Momma, Your Baby Made It: Because Miracles Happen In Heaven, Too

By Gwendolyn Y Gulley

'MOMMA, YOUR BABY MADE IT! Because Miracles Happen in Heaven Too' is the biographical memoir of Gwendolyn Y Gulley, set in the 1950s, in the Deep South, in a unique city called Pensacola, Florida. This story is about the fight to live, of no ordinary woman, Ms. Gwendolyn Y. Gulley (known as Gwen to family and friends).

In a world ravaged by the cruelty of hatred, we learn that Gwen Gulley was born into a family that was full of love. The story begins by introducing the reader to Ms. Gulley's amazing family, and through her eyes, we are welcomed in and allowed to get to know each family member personally.

Gwen was four years old when she first experienced the cruelty of GRIEF and death. It is at this point that we are fast-tracked into experiencing the impact that the trauma of death and grief has on young impressionable lives. Gwen shares details of how, in addition to Childhood Grief and Depression, she and her siblings also experienced Child Neglect and Abuse. Life was hard, but the Gulley children had a strong bond of love for one another, and we get to see how it held them together despite the trials they suffered. As Gwen grows older and begins making her own life decisions, we learn that what was unhealed and allowed to fester will soon ooze out, resurfacing through her choices made as an adult.

Continuing with her memoir, Gwen next allows us to peer into her life, and see the consequences of some of her choices. Gwen exposes that when a root is left buried and not uprooted it begins to produce more unwanted fruit. Gwen shares her experiences with Abandonment and Trust Issues which led to her having to now deal with Adult Grief, the trials of single parenting, and even divorce. Along with the difficult times, there were also some amazing times that Gwen shares with the reader, such as the birth of her two sons, the jobs she held and enjoyed, and the memories made with some of her siblings. While navigating adult life and Adult Grief, Gwen reveals that she was slammed with yet another type of grief that rocked her to her core - Sibling Grief.

Sibling grief hits differently because it is the breaking of a long-standing and firm bond. With each jab from the death of each sibling, the walls that were erected to protect Gwen's heart from her Childhood Grief were beginning to crack, leaving her vulnerable for the next attack that she would have never expected to come. Having faced Childhood Grief, Depression, and the Trauma of Childhood Neglect and Abuse; Adult Grief, Abandonment, Anxiety, and Divorce; and now, Sibling Grief several times over, what more would Gwen have to go through? The answer was the unthinkable.

Not fully recovered from the death of yet another sibling, Gwen shares how she wasn't ready when her youngest son told her that he had contracted a fatal disease, HIV/AIDS. Reeling from the news of her son, more news comes - another sibling was incurably sick, and her oldest son ended up experiencing a symbolic death in the form of a prison sentence.

'MOMMA, YOUR BABY MADE IT! Because Miracles Happen In Heaven Too' is not just the story of Trauma, Grief, and Death. It is the story of LOVE. In this story, you will experience what the grace of God looks like as you witness the unusual strength of Gwendolyn Gulley who was kept through unimaginable grief and trauma. You will laugh and cry at the same time while being encouraged by her victories. She was kept by the grace of GOD, called and qualified for the calling, to be able to offer comfort and encouragement, through her testimony, to those bound by grief today.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning" Psalm 30:5 KJV

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Artisan's PEN
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224804078

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Originally, I wanted to title this book ‘Miracles Happen In Heaven Too (Because your baby made it!),’ but it only encapsulated a small portion of what this book is about. It is my mission to tell the world how the faithfulness of the Lord kept me from succumbing to grief, due to the death of my youngest son from full blown AIDS.

The birth of this book has inspired me to dig deep into my soul for answers that were nowhere to be found. Crying out to the Lord, and His responding to my pleas, is what has placed me on a path of healing, forgiveness, and understanding.

