September 30, 1959, a baby girl is born. Her father would name her Peggy Sue; just like the famous Buddy Holly song that was released two years prior. It's fitting that my mom should be named after a song although she would come to hate her name later in life. She's a singer and very musical in nature. Even her speaking voice can have a sing-song quality - rarely speaking in a flat or monotonous tone. She has music in her name and her heart. However, the man who named her would also be the source of much of her pain and heartache.
The following is an excerpt from my mother's testimony:
I have two memories of my birth-father: the first was being in the car with him and my mother and little brother. He pulled up in front of a pink motel in Spokane Washington, arguing and fighting with my mom. It seems that she was pregnant with my baby sister and she was trying to make him believe that the baby was his. He didn't buy it; in fact, he ended up opening the back and literally shoving my brother and me out on to the street, and then making my mother get out. He drove off and left us standing there in the rain. We ended up sitting on a bench in front of a pink motel. Three hours later my grandparents came to pick us up and drive us home.
Everyone has issues; that's just a fact of life. We're all born fairly whole in both body and mind. But like the ocean beating against the face of a stony outcrop, life wears away at our persons. Physically and mentally we end up with deficits in some category or other. However, we also develop pearls and shells and beautiful bits of sea glass. The weathering of our souls is inevitable but it is also beautiful.
My mother's issue is abandonment. What does this mean for me, her daughter? I have known since the moment I took the first breath that I would never be abandoned by her. That she loves me. That I am safe with her. This foundation of love and trust is one we have used to build the relationship we have today. Are we a completely functional and healthy little family? Absolutely not. We're worn away and screwed up just like the average American.
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Dead on Arrival - Resurrected by Grace
Non-FictionI love the beginnings of stories. Whether it be a book or a movie, I enjoy the opening scenes the most. Because they hold all the promises of what is to come; unburdened by commitment or baggage. Beginnings are full of hope. This story is an excepti...
