Me, Myself, and I

By A. M. Mary

In Me, Myself, and I, A. M. Mary shares the powerful lessons she learned from a life well lived. She grows up in a poor, isolated family, her father tubercular, alcoholic, and unemployed and her mother sad and distant. One of her brothers dies at six and the other is a sickly infant. These circumstances cause the author to become self-reliant and independent, looking to her own instinct and intuition to survive.

After she marries, she and her husband welcome the births of their children, and the author vows that her children will be loved and cared for in a way she never had been. Eventually she has five sons and a daughter, after eight pregnancies and two miscarriages.

The author believes that human condition is experienced in many ways, through joy, hardship, love, loss, support, defeat, success, disappointment, sorrow, cruelty, giving, receiving, expectation, anticipation, honor, self-esteem: the list is endless. As boxed in as life may be at times, it is possible to improve the human condition through opening our minds and hearts to learning about, listening to, and loving our fellow beings. We need to come together to know the value of each other; at the same time, we discover how to love ourselves. It really does take a village.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480845480

A. M. Mary

A. M. Mary had little in the way of comfort growing up, yet she matured into a self-reliant, confident woman of gratitude. Her courage, moral strength, and endurance are the challenges described in her book. She approaches life with an ever-hopeful mind and spirit, simply living day to day in her search for truth and beauty. Her book was written to express the dreams of an ordinary person with an awareness of personal value.

Book preview

Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Coming into My Own

Family Life

Coming into My Own

And Now There Were Three

Two Left

The Beginning of the End for One

Retrospective

Voices of Youth

Voice of a Parent

How Do They Love Us? Let Us Count the Ways.

My Youngest, Age Six

Memory of a Wild Shopping Spree

Bio

Me, Myself, and I

a telling and graphic portrait of a life

well lived, well learned, well

loved … warts and all.

Foreword

by

A Friend and Fellow Journeyer

This authoress’s memoir is vivid and compelling.

Here is a lady who, with thought, warmth, and integrity, met life head-on with

faith, sensitivity, and reflection.

Abiding and eternal memories of a wonderful husband inform her very

existence. Together they raised a wonderful family with love, sensitivity, and

learning.

The Talmud says, "As we are to bless the Lord for the good we have, we are also

to bless the Lord for difficult times we endure."

The fullness of life, with its successes and setbacks, make us human, caring and

Compassionate, and as told herein, the good times are so predominant. Her

stirring words and reflection are a joy to behold and an inspiration to young

and old.

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Introduction

I’ve heard it said, If you want to make God laugh, tell Him what you have planned for your future. That said, I had planned a long, happy life with my husband, who I adored and who I knew felt the same about me, and that our six children would all marry to the loves of their lives and fill our home with dozens of grandchildren, who would all grow up to produce our great-grandchildren, and my husband and I would look back on our beginning and feel the joy of our lifetime in the faces of our large and loving family! There were times when I’d look around the rooms and think, How would a crib or two fit here? We should make room in the shed for several carriages we’ll need when we go for a walk with the kids. Also, we’ll need an extra freezer/refrigerator … I already have two ovens. Well, right now sleeping arrangements need to be thought of. Maybe we need a bigger home? No. This is the home they grew up in, the home my husband and I, with the help of good friends, renovated ourselves, and the future family members should feel the love these walls embrace and leave their imprint of joy. Wow! I could really get carried away. Our children were still in grade school. Only two were in high school.

I remember not wanting to get rid of the crib used by all my children when the last child had outgrown it. I wanted it stored in the already crowded attic. My husband said, When the time comes, we’ll buy a new crib. He was always more practical. I now admit, the crib had seen its day. We’ll buy several new cribs. After all, there’s bound to be more than one grand baby. They’ll all come to visit at the same time. It will be so wonderful. Such fun! I don’t think God was laughing at me, He was simply happy for my joy, my anticipation of love, and my sense of gratitude. He would be there for me when the time would come that I needed Him the most.

Moving out of the house that, except for the roof, my hands and my husband’s hands had touched every inch of was traumatic. My husband had died twenty-three years earlier from a sudden, massive coronary. My children were scattered all over. Not one was interested in keeping the house. They were making their own way in the world, and I needed to cut back on what had become my devotion to the house because of serious health issues I was experiencing … to begin with, open-heart surgery. I moved into a two-room condominium unit, made plans for retirement, and planned a lot of traveling, and again, God laughed with good nature. Little did I know what was in my future.

My reason for writing this account of parts of my life experience is so others may be curious enough to read and find something of comfort or encouragement written on these pages. I think we all have a story to tell. To share it helps both writer and reader to have a clearer understanding of how possible it is to come into one’s own. In no way is this written as an authoritative work; it is simply a telling of one individual’s exchange with life as she lived it. There are no names recorded here to protect the innocent and the guilty. Only those names known universally by millions who have read or heard of them are referenced.

This is kind of a stream-of-consciousness writing. I’m not attempting to emulate William James but writing a story as if you were telling it to someone results in that nature of form. I like to think when I write that I am speaking with someone—that I’m accompanied by someone interested in what I have to say, and that person is willing to share his or her story with me. When we open up to others we find we have more in common than what we believe