The morning Adrian passed away, God told me that my baby had made it to heaven because miracles happen there too. My birth began as a miracle also. Momma was 7 months pregnant when the doctors induced labor to save both our lives, due to high blood pressure. This book allowed me to reflect on how miraculous my birth and life has been. I’ve dealt with grief on so many levels from the time I was a small child to the present, because grief never leaves us. It becomes etched into our very being, shaping who we are to become.

In this book you will experience sadness, grief, laughter, forgiveness, understanding, and most of all healing. Searching your soul helps you to identify areas that need that special touch from The Most High God. He will see you through!!

AI-Generated picture of a stairway to heaven using a series of commands given to Microsoft Bing's Image Creator. The stairway is white and it curves several times as it goes off into the sunset after going under an arch that resembles a cloud itself. The images sit on top of dramatic clouds that reflect various colors of the rainbow while sitting under the darkness of the atmosphere that is full of brightly shining stars.

Chapter 1:FROM BEFORE THE WOMB

Before I formed thee in the belly

I knew thee,

And before thou camest forth out of the womb

I sanctified thee,

and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Jeremiah 1:5 (King James Version)

My life began during a time of social unrest eerily parallel to that of today’s charged climate. Someone once spoke words of infallible wisdom when they coined the phrase, ‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’ With my first breath drawn into this chaotic world, I, now, existed at the crux of racial discord and gross economic disparities, otherwise known as the rural south. In this corner of the world, my eventful journey began amongst family and dear friends in my small community. In the coming years, my path would be shaped by those of whom I loved greater than my heart could hold and the people who traumatized me the most. At times, they were both one in the same. God has given me a multitude of grace for certain, and before my bumpy road of courage and faith unfolded before me, another tumultuous road through life was destined to occur, and it all began with a love story.

My father was the epitome of charming. He swept my mother off her feet despite her betrothal to another suitor, Mr. Willie Brown. They were introduced to each other through my mom’s youngest sister, who conveniently had a friendship with my soon-to-be father. Once he laid eyes on my mother, it was a wrap! In just three short weeks, my father had charmed my mother all the way down the aisle. On March 16, 1934, my parents were married in my grandmother’s house in Castleberry, Alabama. It was, in fact, the very same day that she was expected to marry Mr. Willie Brown. I suppose poor Mr. Willie Brown didn’t have a fighting chance against my father’s undeniable magnetism. Either way, they both stood no chance against my mother’s graceful beauty and independent spirit. For my father, it was love at first sight.

I suspect my mother had her own reasons for desiring a marriage. She had a choice between two dashing men who wooed her with all the charm and style of any two competing Hollywood leading men. The reason I am here today is because my mother, Agnes Louise, chose my father, Hollis Bachman Gulley. Was her decision made out of a compelling and passionate love that stirred her heart?

I have always believed that she married my dad mostly because of a yearning to escape her own life. You see, my mother came from a very large family of twelve children altogether―six boys, and six girls. Back then, they all shared what was called an outhouse, which is basically a small building, encased around a pit, dug into the earth. It functioned as a toilet, without the plumbing. I am pretty sure momma longed for her own bedroom and private bathroom. I imagine she dreamed of this simple pleasure in life—to have her own space.

Agnes Louise Gulley (Mother of Gwendolyn Y. Gulley) Seated with legs crossed.

Figure 1 Agnes Gulley (Mother of Gwen Gulley

TODAY, WE TAKE FOR granted the luxuries of modern living. I am certain my mom saw herself charging forward, come hell or high water, towards the life that had always called to her in her dreams. Marrying my father may have been her great escape from an over-crowded home and an unfulfilled life, but it was also her first real step towards independence.

After the wedding, married life blossomed very quickly for my young parents in Castleberry. My mother became pregnant on her wedding night with the oldest of my siblings, Mary. Somewhere between her pregnancy and his unending search for sustainable work to provide for his now growing family, my father moved the family to Pensacola, Florida. His hopes of finding better work opportunities were cast in the state of perpetual sunshine. Eventually, his search became fruitful when he began working at The Diamond Dairy Farm.

