My sister gave me a gift that I will never understand nor will I ever be able to repay the goodness she showed me through it. While my sister was pregnant with her last child, a boy, I left the island to go meet with my husband to be in Washington, my second husband that is.
Because of the poor care offered in the island, she decided to travel to Miami until she gave birth. When the baby was almost due, I received a call from her; she wanted me to be there with her. I knew that she was a little scared but now that I think about it, I wonder if she had planned things to work out the way they did.
I didn’t hesitate. I got on a plane the next day and was very happy to see my girl who was all grown up getting ready to bring forth another child. When I hugged her she said, “I have been in pain for two days but I refuse to have this baby without you. I have been waiting for you to go to the hospital.
Early the next morning, it was time and she was more than ready. I didn’t know that this day would be one of the most beautiful and fullest days of my life. After the doctor examined her, she informed him that she wanted me in the delivery room with her.
My jaw fell open. Not even remotely, had I imagine that I would witness the birth of a child. She knew my heart’s desire, she knew how much I loved children and how much I wanted children of my own. I guess she felt that this was as close as a woman could come to giving birth if she couldn’t experience it for herself.
I didn’t know what to say and I certainly didn’t know how to react to this. I guess I was in shock because I felt numb. There is no other gift besides the grace of God and the sacrifice of Christ on the cross for my sins, that has meant more to me than being present in the same room where the birth of my sister’s son took place.
I was holding her hand while she was pushing and when the doctor said she was crowning, she let go of my hand and asked me to go see what birthing was all about. There was blood everywhere, it was a mess but at the same time it was the most precious thing to see the head of the baby push through such a small pathway.
The doctor asked her to stop pushing and I went back to hold her hand but she told me the baby was coming so I went back to see the completion of this painful but wonderful process.
The doctor was not ready yet, but the baby was and out came the baby. I grabbed it to keep him from falling to the floor. At that moment, I was reborn into a newness of what life is all about and into a deeper understanding of the love between mother and child. It felt so good, it hurt. My sister then said, there is your son.
It will never be the same as when a woman experiences the conception and the formation of life within the walls of her insides or like the feeling a woman has when the fetus moves in her womb. Yet, this was something that no amount of happiness, or money, or health, or men, or even love could ever be compared to.
That moment was a sacred moment in which I felt whole and complete in every aspect of the word. I looked at my sister and although she was still in pain, she glowed with happiness, peace and a love for me that transcended far beyond any sorrow or hurt I had ever experienced. Nothing could have tainted that moment and it wasn’t because of the actions of my sister but because of the sincerity and the depth of love by which she did what she did.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Funny Love
I can share with you many stories about how loved and wanted he made me feel. He was funny and caring and he played his guitar for me all the time. I had no choice but to fall in love with him. At least, I think I did. He had made me go beyond cloud nine. It was almost heaven for me.
There are many things about him I will remember forever because he made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling and he made me laugh like no one ever cared to. I would like to share one of the most embarrassing, funny, romantic stories I experienced with him. This happened while we were still dating.We had a date and because it was a full moon, we decided it to make it different, more romantic. We made plans to give each other something special. I wrote a poem for him and he found a song to sing for me. Well, the song never made it into the picture.
We were parked in a dark and isolated area. The only light we had was that of the full moon. We sat in the car kissing and undressing each other. Guilt began creeping up on me. We were not married and I knew this was not good and I was hoping that I could control the situation. I didn't have to though, God had plans of His own.In order to take some heat off, I came up with a brilliant idea. Let's get out of the car and allow the romance brought to the night by the inspiration of the full moon to shower our naked bodies. Let's moon bathe.
He was in for that, so we got out. We leaned on the car, holding hands and admiring the beauty in God's handy work. We spoke about our love and about our happiness and any other love topics I could come up with to avoid going back inside the car. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the guilt and knowing how wrong it was to do this, was almost causing me to cry. Finally, I shut up and agreed that it was time to get back in the car. Like I said, God needs no help from us. He pulled my door and it was locked. He laughed and went around to his door, he pulled and it too was locked.
He looked at me and his faced told the story. I sure didn't have to worry about his excitement anymore. There was no longer a sexual sin threat over our heads. We had a bigger fish to fry.I remember him stammering while trying to tell me that we were locked out. I pulled my door and it was still locked. I walked to his door and on my way there I was pleading and asking God for a miracle. Yeah right, like I deserved any mercy. Guess what? Wrong. It was still locked. I remember trying to put my faith to use.
For a couple times I tried opening the door in the name of Jesus but Jesus was not messing with this one. How hypocritical we are sometimes. Knowing that we are wrong, we still continue to get in trouble and then expect God to rescue us.Well, he realized that no miracle was about to happen that night. Now he wanted to break my glass window and I was about to knock him out. How would I explain a broken window to my mom? I was thirty years old, married and divorced once but to my Mom it was like I was still her little virgin. I couldn't tell her about this.
We were not too far from where he lived so we searched the trunk of the car which we had left open and found an apron. He tied it around his waist and decided to run to his apartment. His butt was showing and he was ashamed of having to run home in such a fashion statement. He said he was praying all the way there that no one who knew him would see him. He had to pass by a bar and restaurant where people used to sit outside and hang out. A guy called out to him and he played like he was crazy answering in gibberish. He ran faster than before until he got home.
Meanwhile, I decided to hide in the bushes because other cars would sometimes come in the area and I was completely naked. I was stooping down in the bushes praying that no insect or centipede would bite me. Every time a piece of grass touched my skin, I jumped and squealed shaking myself off. It was a really funny picture if you can imagine it.
Finally, he showed up in his car where he kept a spare key to my car. I got dressed and went straight home. That was it for me. I learned my lesson on that one; no more moon bathing. Okay, the real lesson is not giving in to the flesh (sin), not even in the name of love or because of the people we love. Our faithfulness should always be first, to God.
There are many things about him I will remember forever because he made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling and he made me laugh like no one ever cared to. I would like to share one of the most embarrassing, funny, romantic stories I experienced with him. This happened while we were still dating.We had a date and because it was a full moon, we decided it to make it different, more romantic. We made plans to give each other something special. I wrote a poem for him and he found a song to sing for me. Well, the song never made it into the picture.
We were parked in a dark and isolated area. The only light we had was that of the full moon. We sat in the car kissing and undressing each other. Guilt began creeping up on me. We were not married and I knew this was not good and I was hoping that I could control the situation. I didn't have to though, God had plans of His own.In order to take some heat off, I came up with a brilliant idea. Let's get out of the car and allow the romance brought to the night by the inspiration of the full moon to shower our naked bodies. Let's moon bathe.
He was in for that, so we got out. We leaned on the car, holding hands and admiring the beauty in God's handy work. We spoke about our love and about our happiness and any other love topics I could come up with to avoid going back inside the car. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the guilt and knowing how wrong it was to do this, was almost causing me to cry. Finally, I shut up and agreed that it was time to get back in the car. Like I said, God needs no help from us. He pulled my door and it was locked. He laughed and went around to his door, he pulled and it too was locked.
He looked at me and his faced told the story. I sure didn't have to worry about his excitement anymore. There was no longer a sexual sin threat over our heads. We had a bigger fish to fry.I remember him stammering while trying to tell me that we were locked out. I pulled my door and it was still locked. I walked to his door and on my way there I was pleading and asking God for a miracle. Yeah right, like I deserved any mercy. Guess what? Wrong. It was still locked. I remember trying to put my faith to use.
For a couple times I tried opening the door in the name of Jesus but Jesus was not messing with this one. How hypocritical we are sometimes. Knowing that we are wrong, we still continue to get in trouble and then expect God to rescue us.Well, he realized that no miracle was about to happen that night. Now he wanted to break my glass window and I was about to knock him out. How would I explain a broken window to my mom? I was thirty years old, married and divorced once but to my Mom it was like I was still her little virgin. I couldn't tell her about this.
We were not too far from where he lived so we searched the trunk of the car which we had left open and found an apron. He tied it around his waist and decided to run to his apartment. His butt was showing and he was ashamed of having to run home in such a fashion statement. He said he was praying all the way there that no one who knew him would see him. He had to pass by a bar and restaurant where people used to sit outside and hang out. A guy called out to him and he played like he was crazy answering in gibberish. He ran faster than before until he got home.
Meanwhile, I decided to hide in the bushes because other cars would sometimes come in the area and I was completely naked. I was stooping down in the bushes praying that no insect or centipede would bite me. Every time a piece of grass touched my skin, I jumped and squealed shaking myself off. It was a really funny picture if you can imagine it.
Finally, he showed up in his car where he kept a spare key to my car. I got dressed and went straight home. That was it for me. I learned my lesson on that one; no more moon bathing. Okay, the real lesson is not giving in to the flesh (sin), not even in the name of love or because of the people we love. Our faithfulness should always be first, to God.
An Adulterous Christian
The following did not happen during one of my block-outs. I was fully aware of my actions. I wish I could hide behind the emotional roller coaster that was my life but there is no excuse I can give you, that will make what I did, right or justifiable.
I could lie to you and say that I didn't know what I was doing or that some personality took over but the truth is that I was an adulterer and there is no going around it.
After I realized the huge mistake I had made, I became very depressed. I tried very hard to find ways to be happy in spite of what my situation was. Nothing worked. Of course, I didn't try prayer. I had no one I could go to because I had no trust in my pastor and I had no friends.
I kept hearing that my husband was having affairs. He sometimes spoke to his best friend's wife on the phone and even though I don't know what she was saying most of the time, I could tell that there was some interest on both of their parts.
She always called to complain about her husband, about how lonely she was and that her husband wouldn't even touch her. Come on now! I was much, much younger than my husband, twenty-three years younger but I was not stupid.
One time she called and we were in bed trying to be all romantic. He stopped whatever he was doing. He then rested my head on his chest while he was talking to her. All of a sudden, he began caressing my naked body while talking to her about her husband’s behavior.
His was telling her that he couldn’t understand why her husband wasn't turned on by her clean, soft and mocha skin. I got up, took a shower and went to the living room to watch television. He didn't even care. He continued talking on the phone.
About an hour later, he came to the living room pretending to be interested in continuing what we were doing before. I told him that I felt like I was being disrespected in my own home and in my own bed. He just laughed and said that he just felt sorry for the lady.
Whatever! The sexual expression on his face had nothing to do with compassion. The rumors continued about my husband’s infidelity and even my grandmother would tell me that she would see him several days a week go by her house with a lady in the passenger seat.
I was upset by the whole thing. I wasn’t in love with the man but I loved him. His behavior was unacceptable to me and I felt like I was being walked on because I was trying to be a good wife. I wanted to get back at him while justifying my choices by his actions. When the opportunity presented itself, I didn’t stop to think, I went for it.
An old boyfriend, who always kept in touch, saw me one day and asked me for a date. He knew I was married but so was he. So, he didn't care. Just five or six months after I got married, I accepted to go out with him and I saw him for about a month. We had been friends for more than five years, we were very close, and he knew me pretty well and was very kind to me and my family. He was always there when I needed a friend.
He was completely against me marrying my first husband. Sure, he also had selfish reasons for it but he also knew that I was not in love and that I was already suffering for my choices. Although, he was willing to be there for me, I realized that I was still empty inside and even sadder for myself.
I was very unhappy and I was lost; lost in sin and darkness. I knew it was wrong but I didn't know how to stop myself. I needed something and marriage was not the answer. Neither was cheating but it seemed to keep me from going crazy; that the lie I fed myself. He was a lot more caring and understanding than my own husband but after a month of that, I decided that God deserved better from me. I was ashamed of myself. Actually, guilt was killing me.
I went before God asking for forgiveness every day until I felt released and cleansed. I stopped being a cheater and became a totally devoted wife. I seemed to be kind of an extremist. I go all the way when I decide to do something.
Even though I was not happy, I committed myself to making my husband happy. I made sure his dinner was hot and ready, waiting for him on the table. I often massaged his tired feet and I prepared frequent bubble baths for him. I treated him as the king of the castle. He was happy with my services but we were still growing apart as each day passed because I wasn’t who he wanted me to be. He honestly thought that I was his dead wife reincarnated but he couldn’t accept that I wasn’t.
My circumstances were not the best as I was not in love with the man I married. Worst, he was not in love with me and he treated me like I was a possession somewhat like his car.
There were times when he would kiss me in the morning before leaving, all happy to start the day and then in the afternoon he would come back to the house as though no one else was there. He wouldn't talk nor acknowledge me.
Sometimes, this would last for days even when I would try talking to him. He would just ignore me. When things were better, I would ask him if I had done something to upset him and his answer was always, "You didn't do anything. Some times, I just don't want to talk and I need to be alone."
With all this said, I accept that there is no valid reason for me to break, violate or ignore my vows or the respect I held for my God, my husband and myself. I accept that I was wrong. I sinned and may God have mercy on me.
No one forced me to, no one convinced me and I was in my right mind so I can’t use insanity as an excuse. I knew better but I chose to do wrong on my free will. Sure at the time I was justifying my actions with every excuse possible but down deep I knew that God expected and demanded much more of me.
I had put myself in a prison from which I couldn’t escape because I had not sought God’s will. I put my life, my salvation and most importantly, my relationship with God in danger because I wanted to run away from my problems without having to face them.
