Are You Hearing Me? Tell Me Before I Die.

By Therese M Griffin

Therese M. Griffin, MA, LISAC, Author - People may want to know: The reason Therese used indentations, an additional line between paragraphs and double space between sentences because it's easier for those who have Vision Tracking Disorder to read.  These items are helpful to Therese's reading. They may not appear in the ebook version, but will be present in the print version of this book.

 

Adena Bank Lees, LCSW, LISAC, BCETS, CP, Speaker, Consultant and Author of Covert Emotional Incest: The Hidden Sexual Abuse, A Story of Hope and Healing

 

There are not many of us who are brave enough to share the emotional depth, troubles, and triumphs the way Therese Griffin has in Are You Hearing Me? — Tell Me Before I Die. I only met Therese recently, but I feel as though we have known each other for years. She had read my book, Covert Emotional Incest: The Hidden Sexual Abuse and wanted to relay her appreciation for the validation of the confidant and care-taker roles she was assigned growing up in her family. I was impressed with Therese's commitment to her personal growth and recovery. She is going strong at seventy years of age, and it is evident she will continue for years to come. Her passion for serving others through imparting her experience, strength, and hope is evident in person and the publication of this book.

 

Therese speaks specifically of her losses and how they led to finding her authentic self. She tells the truth about alcoholism and what it takes to be in recovery. Therese shares how vital spirituality is to a life that is happy, joyous and free. She also informs us of her learning disability, the toll it took on her, and how she has found ways to overcome it. So, if you are struggling with grief, addiction, a learning disability, or just plain humanity, Are You Hearing Me? will offer you feelings to relate to, the hope of healing and recovery, and specific thoughts and behaviors to practice on your path to serenity and joy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Therese M Griffin
• Release date: May 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201477349

Book preview

Are You Hearing Me?

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Tell Me Before I Die

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A Story of Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

Impossible Dreams

Changing I Can’t to I Can

Living Miracle

Therese M Griffin, MA, AZ-LISAC

Are You Hearing Me?

Tell Me Before I Die...

Copyright © 2019 Therese M. Griffin, MA, AZ LISAC

All rights reserved.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

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Cover pictures courtesy of Therese Griffin

(Photo is of little Therese and her big brother Roy)

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Cover design by TRI WIDYATMAKA

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Interior Format by Debora Lewis [e-mail]

DEDICATION

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My Mom, Barbara Woore, Dad, Henry Earl Griffin with brother, Roy, sister Barb, my Chicago/Appalachian Family and especially the center of my world: nephews Bob, Ken, Mike Ritter, nieces Janet Ritter Eminger, and Melody Bish-Beverly.

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All the men and women I walked within Juvenile and Adult Corrections and Detentions, Public Housing, Job Corps, Medical Centers, Libby’s, UFCW Union Local 247-P, and Recovery Camaraderie as my living teacher.

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My educators, who planted loving seeds of faith, hope, and charity at Sacred Heart Grade School, Englewood-Chicago, and Sr. Joan Clare Wisner, who encouraged me to write my memoir.

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I am blessed with my faithful cheerleaders: Michael Dues Ph.D., Ellen Janis BA, Sally Hudson BA, and Charmaine Piane-Dame BA. I couldn’t have accomplished my memoir without their presence.

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All who believed in me when I doubted myself, you had more faith in me than I could ever imagine. Each of you made me who I am today.

Contents

Note to Self as a 9-Year-Old Child: Hello, Child of God

Foreword

Prologue

One: Delivery – Traditions of Family Names

Two: Damen, the Duck

Three: Mom is Gone

Four: When things get hard, you work harder!!

Five: Do I Have A Vocation?

Six: Life After High School

Seven: Appalachian or Appa-LATCH-uh

Eight: New Day – New Job

Nine: If Your Mother Were Alive

Ten: Drink, Drank, Drunk

Eleven: Prejudice in My Own Back Yard

Twelve: College – You Know I Can’t Read!

Thirteen: Elected President UFCW P-247

Fourteen: Dad Returns to IL from FL

Fifteen: One Door Opens – Another Closes

Sixteen: What’s Ta?

Seventeen: Embracing Religious Life

Eighteen: What’s Next?