My father moved the family on the farm where my brothers, Alonzo and Raymond, and my sister Barbara were born. The toll it took on my mother to bear and raise children, especially in those times, back to back when she was barely a child herself aches my heart to this day to imagine. The strength she must have summoned, the sacrifices she continually had to make at the young age of seventeen living in the time she did is phenomenal. As America was rebounding from the Great Depression, the 1930’s still proved to be the worst for struggling families and farmers. They had no idea that aside from the overt racism they had to deal with daily, a diabolical political storm was brewing on the world stage that would also impact their way of life. So amidst their new marriage and babies, the world they lived in was inevitably changing.

MOMMA’S FIRSTBORN

My oldest sister Mary was born in 1934, followed by Alonzo, my oldest brother, in 1936. Barbara was born in 1938 and Raymond was up next in 1940. They were all delivered by a local midwife on the farm. Eventually, my parents moved the family to another farm owned by Mr. Van Pelt. My mother became pregnant with my brother, Aubry, who was born in 1941. In 1942, after carrying her pregnancy for seven months, my mother suffered another loss. She delivered a still born baby girl whom they named Fannie Mae.

It was devastating to both of my parents to see the culmination of their love void of life. My father wrapped her tiny body carefully in a newspaper and placed her in a cigar box. Her remains were stored in the closet while they waited three whole days for the coroner to officially pronounce her dead. Three days my family endured the overwhelming presence of loss. I do not know of anyone, let alone any mother, who could go one day having to confront the tragedy of losing a baby carried in your womb every time you passed by the closet in your home. It scarred her emotionally, and it was beyond traumatizing for my young brothers and sisters to understand that their sibling did not make it to the world. Fannie Mae was buried next to a big oak tree that stood in the back of our house.

In the weeks shortly after burying Fannie Mae, my mother tried to recover her sense of self while weathering the storms of motherhood. One night, as she stood before the living room fireplace in her long, yellow housecoat, an unfamiliar pain overwhelmed her from behind. It attacked her skin and nerves, sending her into flight mode. She let out a blood curdling scream as fire rose from the bottom of her housecoat. She ran frantically back and forth in front of the small bed they slept on in the living room. The commotion startled our father. He leaped up from his peaceful slumber as she was running out the front door! He grabbed our mother, threw her on the floor and patted out the fire quickly with his hands. Talk about thinking quickly under pressure! That was the night daddy saved our mother’s life.

A familiar joy revisited my mother in 1944 when she became pregnant with my brother William. Time had healed her heart, and God healed her womb. The next births were that of Douglas in 1945, Charles in 1946, and Carolyn in 1947. Seeing her children born was an insurmountable happiness for my mother despite the chaos of living. When you bring children into this world, as a mother it's hard not to think about what you are bringing them into. The Great depression had come and gone. Even war had come and gone in the world. Yet for my mother, father, and black Americans, they witnessed Jim Crow and the KKK still thriving in America. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t hard to notice Nazism had taken their blueprint from Jim Crow laws and the successful oppression of our people. And yet, great change was happening amongst our people post World War II.

Poor economic conditions and racial inequality prompted millions of black Americans to leave the rural south, where we lived, in search of better. Disillusioned black veterans and activists vocalized the hypocrisy and injustice that black men can be experimented on and go to fight for a country only to return with no Civil Rights. We could brilliantly invent, write, and dominate in sports and entertainment. However, we were not fit to be treated equally. Hope was pushing its way through despite the cost and sacrifices of our black pioneers, and by any means necessary we were going to be heard, acknowledged and treated fairly. It is easy to understand that my mother and father had seeds of hope in growing my family. With every child born, with every push forcing life into this world, the hope for a better future rested in their hearts.

