Before I talk about me, let me tell you a little bit about where I came from – literally. My parents met in high school. My Dad was a year older than my Mom. My Mom found out she was pregnant in December, 1961. It was her senior year of high school. My Mom and Dad had both moved on from one another. My Dad was in Indiana visiting family with his parents when he received the call that would change his life forever. My Mom told my Dad that she was with child. His child. My Dad hopped on a plane to meet my Mom in Las Vegas and they sealed the deal. To my Dad, it was the right thing to do. My parents were married at the Little White Wedding Chapel. My Dad dawned his father-in-law’s suit jacket as he was not prepared for such an event and had not packed the appropriate clothing to be married. After the ceremony, my Dad hopped right back on a plane to Indiana to finish out his trip .
My oldest brother was born in June 1962 with some significant birth defects which included issues with his eyes, kidneys and some developmental delays. My Dad bought a cute little house for his cute little family to live in and three years later, my second oldest brother was born. Unfortunately, cleft lip and cleft palate left him hospitalized immediately after birth. A charity reached out to my Mom and Dad offering financial assistance toward the multiple surgeries. When my Dad was financially able, he contacted the agency to pay them back to which they responded, “Sir, no one has ever tried to pay us back.” My Mom and Dad ended up adopting two more children and fostered three. Of the foster children, two of them, sisters, ended up back with their mother. The other foster child ended up passing away prior to her adoption becoming finalized. She was the sister of my adopted brother and sister.
Before I go any further, let’s review. I have not yet been born. Awaiting my arrival is my Mom and Dad, 2 brothers (’62 & ’65), an adopted sister (’70) and an adopted brother (’73). My parents adopted my sister at four weeks old and my brother at 4 days old. Remember, three years then five, three years then five. That’s how we were all spaced out. Anyway, prior to my arrival, my family was the typical Orange County family. They moved to a pretty prestigious street in our city and ended up adding on a large addition to the already large and beautiful, historic home. My Mom was really into antiques and her home had the appearance of a museum. She took great pride in it and would spend her last dime to acquire what her heart desired. This type of behavior would contribute to the end of my Mom and Dad at a later date.
I was born in September of ’78. I have heard varying stories of my birth. My Mom used to tell me about going into labor on their walk home from the annual street fair that took place a few blocks from our home. I was also told that my Dad was working on our fireplace and my Mom did not want to tell my Dad about my impending birth until that fireplace was complete. Additionally, my Mom was on the birth control pill. All stories are entirely possible. Soon after I arrived, there was trouble on the horizon. My Mom had opened a collectibles shop and spent most of her time and our family’s money there. Meanwhile, my Dad spent his days at work and his afternoons/evenings completing the house and yardwork, doing the grocery shopping, making dinner, and taking care of the kids. At this point, one or both of my older brothers had one DUI. It seemed my Mom had checked out and my Dad was a single parent. My Mom allowed parties at the house that my Dad would attempt to shut down but not before having to fist fight a drunk party attendee who got in my Dad’s face. My Mom was at home less and less. When she was home, her and my Dad fought. She filed for divorce and spent nights away from home; it was assumed that she was at her shop. My Dad tried everything to keep the family together. My Mom wasn’t interested. My Dad had no proof, but her behavior led him to believe that she had already moved on.
“My Mom accused my Dad of sexually abusing me. My Dad accused my Mom of adultery…”
The divorce was so incredibly ugly. A lot of attempts were made to hide things from me. My Mom accused my Dad of sexually abusing me. My Dad accused my Mom of adultery and being jealous of me because him and I were so close. My siblings had to testify on behalf of these allegations. They alll agreed. My Dad was not capable of such things. I was his favorite. He would never hurt me. We moved and moved and moved again. Each home we lived in never lasted long. Not only would we get evicted but there were times that my Mom’s boyfriend’s would take her car (or maybe it was repo’d) and we’d be stranded. Furthermore, at this time I was approximately five years old and my primary caretaker became my older brother who was only ten at the time. We’d go without dinner, the electric bill being paid, and a working phone at times. Sometimes my Mom would bring home gentlemen that she would entertain behind her closed bedroom door. I heard things I didn’t understand. I was hungry all the time. I got in trouble for stealing food from my classmates lunches – once right from their open lunchbox as they were eating. It was a Zinger. It tasted amazing. I got caught stealing a bike from the bike racks after school after missing the school bus ride home. I didn’t want to walk all the way home by myself. My hand-me-down shoes from the black trash bag given to my Mom by her co-worker were a size too small and were rubbing blisters on the back of my feet. My Mom kept a gun between the mattress and boxspring of her bed. My brother would take the gun out and wave it around to show it off to the neighbor kids while I watched Voltron at the foot of her bed on the only TV in the house. When we were feeling super hyper, we’d got outside and play hide and seek in the neighborhood. I would crawl on top of the roof of our house and throw cat shit at my brother as he attempted to find me. We were unsupervised between the hours of three and six every week day. If I had to sum up this time in my life in one word it would be chaotic. And unstable. Sorry. Two words.