I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions. I had no sense of purpose and no sense of direction. I thought that by marrying this man or any man for that matter, all my problems would have been solved.
In my heart all I wanted was to leave home and I knew the only way to do so without having to confront my mother would be to get married. I didn’t consider what God’s plans were for me . I messed up big time and I felt helpless in the situation. Most of the time we are quick to act or react without putting in prospective God’s involvement in the situation and then we are left in a mess that only God can take us out of.
We want God to trust us with the live He has given us just like in the parable of “The Talents” Matthew 25:14- 30, but time after time , we fall short of His expectations for us. We continuously shortchange ourselves because we forget who the real Master is and mostly behave like we have no wisdom.
I could lie to you and say that I didn't know what I was doing or that some personality took over but the truth is that I was an adulterer and there is no going around it.
After I realized the huge mistake I had made, I became very depressed. I tried very hard to find ways to be happy in spite of what my situation was. Nothing worked. Of course, I didn't try prayer. I had no one I could go to because I had no trust in my pastor and I had no friends.
I kept hearing that my husband was having affairs. He sometimes spoke to his best friend's wife on the phone and even though I don't know what she was saying most of the time, I could tell that there was some interest on both of their parts.
She always called to complain about her husband, about how lonely she was and that her husband wouldn't even touch her. Come on now! I was much, much younger than my husband, twenty-three years younger but I was not stupid.
One time she called and we were in bed trying to be all romantic. He stopped whatever he was doing. He then rested my head on his chest while he was talking to her. All of a sudden, he began caressing my naked body while talking to her about her husband’s behavior.
His was telling her that he couldn’t understand why her husband wasn't turned on by her clean, soft and mocha skin. I got up, took a shower and went to the living room to watch television. He didn't even care. He continued talking on the phone.
About an hour later, he came to the living room pretending to be interested in continuing what we were doing before. I told him that I felt like I was being disrespected in my own home and in my own bed. He just laughed and said that he just felt sorry for the lady.
Whatever! The sexual expression on his face had nothing to do with compassion. The rumors continued about my husband’s infidelity and even my grandmother would tell me that she would see him several days a week go by her house with a lady in the passenger seat.
I was upset by the whole thing. I wasn’t in love with the man but I loved him. His behavior was unacceptable to me and I felt like I was being walked on because I was trying to be a good wife. I wanted to get back at him while justifying my choices by his actions. When the opportunity presented itself, I didn’t stop to think, I went for it.
An old boyfriend, who always kept in touch, saw me one day and asked me for a date. He knew I was married but so was he. So, he didn't care. Just five or six months after I got married, I accepted to go out with him and I saw him for about a month. We had been friends for more than five years, we were very close, and he knew me pretty well and was very kind to me and my family. He was always there when I needed a friend.
He was completely against me marrying my first husband. Sure, he also had selfish reasons for it but he also knew that I was not in love and that I was already suffering for my choices. Although, he was willing to be there for me, I realized that I was still empty inside and even sadder for myself.
I was very unhappy and I was lost; lost in sin and darkness. I knew it was wrong but I didn't know how to stop myself. I needed something and marriage was not the answer. Neither was cheating but it seemed to keep me from going crazy; that the lie I fed myself. He was a lot more caring and understanding than my own husband but after a month of that, I decided that God deserved better from me. I was ashamed of myself. Actually, guilt was killing me.
I went before God asking for forgiveness every day until I felt released and cleansed. I stopped being a cheater and became a totally devoted wife. I seemed to be kind of an extremist. I go all the way when I decide to do something.
Even though I was not happy, I committed myself to making my husband happy. I made sure his dinner was hot and ready, waiting for him on the table. I often massaged his tired feet and I prepared frequent bubble baths for him. I treated him as the king of the castle. He was happy with my services but we were still growing apart as each day passed because I wasn’t who he wanted me to be. He honestly thought that I was his dead wife reincarnated but he couldn’t accept that I wasn’t.
My circumstances were not the best as I was not in love with the man I married. Worst, he was not in love with me and he treated me like I was a possession somewhat like his car.
There were times when he would kiss me in the morning before leaving, all happy to start the day and then in the afternoon he would come back to the house as though no one else was there. He wouldn't talk nor acknowledge me.
Sometimes, this would last for days even when I would try talking to him. He would just ignore me. When things were better, I would ask him if I had done something to upset him and his answer was always, "You didn't do anything. Some times, I just don't want to talk and I need to be alone."
With all this said, I accept that there is no valid reason for me to break, violate or ignore my vows or the respect I held for my God, my husband and myself. I accept that I was wrong. I sinned and may God have mercy on me.
No one forced me to, no one convinced me and I was in my right mind so I can’t use insanity as an excuse. I knew better but I chose to do wrong on my free will. Sure at the time I was justifying my actions with every excuse possible but down deep I knew that God expected and demanded much more of me.
I had put myself in a prison from which I couldn’t escape because I had not sought God’s will. I put my life, my salvation and most importantly, my relationship with God in danger because I wanted to run away from my problems without having to face them.
I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions. I had no sense of purpose and no sense of direction. I thought that by marrying this man or any man for that matter, all my problems would have been solved.
In my heart all I wanted was to leave home and I knew the only way to do so without having to confront my mother would be to get married. I didn’t consider what God’s plans were for me . I messed up big time and I felt helpless in the situation. Most of the time we are quick to act or react without putting in prospective God’s involvement in the situation and then we are left in a mess that only God can take us out of.
We want God to trust us with the live He has given us just like in the parable of “The Talents” Matthew 25:14- 30, but time after time , we fall short of His expectations for us. We continuously shortchange ourselves because we forget who the real Master is and mostly behave like we have no wisdom.
My Early Christian Days
At one point, my pastor was accused by a lady in the church. She said he made a pass at her and that he tried kissing her. He denied it all. He said she was being used by satan to bring him down and break up the church. I believed him because I couldn't accept that a man of God, a pastor, my pastor, my teacher, and my prayer leader could be capable of such behavior. I began doubting but fought every negative thought that crossed my mind. We all cried and prayed with him, asking God to resolve and bring this matter to light.
Our mother church, sent a representative to help out in the church and to act as counselor/advisor and I guess, to investigate what was really going on. He was keeping an eye on everything. The woman later confessed that it was all a lie and that satan used her against our Pastor. I was relieved because I wanted to keep everything the way it was and I had began trusting my Pastor to the fullest.
The representative decided to stay with our church and it was very convenient for him because the church was built on a portion of his land. The church accepted him and we were all very pleased because he was a musician but also because he was smart and extremely organized which was useful for the church. His wife was our church missionary.
We had lots of celebrations in their home and we became like family. I used to visit their home often because I was usually in the church doing something. I prayed and tried staying neutral when it came to judging any of the situations until something happened to kill my joy. This was the first thing that cracked and weakened my faith.
About two years later, I was almost seventeen, just before starting the service, my pastor called the lady I mentioned before, (the one who told me about the gay rumors), and me outside the church. We were standing right by the door steps. He began saying that he didn't know what it was about us two but he felt he was in love with us. We smiled and responded that we loved him too. He then explained that he loved all the women in the church but what he felt for us was different and special.
At that moment, I didn't think anything of it. I'd never thought he was trying to get fresh with me. He knew I was only a child when it came to matters of the heart. I was still sixteen. What can a man at his age (like sixty) and at his level ever want with me? In him was the father I longed for and until then he had been doing a great job at it.I don't know what my friend felt or thought at that time but I know my mind was not ready to accept reality.
I told myself he just didn't know how to express his feelings of gratitude and appreciation for standing by him in one of his darkest hours. She and I did all kinds of work and fundraisers to help the church. We were committed and were relentless when it came to keeping the church at the status it was expected.
Unbelievable, my pastor tore my heart to pieces! The other lady smiled and went inside the church and I was following her when he grabbed my arm and asked me to wait a second. His lips began moving. "I don't know if it is how beautiful you are or if it's your body or the softness of your voice or just the way you are but you have made me fall in love with you." That is what came out of his mouth. I tried forcing a smile and I said, "Of course you love me, you are my pastor and I am like one of your kids."
This was his chance. I gave him an opportunity to back up and redeem his honor and status before me but he was not taking back his feelings, his words or intentions. He continued to say, " I know it is so wrong; I am a married man and a pastor but I am only a man; a man with feelings for you and there is nothing that can change what I feel."
His confession of love got worst by the seconds. He said, "Every night you come into my room, in my bed and I do things to you in my mind, that I've never done to my wife, who is lying next to me. I know it isn't you I see; it's a spirit but it comes because of what I feel for you. I want you real bad. I love you."My jaw almost hit the floor and he was there like expecting a response. I don't know what he expected me to do or say. Was he crazy?
Now, I couldn't even look at him. I felt dirty and guilty because of what he said I caused him to feel. I wanted to be invisible. He was about to touch me and I pulled away. I wanted to run home but what would people think? What could I tell my mother? She was a master at blaming me for everything and I didn't need to feel any guiltier than I already felt.I went numb for a while. I couldn't feel anything. If someone had cut me, I don't think that I would have bled.
I walked straight to the altar and fell to my knees but couldn't pray; I couldn't cry. I just stayed there trying to wake up from this nightmare, only I was already awake. I knew God was there and that He was waiting for me to ask for help and strength but I was too ashamed. I couldn't go to God after what I had done to His anointed. I was less than dirt. That is all I felt, shame and guilt, condemnation for causing the man of God to sin.
After a while of just being there, I walked back to my seat. For the first time in almost four years, I wasn't able to worship God. I began to weep. I felt pain in my chest. I had problems breathing because I wanted to scream but I couldn't. Shame was weighing me down. It was my entire fault. I was too nice, too loving, and too needy and men could not resist this. I blamed myself for my pastor's weakness. I caused this to happen by always being so available to everything they asked of me.
I found every excuse and used it against myself.I stopped crying and shut down. I didn't hear the message, I heard no singing, and I don't even know how I got home. After that night, it was never the same for me. I became paranoid of being anywhere my pastor was especially if no one else was close by. I just avoided him as much as possible and sometimes he would find ways to either pinch me or touch me while he was with his wife. To everyone else, he was being fatherly with me but I knew what really motivated his hands to find my body and I felt disgusted.
Maybe I could have told on him, to his wife I mean, but she was just so in love with him and she was such a good woman. She stood by him through all that came against him. She believed in him and fought to keep his ministry alive. She was devoted and took real good care of him.
Sometimes, I felt like she knew what he was feeling for me because several times when I was with my mother we would bump into them at the shopping center or a store and he would look at me as though I was his favorite dish. Then he would walk towards me and try to whisper things in my ears. He would say things like, "I love you" or "you are mine" and she would give him a dirty look and sometimes pull him to her side. As a good wife, I believe she knew his weaknesses and tried her best to save and protect him when possible but the cat was out of the bag and he had shown me his true colors.
For several months I ran from him every chance I had. So much that I ended up leaving his church and going to another. I hear people say that running from your problems is not the solution and I think they are right. Because I found myself in the same situation with one of the church officials and yes, he too was married.
Before leaving the church I went to our advisor and explained what happened. His response left me in limbo, just hanging. He said, "How dumb can he be? He shouldn't have told you in that manner." I was shocked. "He shouldn't have told me at all" I cried. He commented that I needed to understand that any man would have to be crazy if he didn't fall in love with me. He said I was a wonderful young woman and if he wasn't married he would make me his wife.
I left my church and went to the mother church where the representative had come from. About a month later, he followed, stating that it was time for him to come back to his church. I was already in position as the youth leader and would have to wait another eight months before I could leave.
What do you know? Like a magnet, he too began pursuing me. This went on for over a year. I was astonished at myself. All the time I looked up to him like a father; I had a crush on his youngest son; his oldest daughter was my Spanish teacher when I was in elementary school and his wife was like a mother to me.
I even helped to take care of her after a serious back surgery which left her paralyzed for a while. All this and yet, he was confessing his love to me? What was wrong with me? What was I doing to cause this type of reaction in men who were supposed to serve as leaders of the church? How could I make this man fall in love with me if I loved his entire family like my own? Of course, I refused having sex with him but the guilt and shame I felt made me responsible for him wanting me.
He started showing up at my house always bearing lots of expensive gifts. I was afraid to refuse his gifts because he gave them to me in front of my mother. I thought she might think it was because of helping with his wife but even after I sat down with her and told her all that had happened, she did nothing. She said I had to take the gifts because he just loved me a lot.
Once again, I felt alone and helpless. There was no one to neither stand with me nor fight for me. I was not allowed to make my own decisions but when it came to saving me, I was on my own.I didn't know how to tell him that all I felt for him was a love that was pure, that of a father-daughter relationship. It had nothing to do with sex, lust or destroying his family or his marriage. Don't get me wrong. He was quite an elegant man, much older (in his fifties) but handsome. He was a serious person and knew how to appreciate life. I admired and liked many things about him but in no way, shape or form did I think of him as anything more than a father figure.
He was a wonderful father to his daughter and he was more than a father to his sons, he was their friend. He was the perfect father and I wanted to be one of his children.Once I realized my mother was not going to help me out of this, I became an easy prey for the wolf again. I fell right back into my victim mode. That was an area of my life where I was the expert.
