My Father Saves My Life
When my mother first met my father, he was married to his first wife. My father was in the meat business and did very well. He was quite wealthy actually. This was in New Jersey, not Massachusetts. Now, whether it was my mother’s need to be essential, or whether my father really was not doing well in the Rose Market, the fact remains that my mother thought she had to work in the store with my father or it would not be successful, yet, somehow, before my mother and father were together, my father had been very successful. Did my mother choose to work in the store, or did she really have to? In any case, she did work in the store, and she worked hard.
One day in the store, a day like any other day, my father saw my mother take some money out of the cash register and leave the store. He was suspicious and followed her. She went a few streets away and entered a building. When my father followed her into the building, there was nowhere to go but up a long flight of stairs. There were three doors at the top of the stairs with clouded glass on the top half. One had a doctor’s name on it, and then my father knew.
He pushed the door open. No one was in the waiting room. My father pushed open another door and found my mother, just getting on a table, and a doctor there with an instrument in his hand. “Stop,
Comments
My goodness, this is becoming quite the saga! I don't know as I would call every story wonderful, but they are all certainly wonder full. Somehow they seem like Bible stories.
Charles, I cannot imagine there can be a comment more wonderful than yours. Thank you.
Thank you GOD for keeping Beloved Gloria For Us. Jack
Your stories are so inspiring. They are so similar to what my mother and father went through. I think it would be wonderful to make a book, where today's people tell about their parents and their backgrounds, because it seems to me that we are a new mixed generation of world citizens, who came out from different national characteristics and cultures,from people who dared to change and look for something better.
Cara Paula,
I would love to read your family stories.
Will you write them? For the time being, I think what we could do is publish your family story here on the blog.
If many are interested in doing this, certainly, we can go with it wherever it takes us.
You find these stories inspiring? I am so glad to hear that, yet I don't know quite know how. Will you tell more of what you mean?
Unfortunately, I don't have time to write the stories now, as I am occupied with the translation of two books. Maybe sometime in the future.
Your stories inspire me to look at my own parent's lives and stories, and how they influenced me. For example, my mother used to exaggerate her stories, and it took me a long time to notice that I was doing the same thing. - In this sense, I find your stories inspiring.
I think is better children to know the truth, altough I don't know what psycology says....
How quickly we forget as adults how our perspective of things are not that of a child. Your father loved you, and I'm sure your mother did too as well as she could (some people never have a chance to learn how to love), but as adults they could not realize or know how that story would be felt by you as a child. This "adult/child" perspective really hit home during an "inner child" exercise when I saw how someone else denied all her feelings of hurt/anger/deprivation as a child because the cause was so petty and others had it so much worse. The point was, as a child, she felt what she felt and did not have the "adult" perspective to see or even know that other children had truly horrible experiences from ANY perspective.
Your stories are told so wonderfully. I agree with all who say to write a book. You capture and own the feeling of the child and now as an adult are letting the feeling go. Someone told you it would be healing and you asked how--well, it's the feeling you put in it, the detached way you tell the story with love and own ALL the feelings good and bad, yet leave us with the sense that with the telling the past was let go.
I would love to read Paula's stories, too, as well as others. It's fascinating to me to know where/how/what created the wonderful people who come to this site. So, Paula, when not so busy, you have another reader anxious to know your stories.
Gloria, I love the idea of sharing stories of our parents and ancestors. I would enjoy reading the stories of others as much as I would enjoy writing them. Both are execises in healing. Pam what you said was so powerful:"...with the telling the past was let go". The energy of a story that let's the past go is oh so different from the energy of a story that still holds on tightly to the past. You can tell while you are telling the story which one is happening. Forgiveness, peace and healing flow in as you tell the former. The pain of victim-hood keeps you feeling stuck in the latter. I'm looking forward to reading wonderful stories of peace and healing here.
Thank you and Namaste!
Dear Jo, we sure want your story! Thank you for all your support. Without the blog, without a great audience, I think I would not have written the family stories I did.
I am of a wider family now.
Glorkileh,
What can I say? If it weren' t for your mother's role in your life you might not have had a chance to become our wonderful Heaven writer. Love, D.
Certainly, there were things that were not ideal, but I do kind of think they were ideal for me.
For instance, being left alone a lot. Now I am grateful. I don't think I could survive as a child today where children's lives seem to be so regulated, so supervised, so filled with so many scheduled activities.
Having things easy isn't always the best way.
I once took a course in The Resilient Child. An example I remember is Maya Angelou. She was raped when she was nine by her mother's boyfriend. Worse than that, her uncles, her mother's brothers, murdered the man who raped her. Maya felt herself responsible for the man's death and became mute. She went to live with her grandmother who was a great power for good in her life. At the same time, the first day Maya was able to speak again, she said something that the grandmother thought was using the word God in vain, and she slapped Maya across the mouth.
Look at what Maya Angelou became. (Sally, I do recommend the book she wrote about the story of her life -- I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.)
Probably what I'm saying in response to you here, dear Dianita, will become another blog entry along the way. I do want to say emphatically, that if I had worked eighteen hours a day six days a week and never had a vacation, I could not possibly have done as well as my mother. Nowhere near as well.
In the blog, I have been giving you my mother as I saw her when I was a child, and not how I see her now.
Dianita, as you know, one of the things I most love about you is how you always make me think of a lot of things to say!
Thank you so much for posting here. Please know your comments mean a lot.
Oh, one more thing. How do we know I wouldn't be a Godwriter anyway?!