Masterpiece in Progress

by Smith, TL

  Masterpiece in

  Progress ©2021

  By TLSmith

  Chapter

  Something’s Not Right

  Dad’s Sick

  Orange County Here We Come

  The Aftermath

  Mom’s Escape

  Grandpa’s

  Van Buren

  Danny Ray

  Back to Cali

  Jerry – Early Days

  I Didn’t Die

  Mom’s Diagnosis

  Trying to Survive

  Selective Amnesia

  The Same Only Different

  There’s Always a Reason

  Journal Excerpts

  Kenny

  Surgeries

  Getting Along

  Cancer Rears Its Ugly Head Again

  Kenny’s Gone

  E’s Crazy

  Homeless Together

  Drinking

  Restoration

  Full Circle

  The Struggle is Real

  Prologue

  Sharing the Ugly Truth

  Preface

  I'm not going to lie; this is scary for me. I mean, who REALLY waits until they are 55 to write a book about their life? And what is so special about MY life that would make someone want to read it?

  To be crystal clear, I don’t know that answer, but I DO know that God has laid it on my heart to do, so here I am, writing a book. Learning to be okay with being vulnerable. But this is MY journey, MY story to tell, the way I experienced it, even if I didn’t share it with anyone when it was happening.

  For years I’ve felt like my words, my story, my journey, was supposed to be “about” something. Helping someone else? Healing me? Sharing what I’ve learned?

  So, I will preface my story with this; my journey is about hurting, healing, and restoration. And that, is a long, painful, and often arduous process.

  I’ve had to stop many times along the way and just allow myself time to fully comprehend and FEEL many of the things I share in this book. Sometimes the hurt so deep that it takes days to fully be ready to tackle any more. But more profound than anything to me is through this writing seeing God’s hand woven throughout the tapestry of my life. Even when I didn’t think He was there.

  My hope is simple. After reading this, I hope you find yourself more accepting, more understanding, more tolerant of others. I hope it blesses you. I hope it shows you that you can not only survive the obstacles in life, you can triumph over them. Finally, I hope you find more love in your heart for others, even the ones that are hard to love. It may sound cliché, but we REALLY don’t know what others are going through, even if we think we do. As you will see through this book, appearances can be deceiving.

  TS

  Chapter 1

  Something’s Not Right

  I realized (later in life) that I’ve lived with anxiety ALL MY LIFE. To me, it feels like the waves of the ocean, building, building, reaching their majestic, beautiful, peak, then crashing on the shoreline, only to be sucked back into the ocean to start their process over again. Trying to stop the tide feels impossible, so along the way, I tread water, until the sea calms and I can reach the safety of the sand.

  When I look back, I have no conscious memory of ever feeling "safe". The balls were always in the air. We lived in Los Angeles County, California, and there’s only one house there I REALLY remember. It was on Broadway street. It had a long driveway and a painted front porch. My sisters ask me about another house on Rita street, but I really only remember a staircase from that house.

  I was really young, so my memories of the details of the interior of the house on Broadway are vague, but I remember being outside a lot with the neighbor kids. David lived next door and Diane visited her grandmother who lived down the street often.

  David’s mom (I think her name was Martha) played solitaire all the time (with a cigarette hanging from her mouth), and she taught me how to play. She also had a handheld slot machine (think of old school video poker, WITHOUT the video part) that she let me play with.

  We rode bikes, played in kiddie pools and the back of my dad’s truck. One time, I fell off the back of David’s bike and busted my chin open requiring stitches. I don’t remember getting the stitches, but I sure remember going to get them out. I screamed bloody murder the whole time.

  We had to be about 5 or 6? David and I would walk to the liquor store (in California the liquor store was like a convenience store in the 60’s) to buy candy or gum, or those HUGE pickles in the jar that I loved. (I still love them).

  On one of our trips, a man in a car pulled over toward us and he was exposed. Playing with his genitals and grinning at us as if it were funny. We ran all the way home and told our parents. And we never went to the liquor store alone again.

  But David was weird after that (I thought). He would try to expose himself to me and it made me feel uncomfortable. When I told my mom about it, she told me I could only play with David under supervision.

  I was always happy when Diane would come to visit her grandma, having another little girl to play with was more fun than David. And Diane had the cutest ever pixie haircut that I envied. I was always a chunky kid and Diane was teeny tiny, and in my eyes, perfect. I wanted to be like her. So, I finally convinced my mom to let me get my haircut like hers.

  But here’s where things get “muddy” for me. SOMETHING happened at Diane’s grandma’s house. And all I can REALLY remember is her teaching me something (someone else was there too, but I don’t remember who) she called, “doctoring your twat.” It wasn’t unpleasant, but I didn’t understand why you’d do this either. But unlike the man who was exposed, or David, who was exposing himself to me, I didn’t tell my mom or dad about this. Did someone tell me not to? I don’t remember. But I’d told them the other things, so why wouldn’t I tell them this?

  And just like that, Diane didn’t come to see her grandma anymore. No one ever told me why and I never asked, and I can’t remember who was there, watching us do this, but I remember they were encouraging us. As an adult, not being able to remember this haunts me, in many ways. I’ve read that it’s your brain’s way of protecting you from the trauma.