My mother suffered another heartbreaking miscarriage in 1948. Without any time to recover from the miscarriages and subsequent births of my older siblings, my mother willed her body into compliance with my brother George in 1949. In 1950, my mother’s body could not sustain another pregnancy so quickly, and unfortunately, she miscarried again. The courage it takes for any woman to continue after the profound loss of a child or children is never to be forgotten, it should never be diminished or discredited. She never lost hope and God continued to bless her with miracle after miracle. My sister Frances was born in 1951, my brother Terry in 1953, myself in 1954 and my baby sister Vivian in 1956.

By the time Carolyn was born, my father had built us a home with his bare hands in Pensacola, Florida. The land he purchased in Pensacola, Florida, sprawled across a field in the small rural city of Brentwood. My parents lived and raised us amongst the few families scattered throughout the area. Since a lot of black folk left during the migration north and west, there was plenty of farmland and the few of us who remained knew there was a lot of hard work ahead. It was a tightly knit black community where everyone knew my family very well.

GROWING UP IN CHURCH

Our neighborhood was the very testament of the tenacity of black people—surviving in spite of experiencing extreme poverty. All of our small houses, held together with wood, nails, and sheer grit, stood defiantly atop massive plots of land and trees. Each day, families toiled their lands for their own piece of the American Dream. Underneath the intense Pensacola heat, the community of Brentwood bore the stench of hard labor. The undeniable yearning of Black folk struggling daily to hold onto their autonomy in an unjust society, stripped away at the pieces of our self-identity. Here, it was understood that the only way to exist in this world was to tuck our souls away from our oppressors—to live in fear and an extreme hyper-awareness. It was caused by knowing that the moment we rose above, or thought above our lot in life, was the moment that could cost us our lives. The inequality was a daily trauma to become accustomed to.

Church and fellowship became such an integral part of our lives. Church was the one place where, before God and with one another, our souls were free. We didn’t have to hide behind the frail mask of obedience and acceptance. We could commune, worship and support one another in peace and without fear.

Though my parents had growing troubles within the marriage, they were extremely well-liked by everyone, and grew strong roots within the community. It did not take long before my father, Hollis, was known around town to be an excellent carpenter who worked throughout the area putting his skills to great use. Hollis was very religious and very strict. Growing up, our father made certain that we only listened to gospel and abided by the strict rules that he told us were the foundations of being a good Christian. He taught Sunday school at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, which he also helped to build from the ground up with his bare hands. Most of the neighbors attended church with us.

My mother was looked upon as a beautiful woman of fierce faith. She was deeply spiritual, with such a deep well of faith, a lot of people, including family, trusted and admired her. Extending her whole heart to her community, she built so many wonderful friendships. From her womb, fourteen resilient children were born. She would nurture all of us with unconditional love.

It was on this Florida land—surging with the soulful sounds of The Shirelles, Sam Cook, The Platters, and The Drifters on steady rotation—brimming with crops of peanuts, sugarcane, and sunshine that I was born on the eighth of May, in 1954. It’s hard to imagine what my mother and father felt as I opened my eyes to a world of contradictions and injustice. Nine days after my birth, segregation within the schools would finally be ruled unconstitutional; and yet, a year later, an innocent young fourteen year old black boy by the name of Emmitt Till, would be murdered callously. The sheer evil of it terrified and angered the heart of every black person. My mother and father had witnessed brutality from the days when they were growing up in the early 1900’s right down to the atrocities of their current time during the 1950’s Civil Rights Movement; and yet, here I was–the fulfillment of my parents' prayer and hope for a better life, a full-fledged baby boomer!

Through the years, my mother and father had developed a turbulent marriage. There was love between them for sure. There was also abuse, control, cheating and codependency. Sure momma had left daddy plenty of times, but she always came back and the cycle would continue. My father, even with all the love he professed for my mother, could not stop being a philanderer and an abuser. I am sure this took a severe toll on my mother as the years and pregnancies rolled on. My mother was a nurturer. Within her, rose a fierce resilience to hold her family together and care for her children like no one else in the world could. When my mother became pregnant with me, they were back in their bubble of love.

