but Bryce surely knew and he acted like I had the plague. And to make matters worse (because of my pregnancy), I screamed and cried at the thought of my mother snatching everybody out of the car by