Just in Time

By Tracy Morrisey

Her daddys struggle with alcoholism had become her struggle too!

As a young child, Tracy experienced things no child should ever have to experience. She could forgive and forget then, but would her life forever be defined by her daddys addiction?

As she grew into a young woman, his behavior, his actions, and his harsh words were not so easily forgiven. The memories were imprinted in her memory forever. Her feelings towards him were nothing less than hatred! As she watched him fall deeper and deeper into the arms of the disease, she began losing hope of ever having a normal daddy.

She knew she couldnt go on this way. She was trying to do it all alone, but that was never Gods plan. Feeling helpless in her struggle, she found herself wondering, Why mewhy me, God?

Finally, Tracy gave it all to God. She realized her way was not Gods way, but was it too late? Would she ever have the relationship with her daddy that she always wanted? Was it even possible to love him again after all the hurt and pain?

Only God knew if her miracle would comeJust in Time!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490874630

Tracy Morrisey

Tracy Morrisey is a first-time author from Greenville, North Carolina. She is a devout Christian, wife, and mother. She has been a registered nurse for nearly twenty years, graduating from East Carolina University. Her mission is to obey God’s calling in her life!

Book preview

BEGINNING OF THE END

On December 22, 2013, I woke up to a sunlit Sunday morning, eager to go to church. I was extra excited because it was close to Christmas, and my family was having dinner at my mom’s that afternoon to celebrate. Around 12:30 p.m. as I was leaving church, Daddy crossed my mind. I called him, and he answered sounding like he always did – bored and lonely. I asked him how he was doing, and he said, Fine. Just came in from sitting outside. It was warm that day. He liked sitting outside in this old, white, plastic chair, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. He talked to neighbors – or himself, if no one was around. He’d sit in that chair for hours.

I told him I was just calling to check on him. He asked me to come see him sometime, as he always did. Kiss that baby girl for me, he said, referring to my daughter, Tori. He was in a decent mood and didn’t ask for anything. He just listened and talked, without an agenda. It was nice, but unusual. I told him I’d visit soon and would kiss Tori for him. Then we hung up.

My phone rang again around 6:30 that night. It was him. I was actually surprised that it took so long. One phone call always prompted another. We could never just have a nice conversation. It was always followed by another call where he needed something or had a problem. This time was no different.

When I answered, he was gasping for breath. Tracy, something is wrong. I wasn’t alarmed at first because many of his phone calls started this way. He went on to say he thought he may have had a heart attack but was unsure. His next words startled me. Tracy, blood is everywhere. I threw up blood all over the floor, and it looks like chunks of my liver are in it. I immediately asked if he had been drinking alcohol, and he replied, No, not for three days. Then I thought maybe it was something he had eaten but he denied that as well. So many times, a phone call like this was a cry for attention and rarely ended up being true. Nevertheless, he asked me to call 911.

My sister, Erin, and my mama had been listening to the conversation. I told them everything, and we all thought it was a ploy for attention. He was probably out of food and money. Still, something didn’t feel right in my spirit, so I called him right back to see if his story had changed. He was still gasping and told me it wasn’t a heart attack, but something was very wrong. He had been sitting back, watching television and feeling fine. When he stood up, he got extremely dizzy and threw up blood everywhere. He kept reiterating how blood was everywhere. I believed him. I told him stay calm, and I would call 911.

I made the call, gave them the address and situation, and they assured me they were on the way. In my mind, he was fine, probably exaggerating. I called his house a little later, and when there was no answer, I knew the paramedics had him. My plan was to call the hospital in about an hour to talk with him and find out what was wrong. I had done this many times before, but tonight would be different.

WHERE HE CAME FROM

Robert Van Nichols, my daddy, was born in June 1948. Everybody called him Van. He was the oldest of four children. He had two brothers and a sister. He spent the majority of his childhood in the small town of Bell Arthur, North Carolina, in the country. He grew up on a dirt path that is now paved and called Nichols Road. Most of his family lived on that road or in the surrounding area.

Growing up in the country, of course, Daddy was a country boy. Family members always told me Daddy was spoiled rotten as a child. He was a very handsome young fella. They say he had lots of friends and was well-liked. He loved the outdoors and did many of the things little boys his age did.

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My daddy, Van, when he was eighteen months old

His upbringing was another story, though. Daddy’s parents, Granddaddy Bob and Grandma Chris, were a very handsome couple when they first married. I was told they were very much in love initially. Unfortunately, Granddaddy Bob fell into the arms of alcoholism. Alcoholism plagued the Nichols family. Granddaddy Bob’s generation was affected, and it was passed down to my daddy’s generation. My cousins and I always called it the Nichols plague or the generational curse. Either way, it was devastating and left a permanent mark on so many lives.