While carrying me in her womb, her blood pressure levels gave way to caution. At seven months pregnant with me, she suddenly developed an extremely high blood pressure diagnosis. There was a huge concern that both my mother and I would not survive the rest of the pregnancy. By the grace of God, we both made it! After many hours of intense pain, the doctor finally induced labor and I, Gwendolyn Yvonne Gulley, was born into this world prematurely, weighing only two pounds. The doctor immediately induced my mother into a medical coma for two days to bring down and stabilize her blood pressure. When she finally awoke, she immediately asked, Where’s my baby!?????

During her coma, I had been placed in an incubator, where I began fighting for my life. My oldest sister Mary explained to me later in my life that our father was the only one who came to spend time with me. I thank God that he was there. He revealed to Mary that I resembled a little, helpless, baby bird. Momma refused to visit or bond with me. She didn’t think I would survive weighing as little as I did. So, I never felt my mother's presence upon entering this world. In the fifties, the choices parents made, especially our black mothers, were sometimes harsh.

Now, reflecting back on my life with the insight of my own experiences in motherhood, I do understand the complexities of the time period. Subpar healthcare was all that was available for black mothers then. In addition, my mother suffered through a still born birth, burying a child, miscarriages and back to back pregnancies. She had no time to recover and heal from her war wounds. I’m sure my mother felt she had to protect her heart from the possibility of mourning another child. Understandably, I’m sure she felt exhausted, depressed and deep longing to take just a small break! It's not uncommon for survivors of extreme loss and trauma to cope with impending devastating circumstances by detaching and avoiding. There was no word for it then amongst mothers, but we now know the pressing weight of postpartum depression causes unpredictable outcomes.

It didn’t take very long for God to move in my mother’s heart and mind. The blessing of it all was that my mother’s coping mechanism quickly shattered. After surviving in an incubator for six weeks, the hospital notified my mother by phone to explain that I weighed a healthy five pounds. I was finally ready to come home. This news shook my mom out of her self-imposed isolation. She immediately yelled to my father, with utter joy, Hollis go get my baby!!!!

As soon as my father walked through the door with my tiny, bundled up body, momma jumped up and grabbed me. From that point on, she never let me go. Since my body was frail and newly recovering, she would only let a select few of my siblings hold me. I slept on a pillow every day for six months and was bathed only in pure olive oil. Momma believed that if she put any water on me, I would become sick. My mother and father absolutely doted on me. She more than made up for her harsh survival instincts and trauma response at my birth. As a matter of fact, out of all of my siblings, I am the only one who had a baby photo taken, at just nine months old.

Gwendolyn Gulley at the age of 9 months old

Figure 2 Gwendolyn Y Gulley at 9 months old

I am the thirteenth child born out of a total of fourteen children. I have eight brothers and five sisters. Mary is the oldest of us—followed by Alonzo, Barbara, Raymond, Aubry, William, Douglas, Charles, Carolyn, George, Frances, Terry, myself and Vivian—also known as BB.

THE BIRTH OF MY PRECIOUS SIBLINGS

Mary, the oldest of us, is the honorary storyteller in the family. She was born with a caul encased around her entire body. Her gift of sight is nothing short of extraordinary. She can also remember things from when she was just two years old! The experiences that she has had with the gift God blessed her with captivate my attention all the time! Personality-wise, Mary has always had a very serious nature. She never teased or joked around with any of us like the other siblings.

Following Mary is Alonzo, my oldest brother, who also had a serious disposition. He served in The Korean War briefly in the fifties. When he first came home, he would snap on us smaller siblings for little or no reason at all. After being home for a couple years, he finally mellowed out. It was then that I was blessed to see my brother’s wittiness and humor shine through his tough exterior.

