My Mom

Recently, I had the honor and blessing to be a guest blogger for The Godly Chic Diaries ( https://gcdiaries.wordpress.com/2019/08/16/to-jean-love-your-son/ ).  I am so grateful to June for giving me that tremendous opportunity!

My mom had been on my mind and that is who I needed to write about.  I still do.  I wrote about her last moments here on earth and my time that I was fortunately able to spend with her before she moved on.  I wouldn’t be here to write anything at all if she had made different choices in life.  I am so happy she chose to have me, and I believe in my heart that I know she made the right choice as well.

Jean wanted to be a schoolteacher and Ashland College (now Ashland University) is where that dream would come true.  Along with college came meeting boys and for her it was Patrick.  They eventually became intimate and with intimacy came the news that she was pregnant. As far as I knew for years afterward was the story that Pat just cut his ties with her and that was that.  She wanted to have me even though she wasn’t married and back in 1969 that was pretty taboo.  Especially for a family like mine that gets embarrassed over small family dramas.  There were some quick solutions though.  One was to drop out of college.  Another was to move into a small cottage out in the country when she began to show.  The cottage was on a farm down the road from my great aunt and uncle who were good friends of the farmer and his wife.  Next, and shaking my head now writing this at the absurdity, was where I was born.  Luckily for the family, we lived very close to the Pennsylvania border.  They got Jean set up with Sharon General hospital and that is where I was born.  Want to know why?  The local paper would not show my birth record…it would be in another state.  Weird but that was the mentality back then.  It’s like all the sudden Jean disappears and then several months later reappears with a bundle of joy.  You know what?  So what.  She would have gone through all of that again if she had to.

She went back to college after a couple years and took me with her.  There were a couple very cheap babysitters that she could rely on for support while in class.  She finished college and achieved her goal as a single mom.  She was now a schoolteacher and secured a Home Economics teaching position at an inner-city school in Youngstown, OH.  Primarily she was teaching sewing for her first several years which was a humorous detriment to myself.  Detriment at the time and humorous now.  She made a LOT of my clothes.  Don’t get me wrong though, that woman could sew with the best of them.  I believe I drew a line in the sand back in the 80s when I wanted a pair of Jordache jeans like all the other kids and she made me her own version.  It didn’t not go over well with the other kids.  I was called Generic Jordache.  I was mortified BUT as she saw how distressed I was…got me a really cool pair of Jordache jeans. 

I believe I was 10 or 11 years old when I made a discovery in the basement.  An old box with knickknacks and things and some old letters?  From Patrick.  Wow.  No emails back in the late 60s and Pat had a way with words.  Every letter had a different greeting, Dear Sweetie Pie,  Dear My Darling Doll etc, you get the idea.  They were all pretty rated G and full of lovey dovey talk.  I was very intrigued though and could read very well with, thanks to my mom, and extraordinary vocabulary for my age.  There were a lot of letters to read through.  This is the closest I have come to knowing my biological father and my mom’s relationship with him.  I got to the last letter in the stack.  It was a different tone right off the bat because it started off, Dear Jean…that’s strange.  I felt hollow at the end of it.  Numb even.  Even to this day probably the most soul ripping words I had or ever will read.  I will just give the wavetops.  He wanted her to get an abortion.  He had his whole future ahead of him etc.  I took that letter to the backyard and burned it.  My life was never the same since.  My relationship with my mother took on a whole other meaning.  She chose me.  Me.  She had the courage to live in her own truth and integrity.

For several years I was also a bit insecure though as well.  I thought of myself as a mistake.  An error that God made.  Oops.  I always felt so different than everyone else and WAS so different than everyone else that I always attributed it to my being that mistake.  The funny thing is…God doesn’t make mistakes.  I was born for a reason and I am here for a reason.  I will continue to shine my light until my last breath.  My mom brought me into this world.  She took care of me, she nurtured me, and I honor her here and now and Always.  I love you, Mom.

Dreaming Reality

I know what you’re thinking.  This is a blog post about our reality being a dream 😊.  Well…yes, of course!  No, not really, but sometimes I wonder about the nature of our reality / consciousness etc…Here though I am just looking at one particular instance / experience in my life that for some reason I could never forget.  Something from my very early childhood and virtually one of my earliest memories.

I never met my biological father.  My mom met / dated him in college, he got her pregnant, and left her.  She was on track to becoming a schoolteacher but dropped out for a while to have me and spend time for my first couple of years before she went back to college.  She brought me with her to Ashland College (now Ashland University) in Ohio for her last year or so.  We lived in a duplex house (of sorts), but we had to share the bathroom with the people living on the other side of the house.  Weird, but I guess when you’re a financially struggling college student you must make do.

We slept on a pull-out couch bed in the living room and one night something woke me up.  I sat up and there was a monstrous looking man standing at the end of the bed and holding what looked like a cinder block over his head.  He was angry.  He wanted to crush me with the block but for some reason he couldn’t and that was making him even more angry.  Before I could say or do anything, there was a comforting voice, “Lay back down…”. My mom was just laying there sleeping undisturbed.  I felt safe.  Not scared at all.  I laid back down and went back to sleep…

My entire life up until circa post-Shift 2013, I had always attributed this “memory” as a dream I had as a child.  What a vivid dream to keep with me all these years.  It wasn’t until 2013 that it hit me.  It was never a dream.  I saw “something”, some manifested apparition, or whatever.  My grandmother had told me a story about a significant event that happened back in that college time with just me and my mom but for some reason I never really made any correlations between the “dream” I had and this particular event.  So, it wasn’t until many many years later, and years after my mom had passed as well back in 2005 that I had a conversation with my great aunt about it.  Because she was there…

Every now and then my grandma and her youngest sister (by 20yrs!) would make the 3hr drive to Ashland to visit my mom and I.  One Saturday morning, as my aunt recalls, my grandma wakes up with this “feeling” that she needed to come visit us.  A bit impromptu for sure as my aunt and her always made plans well in advance.  She called my aunt and asked her if she wouldn’t mind going on a trip to see Jeannie and Ben (this is in 1973 and we didn’t have a phone in our duplex for grandma to call us).  Of course she would, as she had no plans that day.

They arrived a little while later in the morning and saw my mom’s little yellow Vega out front.  Knocked on the door, no answer.  Pounded on the door and nothing.  My aunt walked across the front porch and put her eyes to the glass to look inside and saw me and my mom sleeping on the pull-out couch and shortly after that she smelled it.  Gas.  They broke the front window to rescue us.  I don’t remember any of that.  Zilch.  Seems like such an impactful event that I would have to remember it, right? (or I was really “out of it” from the gas…) Anyway…there was literally a fire department right across the street from our duplex and my aunt ran over there for help.  We had a kitten.  She didn’t make it.  Strange but I do remember my mom and I burying her in the backyard.  It was the gas stove that was the culprit.  Hose came out or cracked…?

After the Shift in 2013, I began seeing and experiencing the world much differently.  That time in my life came back to me and finally made sense.  A negative spirit or entity wanted to end my life and found a way to do so, however, a protective entity (angel?) was there to watch over me and even…send Help.

Now the notion of spirits and angelic beings is not for everyone.  Got it.  For me, and from my Perspective since 2013, it is a part of my Reality. 

Bless!