I wanted him to be the father to care for me like he cared for his own. Instead, I became his conquest. He was like a child with a new toy and I was just allowing him to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't cross the line. No sex. This went on for about four years. He touched me and kissed me all the time and I felt ashamed but I just didn't know how to stop him. Actaully, I was hoping that he would get to really love me and in time understand my true needs. I wanted him to stop wanting me and making me feel dirty just long enough to see a daughter in me but it never happened. More and more he was determined to break me.
Thank God that this man was not willing to physically force me to have sex. He tried everything possible and at times I felt he might but he was careful not to rape me. He proposed that we elope to Mexico for a while but I refused and finally told him that I wasn't interested in him like that. He then asked me for one last request. "Let me have sex with you, just once and I'll leave you alone." What?! Was he for real? Talk about being persistent! My answer was “NO”.
For the first time, I was able to look him in the eyes and say, "I don't want anything to do with you again." His request was humiliating and it helped me to understand that there was no love, only lust. My first pastor had been removed and was now at the mother church. Now I had not one but two man after me at the same church and I didn’t know what to do.
I reluctantly spoke to the pastor of the church about the constant harassment I was experiencing from this man who was part of the church leadership and he gave me permission to leave the church. He also explained that I was not the only person he had done this to. There were at least two other ladies who had complained about his sexual advances and improper behavior.
This didn't make me happy but I sighed with relief because all along I was blaming myself for everything that was happening but he had been playing the field for a while.
This situation was really hurtful and disappointing because I thought that with him and his family I could become part of something that was better than the life I had. His lust for me knocked down the safety I thought I had found.
Every time our church went to visit the “mother church” I stayed home. I couldn’t handle seeing either of them. At the same time I loved my ex-pastor’s wife and the family of this other man as well and they loved me too but I had to stay away from them. It hurt so much because these people were offering me what I needed and sought all my life.
The church leader kept coming to my home, still showing up with gifts and expecting me to be nice to him. He insisted that if I gave him a chance, he could make me happy. When my mother was home, I would take his gifts (my sisters had a ball with everything he bought for me) but when my mother was not at home, he would leave with whatever he brought for me. At times I hid and made him think no one was home.
Long after this, he would ask me if I love him and would continue to confess his love for me. Time after time I explained to him that he was like a father to me and that was all I needed of him. I went as far as telling him about the abuse I had suffered, all of it, but he seemed to go absent when I spoke. He could only think of his selfish need to have me.
I am now forty four years old (it is 2007) and up to last year when I visited St. Croix, he was asking me to stay with him. He is now a pastor but I am sure that if I was to say yes, he would give it all up to be with me. It is like a sickness in his mind that has no cure.
I have preached to him, I have opened up my heart to him and I have even tried correcting him about his ways because I fear that his church is lacking because of his condition but I have not been successful in helping him turn away from his old ways.
The fact that I speak to him with authority and that there is anointing in my life makes him more determined to have me in his life. Before he used to love my weaknesses but now he loves my strength. It is like he forgot that two plus two equals four. I know he understands the Word of God and he is a very smart man. So then, how can he love the power of God in me and still want me for himself when he knows that is not the will of God?
The very thing he now says he admires and loves about me, the anointing of God over my life, is the thing that comes against his desires and ways of the flesh. It is the very thing that makes me look at him and feel nothing but pity for his soul mixed with dismay caused by his lack of reverence to his position as pastor and more so to God.
He is now a widower and thinks that because his wife is now dead everything has change to his advantage. What he doesn’t see is that God has other plans for my life that do not include him. He doesn’t understand that just the very fact that all I ever saw in him was a father would never change how I see him and how I feel about him, another father who lost his way.
I have forgiven him and as I mentioned before, I try to help him through the Word of God but I’ve come to terms with the fact that as much as I would like for him to change, it is up to him to want the change.
He has a congregation to feed and to guide into the truth which is God and I pray that despite his ways, God has mercy that his sheep don’t die spiritually but that they are open to allowing the Holy Spirit to lead them.
Sometimes we put our sight on men wanting them to be the example to follow but the truth is that men will always be men (when I say men I include women) and because the work of God is not yet perfected in us, we will err. It is wise that we keep our eyes set on God through Jesus who came as the perfect example that we may follow in His footsteps.
Our mother church, sent a representative to help out in the church and to act as counselor/advisor and I guess, to investigate what was really going on. He was keeping an eye on everything. The woman later confessed that it was all a lie and that satan used her against our Pastor. I was relieved because I wanted to keep everything the way it was and I had began trusting my Pastor to the fullest.
The representative decided to stay with our church and it was very convenient for him because the church was built on a portion of his land. The church accepted him and we were all very pleased because he was a musician but also because he was smart and extremely organized which was useful for the church. His wife was our church missionary.
We had lots of celebrations in their home and we became like family. I used to visit their home often because I was usually in the church doing something. I prayed and tried staying neutral when it came to judging any of the situations until something happened to kill my joy. This was the first thing that cracked and weakened my faith.
About two years later, I was almost seventeen, just before starting the service, my pastor called the lady I mentioned before, (the one who told me about the gay rumors), and me outside the church. We were standing right by the door steps. He began saying that he didn't know what it was about us two but he felt he was in love with us. We smiled and responded that we loved him too. He then explained that he loved all the women in the church but what he felt for us was different and special.
At that moment, I didn't think anything of it. I'd never thought he was trying to get fresh with me. He knew I was only a child when it came to matters of the heart. I was still sixteen. What can a man at his age (like sixty) and at his level ever want with me? In him was the father I longed for and until then he had been doing a great job at it.I don't know what my friend felt or thought at that time but I know my mind was not ready to accept reality.
I told myself he just didn't know how to express his feelings of gratitude and appreciation for standing by him in one of his darkest hours. She and I did all kinds of work and fundraisers to help the church. We were committed and were relentless when it came to keeping the church at the status it was expected.
Unbelievable, my pastor tore my heart to pieces! The other lady smiled and went inside the church and I was following her when he grabbed my arm and asked me to wait a second. His lips began moving. "I don't know if it is how beautiful you are or if it's your body or the softness of your voice or just the way you are but you have made me fall in love with you." That is what came out of his mouth. I tried forcing a smile and I said, "Of course you love me, you are my pastor and I am like one of your kids."
This was his chance. I gave him an opportunity to back up and redeem his honor and status before me but he was not taking back his feelings, his words or intentions. He continued to say, " I know it is so wrong; I am a married man and a pastor but I am only a man; a man with feelings for you and there is nothing that can change what I feel."
His confession of love got worst by the seconds. He said, "Every night you come into my room, in my bed and I do things to you in my mind, that I've never done to my wife, who is lying next to me. I know it isn't you I see; it's a spirit but it comes because of what I feel for you. I want you real bad. I love you."My jaw almost hit the floor and he was there like expecting a response. I don't know what he expected me to do or say. Was he crazy?
Now, I couldn't even look at him. I felt dirty and guilty because of what he said I caused him to feel. I wanted to be invisible. He was about to touch me and I pulled away. I wanted to run home but what would people think? What could I tell my mother? She was a master at blaming me for everything and I didn't need to feel any guiltier than I already felt.I went numb for a while. I couldn't feel anything. If someone had cut me, I don't think that I would have bled.
I walked straight to the altar and fell to my knees but couldn't pray; I couldn't cry. I just stayed there trying to wake up from this nightmare, only I was already awake. I knew God was there and that He was waiting for me to ask for help and strength but I was too ashamed. I couldn't go to God after what I had done to His anointed. I was less than dirt. That is all I felt, shame and guilt, condemnation for causing the man of God to sin.
After a while of just being there, I walked back to my seat. For the first time in almost four years, I wasn't able to worship God. I began to weep. I felt pain in my chest. I had problems breathing because I wanted to scream but I couldn't. Shame was weighing me down. It was my entire fault. I was too nice, too loving, and too needy and men could not resist this. I blamed myself for my pastor's weakness. I caused this to happen by always being so available to everything they asked of me.
I found every excuse and used it against myself.I stopped crying and shut down. I didn't hear the message, I heard no singing, and I don't even know how I got home. After that night, it was never the same for me. I became paranoid of being anywhere my pastor was especially if no one else was close by. I just avoided him as much as possible and sometimes he would find ways to either pinch me or touch me while he was with his wife. To everyone else, he was being fatherly with me but I knew what really motivated his hands to find my body and I felt disgusted.
Maybe I could have told on him, to his wife I mean, but she was just so in love with him and she was such a good woman. She stood by him through all that came against him. She believed in him and fought to keep his ministry alive. She was devoted and took real good care of him.
Sometimes, I felt like she knew what he was feeling for me because several times when I was with my mother we would bump into them at the shopping center or a store and he would look at me as though I was his favorite dish. Then he would walk towards me and try to whisper things in my ears. He would say things like, "I love you" or "you are mine" and she would give him a dirty look and sometimes pull him to her side. As a good wife, I believe she knew his weaknesses and tried her best to save and protect him when possible but the cat was out of the bag and he had shown me his true colors.
For several months I ran from him every chance I had. So much that I ended up leaving his church and going to another. I hear people say that running from your problems is not the solution and I think they are right. Because I found myself in the same situation with one of the church officials and yes, he too was married.
Before leaving the church I went to our advisor and explained what happened. His response left me in limbo, just hanging. He said, "How dumb can he be? He shouldn't have told you in that manner." I was shocked. "He shouldn't have told me at all" I cried. He commented that I needed to understand that any man would have to be crazy if he didn't fall in love with me. He said I was a wonderful young woman and if he wasn't married he would make me his wife.
I left my church and went to the mother church where the representative had come from. About a month later, he followed, stating that it was time for him to come back to his church. I was already in position as the youth leader and would have to wait another eight months before I could leave.
What do you know? Like a magnet, he too began pursuing me. This went on for over a year. I was astonished at myself. All the time I looked up to him like a father; I had a crush on his youngest son; his oldest daughter was my Spanish teacher when I was in elementary school and his wife was like a mother to me.
I even helped to take care of her after a serious back surgery which left her paralyzed for a while. All this and yet, he was confessing his love to me? What was wrong with me? What was I doing to cause this type of reaction in men who were supposed to serve as leaders of the church? How could I make this man fall in love with me if I loved his entire family like my own? Of course, I refused having sex with him but the guilt and shame I felt made me responsible for him wanting me.
He started showing up at my house always bearing lots of expensive gifts. I was afraid to refuse his gifts because he gave them to me in front of my mother. I thought she might think it was because of helping with his wife but even after I sat down with her and told her all that had happened, she did nothing. She said I had to take the gifts because he just loved me a lot.
Once again, I felt alone and helpless. There was no one to neither stand with me nor fight for me. I was not allowed to make my own decisions but when it came to saving me, I was on my own.I didn't know how to tell him that all I felt for him was a love that was pure, that of a father-daughter relationship. It had nothing to do with sex, lust or destroying his family or his marriage. Don't get me wrong. He was quite an elegant man, much older (in his fifties) but handsome. He was a serious person and knew how to appreciate life. I admired and liked many things about him but in no way, shape or form did I think of him as anything more than a father figure.
He was a wonderful father to his daughter and he was more than a father to his sons, he was their friend. He was the perfect father and I wanted to be one of his children.Once I realized my mother was not going to help me out of this, I became an easy prey for the wolf again. I fell right back into my victim mode. That was an area of my life where I was the expert.
I wanted him to be the father to care for me like he cared for his own. Instead, I became his conquest. He was like a child with a new toy and I was just allowing him to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't cross the line. No sex. This went on for about four years. He touched me and kissed me all the time and I felt ashamed but I just didn't know how to stop him. Actaully, I was hoping that he would get to really love me and in time understand my true needs. I wanted him to stop wanting me and making me feel dirty just long enough to see a daughter in me but it never happened. More and more he was determined to break me.
Thank God that this man was not willing to physically force me to have sex. He tried everything possible and at times I felt he might but he was careful not to rape me. He proposed that we elope to Mexico for a while but I refused and finally told him that I wasn't interested in him like that. He then asked me for one last request. "Let me have sex with you, just once and I'll leave you alone." What?! Was he for real? Talk about being persistent! My answer was “NO”.
For the first time, I was able to look him in the eyes and say, "I don't want anything to do with you again." His request was humiliating and it helped me to understand that there was no love, only lust. My first pastor had been removed and was now at the mother church. Now I had not one but two man after me at the same church and I didn’t know what to do.
I reluctantly spoke to the pastor of the church about the constant harassment I was experiencing from this man who was part of the church leadership and he gave me permission to leave the church. He also explained that I was not the only person he had done this to. There were at least two other ladies who had complained about his sexual advances and improper behavior.
This didn't make me happy but I sighed with relief because all along I was blaming myself for everything that was happening but he had been playing the field for a while.
This situation was really hurtful and disappointing because I thought that with him and his family I could become part of something that was better than the life I had. His lust for me knocked down the safety I thought I had found.
Every time our church went to visit the “mother church” I stayed home. I couldn’t handle seeing either of them. At the same time I loved my ex-pastor’s wife and the family of this other man as well and they loved me too but I had to stay away from them. It hurt so much because these people were offering me what I needed and sought all my life.