My sister Barbara, the next to oldest sister, encompasses what it means to have a genuine and true nurturing spirit. Barbara Jean is her real name, and by the way, she would ring my neck if she knew I was using her middle name. She hates it with a passion! It was a horrible insult to Barbara if you called her Jean. Of course, I never understood her dislike for that name, until I got older. One thing I can say is that my sister protected and cared for us like a momma lion. She is a Gulley prayer warrior for the entire family whose desire was for each of us to accomplish great things. Barbara is the first to fight anyone who would try to harm us in any way.

Truth be told, Barbara is really sweet as honey, but she can be mean as a bumble bee! Her strict rules were not meant to be broken. If so, oh boy you paid the price because she kept a switch or flip-flop near her at all times! One thing she really despised, especially, was a sassy mouth. She would tell us stories of how our mother used to whip her for having such a smart mouth. She said she now understood why mom would get so angry with her, because it was a form of being disrespectful. You could not roll your eyes or smack your lips in displeasure while talking to Barbara. If you did, that switch would land perfectly on your behind! When she talked (scolded) any of us siblings, eye contact was a must and paying close attention to what she was saying had to be our priority. If we ever showed her that we were not interested in what she had to say, we had to hang on for dear life! She would pop us on the backside so quickly it felt like a lightning bolt! Then, she showed her anger by making us stand in the corner, for presumably ignoring her. That is what she always said we were doing when we showed no interest in her scolding us!

Barbara, though a stickler for respect, taught me how to make up my bed, mop a floor and wash clothes, when I was just five years old. We did not have a washer or dryer so we put our fingers to work washing clothes by hand. I would stand outside watching her as she swirled and wrung the clothes out like a pro. She handed me a pair of my underwear to wash, and I thought to myself, this is a lot of work for a little girl! I just wanted to be carefree and spend my days running around the land. We hung the clothes on a wire fence to dry in the hot sun. Tide and Clorox bleach is all she ever used. Boy, let me tell you, those white clothes were white! Not only did they smell like fresh outdoors, every garment was spotless! She took pride in everything she did and expected me to do the same thing.

Raymond, the comedian in the family, didn’t get paid for all his funny anecdotes, but at least he brought the fun into any situation. It didn’t matter what was going on, wherever he was, you can be sure there was a laugh waiting to be had! His heart was gigantic. Through all his humor and jovialness, his genuine love for us showed through his constant care and support when we needed it. And boy, he could cook and bake the greatest biscuits! Raymond was also there to keep us younger ones in line. He made sure we were all respectful to daddy and all our elders.

All of my brothers were tough to the bone. Aubry was no exception. He was our protector. Securing the house from any intruders was his top priority. I remember once when a burglar broke into the house, Aubry beat him up so badly. In his mind he wanted to eliminate the possibility of him ever trying to return. He was our family’s stoic hero, quiet and unwavering. Whenever Aubry was around, I felt safe.

William embodied what it meant to be the coolest. Nothing could upset those beautiful gray eyes, except my hard headed brothers! William had absolutely no tolerance for disrespectful or bullying behavior. He always championed what was good and right, even if it meant going up against our father. He is the model for how any man should be.

Douglas was also part of the ‘Team Big Brother’ protector crew. He was always the loner in the family, but there when called upon. I believe the only people he loved being around was his family. Douglas was blessed with his exceptional connection to music. He was the greatest DJ and loved playing Old School jams. He also seemed to love teasing me! He would laugh uncontrollably watching me get riled up.

Charles was the head captain of the big brother jokester crew! I was always in a state of sheer excitement to see him when he came home from work. I used to wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist when I saw him. I simply would not let him walk away! Sometimes, I would jump on his back hanging on like a spider, wrapping my arms around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe. The only way he could save himself was to hoist me up and place me in between two branches that formed a fork of an old oak tree. It meant a great deal that he would take time to play with all of us. He saw to it that each of us had whatever we needed. Charles was also a Casanova just like my daddy. I tried to keep him away from my friends as we got older, however, that never worked. That was my big brother!