Nineteen: Hardship Often Prepares

Twenty: Walking with Self and Others in Denial

Twenty-One: Joliet Job Corps T-E-A-P

Twenty-Two: Juggling Life on Life’s Terms

Twenty-Three: New Franciscan Community

Twenty-Four: Walking with the Spirit

Twenty-Five: More to Be Revealed 

Twenty-Six: Change the Way You Think

Twenty-Seven: Lay One Brick at a Time

Twenty-Eight: Call It A Clan, Call It A Tribe

Twenty-Nine: You Will Lose Many Things

Thirty: Our Children Teach Us

Thirty-One: Vision Tracking Reading Disability

Thirty-Two: Covert Emotional Incest (CEI):

Note to Self as a 9-Year-Old Child

Hello, Child of God,

I know you are saying What? Your Wisdom at age nine tells you to fasten your seatbelt – we are going for a ride. Two days before your ninth birthday Mama goes to her heavenly home. You will not understand the words from Grandma: If your mother didn't have you later in life at age 38 years, she would still be alive today. What did that mean? How did I make my mother die? Mom didn't die in childbirth! A teacher’s words in grade school: Sit down – you can’t read. You know the subject – can’t pass a written exam. Grades were C-D-F’s. You will start your road to alcoholism at 18 years old. You will realize that you are trapped in Grandmother’s web of her nonexistent grieving process and anger with grandfather’s alcoholism. You will have a Learning Disability that no-one understands. A new day will begin at 29 years, in a strange world of recovery. You change: What do you expect from a Dummy? Only a factory worker. You know I Can’t Read! You will change ‘I Can’t to Yes, I Can!’ You find new insights to develop Special Accommodations before it was a coined phrase to receive a BA/MA and AZ Licensed Addiction Counselor. At 70 years, you will learn the concept of Vision Tracking Disability. For the first time that you will read a book, not on CD. A dream will begin come true – writing your memoir. The most significant gift became changing your Attitude to Gratitude.

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Peace and All Good, Therese

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Note to Self – Sent to Gail King Contest April 2018

Foreword

Tanya Polec OD FCOVD, Board Certified

Vision Therapy and Visual Rehabilitation

and

Adena Bank Lees, LCSW, LISAC, BCETS, CP,

Speaker, Consultant and Author of

Covert Emotional Incest: The Hidden Sexual Abuse,

A Story of Hope and Healing

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Tanya Polec:

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I will never forget Therese. She came into the exam room knowing what she needed. She understood that she was having severe difficulty with visual information, and she needed help to figure out how to train her vision. There was a hospital training exam she needed to pass, and she was having great difficulty of getting that done.

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As I began testing her, we found her clarity in each eye was good. The difficulty that she faced was enabling her eyes to move as a team at distance and near and how to follow a moving target.

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It is challenging for me to explain this to patients who have 20/20 acuity, as that visual standard is only one piece of the pie! I often make an analogy that the visual system is similar to using two cameras. Each camera is pointed at the object of the picture. Then the camera is focused to clear the image, and the last step (since we have two cameras) is to have them observing the object from different angles. Why? So you don’t have a blurry or a double picture and observe depth in the object.

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I remember smiling when Therese talked about how she used Pac-Man as her secret weapon at the time to help her eyes learn to track. There is an activity Vision Therapists use that is similar to make sure the eyes are following where they are intended to go so that the attention follows!

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We have many cases daily that exhibit similar symptoms as Therese’s. Difficulty with reading, omitting words, substituting words and even just losing attention are often thought to constitute a learning disability. What so often goes without question is why? Why is their auditory system so strong? Why not test them two ways – first having them read, and then having you reading to them to see if there is a difference...

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Therese is a gift to this world. She is strong to face all the challenges she had with reading and find motivation to drive herself forward. Each step that required so much reading! She had to pull herself through this process with no one really identifying or understanding her visually unstable world.

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Now Doctors of Ophthalmology or Vision Disability Therapists can identify and treat some of these visual dysfunctions associated with learning problems but we have not yet incorporated testing and therapy into the accepted protocol for all children who are diagnosed with learning disabilities. We are finding two-thirds of the children diagnosed with learning disabilities to have visual dysfunctions.

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Thank you, Therese, for sharing your story. Many of us appreciate your strong voice and commitment to share how much impacts a person’s life. Again, you are a gift.