The church leader kept coming to my home, still showing up with gifts and expecting me to be nice to him. He insisted that if I gave him a chance, he could make me happy. When my mother was home, I would take his gifts (my sisters had a ball with everything he bought for me) but when my mother was not at home, he would leave with whatever he brought for me. At times I hid and made him think no one was home.
Long after this, he would ask me if I love him and would continue to confess his love for me. Time after time I explained to him that he was like a father to me and that was all I needed of him. I went as far as telling him about the abuse I had suffered, all of it, but he seemed to go absent when I spoke. He could only think of his selfish need to have me.
I am now forty four years old (it is 2007) and up to last year when I visited St. Croix, he was asking me to stay with him. He is now a pastor but I am sure that if I was to say yes, he would give it all up to be with me. It is like a sickness in his mind that has no cure.
I have preached to him, I have opened up my heart to him and I have even tried correcting him about his ways because I fear that his church is lacking because of his condition but I have not been successful in helping him turn away from his old ways.
The fact that I speak to him with authority and that there is anointing in my life makes him more determined to have me in his life. Before he used to love my weaknesses but now he loves my strength. It is like he forgot that two plus two equals four. I know he understands the Word of God and he is a very smart man. So then, how can he love the power of God in me and still want me for himself when he knows that is not the will of God?
The very thing he now says he admires and loves about me, the anointing of God over my life, is the thing that comes against his desires and ways of the flesh. It is the very thing that makes me look at him and feel nothing but pity for his soul mixed with dismay caused by his lack of reverence to his position as pastor and more so to God.
He is now a widower and thinks that because his wife is now dead everything has change to his advantage. What he doesn’t see is that God has other plans for my life that do not include him. He doesn’t understand that just the very fact that all I ever saw in him was a father would never change how I see him and how I feel about him, another father who lost his way.
I have forgiven him and as I mentioned before, I try to help him through the Word of God but I’ve come to terms with the fact that as much as I would like for him to change, it is up to him to want the change.
He has a congregation to feed and to guide into the truth which is God and I pray that despite his ways, God has mercy that his sheep don’t die spiritually but that they are open to allowing the Holy Spirit to lead them.
Sometimes we put our sight on men wanting them to be the example to follow but the truth is that men will always be men (when I say men I include women) and because the work of God is not yet perfected in us, we will err. It is wise that we keep our eyes set on God through Jesus who came as the perfect example that we may follow in His footsteps.
Details About My Weird Wedding
We got married in 1990. It was a huge wedding. Between the both of us, we spent over seventeen thousand dollars. The wedding party consisted of the bride, groom, my stepfather and my dad, the best man, matron of honor, ring bearer, the flower girl, the ribbon girl (who opened the ceremony by cutting the ribbons) and seven bride's maid, each with their companion. So the wedding party alone consisted of twenty-three people.
I don't know if this has ever been done before but I had both my stepfather and my daddy walk me down the isle. The church had three doors, one on each side and one to the front. My father came in through the right hand side alone and I walked in with my stepfather, my daddy, through the left door. We then met by the main entrance, the front door where both men were at my side. All three of us walked to the altar and then my father gave me back to my stepfather who then gave me to the groom in marriage.
I know, pretty complicated but I was pushed against the wall by my family, my emotions, my compromising ways and my pain. I was mad at my stepfather because even when he was so ill, he was still looking at me and making me feel dirty. The actual abuse was no longer going on but he was still the same person even after all those years. Just before the hurricane, I caught him trying to peep through the bathroom window while I showered.
I wanted my real father to be the one to walk me down the isle. I wanted my marriage to be good and blessed. Instead it was like a curse. It felt wrong and dirty. My brother was not aware of what I was hiding or of all I had gone through. So, when I mentioned that I wanted my father to be the one to walk me down the isle he got infuriated and he threatened to walk out on me and not take part in the wedding if I didn't allow his dad to walk me. He yelled and cursed at me right in the church during a rehearsal because he felt I was being ungrateful.
I understood what he meant and I would have agreed with him totally if it wasn't for what his dad had put me through. I cried and searched for a balance and having both of them take part was the best thing for me at the time and it would avoid a disaster with the family.
We hired caterers and decorators but I worked all night and until seven in the morning, the day of the wedding. The workers ran out on the lady who was taking care of decorating the reception hall. We worked hard but it paid off.
We had over two hundred and fifty people and they were all taken care of in the most elegant manner. The groom and I went table by table greeting, thanking and making sure that everyone got themselves a souvenir along with lots of food and good service from the help. They all seemed happy to be there.
Before and during the nuptial ceremony I remember people asking me if I was nervous. I wasn't, I don't think I truly realized that it was me getting married until later. It seemed to me like I was watching the whole thing from afar or like I was the coordinator. I was positioning the children and everyone to enter as rehearsed and even when I was walking down the isle, I kept directing. Now that I think of it, what in the world was I doing? Who gets married like that?
I don't remember much more but I had a very special moment which will always be with me. At the reception, I asked all the children that were present, to gather around me and I asked the photographer to take a picture of us. To me it is simply breathtaking seeing myself surrounded by the children which were about thirty of them. It made me happy.
It is so weird because I didn't have the blessing of having children of my own but even though there was a wedding going on, my wedding, I felt led to surround myself with loving angels, the children. Now, I see it as God's way of telling me that I would be loved by children even if they aren't mine. At that moment, surrounded by innocence, I felt blessed more than any other woman I know.
As life would have it, I also cried. Some of my husband’s friends fell in love with the centerpieces we made for the tables and began asking him if they could take some home. One of them had already taken several without asking and the groom went crazy. How embarrassing! All of a sudden, he began yelling at them and people were shocked to see his behavior. I just began crying and ran into the bathroom.
My mother had to come and get me out of there. After that scene, I was ready to leave. I gave my good-byes to those around me and got inside the limousine.
The truth is that this was a moment of opportunity for me to release the tears I was fighting so hard to hold back to keep from flowing. In the middle of my wedding, I woke up and realize what a horrible mistake I had just committed against myself but I was too unhappy to even care.
Everyone thought I was tired but the truth was that I had just agreed to marry a stranger; a man I never saw as anything else other than a good friend; a man who I felt didn't love me at all. Yet, some how, I had managed to convince myself that he did until it was too late to back out. Doomed, I tell you! This has been one of the worst things I did to myself. I had on an eleven hundred dollar dress but felt like I was dressed in rags. Everyone spoke of how beautiful I looked and all I could see before me was a broken life about to get worse.
I felt like I had just been sent to prison for life. I could see the bars and felt my face pressed against them. If there was a time I wished I could turn back the clock, the day of my wedding was it.
Truly, choosing a man to marry without God’s blessing is one of the greatest curses a person can enter themselves into. I found this out the hard way.
"Wow, it had been a long, long day for me. Finally, I was ready to go home and rest; but wait! This was my wedding night! What was I thinking about, rest? I must have lost it for a minute there! The last thing in the groom's mind was resting.
Well, I found out that we would be staying at a beautiful hotel for the night and I pretended like I was happy and excited about it. I don't know what it was, maybe, all the pressure I had just set myself for or just the fact that I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on me but I was extremely exhausted; I felt drained and like I was beginning to fade away. I don’t remember the limousine ride from the reception to downtown which was about twenty five minutes of distance. We also had to take a five minute ferry to the hotel which I don’t remember either. Once we got to the hotel, I remember going in the bathroom and wanted to stay there all night. I wanted to hide and pretend that this day never happened.
Dream on though, the groom came knocking on the door, asking to come in. I asked him to wait while I undressed and got in the bath tub. He then came in and ask if we could shower together. This was not our first time but it felt that way to me. I didn't even answer him. He got undressed and into the tub while I was trying to hide myself.
He laughed at me, asking why I would hide from him. He made fun of me because I was embarrassed. I got lost after that.The truth is that after that moment, I have no recollection of the events that followed. I don't remember having sex that night but I think I must have because when I woke up the next morning, I was in bed, naked. My hands were touching my body and I could feel my own skin.
My heart began racing and without moving a muscle, I opened my eyes to take a peek and saw the walls and didn't recognize the color. The walls of my bedroom at home were a light green and I was staring at white walls.
Oh God! I was scared! No, the word is terrified or petrified because I didn't know where I was and I didn’t understand why I was naked. All that was crossing my mind was that I would never be able to explain to my mother why I didn't come home that night, where I was and who I was with. Oh yes, I was twenty seven years old but my mother would have beaten me severely. Her control over me was that extreme.
To make things worst, I didn't know who it was that I heard breathing next to me. I was hoping it wasn’t a man but maybe one of my family members like my sister or my niece or even my mom.
Had I spent the night out and with a man? I was dead for sure. The thoughts flooded my mind and I wanted to scream. I began to tremble and crying I whispered to myself, "I am scared." He heard me but didn't understand that I was confused, so he said, "You don't need to be scared. You are now a married woman."
It took me a moment to remember that I had gotten married the night before, and then a ton of relief sighed off me. The memories were vague and clouded; just bits and pieces. I felt some hesitation but I turned to my husband and hugged him. Never mind that I couldn't remember what happened that night. I didn't have to face my mother's wrath. I decided that it was a good time to act like I was married and made my husband happy.
Relief was good, very good. I would have done anything at that time as long as I was not in trouble with my mother. True, I was old enough and an adult, but I feared my mother even when I was thirty-three, until her death. As soon as we got ready, we went straight to visit my Mom. I had to make sure that this was true and not a dream. My mother was waiting for me by the door and she looked happy. This was a good sign. I hadn't done anything wrong and my Mom was not mad at me.
She took me to her room and asked me how it was. What? My Mom was actually asking me about sex? Well, it was simple. I said, "last night I don't remember a thing but this morning we did it and it was good. We giggled like two silly girls and then we joined the rest of the family.
This was the happiest day of my entire marriage. Seeing how my mother looked at me; for the first time in my life she seemed to be truly proud of my womanhood. I don't know why because it was all a lie but she couldn't tell and it was fine with me as long as she was happy with me.
I don't know if this has ever been done before but I had both my stepfather and my daddy walk me down the isle. The church had three doors, one on each side and one to the front. My father came in through the right hand side alone and I walked in with my stepfather, my daddy, through the left door. We then met by the main entrance, the front door where both men were at my side. All three of us walked to the altar and then my father gave me back to my stepfather who then gave me to the groom in marriage.
I know, pretty complicated but I was pushed against the wall by my family, my emotions, my compromising ways and my pain. I was mad at my stepfather because even when he was so ill, he was still looking at me and making me feel dirty. The actual abuse was no longer going on but he was still the same person even after all those years. Just before the hurricane, I caught him trying to peep through the bathroom window while I showered.
I wanted my real father to be the one to walk me down the isle. I wanted my marriage to be good and blessed. Instead it was like a curse. It felt wrong and dirty. My brother was not aware of what I was hiding or of all I had gone through. So, when I mentioned that I wanted my father to be the one to walk me down the isle he got infuriated and he threatened to walk out on me and not take part in the wedding if I didn't allow his dad to walk me. He yelled and cursed at me right in the church during a rehearsal because he felt I was being ungrateful.
I understood what he meant and I would have agreed with him totally if it wasn't for what his dad had put me through. I cried and searched for a balance and having both of them take part was the best thing for me at the time and it would avoid a disaster with the family.
We hired caterers and decorators but I worked all night and until seven in the morning, the day of the wedding. The workers ran out on the lady who was taking care of decorating the reception hall. We worked hard but it paid off.
We had over two hundred and fifty people and they were all taken care of in the most elegant manner. The groom and I went table by table greeting, thanking and making sure that everyone got themselves a souvenir along with lots of food and good service from the help. They all seemed happy to be there.
Before and during the nuptial ceremony I remember people asking me if I was nervous. I wasn't, I don't think I truly realized that it was me getting married until later. It seemed to me like I was watching the whole thing from afar or like I was the coordinator. I was positioning the children and everyone to enter as rehearsed and even when I was walking down the isle, I kept directing. Now that I think of it, what in the world was I doing? Who gets married like that?
I don't remember much more but I had a very special moment which will always be with me. At the reception, I asked all the children that were present, to gather around me and I asked the photographer to take a picture of us. To me it is simply breathtaking seeing myself surrounded by the children which were about thirty of them. It made me happy.
It is so weird because I didn't have the blessing of having children of my own but even though there was a wedding going on, my wedding, I felt led to surround myself with loving angels, the children. Now, I see it as God's way of telling me that I would be loved by children even if they aren't mine. At that moment, surrounded by innocence, I felt blessed more than any other woman I know.
As life would have it, I also cried. Some of my husband’s friends fell in love with the centerpieces we made for the tables and began asking him if they could take some home. One of them had already taken several without asking and the groom went crazy. How embarrassing! All of a sudden, he began yelling at them and people were shocked to see his behavior. I just began crying and ran into the bathroom.
My mother had to come and get me out of there. After that scene, I was ready to leave. I gave my good-byes to those around me and got inside the limousine.