My sister Carolyn is a fierce warrior. She has always detested drama. Family squabbles were squashed around her. She aims to bring peace to the valley in a heartbeat! Her enjoyment was to make sure every baby in the house is fed, clean, dressed and loved. Her dependability and caring heart brought the family a serene energy that was needed. Especially when we had jokesters for brothers!

George, the exact opposite, would go upside your head and didn’t care who you were! He was the scrapper in our family. Growing up, his quick temper and propensity to pick fights with my younger siblings was legendary! However, once he became an adult, he was a lot of fun, no more instigating brawls. He became known for being the silly one. He never lost his edge though. Just below the surface of his antics was a tiger ready at all times, and truth be told, we all loved him for that.

Frances, cooked and cleaned like no one else could! Her beauty filled every room she walked in. Her nature was defined by orderliness and neatness. Her motto was, everything has its place and there is a place for everything. Frances was the spitting image of my mother, it was undeniable. Despite her youthful beauty Frances also developed a spirited temperament. She could be mean as a wet cat!

Then there is my brother Terry, the poetic soul artist and handsome smooth operator. Terry is the youngest of my brothers which also meant that he was so spoiled by my father. I remember the two of us argued plenty as teenagers, however now, as adults, we are very close. His personality is very quiet and he’s a bit of a loner, but I believe it is because his heart is so deep. He internalizes a lot of his experiences and the world. What he expresses through his words are pictures from his heart. He is a true poet.

As for us younger kids, next up there is myself. I was very serious most of the time. My nerves were exasperated by my brothers’ targeted teasing of me constantly. As siblings often do, I demanded they just leave me alone and keep me out of all the joking and pranks. My declarations never did any good. Their way of showing love was to work my last nerves! I admit, I was such a crybaby and extremely sensitive. It seemed like everything hurt my feelings! My uncomfortable oversensitivity was one of the reasons my brother George teased me. He loved to make me cry. However, as much as he enjoyed it, my older brothers would get on his case.

I was skinny with shoulder-length, thin, black hair. My family and many friends have always told me that I look just like my dad’s oldest sister (I’ll reveal more about her later). I was just glad to have straight teeth growing up! Living in poverty meant eating a very poor diet, which caused damage to some of our teeth, especially my brother George. It was common amongst the black families living in the area.

Growing up, I remember feeling as if it was my calling to make everyone around me happy. I have so many joyous memories. I appreciate those moments to this day. Mostly, I remember an intense desire to be obedient and help out my siblings as much as I could. Our household was strict. The rules my mother and father gave us, this absolute Christian moral code of behaviors and don'ts, permeated my thinking daily. I always wanted to do what was considered right. I wanted to be a good girl.

My baby sister Vivian, whom we all called BB, held onto joy in her daily life as if she was carved out of it. Her laughter, and the sound of her voice, can best be described as infectious. Later in life, she loved to have great family gatherings, inviting everyone. When she was a baby, our father spoiled her rotten, but thank God she was never bratty. My loving little sister epitomized kindness.

She was born with a pure, beautiful, and gentle spirit. BB never liked contention, ill will towards others, or negativity. It was like she was born in the biggest bubble of positivity that repelled any evil. Nothing got her down. She lived in a world she created. In her world, there was nothing but God’s love. BB felt it should be shown at all times toward one another.

Out of all my siblings, I developed the closest relationships with Carolyn and Charles. We all loved each other and the older we became, the closer we bonded. We are a strong, protective, glamorous, charming and nurturing bunch of warriors. We went through so many ups and downs with one another but we were always, even to this day, a family.

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Our home was just a shack built on railroad ties. There, on my street—105 Mockingbird Lane, it rained frequently. Raindrops would drip on our tin roof all night long, like the sweetest of musical melodies. As a family, we crammed underneath the sturdy walls that held two makeshift bedrooms with multiple beds for us all to lay our heads upon. Our home had a living room and a kitchen that extended from one side of the house to the other. Several windows filtered the sun and brightened up the room. Each window held six small glass panes at the top and bottom. Most of the time, those glass panes were missing or broken.