Adena Bank Lees:

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There are not many of us who are brave enough to share the emotional depth, troubles, and triumphs the way Therese Griffin has in Are You Hearing Me? - Tell Me Before I Die. I only met Therese recently, but I feel as though we have known each other for years. She had read my book, Covert Emotional Incest: The Hidden Sexual Abuse and wanted to relay her appreciation for the validation of the confident and care-taker roles she was assigned growing up in her family. I was impressed with Therese’s commitment to her own personal growth and recovery. She is going strong at seventy years of age, and it is evident she will continue for years to come.  Her passion for serving others through imparting her experience, strength and hope is evident in person and in the publication of this book.

––––––––

Therese speaks specifically of her losses and how they led to finding her authentic self. She tells the truth about alcoholism and what it takes to be in recovery. Therese shares how important spirituality is in order to a life that is happy, joyous and free. She also informs us of her learning disability, the toll it took on her, and how she has found ways to overcome it. So, if you are struggling with grief, addiction, a learning disability, or just plain humanity, Are You Hearing Me? will offer you feelings to relate to, the hope of healing and recovery, and specific thoughts and behaviors to practice on your path to serenity and joy.

Prologue

Michael Dues Ph.D., Senior Lecturer

(Retired) Department of Communication

The University of Arizona

I first met Therese Griffin when I participated in a program to introduce incarcerated young offenders to the benefits of 12 Step recovery. After clearing screening at the institution’s main gate, I was picked up by Therese, who briefed me, took me to the building where the program met, and introduced me to six, teenaged young men. A small, unassuming woman, Therese seemed out of place in this prison for youths, yet perfectly comfortable, competent and in control. She clearly held the respect of these young offenders, each of whom had a problem with drugs. I came to know her as an effective professional as Chaplain, an Addiction Counselor, and as a caring motherly person in the lives of the young men.

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I came to know Therese better through 12 Step meetings we both attended. At one meeting she announced that she was recruiting participants for a play she was producing. She seemed out of place in that role, too. But the stage play was beautifully staged and acted, and the theater was filled.

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Not long after that, on the morning after my wife went through a major surgery addressing a life-threatening illness, Therese appeared at her bedside. A chaplain at the hospital, Therese prayed with my wife and offered a blessing so comforting that my wife thought it nothing short of a miracle.

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When Therese asked me to help edit the memoir she was writing, I readily agreed, curious to learn more about the story of this cheerfully humble person who seemed willing and able to serve in whatever ways she might be needed. Her manuscript was so engaging and charming that I abandoned my editing mission and simply read it to the end. We did edit the book with a light touch, being careful to let Therese tell her story in her voice.

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Therese writes in an honest, down-home way, telling the story of an everyday person from Chicago with hillbilly roots and a reading disability who moves through a maze of challenges and setbacks with grace and grit, and triumphs. Every page gave me a reason to smile, even the pages about heartbreak.

One

Delivery – Traditions of Family Names

I started off being born into a family loving me, and I don’t have any doubts. I was born premature, 4.5 pounds with sensitive lungs. I stayed at the center of love with Mom, Dad, Brother Earl Roy, 13 years older, and Sister Barbara 11 years older than me. Barb received the title of Sister. It is common for Appalachian kinfolk to name the oldest daughter Sister or son Brother.

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The menfolk we call by their middle name. Yes, it is confusing! My Father’s name Henry Earl called by Earl; my brother Earl Roy called Roy, and my Grandfather John William Elisha Griffin was Elisha. All my life I only knew Elisha – I couldn’t find Elisha Griffin in a genealogy search. Females were called by their middle name, too, as first cousins Joyce Juanita was called Juanita, and her sister, Dorothy Elise, was called Elise.

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My favorite cousin, Grantfert Lee Griffin at birth, was named Grantford Lee. He’s called after President (General) Grant and Henry Ford – Grantford is the combination of both names with the middle name after General Lee. We call him Lee. Lee had his name changed legally to Grantfert before enlisting to be a Marine in WW II – he thought that Grantfert would be easier to pronounce than Grantford. Interesting that he felt it would be easier – one more the mystery of our family names.

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My German grandmother told the nurses at my birth the name was Mary Therese until Mom and Dad found out, and they changed it back to their choice, Therese Mary. Grandma was always trying to do it her way. We have a ‘name’ thing on both sides, Grandma’s name Barbara is Mom’s name, and my sister is Barbara. Everyone added an extra twist to Mom as Barbre. My Grandfather’s original last name is Woore. He would say he changed the W to M legally, so the name became Moore. The joke was when others walked into a bar they would yell Hey, Woore, which sounded like Whore and then he would get into a fistfight! I understand that to avoid some financial problems he probably had it changed in his WW I military records too. The next generation received a lot of mixed messages. The old adage children are to be seen and not heard was adopted proudly. I kept score between both sides, trying to fix the impossible puzzle of confusion.