The truth is that this was a moment of opportunity for me to release the tears I was fighting so hard to hold back to keep from flowing. In the middle of my wedding, I woke up and realize what a horrible mistake I had just committed against myself but I was too unhappy to even care.
Everyone thought I was tired but the truth was that I had just agreed to marry a stranger; a man I never saw as anything else other than a good friend; a man who I felt didn't love me at all. Yet, some how, I had managed to convince myself that he did until it was too late to back out. Doomed, I tell you! This has been one of the worst things I did to myself. I had on an eleven hundred dollar dress but felt like I was dressed in rags. Everyone spoke of how beautiful I looked and all I could see before me was a broken life about to get worse.
I felt like I had just been sent to prison for life. I could see the bars and felt my face pressed against them. If there was a time I wished I could turn back the clock, the day of my wedding was it.
Truly, choosing a man to marry without God’s blessing is one of the greatest curses a person can enter themselves into. I found this out the hard way.
"Wow, it had been a long, long day for me. Finally, I was ready to go home and rest; but wait! This was my wedding night! What was I thinking about, rest? I must have lost it for a minute there! The last thing in the groom's mind was resting.
Well, I found out that we would be staying at a beautiful hotel for the night and I pretended like I was happy and excited about it. I don't know what it was, maybe, all the pressure I had just set myself for or just the fact that I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on me but I was extremely exhausted; I felt drained and like I was beginning to fade away. I don’t remember the limousine ride from the reception to downtown which was about twenty five minutes of distance. We also had to take a five minute ferry to the hotel which I don’t remember either. Once we got to the hotel, I remember going in the bathroom and wanted to stay there all night. I wanted to hide and pretend that this day never happened.
Dream on though, the groom came knocking on the door, asking to come in. I asked him to wait while I undressed and got in the bath tub. He then came in and ask if we could shower together. This was not our first time but it felt that way to me. I didn't even answer him. He got undressed and into the tub while I was trying to hide myself.
He laughed at me, asking why I would hide from him. He made fun of me because I was embarrassed. I got lost after that.The truth is that after that moment, I have no recollection of the events that followed. I don't remember having sex that night but I think I must have because when I woke up the next morning, I was in bed, naked. My hands were touching my body and I could feel my own skin.
My heart began racing and without moving a muscle, I opened my eyes to take a peek and saw the walls and didn't recognize the color. The walls of my bedroom at home were a light green and I was staring at white walls.
Oh God! I was scared! No, the word is terrified or petrified because I didn't know where I was and I didn’t understand why I was naked. All that was crossing my mind was that I would never be able to explain to my mother why I didn't come home that night, where I was and who I was with. Oh yes, I was twenty seven years old but my mother would have beaten me severely. Her control over me was that extreme.
To make things worst, I didn't know who it was that I heard breathing next to me. I was hoping it wasn’t a man but maybe one of my family members like my sister or my niece or even my mom.
Had I spent the night out and with a man? I was dead for sure. The thoughts flooded my mind and I wanted to scream. I began to tremble and crying I whispered to myself, "I am scared." He heard me but didn't understand that I was confused, so he said, "You don't need to be scared. You are now a married woman."
It took me a moment to remember that I had gotten married the night before, and then a ton of relief sighed off me. The memories were vague and clouded; just bits and pieces. I felt some hesitation but I turned to my husband and hugged him. Never mind that I couldn't remember what happened that night. I didn't have to face my mother's wrath. I decided that it was a good time to act like I was married and made my husband happy.
Relief was good, very good. I would have done anything at that time as long as I was not in trouble with my mother. True, I was old enough and an adult, but I feared my mother even when I was thirty-three, until her death. As soon as we got ready, we went straight to visit my Mom. I had to make sure that this was true and not a dream. My mother was waiting for me by the door and she looked happy. This was a good sign. I hadn't done anything wrong and my Mom was not mad at me.
She took me to her room and asked me how it was. What? My Mom was actually asking me about sex? Well, it was simple. I said, "last night I don't remember a thing but this morning we did it and it was good. We giggled like two silly girls and then we joined the rest of the family.
This was the happiest day of my entire marriage. Seeing how my mother looked at me; for the first time in my life she seemed to be truly proud of my womanhood. I don't know why because it was all a lie but she couldn't tell and it was fine with me as long as she was happy with me.
Hurricane Hugo
Hurricane Hugo churned through the same section of the Caribbean as Donna, but had weakened from its peak intensity by the time it smashed the US Virgin Islands on Sept. 17/18, 1998 and then struck a glancing blow to Puerto Rico with winds gusting to 160 mph the next day.
Weakened temporarily by its Caribbean Island assault, Hugo intensified significantly prior to landfall as it crossed the Gulf Stream off the Southeast US coast. Hugo blew into Charleston, SC, on the evening of Sept. 21, the autumnal equinox, with winds of 138 mph and a 20 foot storm surge on top of astronomically high tides.
Hurricane Hugo's impressive intensity made it the strongest storm to strike the East Coast north of Florida since Hazel in Oct. 1954. Hugo devastated South Carolina's barrier islands and flattened the Francis Marion National Forest, to the north of Charleston. Its price tag hit $7 billion, earning Hugo the title of “one of the costliest hurricanes ever” in US according to the media.
Those are all facts given by people who study these phenomena’s But I will share with you from the prospective of a survivor. I was in St. Croix when it all happened.
It had been more than thirty five years since St. Croix had gotten hit directly by a hurricane. I was twenty six years old so I had no idea of it would be like. All people would comment was that it would bring lots of wind and rain.
My siblings and I were excited to see it come as were many of the younger people who had never experienced anything like it. We wanted to know what it was like to be hit by a hurricane.
We got as prepared as we thought would be “prepared” enough. We bought canned goods, water, flashlights, batteries and everything else recommended for the experience. We lived in a house made of cement blocks so we felt very secured and prepared.
The winds began to blow strong about midday of the 17th of September. My brother and I decided to drive around to see how the winds were blowing on the trees and to see how rough the waters were.
We got down to Fredericksted and there were police everywhere telling people to go home and stay off the roads. We avoided them by taking a turn away from the main street where they were.
We got right by the water front and we were amazed by how high and how hard the waves were hitting on the street. There were even some fish on the road.
The cops saw us and approached us. They warned us to go home before the situations got worst. My brother and I had gotten a little scared by what we had seen. The fury of the waters could be heard in the roar of every wave. We decided to head home.
A little scared but still very excited, we drove back to the house. The winds had gotten a lot stronger by the time we were half way home. All kind of debris was flying all over the place and we found ourselves praying that we didn’t get hit by something big enough to hurt us or our car. We saw what looked like a large piece of galvanize (aluminum roofing) and we were very concerned to see that roofs were being torn apart by the initial winds of the hurricane.
We got home and started to put the car cover on my brother’s car and the wind got under it as we were both holding an end and it lifted my brother off the ground. We were no longer smiling and the excitement of the hurricane had now turned into concern.
I listened to the radio because there was no electricity to watch the news on TV and I kept tracking the hurricane on the map. As soon as it hit the island of Grenada, I knew that it would hit us. I don’t know how I knew it but I was sure of it. The family wanted me not to speak it out because they were hoping for the hurricane to turn and hit somewhere else.
I was a little upset that my family thought of the hurricane hitting somewhere else to spare us. I knew that they were not willingly hoping for any of the other islands to be hit but it was inevitable that some of the islands were going to be hit by Hugo because of its size.
I told them that I thought it was time for people in St. Croix to see the power of God in action because every year we were spared and people just took God’s care and protection for granted.
Not that I wanted St. Croix to be hit but many of the other islands were hit every year and those people needed a break to recover. Although the experience of Hugo was a hard one, I am glad that some of the other islands were spared that year.
Well, about seven that night, the winds were howling. Debris was slamming into our windows and there was an unknown flapping going on. I looked and saw that a piece of our roofing was damaged and was about to fly off.
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to alarm anyone especially my mother who was worried about our grandparents being alone in their home. She knew they would be scared and would need help and comforting. She wanted to go stay with them and leave us with my stepfather but it was too late. The winds were too strong and she might have lost her life.
After about two hours of the wind increasing and all kinds of sounds coming from the winds, my mother opened the door of my brother’s bedroom and there was no roof. She was paralyzed by what she was seeing. The sky was now the roof of that room.
She got anxious and started running, pushing my sister and her baby into the closet in their room. There was also my youngest brother and my brother’s girlfriend who she also pushed in that closet.
I was in the bathtub with my other sister’s baby. She was serving in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Germany. She had brought the child to stay with us for a year.
My mother was screaming and my little brother was crying because the situation had gotten scary. My mother felt out of control and didn’t know what to do. She kept yelling that the entire roof was going to blow away.
I called out to her and asked her to bring everybody inside the bathroom. I took the other baby while my sister, my brother, my mom and stepfather held a mattress over their head to protect themselves from incoming debris.
My mother couldn’t take it anymore, she started screaming and saying that she had to go to grandma to help them. She ran out of the bathroom and ran towards the back door because the winds would not allow the front door to be opened.
I yelled at my brother to go stop her because I knew that if she saw him going after her she would not go to avoid getting him hurt. By the time he got to her, the winds had slammed her into one of the walls of the house. He was able to bring her back.
This took about twenty five minutes and I thought that they were both gone. Meanwhile, I had the two babies on my lap. They both fell asleep like nothing was happening.
My stepfather’s cancer was very advanced and he had lost more than sixty pounds. He was still strong but the terrible disease had debilitated him tremendously. He was holding the mattress with my sister but his arms were trembling uncontrollably. He kept cursing at us to stop moving. He didn’t realize that the strong winds and the weakness in his arms were the cause for the shaking.
My mother and brother came back and took over for him. We were there all together but no one was speaking but the winds of “HUGO.” This hurricane had a male name but it sounded like a screaming woman who was in labor and having trouble with it. At the same time you could almost hear it talk. It seemed like she was yelling for blood while moaning all at once.
Because I could feel its power and its persistence to destroy, I felt that maybe if it got the blood of at least one person it would go away. It actually brought with it what I call a “spirit of insanity” and it was affecting me.
I felt like it was taunting me to run out and let it have my blood. I had to restrain myself and was able to overcome the feeling by praying and holding on to the babies in my arms.
Then it just stopped. There were no more winds, no more sounds and no more taunting. The storm seemed to have stopped just like that. We ran outside and the sight was gruesome. Trees, galvanize roofing, clothes, furniture, glass and household item all over the place.
My mother began rushing us out of the house and I didn’t understand why. My stepfather explained that this was the calm in the center of the eye and that usually the second part of the storm was worst than the first.
I surely couldn’t imagine anything worst than we had just survived. The only part of our house that was not completely destroyed was the bathroom where we shelter. The whole roof was gone and the house was flooded. Everything inside our house was wet.
We had no time to grab anything because soon the winds began blowing mildly and we decided that we had to get to the closest shelter before it started up again.
We got to a school close by and there were hundreds of people, maybe even more than a thousand it seemed like to me. The school was flooded and the men were using the school’s kitchen pots to get some of the water out. The water was knee high and most of us had to climb on the auditorium stage to avoid the high waters.
Unfortunately, the bathrooms were backed up and the water on the stage was contaminated but we found a dry spot because of my stepfather’s condition. Most people knew him and they knew he was very ill. They gave us a spot where he could be comfortable. He was very cold and shaking and we were not as prepared as we thought we were.
I was wearing a long skirt with a short pant underneath and a long T-shirt. I pulled up my skirt over my breast (I had a bra on) and I took off my T-shirt and put it on him. The warmth of my body on the shirt helped him get warm fast in addition to the body heat coming from my sister and me sitting next to him to keep him
warm.
My mother as usual was making herself useful helping other people that needed help. We didn’t see her for a while but we were not worried because people were not allowed to leave because the storm was once again in full force. We knew she was in her own element and doing what she did best.
For another four or five hour, the island was under the fullness of the wrath of “Hurricane Hugo.” Many were concern that if the hurricane lasted any longer, we would have to find a new shelter because things were not looking too good at this one.
The storm subsided and the first thing my mother announced was that we were to stay put while she went with one of my brothers to see about our grandparents.
I knew things were not safe out there but I also knew that this time she would not be stopped. She feared that they might be hurt or even killed by the storm and she was determined to go see how she could help them. When she got there, they told her they had hidden in a closet and she could see how scared and overwhelmed they were. One of them had gotten struck on the head by some debris.
I decided to venture out. I left my stepfather with my sister and her baby. I had the other baby with me and my youngest brother. I looked outside and it was difficult to walk around because of all the debris.
I looked up to the hills and noticed that one of the most beautiful houses in the area that was at the top of the hill, was no longer there. The land it was on looked like it had been swept clean.
I walked around bewildered by the destruction I saw. I thought that maybe hundreds of people might be dead. The devastation was immense and people were crying because of their loss and when they approached me talking about their loss, all I could think of was that it was a miracle that there were no dead people lying on the streets.
There were cars on top of each other, trees on the road and items everywhere. People had begun chopping the trees on the roads to make a way for the cars to be driven.
There were people with machetes all over the place and the tourists thought that they were in mortal danger. I remember being upset when we got the electricity back because the news was showing some of the tourists that were flown out by the Army saying that the island people had machetes to kill the tourists.
