Becoming a Mother, While Losing My Own

By Claudia Parker

Becoming a Mother While Losing My Own is an amazing testimony of Gods grace. Claudia Parker takes us through her life with riveting accounts of pain, rejection and scandal. After she accepts Christ her capricious relationship with her mother is reconciled. Their bond is strengthened when she finds out shes expecting her first child. Unfortunately, she learns that her mother may not live long enough for them to meet.
Becoming a Mother While Losing My Own is a story of resilience. Its a story of faith and the human spirit triumphing over adversity. You will witness how Gods mercy gave a woman a chance to create a family life vastly different than the one she grew up in. If you want to be inspired this is the book to read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469174587

Claudia Parker

About the Author Claudia Parker is the author of Becoming a Mother While Losing My Own. She lives in the Chicago land area with her husband and two darling daughters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Wavering Love

I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, You are my servant; I have chosen you and have not rejected you.

—Isaiah 41:9 (NIV)

It was the summer of 1974 in Terre Haute, Indiana. A stakeout was in progress. A 1970, two-door hatchback AMC Gremlin was parked on a quiet street. Crouched down in the front seat were my grandma Linda, who I refer to as Moma Linda, and my mother, Rhonda. Moma Linda is five feet two and one hundred pounds when soaking wet. Her skin is fair, and her hair is fine. It’s silky, black, and curls into perfect locks when wet. Her lips are pencil thin, and her nose points at the tip. One could easily mistake her for being mulatto. She is dainty and petite. With a little whiskey in her though, she could take down King Kong. She was fierce when she drank. You would have better odds of surviving a grizzly bear protecting its cubs than Moma Linda. Especially if you messed with her family!

My mom was just a couple inches taller than Moma Linda. She also had a small frame, weighing one hundred fifteen pounds. Mom had a peanut-butter brown complexion. The whites in her eyes sparkled around her dark-brown pupils. Her smile was so big, it could launch Colgate commercials. Her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight. It was no wonder there was never a shortage of men around her. My dad was apparently on the prowl. He was five years her senior. When I was born, Mom was just seventeen, and Dad, twenty-two. Unfortunately, on this day, Mom was eighteen, an adult, to be charged as such!

Shhh, pipe down! I don’t want anyone to hear us, said Moma Linda to my eight-year-old aunt Shelly and my older sister, Tee-tee. She was four at the time. They were in the backseat of the Gremlin. Dad walked out of a nearby apartment building carrying me in his arms. I was just a toddler. He sat me on the front passenger seat. The rumble of the engine jiggled me around as he drove out of the graveled parking lot.

They’re on the move. Let’s go! said Moma Linda. She fired up her little hatchback and followed slowly behind him. She closed the distance between them as they stopped at a red light. It was a very busy intersection. She turned to my mom and said, All right, Rhonda, you’re going to have to help me fight him. Mom was reluctant. She and Dad had had a physical altercation just four days before. She still had a knot on her head and bruises on her body. He had knocked her down a flight of stairs.

Mom said, No, no . . . I’d rather fight you than him. He hits harder than you.

Now you listen here, if you want that baby back, you better fight for her!

Moma Linda took a swig of whiskey from her flask. Then she and Mom jumped out of their car and ran up to Dad’s. He spotted them in his rearview mirror. He hurriedly locked his front doors. Mistakenly, he forgot to check the back doors. Moma Linda and Mom crawled into the backseat. There were jumper cables lying there. Moma Linda grabbed them and wrapped them around his neck. Dad was a stocky man with a heavyweight fighter’s build, but on this day, his strength could not withstand being choked. His fingers turned white as he used all his strength trying to relieve the cables from his neck. The more he grabbed, the more Moma Linda tightened the cables.

She screamed, Rhonda, get Claudia! Mom reached over the seat, pulling me from behind with each of her hands under my armpits. Just as my tiny feet were being lifted over the seat, plop! She dropped me. Dad had backhanded her, causing me to slip back onto the seat. She continued to grab for me all the while taking repeated blows to the head, face, and neck. Moma Linda tightened the jumper cables around his neck. He clenched his teeth as he pulled harder, trying desperately to release himself. Moma Linda screamed at Mom, Grab the end of these cables and cut his face with the connectors!

Dad was groaning. Mom took the crablike claw ends of the jumper cables and clamped them onto his face and ears. She twisted and pulled at his skin until blood gushed down his neck. He screamed out in agony. His eyes bulged from his head. She snatched me from the front seat and jumped out of the car. Moma Linda’s arms started to cramp. She could no longer hold the cables around Dad’s neck. She relaxed her grip. In a complete rage, Dad burst out of the car and leaped toward Mom with his fist fully in motion.

Cars were backed up as far as the eyes could see. Traffic had completely stopped moving. Even the cars that were able to drive around chose to stay and watch this spectacle unfold. Just as Dad’s fist was about to make contact with Mom’s face, a deep voice bellowed, You better not hit her. It was a tall, muscular guy who had walked onto the scene. He looked like he could take Dad out with one punch.