The view from our less than perfect windows was of a long, pothole-filled dirt road leading up to our home. The holes were so big they resembled miniature lakes when it rained. After an endless stretch of rainy days, we would take the inner tubes from old tires, blow them up, and use them as floaters in those potholes. Now, I was very young at the time, but I do remember three of us could comfortably sit on one of them. Our beautiful little imaginations led us to believe we were aboard the finest cruise ship floating along a clear, blue sea.

My fondest memories are frozen in the timelessness of my siblings and me spending time together at home, especially in our huge yard. The smell of the fallen leaves burning during the fall season is like breathing in home. My brothers would rake huge piles of leaves to burn. If they did not finish the leaves by the time my father came home, he would pull the covers off and make them complete the task! At night, you could see the red, glowing embers of the leaves after they had been set ablaze like barn fires. I truly miss those days!

In our family, we took care of each other at all times. A fierce protectiveness dwelled in our hearts for one another. In our family bubble, no one could hurt us! We were insulated with love. There was joy amongst us. We would sit around telling jokes and all kinds of weird and funny stories. We sincerely enjoyed spending time with one another. As children, we never fully understood what a blessing it was. Our hearts poured out love as we enjoyed our innocence. One thing is for certain, we always made sure that everyone felt loved and on the brink of joyous laughter.

OUR NEAREST NEIGHBORS

In our little corner of the world, my mother and father raised this family with an abundance of love and a sense of community. There was an unspoken understanding that the only way for everyone to survive was to look after one another. The Crenshaw’s and the Frye’s were our closest neighbors. Mrs. Crenshaw was one of my mom’s best friends, so they spent a lot of time bonding together. They even experienced simultaneous pregnancies with some of their children. Mr. Tom Poe lived next door to us and made great friends with my dad. Since Tom owned several acres of land, he allowed my dad to plant a crop of peanuts, and with the help of my brothers, sugarcane became our family’s source of income as well. Through sheer determination and hard labor, my dad and my brothers operated our family’s sugar cane mill that had been built and left on our property years earlier.

Sugar cane syrup was popular during the 1950’s and Florida was the state that produced it plentifully. My father made sure my brothers knew the value of hard work as they harvested the sugar cane. He showed them how to extract, press, and heat the juice from the sugar cane crop. The juice would boil for a while, and as it cooled, it turned into syrup. He would clean out the residue from the stalks and pour the syrup into one gallon tin cans and later sold it to the surrounding neighborhoods. Although our family’s sugar cane mill production only lasted for about three seasons, the ghostly remnants of my father's ambition stood, looming over the earth for many years after it closed.

Quite often, all the neighborhood kids got together to play hide and go seek, red light/green light and slingshot. Playing hide and go seek gave us the opportunity to explore all of nature’s beauty and treasures. Surrounding our homes were so many towering oak trees we could easily hide behind. Whoever was the seeker had their work cut out for them! My dad had an old, gray, raggedy shed that was made out of oak wood planks, with lots of rooms. It was the perfect hiding spot! Since our house sat on railroad beams, we courageously hid under them with plenty of space to conceal our presence.

There was never any fighting or arguing, amongst us kids, just a lot of laughter, good nature and fun to keep us all busy. When we played slingshot, we used acorns instead of rocks. We used a forked stick with rubber bands fastened to the two prongs and a small sling in the middle of the rubber bands to hold the acorns. The sheer speed of that acorn flying towards any object was a sight to see! I never hit anything other than a tree, but my brothers and neighbors were able to bring down some birds using acorns instead of rocks.

Our family also owned plenty of chickens. Daddy built a chicken coop for them to lay their eggs. It seemed as if there were a hundred of