Not one death was reported by killing. In fact, the hurricane winds didn’t take any lives either; people died after the fact because of the destruction of the hospital.
Most of the island had no water and no part of the island had electricity. The water situation got resolved in about two weeks but we were without electricity for three months. It took some adjusting but once we accommodated ourselves we were fine.
The day after, we found and empty apartment and decided to claim It. Then it was time to think about food for the babies. My mom and I decided to go to the stores to shop for food not thinking that the devastation was island wide. We went to a store and it was all boarded up. An employee told us that there was a store open at the Sunny Isles Shopping Center, so, we headed there.
When we got there, there were lots of people running with boom boxes, TVs’, clothes, household items and such. We went to a store which had the doors open and an employee told us to go in and take whatever we wanted because most of the stuff in the store had gotten damaged. I couldn’t go in the store because when I left my house the day of the hurricane I had some slippers on and they broke in the process. I was actually barefoot.
My mom told me to stay by the door and she would give me the stuff to put in the car. My mother took everything possible to make the babies as comfortable as possible. They lacked nothing.
I was surrounded by lots of trash bags filled with everything the kids needed. Then my mother went to the pharmacy and got all kinds of medicine; from cold medicine, to ointments to first aid supplies. My mother did not waste time taking stuff we didn’t need. Because the stores were so full with people fighting and arguing over stuff, she would go in, take what she needed and get out.
People noticed that I was watching my mother’s bags so they began asking me to watch their stuff too and I wasn’t going anywhere so I was more than happy to help.
The Army and news helicopters were hovering around the shopping center, taking pictures of what was going on and I was waving at them with a great big smile not knowing that what was going on at the time had a name to it, “LOOTING” It was a miracle I didn’t get arrested along with the people who were arrested.
I believe that besides the fact that God was with me, they didn’t see any electronics or furniture around me. We were taking what we could find out of necessity and because we were being told by the employees that it was okay to do so.
Our apartment became like a social services office where people came for help. We shared everything we had with people who were in need. Once again, my mother found herself being the social worker we all knew her to be.
The hurricane destroyed our homes but also opened doors to new friendships and experiences which added to our appreciation for life and to our quality of life. We were better people for having lived and survived Hurricane Hugo.
Weakened temporarily by its Caribbean Island assault, Hugo intensified significantly prior to landfall as it crossed the Gulf Stream off the Southeast US coast. Hugo blew into Charleston, SC, on the evening of Sept. 21, the autumnal equinox, with winds of 138 mph and a 20 foot storm surge on top of astronomically high tides.
Hurricane Hugo's impressive intensity made it the strongest storm to strike the East Coast north of Florida since Hazel in Oct. 1954. Hugo devastated South Carolina's barrier islands and flattened the Francis Marion National Forest, to the north of Charleston. Its price tag hit $7 billion, earning Hugo the title of “one of the costliest hurricanes ever” in US according to the media.
Those are all facts given by people who study these phenomena’s But I will share with you from the prospective of a survivor. I was in St. Croix when it all happened.
It had been more than thirty five years since St. Croix had gotten hit directly by a hurricane. I was twenty six years old so I had no idea of it would be like. All people would comment was that it would bring lots of wind and rain.
My siblings and I were excited to see it come as were many of the younger people who had never experienced anything like it. We wanted to know what it was like to be hit by a hurricane.
We got as prepared as we thought would be “prepared” enough. We bought canned goods, water, flashlights, batteries and everything else recommended for the experience. We lived in a house made of cement blocks so we felt very secured and prepared.
The winds began to blow strong about midday of the 17th of September. My brother and I decided to drive around to see how the winds were blowing on the trees and to see how rough the waters were.
We got down to Fredericksted and there were police everywhere telling people to go home and stay off the roads. We avoided them by taking a turn away from the main street where they were.
We got right by the water front and we were amazed by how high and how hard the waves were hitting on the street. There were even some fish on the road.
The cops saw us and approached us. They warned us to go home before the situations got worst. My brother and I had gotten a little scared by what we had seen. The fury of the waters could be heard in the roar of every wave. We decided to head home.
A little scared but still very excited, we drove back to the house. The winds had gotten a lot stronger by the time we were half way home. All kind of debris was flying all over the place and we found ourselves praying that we didn’t get hit by something big enough to hurt us or our car. We saw what looked like a large piece of galvanize (aluminum roofing) and we were very concerned to see that roofs were being torn apart by the initial winds of the hurricane.
We got home and started to put the car cover on my brother’s car and the wind got under it as we were both holding an end and it lifted my brother off the ground. We were no longer smiling and the excitement of the hurricane had now turned into concern.
I listened to the radio because there was no electricity to watch the news on TV and I kept tracking the hurricane on the map. As soon as it hit the island of Grenada, I knew that it would hit us. I don’t know how I knew it but I was sure of it. The family wanted me not to speak it out because they were hoping for the hurricane to turn and hit somewhere else.
I was a little upset that my family thought of the hurricane hitting somewhere else to spare us. I knew that they were not willingly hoping for any of the other islands to be hit but it was inevitable that some of the islands were going to be hit by Hugo because of its size.
I told them that I thought it was time for people in St. Croix to see the power of God in action because every year we were spared and people just took God’s care and protection for granted.
Not that I wanted St. Croix to be hit but many of the other islands were hit every year and those people needed a break to recover. Although the experience of Hugo was a hard one, I am glad that some of the other islands were spared that year.
Well, about seven that night, the winds were howling. Debris was slamming into our windows and there was an unknown flapping going on. I looked and saw that a piece of our roofing was damaged and was about to fly off.
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to alarm anyone especially my mother who was worried about our grandparents being alone in their home. She knew they would be scared and would need help and comforting. She wanted to go stay with them and leave us with my stepfather but it was too late. The winds were too strong and she might have lost her life.
After about two hours of the wind increasing and all kinds of sounds coming from the winds, my mother opened the door of my brother’s bedroom and there was no roof. She was paralyzed by what she was seeing. The sky was now the roof of that room.
She got anxious and started running, pushing my sister and her baby into the closet in their room. There was also my youngest brother and my brother’s girlfriend who she also pushed in that closet.
I was in the bathtub with my other sister’s baby. She was serving in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Germany. She had brought the child to stay with us for a year.
My mother was screaming and my little brother was crying because the situation had gotten scary. My mother felt out of control and didn’t know what to do. She kept yelling that the entire roof was going to blow away.
I called out to her and asked her to bring everybody inside the bathroom. I took the other baby while my sister, my brother, my mom and stepfather held a mattress over their head to protect themselves from incoming debris.
My mother couldn’t take it anymore, she started screaming and saying that she had to go to grandma to help them. She ran out of the bathroom and ran towards the back door because the winds would not allow the front door to be opened.
I yelled at my brother to go stop her because I knew that if she saw him going after her she would not go to avoid getting him hurt. By the time he got to her, the winds had slammed her into one of the walls of the house. He was able to bring her back.
This took about twenty five minutes and I thought that they were both gone. Meanwhile, I had the two babies on my lap. They both fell asleep like nothing was happening.
My stepfather’s cancer was very advanced and he had lost more than sixty pounds. He was still strong but the terrible disease had debilitated him tremendously. He was holding the mattress with my sister but his arms were trembling uncontrollably. He kept cursing at us to stop moving. He didn’t realize that the strong winds and the weakness in his arms were the cause for the shaking.
My mother and brother came back and took over for him. We were there all together but no one was speaking but the winds of “HUGO.” This hurricane had a male name but it sounded like a screaming woman who was in labor and having trouble with it. At the same time you could almost hear it talk. It seemed like she was yelling for blood while moaning all at once.
Because I could feel its power and its persistence to destroy, I felt that maybe if it got the blood of at least one person it would go away. It actually brought with it what I call a “spirit of insanity” and it was affecting me.
I felt like it was taunting me to run out and let it have my blood. I had to restrain myself and was able to overcome the feeling by praying and holding on to the babies in my arms.
Then it just stopped. There were no more winds, no more sounds and no more taunting. The storm seemed to have stopped just like that. We ran outside and the sight was gruesome. Trees, galvanize roofing, clothes, furniture, glass and household item all over the place.
My mother began rushing us out of the house and I didn’t understand why. My stepfather explained that this was the calm in the center of the eye and that usually the second part of the storm was worst than the first.
I surely couldn’t imagine anything worst than we had just survived. The only part of our house that was not completely destroyed was the bathroom where we shelter. The whole roof was gone and the house was flooded. Everything inside our house was wet.
We had no time to grab anything because soon the winds began blowing mildly and we decided that we had to get to the closest shelter before it started up again.
We got to a school close by and there were hundreds of people, maybe even more than a thousand it seemed like to me. The school was flooded and the men were using the school’s kitchen pots to get some of the water out. The water was knee high and most of us had to climb on the auditorium stage to avoid the high waters.
Unfortunately, the bathrooms were backed up and the water on the stage was contaminated but we found a dry spot because of my stepfather’s condition. Most people knew him and they knew he was very ill. They gave us a spot where he could be comfortable. He was very cold and shaking and we were not as prepared as we thought we were.
I was wearing a long skirt with a short pant underneath and a long T-shirt. I pulled up my skirt over my breast (I had a bra on) and I took off my T-shirt and put it on him. The warmth of my body on the shirt helped him get warm fast in addition to the body heat coming from my sister and me sitting next to him to keep him
warm.
My mother as usual was making herself useful helping other people that needed help. We didn’t see her for a while but we were not worried because people were not allowed to leave because the storm was once again in full force. We knew she was in her own element and doing what she did best.
For another four or five hour, the island was under the fullness of the wrath of “Hurricane Hugo.” Many were concern that if the hurricane lasted any longer, we would have to find a new shelter because things were not looking too good at this one.
The storm subsided and the first thing my mother announced was that we were to stay put while she went with one of my brothers to see about our grandparents.
I knew things were not safe out there but I also knew that this time she would not be stopped. She feared that they might be hurt or even killed by the storm and she was determined to go see how she could help them. When she got there, they told her they had hidden in a closet and she could see how scared and overwhelmed they were. One of them had gotten struck on the head by some debris.
I decided to venture out. I left my stepfather with my sister and her baby. I had the other baby with me and my youngest brother. I looked outside and it was difficult to walk around because of all the debris.
I looked up to the hills and noticed that one of the most beautiful houses in the area that was at the top of the hill, was no longer there. The land it was on looked like it had been swept clean.
I walked around bewildered by the destruction I saw. I thought that maybe hundreds of people might be dead. The devastation was immense and people were crying because of their loss and when they approached me talking about their loss, all I could think of was that it was a miracle that there were no dead people lying on the streets.
There were cars on top of each other, trees on the road and items everywhere. People had begun chopping the trees on the roads to make a way for the cars to be driven.
There were people with machetes all over the place and the tourists thought that they were in mortal danger. I remember being upset when we got the electricity back because the news was showing some of the tourists that were flown out by the Army saying that the island people had machetes to kill the tourists.
Not one death was reported by killing. In fact, the hurricane winds didn’t take any lives either; people died after the fact because of the destruction of the hospital.
Most of the island had no water and no part of the island had electricity. The water situation got resolved in about two weeks but we were without electricity for three months. It took some adjusting but once we accommodated ourselves we were fine.
The day after, we found and empty apartment and decided to claim It. Then it was time to think about food for the babies. My mom and I decided to go to the stores to shop for food not thinking that the devastation was island wide. We went to a store and it was all boarded up. An employee told us that there was a store open at the Sunny Isles Shopping Center, so, we headed there.
When we got there, there were lots of people running with boom boxes, TVs’, clothes, household items and such. We went to a store which had the doors open and an employee told us to go in and take whatever we wanted because most of the stuff in the store had gotten damaged. I couldn’t go in the store because when I left my house the day of the hurricane I had some slippers on and they broke in the process. I was actually barefoot.
My mom told me to stay by the door and she would give me the stuff to put in the car. My mother took everything possible to make the babies as comfortable as possible. They lacked nothing.
I was surrounded by lots of trash bags filled with everything the kids needed. Then my mother went to the pharmacy and got all kinds of medicine; from cold medicine, to ointments to first aid supplies. My mother did not waste time taking stuff we didn’t need. Because the stores were so full with people fighting and arguing over stuff, she would go in, take what she needed and get out.
People noticed that I was watching my mother’s bags so they began asking me to watch their stuff too and I wasn’t going anywhere so I was more than happy to help.
The Army and news helicopters were hovering around the shopping center, taking pictures of what was going on and I was waving at them with a great big smile not knowing that what was going on at the time had a name to it, “LOOTING” It was a miracle I didn’t get arrested along with the people who were arrested.
I believe that besides the fact that God was with me, they didn’t see any electronics or furniture around me. We were taking what we could find out of necessity and because we were being told by the employees that it was okay to do so.
Our apartment became like a social services office where people came for help. We shared everything we had with people who were in need. Once again, my mother found herself being the social worker we all knew her to be.
The hurricane destroyed our homes but also opened doors to new friendships and experiences which added to our appreciation for life and to our quality of life. We were better people for having lived and survived Hurricane Hugo.