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I felt safe as a child by learning the rules as a dysfunctional family member: Don’t let the neighbors or anyone else know our secrets; women don’t cry, don’t trust another woman near your man. I often wonder if a man started that rumor by telling his wife not to trust in order to connect with ‘that’ other woman. And, we stuff our fears.

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My parents thought I was brilliant because I scooted instead of crawling. Mom would brag that I found new ways to maneuver in my world. I learned at 31 years old in an early Psychology class – a child needs to crawl to develop motor skills.

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The first time, around two-years old, I was involved with our family tradition of moving. I didn’t understand; Mom said let’s take a ride with your Teddy as she showed me our new home on 74th Street. She asked if Teddy could stay and watch our new home to keep it safe for our family. Yes! I had to part with Teddy Bear as security.

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My Aunt Rita from Indiana asked me what do I want to be when I grow up? I said, Cowboy! Aunt: Cowgirl! No. We went back and forth several times. I thought she wasn’t hearing me. Finally, Mom told her younger sister, If my daughter Therese wants to be a cowboy she will be a cowboy! I had no idea that Cowboy or Cowgirl had anything to do with gender. I wanted to ride a horse the right way, not side saddle.

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Mom was best at Christmas because she got 10 cent coloring books, a cardboard dollhouse, dolls, and a hammer and saw. My friend Bonnie would be jealous of the many items because she received only one expensive doll. I’m sure Mom paid less for all my little things than the one dolly. She purchased boys’ and girls’ toys as gifts for me. I wanted a hammer like my daddy’s. The hammer was probably an old one from Dad. Another time, I wanted a toy cowboy gun like Hopalong Cassidy – Hoppy was the gentle good guy all dressed in black with a white horse. My Cousin Carol (5 years older) had the whole outfit. I was happy with a pass down of her Western gear. I didn’t understand the skirt because Hoppy wore pants not skirts.

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Mother was way ahead of her time. During the late 1940s, she would bring black co-workers home from work, and I got to play with their daughters. The Griffins lived in all-white Chicago-Englewood. Neither Mom nor I, at four years old, knew we weren’t supposed to be friends with people who are black or of different color tones. Why not? Mom and I enjoyed being with Mimie, Li’ Mimie, and Ruby.

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Mom took me to dancing school. I was delighted. I couldn’t follow; the other girls understood the instructions easier. I was quiet; I kept thinking I could do it as I messed up again. The song was I'll Be Down to Get You in a Taxi, Honey. Our only prop was a cheap carnival cane to use as a tap dancer. We tried one more time; I was able to connect the walking stick with tapping. I was the only one that did it correctly. The teacher said, Good job, Therese, you did it perfectly. Mom was happy. It always takes me longer to figure out how to keep up the rhythm or steps. My mind goes as watching a movie to help me remember from different angles. Dancing didn’t last long because the next week we needed a dancing outfit. My sister, Barb, said, It usually ends this way – as soon you have to spend any extra money – it’s over. I was happy that I got the dance correctly for at least one time.

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Barb’s comment was from her experience being in Girl Scouts with no uniform – Barb and her friend Mary stopped attending because they felt out of place because they knew to purchase a new or used uniform was not going to be an option. Barb wanted to play the piano – she received a cardboard keyboard to practice the music and notes from one of the Sisters teaching music. We lived limited with money, but we never felt like poor-folk on the inside. Love is strong.

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We moved into a house on Racine Avenue in the Chicago-Englewood area that was the largest we had as the Griffin Family. It was a make-shift flat for two families for the first year. My parents and brother had the two bedrooms with my sister and I sleeping on a pull-out sofa bed. The second year the other tenants moved out. My sister had the living room to use as a big bedroom on the second floor while dad worked on updating the upstairs. My dad became a house flipper in the 1930s through 1952. As he was handy, he could make anything from $75 to $400 or more. My daddy was from the back hills of Tennessee – a gentle mountain-man with great gifts of a mechanical mind.