  After that, I recall being super curious about male anatomy. I recall hiding in a bathroom clothes hamper to watch my dad undress for his shower wanting to see what he looked like naked. He found me and I was escorted out, but why? Why would a child (aged 5 or 6?) be THAT curious?

  What REALLY happened that my brain won’t let me remember?

  I was really happy when David moved out. Not because I wanted him to leave, because my sister Dottie, her husband, Paul, and the kids were moving in!

  My sisters and brother have a different father than I do, and they were older than me. My sister’s oldest child is 3 years younger than me, so playing with her kids was like playing with my siblings. And they were moving in next door!

  Chapter 2

  Dad’s sick

  Remember I said, "the balls were always in the air"? Well, even though my sister lived right next door, things were not great at home.

  I don’t remember how they told me, but I think I must’ve asked why my dad didn’t work and my mom told me, “Dad’s sick Terri.” “He can’t work.”

  My dad had congestive heart failure and COPD. His CHF was a result of three broken vertebrae in his back when he was just three years old. It resulted in him being "barrel chested" which allowed fluid to build up around his heart. The COPD a result of years of heavy smoking non-filtered cigarettes. Both my parents smoked.

  Now, as a kid, I didn't know what any of that meant, but I knew he couldn't walk to the mailbox without being out of breath, he couldn't tie his shoes without a struggle, but he gave the best hugs ever. And he
sang fun songs to me on the way to school.

  All I really remember is knowing (like from the time I can remember, so REALLY young) that someday he was going to die. So, every day I came home from school and he was there and not in the hospital was a sigh of relief for me.

  I'm sure I hovered and smothered him because I needed him to know how much I loved him if he was going to die soon. And that was what I thought. My dad could die any day. Would it be today? Tomorrow? Next week?

  My mom was the breadwinner as he couldn't work, so often she would work double shifts to keep our finances somewhat okay. That left me feeling as if it were MY job to take care of daddy, make sure he's breathing okay, check on him if he naps that he's breathing. I don’t recall Mom ever telling me to do this, but I FELT that way.

  We took a trip to Oklahoma when I was about 7. I remember they checked me out of school for two whole weeks. I met my dad’s relatives on that trip and by then, my dad was on oxygen and had a tank with him on the trip.

  I fell in love with being a country girl. My dad’s aunt Chris was a seamstress in town. People brought stuff for her to make her from all over the area. I felt like I was really living “Little House on the Prairie” and she made me a couple dresses with matching bonnets, just like Laura and Mary wore.

  There were so many firsts on that trip. I saw my first pond, cow, chicken coop. My great uncle Elton would collect the eggs every morning. I tagged along. Chicken coops REALLY stink, but I was so enamored of this country way, even as a young child.

  My dad took me fishing at the big pond (there were 3 ponds on the property) and we were just using cane poles. The big pond had a pier, or was it a deck? I’m not sure what you’d call it, but I had sat down on it to fish off the end. There was a strip of wood along the bottom, so I tucked my feet behind it. When I went to cast my line, I fell in the pond. My dad fished me out by the hair on my head. I vividly recall being so mad! I stamped, soaking wet, all the way back to the house. (And we had to trudge through a HUGE field to get back). Dad laughed the whole time. That made me even more mad. But as I sit and write this now, I’m laughing too. It had to be quite a sight.

  I saw my first thunderstorm, with lighting so bright, it lit up the whole countryside. Had my first homemade biscuits and gravy, slept with an open window, listening to the nighttime sounds of the crickets and cicadas play their melodies as I drifted off to sleep. Saw my first lightning bug.

  I was sad when we headed back home to California.

  I realize now that the trip was for my dad. He might not get another chance to say goodbye or see his family again. And he needed that. And I think he wanted to give me that experience too.

  Chapter 3

  Orange County Here We Come

  I loved Baptist Day School and I loved our church, so when mom said we were moving I was afraid I wouldn’t like it there. Where was Orange County anyway?

  My aunt Wina (mom’s sister) and Uncle Russ and their boys (who were close to my age) lived next door so that kept me excited about moving. AND the house was MUCH bigger than our house on Broadway.

  Dottie and Paul had moved and weren’t our next-door neighbors on Broadway, so I guess this would be okay. I liked having people around. And the boys were close in age to me plus could all go to church together. Which we did, three times a week.

  Remember, I told you I was always a chunky kid? Chunky is being kind, I was overweight. And even when we lived on Broadway, I remember being on a diet. Going to Weight Watcher’s meetings and weighing in. I had to eat fish at least once a week. It was gross. I’d much prefer the steak from Sizzler. I remember my mom telling me I couldn’t have a two-piece bathing suit (for a swim party I was going to) because I was too big for one. I needed a one piece. She also said it was because I burned so easily. (I have burned through a t-shirt at the beach).

  My weight didn’t change before our move. Kids are cruel and I took a lot of bullying because of my weight. But I always acted like it didn’t bother me, but it did. A LOT. Walking home from elementary school, I had to pass the junior high kids. They would call me names (fatty, lard-ass, hippo, elephant, whale) and then do some weird thing with their fingers and thump me on the head. I would keep walking and never let them see me cry. But I would go home and cry rivers.