Monday, October 22, 2007
My Father, finally my dad (revised copy)
Almost at the beginning of this book I wrote briefly about my biological father because I had never before had the privilege and the opportunity to spend real quality time with him and there wasn’t much I could say about him.
Things changed. God never ceases to amaze me and He has never allowed me to have unfinished business in my life. God gave me a gift that no amount of praises can ever match how grateful I am.
My father got ill but we were not sure how long he kept it a secret. I was told close to the end of 2004. He continued to work and drink alcohol as he always did so no one had any idea of how serious it was.
His conditions worsened and on January 10th, 2006, I was called by my sister, his daughter, who was crying on the phone. She said my father had three days to live. I was already planning on going to visit him but this meant that my plans had to be changed.
The only airline ticket I could get was for the thirteenth so I got to Puerto Rico and I wasn’t sure if he had died while I was in midair. I prayed all the way there asking God to allow me to see my father alive reminding him not to allow me to suffer the same experience as with my mother.
It was agony because while I was thinking about my father being in the hospital, all I could see were the images I saw the first time I walked into my mother’s hospital room. I honestly don’t know how I held it together but I know it wasn’t on my own strength.
I walked in my father’s room not knowing what to expect but he was sitting up, surrounded by family he rarely saw. I didn’t really recognize any of them but then again, my focus was only on my father. As soon as he saw me, he flashed this great beautiful smile and I knew right there and then that God was not ready to close that chapter of my life just then.
The doctors decided there was nothing else to do for him and told us to prepare for his death which was expected to happen at any given moment.
We took my father home and I began taking care of him with the fullness of all the love I had for him. I changed my return ticket three times because every time he got better, I made plan to leave but I couldn’t.
At that time I was torn between wanting to be with my maternal sister who was in Washington, dealing with a very painful situation involving her family and wanting to take care of my father. I was scared that he would not get as much attention as he needed because his wife and the rest of the family kept saying they couldn’t deal with seeing him deteriorate.
He too felt that no one wanted to do what it took to help him with all that needed to be done. One of the times when I was planning to leave he said he wished he could come with me and that left me heartbroken because I could see that he really wanted me with him.
At the beginning, he was a little resistant, trying not to be too much of a burden. He felt guilt because he never gave me anything nor did anything for me. My father never paid a cent of child support, he didn’t give me birthday gifts, nor did he make it his business to seek me out. I was the one who initiated most of the contact we ever had. Yet, I was the one who was willing to do all I could to make his last days as comfortable as possible and this bothered him.
I sat down and had a very open conversation with him about how I felt. I explained to him that this was a dream come true for me because I had never been able to show him how much I loved him. I told him that taking care of him was not only a privilege but also a blessing in disguise. He understood and allowed me to take care of him without putting up a fight.
I went with him to every doctor’s appointment, to every cancer treatment and I was there for his surgeries as well. My father’s cancer started in his esophagus and spread to his liver, his throat and finally his lungs.
He lost his voice and also had to undergo two surgeries; a Tracheotomy (a surgery on his neck) to help him breathe and an Endoscopic Gastronomy which simplified the feeding process. Needless to say, dealing with my father’s condition would be extremely challenging for me.
I had to overcome many phobias in order to give my father the care that he needed and deserved. To begin with, I had to get over my fear of dealing with people who were ill. I often refused visiting the hospital or a sick friend because it would literally cause me to feel aches and pain in my body, sometimes causing me to be sick.
My old experiences of cuts and bruises being inflicted on my siblings and myself during our childhood, caused me a level of trauma when faced with wounded people and such. Yet, I can say with much assurance, that there are two emotions that will create in us the strength to do and overcome or die trying. Those emotions are fear and love.
Fear can cause you to react in ways you never imagined possible. You might find yourself in a situation that will push you far enough to react and realized that you are not as limited or at the disadvantage you perceived.
Love will also push you to new limits, especially when it involves the ones you wholeheartedly love. People have died to protect others and not because of bravery but because the power behind the love they feel for that person caused them to react.
My love for my father pushed me, stretched me and at times I thought would even kill me. In the end it helped me overcome many of my fears. I was faced with the choice of becoming an instant nurse to my father or not giving him the care he so needed.
I made a choice but with much fear and trembling. The hospital taught me how to feed him and how to clean and dress the wound in his stomach. They also taught me how to deal with the horrific task of cleaning, disinfecting and suctioning the wound in his neck.
Initially, I trembled like a dry leaf in a wind storm, trying to control my hands not to hurt my father. He often held my hands to stop them from shaking while assuring me that I was doing a good job. There were time when I wanted to puke all over him but understanding the seriousness of avoiding his wounds getting infected, I just had to swallow hard and fast. I learned to keep a hard candy in my mouth while working
on him. Believe me, it helped; a lot.
Slowly, I began mastering every aspect of his care, until it all became like second nature to me. I took care of him during the day and rested at night while he slept but the more he worsened, the less his family got involved in his care. I ended up sleeping in his room and taking care of him all the time.
I didn’t mind it because I truly saw it as a gift God gave me to be there for my father and for me to be able to share his last days.
Boy, you should’ve seen his face, he was so proud of me. With each action I took, the love that was once hindered and caught up in guilt and shame, began to flow out of him. The love that was once kept from me, now emanated to converge with me.
He was fed, showered or bathed, taken care of, and loved everyday until he took his last breath. I spoiled him like he was my own child and he enjoyed and loved every minute of it.
“he finally became my dad”
When he could still whisper, he shared with me so many beautiful things about my mother; things I didn’t know. He also allowed me to know more about him. I was able to see what my mother referred to every time she called me by my his name.
There were so many characteristics I had which I recognized in him. I finally felt like I belonged to him. There was never any doubt but the connection was always one-sided. I was the one always seeking his attention and wanting an expression of love coming from him that didn’t feel standard but birthed from a deep place.
My father died on May 31, 2006 at 1:30 am and I was there with him. That day I looked at him and I knew that something had changed. He had such a peaceful look but at the same time it was like he was keeping a secret from me. It was no use. God had alerted me that this day would be a different day.
I hardly left his side that day. I was sitting on the bed next to him and three times he motioned me to come closer to him. Every time I got close to him, he only looked at me with the most beautifully love-filled expression in his eyes. I asked him if he needed anything but he would shake his head and smile.
That has been one of the most unique and extraordinary moments of my life. It felt like a cape of love had been placed over my shoulders. There was no empty room left in my heart. My father, whom I loved, was finally giving me all the love that he had for me.
It was very overwhelming and yet so delightful for me to experience what I call “the gift.” My father was offering me his all of his love.
That night everybody was getting ready to go to bed and I told my sister that he would not last through the night. I asked her to stay with me in his room but she couldn’t handle it. She went upstairs to her room and I was left alone wondering what to do when the time came.
I was pondering if I should go to sleep because I was afraid of my reaction if he died when I was alone with him but I had promised him that I would be with him every step of the way and I knew that the end was too close for me to let him down.
I lowered his bed, pulled a chair and sat next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and he tried whispering, I read his lips, he said, “thank you.” Then he tried whispering that he loved me very, very much. I said I love him too and began humming a song to him.
About five minutes later, I realized that he was completely soaked. His entire body was wet. I dried him off but it was of no use; it was like he was melting fast. I asked him to hold on while I ran upstairs to get my sister. I don’t think I was too tactful but I was too agitated to choose the right words to say to her. I yelled, “Get up and come with me. Something is wrong! Dad is melting!”
She got up and followed me downstairs. He was still sweating profusely and I instructed her to dry him off while I took his vitals. His pressure was low but his sugar levels were worst (44). I called the nurse on duty and she asked me to give him orange juice and other things but nothing we did was helping. Meanwhile, he was relaxed like nothing was happening.
His sugar levels kept plummeting and according to the nurse he should have been in a coma but he was still responding to my voice. The nurse insisted that he had to be in a coma because his sugar level was now (25). I asked him to wink if he understood what I was saying and he did. Then he closed his eyes and I called out to him again, he slowly opened his eyes and the way he looked at me, I understood that he was on his way out and was ready.
He closed his eyes and I knew that he would not open them again. I still wanted to believe that he could stay a little longer. I asked my sister to check his blood pressure but there was no pressure to check.
He had passed away and the moment was so peaceful that all I could think was to ask God to teach me to die like my father. There was no struggle, no trembles, no noise, no fussing and no resistance on his part. He just let go and rested in peace.
This has been an experience of immeasurable value to me. I drank of the cup of joy and of the cup of sorrow, all at once. This was a bittersweet season where I was blessed beyond what I could ever deserve and even more than I could ever fathom.
My father’s prognosis was that he would not to live past the 13th of January, 2006 but because God is the only one who can decide the day of our departure from this life, my father lived four months, sixteen days and an hour and a half passed the deadline science had set for my him.
God is good and no matter what anybody says, I know that the time my father was given beyond science, was a gift from God just for me. God knew how much I needed to have that time with my father and He set it up so I was available and able to receive the answer to my prayers of many years.
During his funeral I was proud of who my father was in life because of how everyone expressed themselves about him. To sum it all up, he was described as a gentleman, courteous, polite and caring, hard working and a man of his word. I had no idea my father had left behind such a reputation of honor. Throughout my life I had met some of the people and they always spoke highly of him but it was good to see and hear many others express how they felt about him.
I thank God for the opportunity of knowing who my father was and for the privilege of serving him with pleasure, with sincerity and with all my love. He was a Christian so I know I will see him again but until then, I have the most precious memories to keep the fire of my love for him and his love for me alive.
I am also thankful to the medical staff and the team of people that took care of my father at the VA hospital in Puerto Rico. They were excellent and made the journey easier to bear. Their care extended beyond my father’s needs and reached out to me. They showed compassion, patience and sincere concern for both my father and I.
Couple days before his surgeries, I sat him in the living room and the sun was shining bright. He stared at the trees and the many little birds that frequently visited the bird feeder he made for them. He was pensive and I saw the longing in him to be outside.
I jokingly said to him, “Get ready and let’s go to the beach.” I was surprised when he said he’d love to. Now I had to do something because I felt so bad for him.
It so happened that where he lived, the people in management were very fond of him and that day they sent a social worker to check on him and to invite him to one of their functions. They were not fully aware of how much the cancer had advanced.
I spoke to the social worker and mentioned that my father would not be able to make it to their coming activities and in so doing I also mentioned his wanting to go to the beach.
Long story short, that was a Friday and the following Monday, we were at the beach. I sat him comfortable on the sand and he watched us attempt to get in the water. The waves were somewhat strong so he was not sure he wanted to get in the water but it was obvious that he wanted to enjoy the ocean.
I moved him closer to the shore where the waves ended. I stood behind him allowing him to rest on my legs to keep him from being tossed around by the waters. He played with the water and got all wet, like he was a child. Once he had enough of that, I took him back to sit peacefully in the sun.
The social worker who accompanied us had a camera and was taking pictures. He took one of my father that penetrated my spirit when I saw it. The guy was standing behind my father and slightly to the side. My father was facing the waters and looking far beyond the horizon. He looked satisfied and so filled with gratitude. It almost seemed like he could see God calling him and he was answering.
I looked at him an wondered what he could be thinking of but I didn’t intrude. I stayed at a distance watching him enjoy the solemn moment.
I used that picture to create a postcard with a poem I wrote based on my father’s favorite words. When speaking about a tomorrow, the future or anything that involved planning, he always started or ended the sentence with, “God willing or if God permits.” I wrote the poem in Spanish but I will attempt to offer you the essence of the message in it.
God Willing…
The heart conceives ideas, the mind analyzes them
And man realizes them, God willing.
The body decades, sickness and disease consume it,
Death claims it, God willing.
We shall all see death, some before others
But we shall see each other again, God willing.
Things changed. God never ceases to amaze me and He has never allowed me to have unfinished business in my life. God gave me a gift that no amount of praises can ever match how grateful I am.
My father got ill but we were not sure how long he kept it a secret. I was told close to the end of 2004. He continued to work and drink alcohol as he always did so no one had any idea of how serious it was.
His conditions worsened and on January 10th, 2006, I was called by my sister, his daughter, who was crying on the phone. She said my father had three days to live. I was already planning on going to visit him but this meant that my plans had to be changed.
The only airline ticket I could get was for the thirteenth so I got to Puerto Rico and I wasn’t sure if he had died while I was in midair. I prayed all the way there asking God to allow me to see my father alive reminding him not to allow me to suffer the same experience as with my mother.
It was agony because while I was thinking about my father being in the hospital, all I could see were the images I saw the first time I walked into my mother’s hospital room. I honestly don’t know how I held it together but I know it wasn’t on my own strength.
I walked in my father’s room not knowing what to expect but he was sitting up, surrounded by family he rarely saw. I didn’t really recognize any of them but then again, my focus was only on my father. As soon as he saw me, he flashed this great beautiful smile and I knew right there and then that God was not ready to close that chapter of my life just then.
The doctors decided there was nothing else to do for him and told us to prepare for his death which was expected to happen at any given moment.
We took my father home and I began taking care of him with the fullness of all the love I had for him. I changed my return ticket three times because every time he got better, I made plan to leave but I couldn’t.