My Mom ended up finding her knight in shining armor at a bar in the form of a married man who owned a successful business. His family home shared the same major street that ours did. Was this a coincidence or had he helped to move us closer to his part of the OC? Who knows. What I can tell you is this gentleman seemed different. He wasn’t creepy. He was likeable. And he was making my Mom smile. In order to protect important content for future blogs and podcasts, I will be more brief as I continue…
My Mom and this man end up moving in together and getting married. I gained two more brothers, a house in the hills of a prominent city of Orange County in a great school district with a bunch of snobs.I was bullied a bit. I was the new kid in third grade. My Dad also remarried and lived about fifteen minutes from my new home. He gained a step daughter, and I gained a sister. He moved into his new wife’s house and it had a pool! I had always been the center of my Dad’s universe so it took a lot of time for me to accept my new step mom. In the end, what I can tell you about her is that she could be a lot of fun, she was very crafty, and she made my Dad happy. I liked the way she joked. Overall, she had a great vibe that I appreciated as I got older. Life was simple at their house. I was there every weekend. We spent a lot of time together. Back at home, I got a puppy for my tenth birthday. We went on a lot of weekend trips together as a big, new, family. We’d go dirt bike riding at the desert or camping in our motorhome in the mountains. Slowly, my Mom’s new husband became my second Dad. My Mom was taken on amazing trips by him. She acquired nice things. I got to pick out my new bedroom furniture when I no longer had to share a room with my sister. He helped me buy my first car. He rode in the back of the ambulance with me when I had a seizure. He pulled my brother’s lifeless body flat onto the middle of the bathroom floor to perform CPR as the 911 operator directed him upon finding my brother unconcious with a gunshot wound to his right temple and a gun lying next to him. Remember the gun my Mom used to hide between her mattress and bedspring?
I grew up, moved out, moved back in, then moved out again to live with the person whom I am now married to. He had been married before. He had a daughter. He was black. He had some baggage. I had an instant family. We were engaged seven years. I was in no rush to get married. He suddenly lost his Mom to a heart attack. His little girl found her unresponsive. They were alone. His little girl had to call 911. She had to attempt CPR this time. I witnessed the most vulnerable and broken version of my strong and confident person. I witnessed the pure devastation of his daughter. I couldn’t heal their sorrow. I couldn’t be unmarried to him any longer. We eloped on a Thursday on our lunch hour at the Santa Ana courthouse. It was August 30th, 2006. We did it our way.
I couldn’t be unmarried to him any longer.