  Church was my safe place. I was active in the youth group and I felt grounded there. I saw my daddy get baptized at that church and I already knew my momma had been baptized as a young girl. She didn’t go to church much, she said it hurt her back and shoulder. But there was never any doubt in my mind that she loved God. She was very spiritual and taught me a lot about God’s love. She also made sure I experienced other types of churches. She took me to a Jewish temple, Buddhist temple, catholic service because she wanted me to be knowledgeable of other beliefs to form my own view on how I believed, not just what I was told to believe. I thought that was really impressive.

  Church also provided me an outlet. I had always loved music (my parents put me in accordion lessons as a youngster) and I was a good singer. Church really helped me become confident in my singing. I sang in the youth choir, the school choir, along to my records at home, in the car. I’m sure it annoyed my parents at times. But singing is where no one made fun of me. They liked me. Accepted me.

  I had the biggest crush on a boy named Rodney from church. His dad was a California Highway Patrol Officer. Rodney played guitar and was just the nicest guy. One day after I had sung a special at church, Rodney told me that his dad said I should sing country music. My voice was that good. I never forgot that.

  By now, my dad was getting sicker and sicker. With more frequent trips to the hospital.

  I have many memories of standing outside the hospital waving to him (back then kids weren't allowed into a patient’s room) and blowing kisses. Waiting in the lobby for my mom to be done with her visit with dad, secretly mad that I couldn’t go in and see him too. We would often stop at Jack in the Box on the way home from the hospital for an easy dinner since it was on the way.

  I wasn’t allowed to have 2 things and fries. If I wanted a burger and fries, fine. But I couldn’t have a taco, burger, and fries. If you’ve never eaten at Jack in the Box, the tacos are SUPER thin, but I could never make my argument stick with her.

  She had to be exhausted. She was working, taking care of me, and trying to take care of my dad.

  It was during this time I learned to wash my own clothes, cook easy dinners, make mom’s cappuccino, or coffee, and keep the house picked up.

  I only felt safe and happy when all my family was around. My sisters, Diane, Dottie, and Debbie, my brother, Kenny and their husbands, wife, and kids. It was as if time stopped and I could just be “normal” when they were there. Life was normal. My dad wasn’t dying.

  And we made such great memories in that house and yard. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter egg hunts, 4th of July barbeques.

  My mom and her sister (aunt Wina) spent lots of time together and they made me laugh more times that I can count. It was there that I think my mom seemed the happiest to me. I had no idea what she was dealing with though.

  I very distinctly recall on one of our trips home from the hospital, my mom sobbing. Sobbing so hard she had to pull the car over. I had to be around 9 or 10. When I finally mustered up the courage to ask her what was wrong, she told me, "Daddy asked me to bring him the gun". "He's tired of living like this." I didn’t even know we had a gun.

  It was in that moment I realized I HAD to be strong for my mom, she needed me. So, I neglected my own insecurities and fear and kept up a good facade for her. But I was terrified. Would she take him the gun? Would she go to jail if she did?

  Dad got to come home after that visit, but it wasn’t for very long. It seemed like he spent more time IN the hospital, than home.

  I went to school that Monday and I remember being called out of my classroom to the office of my elementary school. My mom and aunt Wina were there with huge sunglasses on. And I just knew. I was in the 5th grade an
d my dad was dead. I don’t think I even cried right then. I had never seen my mom or aunt look so sad and empty. And I just felt numb.

  I saw my cousin Todd as I was walking back to my classroom. He was being checked out too. When I got back to gather my things, my best friend Wendy just looked at me and asked, “Did it happen?” and I nodded yes. Then we went to the junior high to pick up my older cousin Treg. I had turned 11 in August and on Monday, October 11th, 1976 my dad died. Without so much as a kiss from me that morning, or a hug. He was gone.

  I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral home and help make arrangements and that upset me. I understand now, as an adult, why. But the little girl whose daddy had just died NEEDED to feel included. I NEEDED to be with my mom, my family.

  Instead, I was sent to my Girl Scout leaders house with her daughter. I just laid on the bed and quietly cried to myself silently wondering why God, in all his infinite glory, could let this happen?

  Chapter 4

  The Aftermath

  I got to pick out a song for my dad’s funeral. I chose, “In the Garden.” I’m still not sure why that particular song, but I had always loved that hymn. My friend Wendy and her mom came to the funeral. I was glad she was there. It made me feel loved by her and understood. When I touched his hand in his casket and I was shocked at how cold it was. My mom explained to me why and that upset me. He was my dad. And I didn’t want to leave him. How could we just leave him there? I didn’t want them to close that lid. THAT’S MY DADDY! Don’t shut him in there. But I knew his soul was with Jesus because I believed. That didn’t help my little girl heart from breaking.

  I don’t remember getting back home, or what happened after the service. But I feel like everyone was there at the house. And mom let me have the little blue box from the funeral home that held his watch, the cards people sent and the remainder of his service announcements. I kept it under my bed. I still have his watch and one announcement.