The Blessing of Movement

By Deborah Konrad

Sandra. Fearless, headstrong, and dominant, her personality sets the stage for a family dynamic that will affect all members for the rest of their lives, the youngest sister most of all. The complex relationship between these two sisters spans over forty years of events and results in a final act of redemption, restoration, and forgiveness. The story demonstrates how one can flourish despite circumstances and motivates the reader to live their best life every day. It is a story of family, growth, and the overwhelmingly powerful impact of unconditional love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504915632

Deborah Konrad

In addition to navigating the dynamics of being the youngest of three girls, Deborah Konrad functioned as a caregiver in some capacity for both her elderly parents and her sister Sandra. Although she holds a degree in biochemistry from Mount Holyoke College and an MS in health care administration, writing has always been her secret hobby. The Blessing of Movement is inspired by the complex relationship she had with her sister before and after she was injured and left a quadriplegic. Deborah and her husband, Nelson, live in the Houston, Texas, area and serve as pet parents to their German shepherds, Yukon and Kane.

Book preview

The

BLESSING of

MOVEMENT

DEBORAH KONRAD

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2015 Deborah Konrad. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    12/01/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1564-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1565-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1563-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908905

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Author’s Note

PART I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

PART II

The First Visit

The New Normal

Home

The Great State of Texas

What Next

TSU

You Did What?

In the Beginning

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor

Change

Caregiver

Eighty Days

Deja Vu

Over Yonder

Worse

Now What

2011

Rebirth

2012

Home

Visitors

Happy Birthday

Rally

Reflection

References

About the Author

ACCLAIM FOR

THE BLESSING OF MOVEMENT

…it is the perfect balance of heartbreaking and uplifting.

—Online BookClub.com

…an inspirational memoir…

—Foreword Clarion Review

Konrad spins this tale in a way that illustrates the contradictory nature of sibling relationships…

—BlueInk Review

Dedicated to my parents, Willie and Rosie Smith,

my sisters Jackie and Sandra, and my husband Nelson.

Author’s Note

Has your life been influenced, pleasantly or unpleasantly, by a sibling? The individuals that we share a common parent with can change the course of our lives and shape our very existence. My life was influenced by both my sisters, but most dramatically by my sister Sandra. I never really grasped how and how much until later in life. If you have felt the profound influence of a brother or sister, whether by birth, or through a blending of families, The Blessing of Movement will resonate with you.

Initially, this book was born out of an attempt to explain my sister Sandra’s behavior to myself, and to offer an account of how her life and life choices impacted me. As the writing unfolded, it became more a story of my whole family, and how we dealt with the circumstances presented to us as a result of my sister’s behavior. A sibling’s behavior never occurs in a vacuum. It touches all family members, whether they choose to admit it or not. The more dramatic and challenging the behavior, the greater the impact on all parties involved.

The Blessing of Movement spans many years in the life of the Smith family, with my own personal recollections covering over fifty years. The stories shared prior to my addition to the family come from accounts provided by my mother and father, Rosie and Willie Smith, my oldest sister, Jacqueline (Smith) Smith, and of course Sandra, the focus of the story. Some names are changed and there have been characters that have been blended for the sake of brevity. I used the picture on the front because it reminded me so much of what Sandra was in life: attention getting, a little overpowering, and sunshine bright.

Our family details are unique. The overarching themes of adversity, triumph, redemption and unconditional love are not. Families of all types face these issues every day. It is my hope that The Blessing of Movement will inspire readers to live courageously, take nothing for granted, and above all, love unconditionally. I believe that it is a path to healing.

PART I

Chapter 1

She rolled into the facility like a rock star with a very small but very attentive entourage in tow. My cousin pushed the wheelchair and I walked along beside her, making sure we were where we were supposed to be. Some people might be anxious about having a biopsy. The one-inch lump in her breast had already been classified as benign by a preliminary needle biopsy. The doctor thought a tissue specimen would be a better determination of what plans the tumor had. As she encountered people in the hallways, she smiled and proactively greeted each one. Good morning, she said. Each greeting was accompanied by the wide-mouth, toothy grin that had been her trademark all of her life.

