The Beginning

When people tell stories, most of the time they start at the beginning. This is where I am going to start with my story. This is from my perspective. How I remember things. It may not be completely accurate, but it is how I remember it. Some events may not be in the right order. I tend to remember the emotion of the event much more than the dates and times. But this is my story. 

Both of my parents have stories of their own. They have been through so much in their lives. Addictions, disorders, affairs, failures, and pain. I hope they will each tell their stories because they have come through so much. I will only tell a part of their stories in my story because I am only a part of their stories and they have so much more to share. 

I was born in 1979. In the muck and mire of two lonely and hurting people. 

My dad was in the United States Air Force. He had already been through a failed marriage and a failed affair. He had two boys that didn't really didn't want him around. He was stationed in Minot, ND. This was probably the last place on earth he really wanted to be. He was hurting. He was lonely. He spent many nights drinking pain away. 

My mom was also in pain. She had been through two failed marriages. She lost custody of her children. They were now adopted by my grandfather. She was continually dealing with depression, anxiety, and the highs and lows of Bipolar Disorder among other things. She was lonely. She too would spend nights drinking the pain away. 

I am not all too sure how they met or what the circumstances were. All I do know is that they did. And then I was conceived. My mom considered having an abortion. After all, her other two children had been taken away. She was not married to my father. She had so many issues to work through, she didn't know if she was up to working through it with me. But she chose to. 

My mother and father's relationship was not a good one. They fought often. They fought frequently. They fought a lot. Most of my childhood memories were of yelling, tears, throwing things, and broken glass. This is how my parent's relationship tended to be for the years they were together. 

I was in such a hurry to be born, I came into this world in the hallway of the hospital. My mother was happy to have me. I know that my father was not. I was a girl and he had two boys. I am sure he was scared. I am sure he really didn't know what to do. I saw the letters he wrote my mom. But I know that over time, he learned a lot of things and he learned how to love me...very much. And today, I know he loves me more than words can say. 

But this was back in 1979 in the midst of the muck and mire. My mom pushed...and sometimes probably pushed too hard...for my dad to be a part of our lives. They did get married a year after I was born. During this time some where, my dad's assignment was changed to Madrid, Spain. My mom put both of us on an airplane and went to be with him. My dad said that I liked being in the stroller and going for walks. He said he put so many miles on that stroller walking me around. My mom said that I didn't eat well. She said I often threw up and I was not gaining weight like I should have been. She also said that she was questioned on neglecting me since I was so frail. 

But the time in Spain was short. They fought. Mom and I flew back to Minot, ND to be with her family. 

Dad came back to the Minot AFB after his term in Spain. However, the relationship between my parents was full of strife. They separated often. Between the drinking and the Bipolar, it was hard for them to get along. I know they tried because of me. But it wasn't enough to make it really work.