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Barb was happy and felt like a princess having so much well-deserved space to invite friends for studying and socializing. I learned by watching how to play Spin the Bottle for a kiss from boys. Mom purchased a used player piano; she could play a bit by ear. Barb was able to start lessons again at Sacred Heart High School. I loved watching her play; she bought the sheet music for Tweety Bird and Sylvester the Cat to play for me.

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Mom would often take me for walks to the nearby Chicago Park Districts at Ogden Park and Sherman Park. They had an excellent sprinkler system on a nonslip cement pad during the summer. We walked to the corner store for a pickle out of the barrel to share. We loved Chicago’s Original Rainbow Ice Cream Cones too. She asked if I wanted to hear a dirty joke. Yes! Mom whispered, a Pig fell in a mud puddle. They always whispered that I couldn’t make out when it was a dirty joke. Now, I have my own unique ‘dirty joke.’ I felt these were extraordinary times – a mom & daughter date for exceptional moments of laughing and talking.

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While taking a nap on Mommy/Daddy’s big bed, I started trying to find the animal or thing in white clouds, but instead of the sky, I used enormous drapes with large flowers with dark green leaves. I began to yell, I see it, I see it! Mom came rushing in What are you seeing? A Cat with a Big Red Nose! A Cat with a Big Red Nose! My mother started to breathe again. Her sister shared that she has visitors from heaven of Saints, Jesus, and family members. Mom thought maybe I had an angelic vision. She laughed and told my story of the Cat with a Big Red Nose that was probably Sylvester the Cat with Tweety Bird.

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A few days earlier, we were at Grandma’s, and my aunts were telling us about the visions. My mother laughed. They told her not too because she might not get to heaven. My mother with her booming laughter said, I’ll get to heaven before any of you. I believe they felt discounted because Mom was making light of their stories. I hope someday I can laugh like Mom.

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My father worked his fulltime job at the Sinclair Refinery on Western Avenue as a gas pump mechanic, doing repairs. During WW II he was exempt from the draft. His supervisor said they needed Dad on the home front working at Ford Company continuing to build airplane motors even with a third-grade education. He was sad that others went to fight the war without him. My mother was glad because Barb and Roy were young.

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I went to Altgeld Public School for kindergarten, half day. I got to play and learn with other kids. I didn’t understand taking a nap without a bed. I was quiet because I didn’t realize what was going on. I was happy to see my cousin Carol, who was in 5th grade. Carol treated me as a beautiful walking toy doll – she loved me. I told her I had to walk back on this street to Racine to wait for Mom. Carol said, Don’t you want to come home with me to play? Yes! Later, Mom was panicking, thinking that I was lost. Carol said next time she’ll ask before taking me.

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Mom loved her job at Campbell Soup Factory. At times, she came home late after having a few drinks with co-workers. At five years, I was sleeping in a seven-year-old-crib in my parents’ room. I saw Dad was trying to hold my mother’s hands while she continued hitting him. My 17 years old brother Roy came in trying to get between them – Roy could have made a commercial for Mr. Skinny from 1940-1950’s comic books’ advertisements.

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Dad yelled, Roy, Stop! Finally, Dad pushed Roy like he was a small fly into the bedroom holding his hands down as they rolled on the bed – yelling Stop – you don’t know the whole story! Mom rushed into the bedroom with a glass bottle of Ketchup, hitting my father over the head with a hard slam while glass splattered everywhere to protect her son. Mom called the police – yelling the Hillbilly is at it again."

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No one checked on me to see if I received any cuts from broken glass. I knew how to duck down low without getting hurt. Daddy gently sat on the old stuffed and soiled chair from Grandpa’s drinking days. Our friendly Chicago police arrived as usual – I always liked seeing if they would give me pennies for penny candy as they took my Daddy away.

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Mom, brother, sister, and I would pack up either going to Great Aunt Annie/Charlie or Grandma’s home. As mentioned earlier, we have many unique traditions regarding family members names. My Great Uncle Charlie died years ago, yet the children continued to bond the names as one – Annie/Charlie. She had a huge grand piano. I got mad at Roy and hid his guitar picks. Roy kept saying you can’t play in this house like this. I confessed that the picks slid down into the piano keys. As Roy was turning white and frightened, he begged me never to tell anyone. I knew that rule well – family secrets.

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As a child, I would hear Grandma say to Mom: You know that Hillbilly is cheating on you with a redhead! Mom always held her own in these crazy discussions. We got home, and Mommy would accuse Dad of cheating with a