The last person we encountered in the hallway before we actually reached the day surgery area was a sour faced woman that was either not happy about being at work so early or had not had her morning coffee. Sandra smiled and greeted her. Good morning! The woman seemed to be caught off guard by the wheelchair-bound lady and her enthusiastic early morning greeting. Good morning, she replied. Her face presented a quizzical expression that didn’t quite fit the words of her response. As we passed, by I heard her say clearly, I’d give you a million dollars for that smile.

It was not the first time I heard those words used to describe my sister’s smile. Whether it was the contrast of the wheelchair and the hands, which were distorted long ago by severe muscle spasms, compared to the enthusiasm and warmth of the greeting, she obviously was taken aback. At what could have been a very low point, Sandra, once again, was facing a life challenge with a smile. I halfheartedly applied to two medical schools when I graduated from college, didn’t get in, and allowed the rejection to define me for over 20 years. She was facing an unknown result in the same manner of acceptance that she had expressed all of her life: with a smile. She was my sister, and she was fierce. I loved her.

I cannot tell you when the first time was that I really noticed my sister. I know that we played together when I was small and I know that I had a great day with her in 1959. Yet, for whatever reason, we have been inexplicably joined together for most of my life. The joining was not always pleasant, and there frequently was conflict. Yet the times were few when I deeply truly felt that she did not love me, in spite of the issues she/we had. Her story is one of dysfunction, pain, genius, and triumphs. I have feared her, loved her, and at times loathed her but always respected her for her tenacity and courage to follow her own voice. Her story ultimately is my lesson in life. I write this story in love and respect for her. She triumphed over great odds to live a life that many thought would be impossible for someone with her condition.

Sandra was the second child of Willie and Rosie Smith. She was a sandy-haired, light-brown complexioned child that was blessed with a sunny disposition. Sandra was the baby for nine years before I ever came into the world. She was cute, very active, and prone to terrible fits of tears when my mother washed her hair. These early tantrums may have foretold future personality problems, but the goal was to stop the behavior, not to analyze it. She was punished for her outbursts, but the tantrums didn’t stop until she got older. I wonder what a child psychologist would make of such overreactions to a simple shampoo. Was she imagining a drowning? Maybe a bad memory from a past life haunted her. My mother described the scenes as very dramatic and a bit frightening. On one occasion, she dashed outside and nearly scared the poor milkman to death. I am no psychologist, but this reaction to such a simple act as washing hair may have warned of deeper issues.

She drew up skinny and well liked. This was in opposition to my older sister who, like me, had a weight problem. Sandra was skinny until puberty, while the oldest was overweight until puberty. If San was as merciless to Jackie as she was to me about being fat, Jackie had a difficult time, to say the least. Yet my oldest sister speaks fondly of how as children Sandra would help her up when she fell down, as she tended toward being clumsy. These two opposing pictures, uncontrollable tantrums over a shampoo and gentle help for a clumsy sibling, make up the irony that was Sandra. Her adult life would be no less ironic.

Being a black child in the 1940s in Houston, Texas brought with it a whole plethora of issues for parents. In the Jim Crow south, black people could spend their money, ride the buses and make white merchants rich. Yet they were forbidden to ride in the front of the bus, try on hats, or go to schools with whites. Segregation was the law of the land, so businesses owned by black people flourished, schools named for black leaders served as our places for education, and the church was our stage. It was a place where we could display our talent, nurture our gifts, and be the ‘somebody’s’ that the segregated south disallowed.

Sandra and Jackie attended Burris Elementary School, in the Houston Heights area. Jackie leaned toward being quiet and a bit introspective, while Sandra was on the opposite end of the spectrum. She had grown up being the skinny kid, a big talker and dramatic.

Early on, San would display a talent for manipulation that was unrivaled. She could stir up trouble in the unlikeliest of places. Her joy and amusement came when she could create havoc between people. They were her players, and she could manipulate them at will. It was not uncommon to see her place chips on the shoulders of others on the playground and dare someone to knock it off. She exhibited discipline problems early. She never met a fight that she did not like and would never take lip from anyone, including teachers. Yet she was fiercely protective of her sister if anyone else bothered her. Sandra could be mean to her sibling but no one else could. That was not allowed.

