OBLIVION: Chronicles of the Deep South-Book 1

By Caroline Wellington

Caroline' Wellington's story is one of protection and survival through unpredictable circumstances. As daughter, caretaker of the elderly, and single mom, Caroline tells her story of what happens when she returns home to The South after her mother and brother have strokes. It is a long walk, with her 5-year old son, through tough times with her

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caroline Wellington
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9789694492896

Book preview

Book I – Oblivion

Caroline’s Chronicles of the Deep South

2012-2023

Caroline Wellington

Copyright © 2024 Caroline Wellington

All Rights Reserved.

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

ISBN: 978-969-44-9289-6

About the Author

Caroline started writing when she was a young child. She read short books at age 3, and she started writing poems when she was 4. She was introverted, pensive, and rarely talked. Instead of talking, she preferred to listen to and observe others, like ballerinas and cellists, perform on stage. Although she stayed physically active by bellyflop diving in local pools, East Asian and West African dance classes, and neighborhood street ball, reading books by Dostoevsky, Frank, or McCourt was even more fulfilling than playing sports or musical instruments. Caroline liked reading anything written by people who took great risks. Caroline’s Chronicles is the first book she offers to

the public.

In addition to performing arts and reading books, Caroline enjoys traveling. She aspires to stay in Brazil, Colombia and Ireland for extended periods. For now, she enjoys living in a city full of artists in the Northeast USA.

She is currently writing her next book for release in 2025.

Overview

This book is inspired by a true story. The main character, Caroline Wellington, is a 41-year-old single mom in 2012. She has one 5-year-old son, Chance. This book is intentionally short, so it can be read, even by people who don’t like to read books, in 6 hours. As you read the story, what would you have done if you were Caroline? Who would you have trusted? How would you have felt? The author would like readers to get to the end, talk about it with others who are reading it, and then provide feedback via the QR code provided on the last page.

Many activities in this book takes place in The Deep South, usually thought of as Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, and sometimes Florida and Texas. Most activity occurs between 2012 and 2023. Names of characters have been anonymized. Exact locations and dates have been changed. Thank you in advance for your support.

This map of the United States highlights states in The South.

The Deep South is represented by the states highlighted in red.

List of Characters

Caroline Wellington Main character b.1970

Delilah Sue Williams-Wellington Caroline’s Mom b.1938

Christian Angelo Wellington Caroline’s Dad b.1938

Izalea (Iza) Wellington Christian’s Mom b.1906

Christopher Wellington Caroline’s brother b.1963

Carter Wellington Caroline’s brother b.1967

Betty Sue Williams-Washington Delilah’s cousin b.1926

Catherine Wellington Carter’s wife b.1967

Chancellor Wellington Caroline’s son b.2006

Acknowledgments

My inspiration for writing this novel comes from three sources:

My Late Mother, Delilah Sue Williams-Wellington, who passed away in Louisiana in 2017

My mother, Delilah Sue, lay in a nursing home bed between 2013 and 2017. She rarely spoke, and when she did, it was a whisper. The nurses told me she, indeed, could talk, but she refused to speak when I was in her presence. The nurses felt she was scared something would happen if she said anything to me.

Mom suffered from numerous mini-strokes. Doctors suspected her stress level remained high for years. She was petite and looked even smaller than her 5’ height in that hospital twin bed. Nurses and doctors left her lying down and never let her sit up for fear it might lead to another stroke. She moved her legs and arms in the bed as much as she could. She tried to smile when I would visit. It was always a sad occasion to see her there.

Born in 1938, she worked as a cotton picker in rural Louisiana from the time she was 6 to 16 years old. She grew up in a rural area 3 hours from New Orleans. She referred to herself as black, and she looked like a Samoan with long, wavy, black hair. As a kid, her hair was down to her waist. Like the other black kids in the area, she worked 8 months each year and was allowed to go to school the other 4 months of the year. In addition to regular, racially-segregated schooling, a local, elderly Jewish lady helped Mom learn as much as possible at her house at night during those 4 months she did not work. Mom saved her earnings from picking and paid her own way through college with her savings. She worked through college, married after graduating, taught chemistry in a school, and bought her first house with cash. She, like Dad, was the first in her family to go to college. She and Dad saved, invested money, and worked hard for 40 years after getting married. They co-raised five kids of others for a few years, then raised three kids of their own. Mom had hundreds of plants indoors and sang along to Johnny Mathis while shining their leaves. Mom and Dad maintained their lovely houses and perfectly trimmed their yards.

