Yesterday, I failed to post because I had a medical procedure. All went well, but after coming home, I primarily slept. Anesthesia and I get along rather well, which is why I slept most of the day. The rest of the day, I was trying to rewrite, actually completely redo, my homework for my creative writing class. My assignment was to write a creative non-fiction piece. One thing I found out while writing my first draft was that it needed more emotion. I’m writing a piece on reflection, and during this time, I brought up some things that I might not like to speak about unless I have to. So instead, I am writing about it.
My writing tip for this week is: when writing about yourself, dig deep and show your emotions, all of them. Allow your heart to show in your words. Share your story with the world, or at least with your readers.
With that, I will share my draft… (remember, it is a draft). Once I have completed my piece, I will share it here next week. Till then, I hope you enjoy reading it, and until later… have a week filled with hugs, love, laughter, friendship, and blessings.
Here is my draft and it is also incomplete. Please enjoy all the same.
Reflections: What I Should Have Known
December begins, which means Christmas is right around the corner. As with most holidays, it is a time for celebration and reflection. Celebrations will come later as there are still a few days, so now is reflection time. Good or bad, memories are ours to learn from, hold dear ones in our hearts, and to remember those that are no longer here but are in our thoughts.
As I am preparing for yet another medical procedure, I think about all the past years and how I should have known things would be different for me. Starting with my birth, when I also died. It seems that my mother’s blood thought I was something that needed to be attacked and destroyed. Not the welcome to the world you want from your mother, but it was kind of a forecast for our relationship. Not that she would attack me, but she did allow others. My great-grandparents proved to be my saviors several times throughout my life. From the day of my birth, they stepped in to financially cover the medical procedure to save my life. Had they not done that, it’s a good chance that the few moments I died might have turned into…
Anyway, several times during my childhood, my great grandparents stepped up to protect me where my mother did not or could not. Once when my mother wanted to take me Christmas shopping, my great-grandmother said, “No, you don’t take a child to buy their own Christmas gifts. You can go, but she stays here.” At least that was what I was told happened. I was too young to know then, but it was a blessing that I didn’t go. A drunk truck driver plowed through the car that my mother, her boyfriend of the moment, several of their friends, and a baby that was sitting with my mother were in. The baby died instantly, the boyfriend was paralyzed from the waist down, the others I wasn’t told about, and my mother was thrown from the car. When she was taken to the hospital, it was thought that she was dead, so she was left on a gurney in the hallway until the next morning when someone saw the sheet move. Of course, by then, since her injuries had not been addressed, brain damage set in. She could still function and, in fact, went on to get married two more times, but she couldn’t hold a job, and her decision-making was slightly askew. Her brain damage was primarily frontal lobe, which meant you never knew if she was okay and in a good mood or if she would try to kill you. She had major mood swings that she had no control over. What a Christmas present that was for everyone. We should have known life would be interesting from there on.
My mother’s second husband, Mr. White, was a con artist and definitely one of her bad decisions. He used her for almost every penny she received from the accident, and once he went through that, he then chose to move them around, leaving behind various debts, especially unpaid rent. Mr. White was also abusive, primarily to me. My mother had insisted I live with them instead of my great-grandparents. I hadn’t been there for very long when I received a bad grade. I was in first grade at a new school, living with a mother and stepfather I didn’t really know. Getting a bad grade should have been understood. Not by Mr. White, who felt it his duty to beat a good grade out of me. My mother did step in for this; she bit his bicep until she drew blood, and only then did he stop. It was the beginning, and I should have known I was in his way, and he didn’t like having me around since I was not his child. Several other memories stand out; one was when I couldn’t eat everything that he had put on my plate. He had filled it full as if he were the one eating, and after beating the fact that other children were starving around the world, and they would love to have the food that I would not eat, I was made to sit at the table until my plate was cleaned of even a crumb. Those two memories were upsetting, but I think the worst was when I had poison ivy pretty much all over, and as usual with the rash, it itched… a lot. I tried not to scratch, but there were so many, and my hands had a mind of their own, so I couldn’t help myself. I ended up scratching to where quite a bit of the spots were bloody. Mr. White did not like that I couldn’t control my scratching, so he stripped me, poured rubbing alcohol on me, and then beat me because I couldn’t hold still. My mother didn’t try to protect me anymore. The first was also the last, and there were more times through the few short years I lived with them. Luckily, I visited my great-grandparents on one of the moves, and of course, Mr. White took the opportunity to ask for money because he lost another job. It ends up he sold me back to my great-grandparents. They wanted me to stay with them, but the only way he’d let me is if they gave him money. They saved me again by purchasing my freedom.
After that, I lived off and on with my father and his family, my mother, after she and Mr. White divorced, and my great-grandparents. My grade school and teenage years were a mix of pain, being unaccepted, and feeling betrayed by some family and friends, as well as happiness too. Time spent with my great-grandparents was always a pleasure.
Still, health was always throwing a few curves my way and on into my adulthood. Still, I should have known. Pain, discomfort, anger, and other emotions blended with joy would fill my days. As I reflect on everything, I understand when they say a person’s emotional health will affect their physical health. My adult life has presented me with several health issues, and as of today, I have had 19 medical procedures, and often I think that most, not all, but the majority are connected to my beginning with death and, of course, everything in between that no matter how harsh and painful mentally, physically, or emotionally may have made me stronger in the end. Only one surgery tore at my inner strength, and that was the hysterectomy. I cried like a colicky baby from the moment I walked into the hospital to the time the sedation took effect. I felt my womanhood was being cut out, and I had no choice in the matter. I was betrayed by my own body.
As I reflect on my journey from the beginning to now, I should have known. I was given circumstances that made me stronger, and in my strength, I have found my way into my own happiness. It may have aches, pains, and more medical procedures to come, but it is also filled with love, happiness, and whatever else I choose to allow it to be.
I guess I should have known that no matter what was thrown at me, it was how I handled it and what I did with the emotions that would either make or destroy me. Even when I was broken, I overcame. Daily pains and discomfort at times take me into reflection, and reflections take me to gratitude. Gratitude for life; I love it and want to be around enjoying it for an extremely long time. I died once, so I think I’m good.
We are Creatively Unlimited! 
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