“I couldn’t be unmarried to him any longer. “
Now my story becomes a bit more current. Motherhood had always been something I avoided like the plague. A simple oops changed all that! And guess what!? I was on the pill at the time. I have a baby boy. And another baby boy. And when I find out that I’m pregnant again, my Mom is dying of cancer. I bury my Mom in September and find out a week later that i’m having the girl she always begged me for. I experienced a grief like nothing I’ve ever felt when I lost my Mom. Her death shook me to my core. Soon after losing her and having my daughter, we get ghosted by my second dad. He meets someone who determines we have no place in his life. He meets her at church of all places. So, off we go, exiled to our sadness with the addition of more grief. Except this time, we are grieving someone who hasn’t died. In the meantime, my Dad is in and out of the hospital with his own health issues. My step mom began showing signs of dementia. It became apparent that she could no longer safely care for him or live alone. On the morning of his last birthday alive, I showed up with my kids and breakfast to celebrate him only to find my Dad had fallen out of his chair the night before, onto the floor, and he’s sitting in his own shit. When I looked over at my step mom who was sitting nearby to ask how long he’d been on the floor, she shrugged her shoulders and began to eat one of the donuts we brought over for him. We spent the entire day trying to pick up my 300+ lb man with a broken back off the floor. He begged us not to call 911. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital. We bribed him to try to get up by telling him we wanted to go to a Chinese food restaurant to celebrate him. We knew he’d want to treat us on his birthday and we knew that was one of his favorite types of food. Even that couldn’t get him off the floor. Subsequently, we ordered in, sat in the same room that he was stranded in, put a towel over his lap to maintain what was left of his pride, and proceeded to eat his Chinese food birthday dinner off of paper plates while smelling his shit. After we finished eating, I made the call to 911. While he screamed as the EMT’s lifted him up off of the ground, I silently cried the saddest tears I’ve ever cried.
I signed my Dad’s hospice forms that same year, on the night of Thanksgiving, 2019. It was just him and I in his hospital room. I snuck him in some tacos I had made. He ate that shit up. I told him he’d be coming to live with me the next day. I asked him if he understood what that meant. He did. I spent the next day preparing his room. I cleared out most of the furniture to make room for his hospital bed. He arrived that evening along with the first of many hospice nurses. He had many friends come by to say goodbye. My kids got to love on him every morning before school and again when they got him. My daughter would sit in his hospital bed and sing to him. He died five days later. I watched him breathe his last breathe. He was finally relieved of his pain. He was finally at peace. So was I.
I lost all of my hair and at times began to wonder if I was going to die. I envisioned my children all grown up, living their lives with out me. I imagined my husband being a single dad to my babies.
I lost all of my hair and at times began to wonder if I was going to die. I envisioned my children all grown up, living their lives with out me. I imagined my husband being a single dad to my babies.
Soon, my kids had lost all of their grandparents. And then I was diagnosed with breast cancer after a routine mammogram found cancer in my left breast and lymph nodes. After eight rounds of chemo and many weeks of daily radiation, I underwent a unilateral mastectomy. Many surgeries followed. I lost all of my hair and at times began to wonder if I was going to die. I envisioned my children all grown up, living their lives with out me. I imagined my husband being a single dad to my babies. Let me be clear, if my ghostly presence had any power, I’d scare my husband into remaining single till we were reunited in heaven. Or hell. Wherever seemed fit. There’s really nothing like the vision of your family carrying on without you to knock the fucking wind out of you. I’m delighted to report my diagnosis was three years ago. I fucking made it! I’ve been in remission and have been doing well. After much prompting from my husband and close friends, I decided to pursue the things that I spend the most time on anyway. I love social media, I am obsessed with Jay Shetty and the On Purpose Podcast and have begun broadening my perspectives by listening to some of my husbands recommendations as well. I love to write and have a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing. And, I have come in contact with some really fascinating individuals that I always say “should have their own reality show!” BTW, huge fan of reality TV. Since everyone can’t be on reality TV (I don’t make the rules or everybody would) I figured a podcast would be a great way to showcase some of the amazing people I’ve met and gotten to know along my way and share their captivating and compelling stories.
So, this is me in a nutshell. My apologies for not elaborating more in certain stages of my life. It might appear I left you hanging. You see, that’s where it gets good. So, I’ll be saving that for future discussions. That material could include racist Aunts and Uncles, a street fight, my son’s teacher getting busted for child porn, and much much more. I want to thank you for taking the time to read my history. It was not the easiest to draft.
I didn’t paint everyone in the most positive of light. Please be reminded that what you read in my blogs and what you hear on my podcast is my story and mine alone. What I say about certain scenarios or certain individuals is in no way a direct assault on anyone I discuss. And if it is, I’ll certainly let you know. My childhood was probably pretty different from my last two living siblings (the second born and first adopted). Perhaps they won’t agree with the picture I paint. I’m more than happy to have those discussions with them. Maybe a podcast episode!?
My Dad and I in his backyard right before my engagement party that he threw me. He always wore white t-shirts. His arms were always tan because he took pride in his yards and never wore sunscreen.
