The Face Only My Father Could Love

By Rebecca Ramos

In this book The Face Only My Father Could Love, you will learn my life story about believing my parents loved me to finding out that wasn't the case at all. Not concerning my mom anyway. She didn't want me and didn't want my dad to have me either. She was addicted to pills but never admitted to it. I would find her empty bottles on occasion. She didn't like me and told me so, but most of all, she showed me. She looked for new ways of corporal punishment as I like to call it anyway. I thought parents were supposed to love their kids. The life I was forced to live by the hands of my mother led me to a life of trying to commit suicide to being involved with the wrong people and getting addicted to drugs to becoming the dealer. I never thought in a million years that I would end up in prison. Oh man, the things we see and learn in prison. I didn't know during all this time through life that my dad fought for me. Was it my earthly dad or daddy God that was the one fighting? Was there really a God? If there was, then how could he let a child go through some of the things that I went through? Then, I couldn't see the whole picture but I can see it clearly now. It wasn't about me at all. It has always been about Him. There is no other love than the love of a father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098012366

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The Face Only My Father Could Love

Rebecca Ramos

Copyright © 2019 by Rebecca Ramos

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Acknowledgments

This book is dedicated to our Almighty God; to my amazing husband, Johnny Davila who encouraged me to write this book and supported me through everything; my awesome kids, Cruz Ramos and Sabrina Shanowat; my selfless and amazing parents Manuel and Sheila Ramos—you are the best parents a girl could ever have, and Mom, you have been more of a mom to me than my real mother, and I wanted to say thank you and I love you both so much—and my adorable grandkids, Ayianna, Avian, and Jericho. I would like to include my brothers and sisters and all my Christian Center of Fort Worth church family and friends. I have never found a church as loving and caring about a person or community as they do. They don’t judge anyone and have never met a stranger. I would like to thank LeeAnn Lich who gave me a chance when no one else would. Also, to three of the best professors, Mrs. Stephanie Richardson, Mr. Kyle Parks, and Mr. Kedrick McKnight. Thank you for seeing something in me that I couldn’t see and that was potential in writing and making a difference anywhere the road I’m on takes me. I would also like to thank my many, many friends who are now family in my eyes that I have met along the way during my journey. Each one of you have had an impact in my life and have been my inspiration for this book and each of you have touched my heart in one way or another, good and bad so thank you all.

Names have been changed for privacy purposes.

Life hasn’t always been easy but then again who has, right? There were times when life just didn’t feel like it was worth living anymore and during those times, God was there to intervene, and I didn’t even know it. Sometimes we are blind to even the glorious name of God. That was me. I am a forty-two-year-old woman from a small town in west Texas who finally got some sense knocked into me by my own mistakes. All this time, I thought God was punishing me for something I had done or maybe; perhaps, because my mother bore me by mistake. After all, she did say, If I would have never had that miscarriage, you would have never been born. I don’t know; maybe I read too much into that statement, but I was in my preteens when she said that to me, and if you love your kids, why would you say something like that to them? I don’t think God would have ever said that to any of his children. I should have known that God had other plans for me. I remember praying to God at times when I was younger to take me out of this hellhole that I was in or just kill me already. I’m not sure why I prayed or who I was really praying to because I never saw God in real life but only heard the name a time or two. This is my story.

Chapter 1

The Devil’s House

My mother wasn’t always a nice person. I mean from what I can remember; I don’t recall her ever saying I love you, giving hugs, or doing things with us for fun. We lived in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, in a three-bedroom apartment after my parents divorced for the second time. My mother became somewhat of an abusive person after her divorce from my dad. We moved around a lot, living in Texas, New Mexico, and Colorado. We finally settled in Colorado, and that is when everything changed. My mother seemed so depressed, never smiling or laughing. She finally found a doctor to treat her depression. She became friends with this doctor which in turn, made it easy for her to get the medication she needed for her illness. Sometimes, too easy. Over time, she got addicted to Prozac and Xanax and when she didn’t have them, well, let’s just say, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was in the house. I remember she would get angry sometimes for no apparent reason. I mean yes, kids will be kids, fighting and arguing but I think my sister, brother, and I were pretty good kids all around. I was the oldest child, which meant a lot was expected of me. Most of the time, I felt like I was the mother of my brother and sister. I was punished everyday it seemed as well as my sister and half the time, we didn’t even know what we had done. My mother was an Irish woman about five feet tall, give or take a few inches. She had freckles, green eyes, and thick wavy hair that was reddish orange, almost the color of a carrot. She had a temper from that only Satan would be jealous of, but I am sure she had her happy moments. I just don’t recall them. We didn’t see those days very often. My dad was a clean shaven, Hispanic man who had worked hard all of his life. He didn’t know the meaning of laziness. He was kind yet firm when he needed to be and kept us kids in line. He is the baby of eighteen kids. His parents passed away when he was young, so all of his brothers and sisters raised him together. The brothers had their own band called Plain Country. They would play at weddings and family reunions and even recorded their first tape in a recording studio. It was the only tape made and my dad still has that tape to this day. He is now the last brother left as well as one sister so you can just imagine all of the funerals that we have had to go to over the years.

You never know what happens behind closed doors. We put on a different face when out in public or with our friends. I didn’t have many friends as a kid. Still only have but a handful to this day, but they are increasing day to day. There were many times when I was younger and living with my mother that she would find new ways for punishment. One of those punishments, in particular, was making me stand in the corner on my tip toes for hours on end while she slept there on the couch. There was a tiny little black spot in the corner of the living room where I had to keep my nose while standing there which required being on my tiptoes. My legs and toes would hurt so bad and be so weak from the strain. Do you know how hard it is to stand on your tiptoes for hours? It’s almost impossible. I soon learned quickly to be stronger than I ever thought I could be as she started putting tacks in the space below my heals, so if I got off of my tiptoes or let the slightest release then I would land on the tacks. It was so painful. I will never forget those days. That was one punishment that soon became a ritual for me. I hated that corner with a passion!

When I was ten years old, I was hit by a truck. A teenager was driving and speeding down the main street. I was walking to school one day with my brother and sister and I started crossing the street and looked up. The sun blinded me for a minute, and that was when it happened. There was a little grocery store across the street, and some of the employees saw the whole thing. They said I flew about fifteen feet into the air and over the truck and landed right back where I started from. I only remember lying face down and someone saying, Don’t move, the ambulance was coming. My sister