Granddaddy Bob was verbally and physically abusive at times. There was also talk of infidelity. Daddy never spoke to me a great deal about his daddy and their relationship, but when he did, the stories were harsh. Daddy always described him as a mean drunk. The one story that stands out in my mind is an argument that occurred at the kitchen table when Granddaddy Bob chased my daddy around the table with a knife. I think there were many other occurrences like this, but they were never spoken of to me. I witnessed their relationship as I grew older, and it was never what you would call normal.

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Granddaddy Bob

Grandma Chris was a working mother. She was a hairdresser. She was a beautiful lady, always well dressed, with her hair done perfectly. She was mild mannered, quiet, and very reserved. She did her best to care for her family. She withstood many years of turmoil with Granddaddy Bob. Whether inherited or learned, Grandma Chris struggled with showing love and affection. Daddy spoke of this many times, and I experienced it first-hand as I grew to know her. Daddy’s siblings also felt the absence of that love. I think they all strived to earn her love but felt they never did.

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Grandma Chris holding me, 1974

When talking about his childhood, Daddy rarely spoke of good times when it came to his parents. His stories of good times, loving times, always involved Granddaddy and Grandmama Nichols. They were Granddaddy Bob’s parents and lived on that same dirt path in Bell Arthur. I’m sure their home was Daddy’s refuge from the torment he experienced in his home. Daddy looked to his grandparents for what he couldn’t get from his parents. My daddy always credited them with raising him. He spent much of his time with them and moved into their home for good when he turned sixteen. By then, Granddaddy Bob and Grandma Chris were headed toward divorce.

Daddy was the firstborn and the apple of Granddaddy and Grandmama Nicholses’ eyes. They loved him dearly, and there was nothing they wouldn’t do for him. They showered him with love and material things. At sixteen, he had a brand-new car.

When Daddy spoke of Granddaddy and Grandmama Nichols, he spoke of them with love. Thankfully, I experienced that love, also. I can remember spending time with Granddaddy Nichols. He carried me around in his arms, smoking his cigar. He made me feel like a queen. I always felt so proud. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t buy for me down at that local store in Bell Arthur. My fondest memory was how he used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches. The cheese just oozed out the sides of the bread. Nothing big, just the small things filled with love that I remember and treasure the most.

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Granddaddy and Grandmama Nichols

Grandma Nichols was the best. I spent many weekends with her, and we always went to her house on Thanksgiving and Christmas. She was always cooking and was the best at it. She collected porcelain dolls. I remember she had one room dedicated for all those dolls. She’d always let me play with them. Almost every weekend she played dominoes or rummy with other family members. I sat and watched her. I was content just being in her presence. She always attended church and sang in the choir. She was a God-fearing Christian and probably the person who introduced my daddy to the Lord. There was a lot of love in Grandma and Granddaddy’s house, so I know exactly the kind of love he received from them. When he was a youngster, I am sure Daddy was drawn to the many material things he was given, too.

Daddy’s childhood had its ups and downs. His parents went through many struggles that trickled down into the lives of their children. They didn’t give Daddy the love he needed and couldn’t always provide the material things he wanted. There was abuse, fighting, alcohol, and adultery. Daddy had an outlet, though, to escape the torment going on at home. His grandparents tried to fill the void and provide for his every need. Sometimes, I think their best intentions to do well by him affected Daddy negatively as he grew into a man.

Daddy, unfortunately, was left scarred from all this. His siblings were too. Some of them didn’t have a place to get away from it all. The curse – the plague – would get them all, even my daddy. He would become an alcoholic, an abuser, and an adulterer. He would struggle with showing love and become materialistic. He would struggle with depression and become self-destructive. He would have everything and end up with nothing. He would lose the will to be better, the will to be a father, a grandfather – the will to overcome. Ironically, Daddy always vowed he would never be like his daddy.

THEY MEET – THEY MARRY – A CHILD IS BORN

When Daddy was younger, in his teens and early twenties, he was so handsome. He was a sharp dresser with a smile that brightened any room. He was always a charmer, even until the end of his life. Wherever he was, he was the center of attention. He had a big presence to be such a little man. He flirted with every woman around, whether they reciprocated it or not. He stole my mama’s heart with that charm and smile. He practically stole her soul.

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My handsome daddy when he was in high school

They met at the local bowling alley. She was a junior in high school.