Glaring at the man, Dad unclenched his fist. He turned his attention back to Mom. He said, All I want is my baby. Just give me my baby, Rhonda!

Mom was terrified. She yelled out hysterically, She’s my baby! This is my baby! A baby belongs with her mother! You can’t have my baby! It was pandemonium.

I was screaming uncontrollably by this point. Dad grabbed Mom by the throat and said, Give her to me! Afraid I might be hurt in the struggle, Mom loosened her grip on me. Dad pulled me from her arms. Mom fell into the street and sobbed, Give me back my baby!

Moma Linda ran back to her car and grabbed a gun from her purse. My aunt Shelly and my sister Tee-tee were screaming at the top of their lungs. Aunt Shelly cried, No, Moma, don’t shoot him! Then she prayed, Please, God, please don’t let her shoot him. I don’t want my mom to go to prison.

Moma Linda walked toward Dad slowly, pointing a .38 special revolver directly at his face. Very calmly, she looked at him and said, Give the baby . . . back to Rhonda!

Give? This is all I got to give you. He clenched his fist and raised his middle finger. Watch me as I drive off with my daughter!

Moma Linda’s eyes stayed pierced directly into his. You go right ahead then . . . get back in your car and drive off. As soon as you do, I’m going to shoot you right in the head because you can’t hold her and drive! She saw fear come over him. She held her arms out straight, her legs wide apart, one hand on the trigger, and the other supporting the butt of the gun.

An unoccupied ambulance had maneuvered its way through traffic. One of the paramedics raced over to Moma Linda and began to reason with her. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to put the gun down.

Moma Linda responded by keeping her eyes steady on Dad. I just want my grandbaby. Just tell him to give me my grandbaby, she said. The paramedic replied, Sir, please hand the child over. Ma’am . . . I’m going to need you to hand me the gun! The other medic in the ambulance had called to dispatch the police. Sirens were blazing as the paramedic shouted again, Ma’am, please, hand me the gun!

Moma Linda hollered, I’ll put the gun down when he gives my daughter her child.

The paramedic shouted at Dad, Sir, please hand over the child.

Dad, full of rage, glared at Moma Linda. He handed me to my mom and Moma Linda then finally handed the gun to the paramedic.

Dad instantaneously lunged forward and pounced onto her. He was shaking her and screaming, Don’t you ever point a gun at me again. I ought to kill you right now. Several police officers arrived on the scene and ripped Dad away from Moma Linda.

Moma Linda went off on a tirade. I want this man arrested. Arrest him right now! There’s a warrant for his arrest. He brutally beat my daughter a few days ago. I pressed charges against him. There is a warrant for his arrest! Check your records. This animal put a knot on my daughter’s head the size of a golf ball, and I want him locked up! An officer walked her away from Dad and tried to calm her down. He then verified her claim and escorted Dad off to jail.

The next morning, Dad called Moma Linda on the phone.

So you pressed charges against me and had me arrested, huh?

Yep, I sure did!

I spent the night in jail because of you. Well, you get ready. I just filed charges against you and Rhonda. You are the one with the warrant now!

Moma Linda slammed the phone into the receiver. She put one hand on her hip and lifted the other to take a swig of whiskey. After that, she called the county jail. Sure enough, Dad’s claim was confirmed, a warrant had been issued for her and my mom’s arrest. She told the sheriff who answered, No need to come hunt us down. We’ll come turn ourselves in. She turned toward my mom, took two more swigs of whiskey, and said, Come on, girl. We’ve got to go down here to this jail and turn ourselves in. Fine by me, I need to ask for my gun back anyway.

Within twenty-four hours, both of my parents and my grandmother had spent a night in jail. How in the world did this all happen?

My elder sister, Tee-tee, had been conceived at the age of thirteen. People in town were appalled that a child so young could be pregnant. It’s no wonder that they were disgraced even further when I came along just two and a half years later. To make matters even more scandalous, we had different fathers. Moma Linda faced heavy scrutiny as a result, but public criticism was the least of her concern.

Moma Linda had only been married for a couple of years at the time of my birth. Her husband married her willingly, accepting her two girls, my mother, Rhonda, and my aunt Shelly. At the time they married, my mother was already pregnant; therefore, Tee-tee too was accepted when she arrived. Nevertheless, when Mom turned up pregnant again, he forbade my mom from bringing me into his home. Mom was devastated. Moma Linda didn’t agree with him though she abided by her husband’s wishes. She had no choice. Her husband was mean-spirited and evil. She called my father personally and asked him to take care of me. She told him her marriage was on shaky grounds. She was working to get out, and she let him know that as soon as she found a place, she and my mother would be able to take me back. So as the story goes, my father took me home with him a few days after my delivery.