By 2013, my parents had changed. Both had survived serious illnesses. Mom was wasting away in a nursing home. It wasn’t clear who put her there. I assumed the conservator and Dad had done that. Then, Dad left Louisiana without warning the same year. Mom was so used to Dad being there for her, but when she didn’t hear from him by 2015, she was convinced he was dead. I didn’t think much of it when, in December 2016, she told me, Find your Dad. He has your money. You have a sister. I never heard of a sister before; I grew up with two older brothers. I had tried to find Dad in 2013 & 2014. After searching high and low, I gave up. I couldn’t figure out where he had gone. Even I, with my optimistic nature, wondered if he was dead. When Mom barely got out the words directing me to find Dad, I thought she had end-of-life confusion. She died in March 2017. Now, in 2023, I think about her and am grateful for the curious seed she planted in my head.

My former boss’ boss at a large corporation headquartered in New York City

Torgeir, my former boss’ boss, seemed to be a serious introvert. He was young, lean, tall, bright, and articulate, yet he was not known for small talk or even saying hello to someone when they walked by him. Coworkers described Torgeir as intense. I thought he had a lot on his mind. To me, he seemed to be a good-hearted person. I liked his succinct use of words others would call blunt. When he came into my office in July 2019, he set a series of events in motion that resulted in this book.

I was sitting at my desk with my door closed when Torgeir opened it and walked in the second week of July. He didn’t knock, which I guess was customary in his culture. Torgeir looked down to ask me how I was doing. He was nearly a foot taller than me. He remarked that I looked ill, told me I looked pretty bad, and said he hoped I didn’t have cancer. I think this was his way of offering comfort while I was in extreme pain with non-stop chills. I had intermittent blurred vision and dizziness. I found it hard to breathe periodically. I had trouble digesting food. My body temperature rarely reached 97 degrees. Once at work, I walked into a wall because my blood pressure was so low. My throat and lungs felt raw. I always felt like a cough was coming on. Doctors had told me in 2018 that I probably wouldn’t live much longer. So when Torgeir chose his words to speak to me that day, I laughed in opposition. I didn’t believe the doctors when they told me I was hopelessly ill. I didn’t believe I had cancer. I thought I was in a long and trying phase with my health. Torgeir made me realize I better do something to stop looking like walking death. I didn’t want to be an eyesore to anyone at work.

After Torgeir left my office, the next doctor I went to see recommended that I do a DNA test. My results arrived in 2020, setting in motion the idea for this book.

And lastly, I thank God, who wants me to have clarity and peace, not confusion and anxiety.

Table Of Contents

About the Author

Overview

List of Characters

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER 1- The Visit June 2012

CHAPTER 2- Hmmm. August to October 2012

CHAPTER 3- What Did You Say? November and December 2012

CHAPTER 4- Grief January 2013

CHAPTER 5- What’s Going On? February to May 2013

CHAPTER 6- What Am I Missing? Summer 2013

CHAPTER 7 - Respite Fall 2013

CHAPTER 8- Outsider 2014

CHAPTER 9- Misunderstanding 2015-2017

CHAPTER 10- A Little Peace 2017-2019

CHAPTER 11- Discovery 2020

CHAPTER 12- The Search 2021 - 2023

CHAPTER 13- The Book October- November 2023

Reflection #1 Missing-ness

Reflection #2 Follow the Money

Reflection #3 Follow the Illnesses

Reflection #4 Drugs?

Reflection #5 Fingers & Toes

Reflection #6- Strange Encounters

CHAPTER 1- The Visit June 2012

Our plane landed at 10 am in New Orleans on the first Saturday in June 2012. My 5-year-old son and I left Boston to visit my parents. Really, it was a wellness visit, as both my parents and one brother had been sick for several years. My parents had tried to get me to retire and live with them back in 2003 when my Mom became paralyzed from the neck down. But I had worked since I was ten years old and wanted to continue earning income. So I kept working full-time until this necessary visit. The house was big enough for the five of us- Mom, Dad, my brother, me, and my son. My parents had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living room ready for us. I intended to stay until one of them got well enough to help with the other two. Then I would return to Boston, or New York, or any big city in the northeast to find a new job. I liked big cities where I could walk everywhere and live without a car.