Our family was a musical family. Mama wanted all of us to take piano lessons. Jackie had a natural gift for singing and playing—Sandra not so much. Our paternal uncle Leroy was the organist at our church, St. John Baptist. Sandra and Jackie took piano lessons from him for a short period of time, then moved on to Mrs. Madison. The one thing Sandra always wanted to do was be able to sing, but alas this was not to be. She was good on the trombone, however. This is the instrument that she chose to perfect. This is also the instrument that my father played in high school. It was very obvious early on that San wanted to be like Daddy. Daddy was tall, so she wanted to be tall. Daddy played the trombone, so she wanted to play the trombone. She really was the original daddy’s girl, long before I ever came on the scene. As I write this, I can understand why she may have unconsciously held resentment for me when I came along. I guess in her mind, I replaced her as Daddy’s favorite. She loved me, but it was obvious that she resented me at times.

Academically, Sandra excelled. Her conduct left much to be desired. She loved to talk, almost too much, and did not keep her opinion to herself. She was well known in school, famously and infamously. It still fascinates me how people respect those of us that refuse to apologize for our behavior. Sandra had friends and admirers, but she also had those that she rubbed the wrong way. The sword cuts both ways in life. There will be those that like you for your outspoken ways, and those that do not. Sandra did not worry about those. She had issues with authority, but somehow people always tolerated it. I think it goes back to the confidence thing. Whatever you do in life, if you believe in you, the world will believe in you.

After Mama died, I found old report cards that she kept for each of us. It looks as if San’s discipline problems began around her 11th or 12th year—puberty. Our identity and sense of self are set in the early years. Sandra’s extra pounds at puberty never affected her self-esteem one bit. She, unlike me, took part in extracurricular activities without the least thought to what she may have looked like. Her gift in math and science anointed her as the smart one, but this was not accurate. In truth, Sandra’s grades overall were not much better than Jackie’s and neither made grades as good as mine. Yet this society tends to value skill in the hard sciences more than talent in the arts and writing. Sandra was smart in ways that boys are smart. She was good in math and science. In the fifties and sixties, these were skills that girls were applauded for because there was no expectation of a girl having them. Women were expected to know how to write and communicate. Thus, there was an early schism between siblings. Although neither was smarter than the other was, and we all learned in our own unique ways, San was dubbed the smarter child. In retrospect, these early differences set the stage for sibling rivalry. It is sad that children do not come with directions. Parents do the best they can with the knowledge they have. They come to parenthood with their own wounds. These wounds pass to their children, and the dysfunction continues. Our parents loved us tremendously and unconditionally, yet they both leaned toward being overly critical when it came to academics. I believe this was because of the hard line they took toward their own self. My mother often told the story of how her father paid extra for her to attend school in Galveston. She came in mid semester and was too far behind to catch up—or so she thought. She gave up and stopped in the ninth grade. This always bothered her, and she beat up on herself for it. Daddy had passed up the opportunity to attend Tuskegee in favor of working. He asked his father to send his younger brother Leroy instead. The bar was set high for performance, and getting an education was not an option. It was expected.

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Rosie Lee at 30-35 years old

Daddy was able to get a great job at Sheffield Steel in 1942, just prior to Jackie’s birth. They were paying .50/hr and that was a good wage for a black man in 1942. He had a rough time keeping a job as a young man. He and Mama married when he was 20 years old. As was the norm in the United States, black women could find work much easier than black men. Mama had a decent job at a laundry and was able to keep things going during the early part of the marriage. Daddy played baseball at the Emancipation Park in old Third Ward between looking jobs. When the job at Sheffield (later to become Armco Steel) came along, it was a blessing to the two of them. They had married in 1937. Daddy had not been able to hold a job for a particularly long time. This was probably because of several factors. Being a twenty-year-old black man in 1937 in Houston, Texas made things difficult, and his youthful immaturity probably played a part in his challenges. Twenty is very young for a male.