Mom and Dad’s relationship was abusive and volatile. It was not a long courtship, but it had the intensity of such. Dad was domineering and tried to control my mother. When he couldn’t verbally bully her, he physically abused her. Mom and Moma Linda had visitations with me over the one-year period I was in Dad’s care. He never had legal custody, just a verbal agreement with Mom and Moma Linda. Dad and I were bonding and becoming attached. In the meantime, Moma Linda worked to break away from her drunken, abusive husband so they could get me back. By the time she left him, all bets were off with my dad. I had become a part of his existence. He refused to give me back. There were a series of requests. Mom’s pastor even got involved. Dad still didn’t budge. Finally, everything came to a head the day Mom and Moma Linda jumped my dad at that stoplight which sent all of them to jail. The ensuing incident seemed to determine the relationship Dad and I would have throughout the rest of my life. His disdain for my mother and grandmother tainted his tolerance of me. He maintained our relationship for only a short while after that.

Dad moved on. He started a new relationship and eventually got married. He and his wife Rita started a family of their own. First came my half sister, Marie, and my half-brother, John, came along a year later. Even as a small child, I recognized the unique fondness he had for them. I learned early what inequality felt like. For me, it didn’t come from the predominant race. It came from my father.

Dad and Rita’s marriage didn’t last long. He left her when John was just two weeks old. He moved out of state, six hours away. He rarely returned to visit. I saw him a handful of times until the age of thirteen. He didn’t write or call. He sent gifts once or twice. Outside of that, he missed every birthday, Christmas, graduation, and some. Those times were easy to get over. The awkward times were seeing my friends interacting with their fathers or when people who knew my dad would say, Aren’t you so and so’s daughter? How’s he doing? I haven’t talked to him in a few months. I need to call him. I would think to myself, A few months . . . really . . . because I haven’t spoken to him in years!

I didn’t understand why my father chose not to be a part of my life. Tee-tee’s father, Jeff Rose, was always present in her life. He’d come almost every weekend to pick her up. He’d look at me and say, Come on, Claudia, you’re coming too. He never left me behind. He made me feel just as much his child as Tee-tee and her half-brother, Jay. It took Jay and I a long time to realize we weren’t brother and sister. I was Tee-tee’s sister. He was her brother. We figured we had to be related. We both had similar interests, friends, and hobbies. We thought it was all in the bloodline. Who knew? I don’t remember Jeff Rose taking us anywhere special. It was usually just his apartment. We weren’t always supervised properly though. Once, while visiting with him, I realized I was thirsty. I went to ask him if I could have a drink of water. Tee-tee told me he wouldn’t mind if I had a drink of his water. He’d left it on the table. It was in a two-inch tall, thick, clear glass. Jay insisted I drink it quickly to quench my thirst. I picked up the glass and swallowed the clear liquid in one big gulp. Almost instantaneously, half of it came back up in the form of vomit, mostly from my nose. My chest burned, and I coughed violently. Tee-tee and Jay were bent over, slapping their knees, laughing hysterically. That was my first and only taste of vodka. I was nine years old. From that point forward, I thought anyone who purposefully chose to drink liquor was a plum fool. It was disgusting, and I was as sick as a dog. Even today, I choose not to drink alcoholic beverages, not even a sip. I never acquired the taste. I attempted to experiment a couple more times in my teenage years, but it always made me sick! I suppose God knew best because alcoholism runs in my family.

Nonetheless, Jeff Rose didn’t have to take me to fancy places. He didn’t have to remain present in every room I was in. He was present in my life. I was being included. I felt acceptance. I felt like I mattered. I began to wonder. Could he be my real dad? He and I have the same complexion. Actually, I thought. We have many similar characteristics. My dad and I look nothing alike. His skin is dark chocolate, mine high yellow. His eyes are coffee brown, mine, a light caramel. He’s stocky, big-boned, and round. I’m long and lean, just like Jeff Rose. Looking at Dad and I, one would never think we’re related, let alone father and daughter. After thinking about it for a few days, I said to myself, Auh, that explains everything. The man I think is my dad is not my dad. That is how he is able to dismiss me so easily, I’m not his child!

I was pumped about my newfound realization. I darted right in to confront my mother. She was sitting on the sofa, in her usual spot: the middle cushion, the one with the permanent dent. She’d put on an extra hundred pounds since I was an infant. She was watching her favorite soap opera, The Young and the Restless. I knew not to talk to her during the show because that would have resulted in me being shut down instantaneously. I waited patiently for a commercial . . .

Mom, you seem to have a good relationship with Jeff Rose. What happened between you? Why did you break up?

She turned toward me swiftly. Wha . . . what? Jeff Rose! Why are you asking me about him?

Well, I was just wondering if maybe you two were still friendly toward one another around the time you were with my dad?

Mom sat straight up, rolled her neck, and said, What exactly are you implying?

I could see she was not enthused about my hypothesis, but I was hopeful. I pressed forward. Is there any chance Jeff Rose could be my dad?

She stood to her feet and put one hand on her hip. She waved the other one back and forth, pointing her index finger at me. Then, with disdain, she said," Do you want me to come over there and slap you? I ought to come over there and slap your