We got in a cab to get us from the New Orleans airport to their house, a little more than an hour away in a town called Lake of St. Lawrence. My parents’ house was actually closer to Baton Rouge than New Orleans. I had never heard of Lake of St. Lawrence before my parents moved there in 2004. Coming from Boston, it felt unusually hot to us in Louisiana that week. Temperatures were in the 80s, with high humidity every day for the first two weeks after we arrived. My parents’ house was white brick all around- 1777 Serviceberry Lane. Surrounding the house were hundreds of white and yellow grandifloras. Dad grew the tallest and prettiest roses in the neighborhood. He had roses growing 10 feet tall up wooden lattices he built on the side of the house. He had stone-fenced circular beds of roses in the middle of the side and backyards. The roses complemented the 3-foot-tall fountains spread through the yard. Their quiet neighborhood was only nine years old and filled with tall oak trees and beautiful saltwater pools. Mom and Dad retired, had the house built, and moved there in 2004, soonafter Mom regained mobility after unexpected paralysis. Pink-and-green sorority sisters of Mom’s lived three streets over, along with many physicians and business owners. A picture of their house had inadvertently been placed in the Sunday newspaper as part of an article on the most popular lady of the night in Louisiana that year. The lady lived two doors down from my parents, and the photographer apologized later for including my parents’ house in the photo. Other than the unwanted attention circling around the well-known socialite lady neighbor, there seemed to be nothing going on in the neighborhood. At night, all we could hear outside was the sound of katydids and crickets.

We arrived at their house, and upon entry, I noticed something didn’t feel right. Walking into an environment with three seriously ill people can be a challenge; I had to stay upbeat to balance out their somberness. All three of them were glad to see us. When I hugged my brother Christopher, who was seated at the kitchen table, his eyes lit up. He was eight years older than me. He said he hadn’t had such a nice hug in years. From the looks of him, he had not been out of the house in over a year after his hospitalizations. He was 5’9’ and all lean muscle from his eating regimen. My parents hugged us, too. But there was a deep look of concern on both of their faces. I chalked their facial expressions up to being sick for so long. They all looked worn out. I could tell that getting any one of them back to health was going to take a good while.

Soon after my son Chance and I arrived, the next-door neighbors walked over to greet us. They were a friendly married couple; she was 75, and he was 85 years old. They checked on my parents every day and sometimes brought food to us. They also had keys to my parents’ house. My 75-year-old Dad, Christian Angelo, would go out with the neighbors to sports games and restaurants when he felt well enough. The husband, Ernest, was in the construction business. Ernest’s company built several buildings in the town, including his own church, a big red brick building right outside the neighborhood. He taught Sunday school, and his wife sang in the church choir. The kids in the neighborhood called the husband Papa Earnest. Sometimes, the neighbors’ daughters would come over to hang out with Dad on holidays. The daughters were in their 50s. All of them grew up in that area. I was glad all four of them were considerate and caring.

My parents’ house was difficult for Christopher to navigate. He would get lost inside the house after his brain surgeries in 2008. He would get confused trying to find his bedroom because there were two staircases to go upstairs. Sometimes, he would find his bedroom and get to the bathroom just fine. Then, because there were two doors to every bathroom, he would get confused leaving the bathroom and be lost again. My parents would laugh with him in his confusion. My son, Chance, and I got used to making sure we knew where he was in the house in case he needed help finding his way somewhere. He used to teach science at a college in Rhode Island, where he rode his bike daily and volunteered to oversee sports camps for teens before his damaging brain tumor was detected. He loved the feeling of coastal air blowing in his face during early winter mornings. What a change to see Christopher sleeping all day and staying up all night reading articles at our parents’ house. Christopher had headaches periodically, and he refused to take anything stronger than Tylenol. He didn’t like to take any pills. He remained lean and muscular from childhood into adulthood, even though he had to stop working out. Exercise made his headaches worse even after most of the tumor was removed. He did not return to work after his first brain surgery. After seventeen months of surgeries and hospitalizations, my parents moved Christopher into their house permanently in 2009.

My Mom, Delilah Sue, could walk by herself, but she would faint unexpectedly, and I would try to catch her. She used to work out two hours a day, play sports, volunteer in a nearby Irish community house, cook fresh meals from the backyard garden’s vegetables and fruits, and go to sorority functions regularly. But she had to stop all of those activities in 2003 when she became paralyzed from the neck down after recovering from a cold. She was in intensive care while paralyzed for four months. Then, she was moved to various rehabilitation facilities after she started to move her right big toe. She fully regained use of all her limbs eight months later. She could walk and talk again. She had no memory of being paralyzed at all. Doctors viewed that as a blessing.

We do not know when Mom started to have mini-strokes. She would forget that she had strokes and then try to do things she used to do. She would be sleepy during the day yet coherent, especially in the area of finances. She always thought about finances. Is Caroline’s fund there for her and her baby? How are our stock accounts doing? Do we owe any medical bills? She could