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Daddy with in-laws looking for work

Mama had trouble getting pregnant, but finally after six years of trying, she was going to have a child. The job came in 1942, and Jackie was born in 1943. They had already purchased a home, so Jackie was born and brought home to a home. None of us ever knew anything except home ownership. Daddy’s parents purchased a home in Pierce Court in 1929, and my mother’s parents owned their own land and livestock in League City, Texas. Her grandfather, Alexander Winfield, purchased over forty acres in 1902. Although we took much for granted growing up, we were very fortunate children. I can honestly say that neither I nor my siblings ever knew a day of want or hunger. That does not mean that we were wealthy, but compared to many African Americans in the fifties, sixties and beyond, we were very, very fortunate.

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Sandra aged 6 or 7

Chapter 2

Life for the Smith family was pretty good. My siblings were not deprived of any material thing that my parents could afford. Our mother was an overprotective mama that made sure that her children wanted for nothing. When my sisters spent time at a friend’s watching TV because we did not have one, they were called home one day to find a television of their own. Their friend, who I am sure thought they wanted her company and friendship, never saw them again; so much for that relationship. The truth is, although my sisters were quite different in personality, they were each other’s closest friend. They could quarrel among themselves, but they defended each other from the outside world. The only thing that changed the dynamic of the relationship was the entrance of a new person: me.

When Sandra was nine and Jackie was eleven, I was born. The world of my siblings would never

Reviews for The Blessing of Movement

[pardamustang · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

***This book was reviewed for Online Book Club***Konrad's The Blessing of Movement is the a poignant look at life, at family, and at the impact we have on people, be it from closeness, or in a brief passing by. This is the story of her sister, Sandra, and the ripples left from contact with this fierce, bright woman. This story spans decades, from childhood, when baby Deb displaced San as the youngest, and on to adulthood. All through this story I kept seeing hints of Loki in Sandra's life, especially the aspects I work with. It's how we view life, after all, through the lens of our own perceptions. Loki is known as the Lord of Laughter, and one of His strongest lessons, so oft overlooked, is to laugh at life, especially aspects you can't change. Sometimes you get dealt suck-ass hands in the game of life. You can harbour bitterness and burn out quickly, or you can see things for the cosmic joke it is, laugh your way through it, and enrich not only your own life, but those around you as well. Sandra also displayed another trait of the Trickster, manifesting in an ability to skilfully manipulate others. Then, there's the potential for fiery destructiveness, the darker side of Loki's energy, seen in her descent to criminal activity. A crippling accident changed things for Sandra, marking a point where bitterness could have completely consumed her. I can respect the abruptness of such tragedy, and the struggle to cope with the aftermath. At age 20, I lost an eye. The vision in the remaining one is compromised, and learning to adapt to a severe loss of independence can be trying for the patient, but equally, for the family.Despite the decades difference, I really resonated with Konrad's observation that society overall tends to prefer those gifted in the 'hard’ sciences. Like her, I excelled in the creative sciences, while doing well in physical sciences and decent enough in math. My younger siblings overshadowed me in those areas, and today I am a patent disappointment to my blood family despite being the only one in the family to attain a PhD. I am an author, anthropologist, philosopher, metaphysicist, and I taught ethics, cultural awareness, and mythic studies for a decade, none of which matter one whit to them. I digress, but clearly the author succeeded in touching a chord, striking resonance. The proper goal of authors of any stripe!The further observation that parents do their best, yet come into the game with their own wounds, which tend to get passed on also rang true. I've been able to step back some, to see the psychological wounds given me by my parents, and observe how they themselves received some variation. I wish schools focused more on psychological skills and communications skills for both genders, at a young age. Perhaps these patterns of transference could be short-circuited.I love the humour suffused within this touching tale. Much of the story was of interest to me as an anthropologist as well. This was an eye-opening insight into a specific intersection between culture and time unfamiliar to me in many ways. I really enjoyed the photos scattered throughout, which helped bring this family to full life.The manuscript could do with another good proofing. There were a scattering of spelling and grammar errors, and times when words or phrases were repeated very close together. The story is engaging enough that these are easily glossed over in the mind.???? Recommended