At that time I was torn between wanting to be with my maternal sister who was in Washington, dealing with a very painful situation involving her family and wanting to take care of my father. I was scared that he would not get as much attention as he needed because his wife and the rest of the family kept saying they couldn’t deal with seeing him deteriorate.
He too felt that no one wanted to do what it took to help him with all that needed to be done. One of the times when I was planning to leave he said he wished he could come with me and that left me heartbroken because I could see that he really wanted me with him.
At the beginning, he was a little resistant, trying not to be too much of a burden. He felt guilt because he never gave me anything nor did anything for me. My father never paid a cent of child support, he didn’t give me birthday gifts, nor did he make it his business to seek me out. I was the one who initiated most of the contact we ever had. Yet, I was the one who was willing to do all I could to make his last days as comfortable as possible and this bothered him.
I sat down and had a very open conversation with him about how I felt. I explained to him that this was a dream come true for me because I had never been able to show him how much I loved him. I told him that taking care of him was not only a privilege but also a blessing in disguise. He understood and allowed me to take care of him without putting up a fight.
I went with him to every doctor’s appointment, to every cancer treatment and I was there for his surgeries as well. My father’s cancer started in his esophagus and spread to his liver, his throat and finally his lungs.
He lost his voice and also had to undergo two surgeries; a Tracheotomy (a surgery on his neck) to help him breathe and an Endoscopic Gastronomy which simplified the feeding process. Needless to say, dealing with my father’s condition would be extremely challenging for me.
I had to overcome many phobias in order to give my father the care that he needed and deserved. To begin with, I had to get over my fear of dealing with people who were ill. I often refused visiting the hospital or a sick friend because it would literally cause me to feel aches and pain in my body, sometimes causing me to be sick.
My old experiences of cuts and bruises being inflicted on my siblings and myself during our childhood, caused me a level of trauma when faced with wounded people and such. Yet, I can say with much assurance, that there are two emotions that will create in us the strength to do and overcome or die trying. Those emotions are fear and love.
Fear can cause you to react in ways you never imagined possible. You might find yourself in a situation that will push you far enough to react and realized that you are not as limited or at the disadvantage you perceived.
Love will also push you to new limits, especially when it involves the ones you wholeheartedly love. People have died to protect others and not because of bravery but because the power behind the love they feel for that person caused them to react.
My love for my father pushed me, stretched me and at times I thought would even kill me. In the end it helped me overcome many of my fears. I was faced with the choice of becoming an instant nurse to my father or not giving him the care he so needed.
I made a choice but with much fear and trembling. The hospital taught me how to feed him and how to clean and dress the wound in his stomach. They also taught me how to deal with the horrific task of cleaning, disinfecting and suctioning the wound in his neck.
Initially, I trembled like a dry leaf in a wind storm, trying to control my hands not to hurt my father. He often held my hands to stop them from shaking while assuring me that I was doing a good job. There were time when I wanted to puke all over him but understanding the seriousness of avoiding his wounds getting infected, I just had to swallow hard and fast. I learned to keep a hard candy in my mouth while working
on him. Believe me, it helped; a lot.
Slowly, I began mastering every aspect of his care, until it all became like second nature to me. I took care of him during the day and rested at night while he slept but the more he worsened, the less his family got involved in his care. I ended up sleeping in his room and taking care of him all the time.
I didn’t mind it because I truly saw it as a gift God gave me to be there for my father and for me to be able to share his last days.
Boy, you should’ve seen his face, he was so proud of me. With each action I took, the love that was once hindered and caught up in guilt and shame, began to flow out of him. The love that was once kept from me, now emanated to converge with me.
He was fed, showered or bathed, taken care of, and loved everyday until he took his last breath. I spoiled him like he was my own child and he enjoyed and loved every minute of it.
“he finally became my dad”
When he could still whisper, he shared with me so many beautiful things about my mother; things I didn’t know. He also allowed me to know more about him. I was able to see what my mother referred to every time she called me by my his name.
There were so many characteristics I had which I recognized in him. I finally felt like I belonged to him. There was never any doubt but the connection was always one-sided. I was the one always seeking his attention and wanting an expression of love coming from him that didn’t feel standard but birthed from a deep place.
My father died on May 31, 2006 at 1:30 am and I was there with him. That day I looked at him and I knew that something had changed. He had such a peaceful look but at the same time it was like he was keeping a secret from me. It was no use. God had alerted me that this day would be a different day.
I hardly left his side that day. I was sitting on the bed next to him and three times he motioned me to come closer to him. Every time I got close to him, he only looked at me with the most beautifully love-filled expression in his eyes. I asked him if he needed anything but he would shake his head and smile.
That has been one of the most unique and extraordinary moments of my life. It felt like a cape of love had been placed over my shoulders. There was no empty room left in my heart. My father, whom I loved, was finally giving me all the love that he had for me.
It was very overwhelming and yet so delightful for me to experience what I call “the gift.” My father was offering me his all of his love.
That night everybody was getting ready to go to bed and I told my sister that he would not last through the night. I asked her to stay with me in his room but she couldn’t handle it. She went upstairs to her room and I was left alone wondering what to do when the time came.
I was pondering if I should go to sleep because I was afraid of my reaction if he died when I was alone with him but I had promised him that I would be with him every step of the way and I knew that the end was too close for me to let him down.
I lowered his bed, pulled a chair and sat next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and he tried whispering, I read his lips, he said, “thank you.” Then he tried whispering that he loved me very, very much. I said I love him too and began humming a song to him.
About five minutes later, I realized that he was completely soaked. His entire body was wet. I dried him off but it was of no use; it was like he was melting fast. I asked him to hold on while I ran upstairs to get my sister. I don’t think I was too tactful but I was too agitated to choose the right words to say to her. I yelled, “Get up and come with me. Something is wrong! Dad is melting!”
She got up and followed me downstairs. He was still sweating profusely and I instructed her to dry him off while I took his vitals. His pressure was low but his sugar levels were worst (44). I called the nurse on duty and she asked me to give him orange juice and other things but nothing we did was helping. Meanwhile, he was relaxed like nothing was happening.
His sugar levels kept plummeting and according to the nurse he should have been in a coma but he was still responding to my voice. The nurse insisted that he had to be in a coma because his sugar level was now (25). I asked him to wink if he understood what I was saying and he did. Then he closed his eyes and I called out to him again, he slowly opened his eyes and the way he looked at me, I understood that he was on his way out and was ready.
He closed his eyes and I knew that he would not open them again. I still wanted to believe that he could stay a little longer. I asked my sister to check his blood pressure but there was no pressure to check.
He had passed away and the moment was so peaceful that all I could think was to ask God to teach me to die like my father. There was no struggle, no trembles, no noise, no fussing and no resistance on his part. He just let go and rested in peace.
This has been an experience of immeasurable value to me. I drank of the cup of joy and of the cup of sorrow, all at once. This was a bittersweet season where I was blessed beyond what I could ever deserve and even more than I could ever fathom.
My father’s prognosis was that he would not to live past the 13th of January, 2006 but because God is the only one who can decide the day of our departure from this life, my father lived four months, sixteen days and an hour and a half passed the deadline science had set for my him.
God is good and no matter what anybody says, I know that the time my father was given beyond science, was a gift from God just for me. God knew how much I needed to have that time with my father and He set it up so I was available and able to receive the answer to my prayers of many years.
During his funeral I was proud of who my father was in life because of how everyone expressed themselves about him. To sum it all up, he was described as a gentleman, courteous, polite and caring, hard working and a man of his word. I had no idea my father had left behind such a reputation of honor. Throughout my life I had met some of the people and they always spoke highly of him but it was good to see and hear many others express how they felt about him.
I thank God for the opportunity of knowing who my father was and for the privilege of serving him with pleasure, with sincerity and with all my love. He was a Christian so I know I will see him again but until then, I have the most precious memories to keep the fire of my love for him and his love for me alive.
I am also thankful to the medical staff and the team of people that took care of my father at the VA hospital in Puerto Rico. They were excellent and made the journey easier to bear. Their care extended beyond my father’s needs and reached out to me. They showed compassion, patience and sincere concern for both my father and I.
Couple days before his surgeries, I sat him in the living room and the sun was shining bright. He stared at the trees and the many little birds that frequently visited the bird feeder he made for them. He was pensive and I saw the longing in him to be outside.
I jokingly said to him, “Get ready and let’s go to the beach.” I was surprised when he said he’d love to. Now I had to do something because I felt so bad for him.
It so happened that where he lived, the people in management were very fond of him and that day they sent a social worker to check on him and to invite him to one of their functions. They were not fully aware of how much the cancer had advanced.
I spoke to the social worker and mentioned that my father would not be able to make it to their coming activities and in so doing I also mentioned his wanting to go to the beach.
Long story short, that was a Friday and the following Monday, we were at the beach. I sat him comfortable on the sand and he watched us attempt to get in the water. The waves were somewhat strong so he was not sure he wanted to get in the water but it was obvious that he wanted to enjoy the ocean.
I moved him closer to the shore where the waves ended. I stood behind him allowing him to rest on my legs to keep him from being tossed around by the waters. He played with the water and got all wet, like he was a child. Once he had enough of that, I took him back to sit peacefully in the sun.
The social worker who accompanied us had a camera and was taking pictures. He took one of my father that penetrated my spirit when I saw it. The guy was standing behind my father and slightly to the side. My father was facing the waters and looking far beyond the horizon. He looked satisfied and so filled with gratitude. It almost seemed like he could see God calling him and he was answering.
I looked at him an wondered what he could be thinking of but I didn’t intrude. I stayed at a distance watching him enjoy the solemn moment.
I used that picture to create a postcard with a poem I wrote based on my father’s favorite words. When speaking about a tomorrow, the future or anything that involved planning, he always started or ended the sentence with, “God willing or if God permits.” I wrote the poem in Spanish but I will attempt to offer you the essence of the message in it.
God Willing…
The heart conceives ideas, the mind analyzes them
And man realizes them, God willing.
The body decades, sickness and disease consume it,
Death claims it, God willing.
We shall all see death, some before others
But we shall see each other again, God willing.
Owning the Victim Life
I will not be hypocritical about how I felt about being abuse. I hated when it was done to me but at the same time it brought some kind of relief. I felt degraded and violated for a long time but the time came when I needed it like an alcoholic need his booze and then, I only felt shame for my feelings.
Part of me wanted the abuse and the other part wanted to kill me. Indeed, I am responsible for allowing the abuse to go on for so long but I was still a child. I was very alone and afraid of being without a mother. If I told, my mother would leave me. She couldn't deal with the truth and found it easier to put all the blame on me and I had no defense against it.
It is not an easy thing expressing myself the way I have in this book. At times, I just have to stop writing because the truth hits me hard in the face and I can't hide from it. I could keep things from you but I am committed to giving you the truth and that means that the mask is off and I will not hide behind my innocence or the fact that I was a victim.
True, I was a victim but not only of my parents and others who hurt me throughout my life; mostly, I was a victim of myself. I abused myself more than anything else did because long after I grew up I allowed people to come into my life to continue the abuse.
I have been my worst enemy. I accepted the abuse as a normal thing in my life and I kept it as part of my existence.
I have lived my entire life positioning myself for abuse, the perfect victim. I was always willing to be victimized. I needed to be otherwise, I would feel like a foreigner, like a fish out of water and so out of place.
I simply lived the life of a victim without escape from a hurtful and dark past. Now I have taken responsibility for my present and my future. I now understand that my past was obscured and that I was horribly wronged and cheated of a good and safe (normal) childhood. But now I have a choice of what my life should be today and how my future will be tomorrow because of God's grace upon my life. God has given us all free will to choose how we want to live our lives and nothing nor anyone can take it away from us unless we give them permission to do so.
I chose to be happy and to use my experience to help others. Make a positive out of a negative no matter how big or small it is, I must use it for good. What devil intended and planned to cause me harm, God has turned it around for my good. I can sit around the rest of my life moping and feeling sorry for myself, allowing my mind and heart to drown in my sorrows and not making an effort to help anyone to cope, survive and overcome their experience. Then again, I can pick up my pieces, put them together, not forgetting what I have lived but putting it to good use for the benefit of others and myself. That is what God wants me to do and I am willing to obey Him.
My experiences have made me committed to helping other victims of abuse understand that they can have a good life in spite of what they have gone through. I want to open my life and my heart to everyone who feels alone. There is light at the en of the tunnel. The light is that of the Holy Spirit and the tunnel leads to Jesus who suffered abuse until He died on a cross. He understands what we have been through and therefore, He can comfort us. He suffered, He died but He also resurrected victorious that we to may have victory in our lives.
Part of me wanted the abuse and the other part wanted to kill me. Indeed, I am responsible for allowing the abuse to go on for so long but I was still a child. I was very alone and afraid of being without a mother. If I told, my mother would leave me. She couldn't deal with the truth and found it easier to put all the blame on me and I had no defense against it.
It is not an easy thing expressing myself the way I have in this book. At times, I just have to stop writing because the truth hits me hard in the face and I can't hide from it. I could keep things from you but I am committed to giving you the truth and that means that the mask is off and I will not hide behind my innocence or the fact that I was a victim.
True, I was a victim but not only of my parents and others who hurt me throughout my life; mostly, I was a victim of myself. I abused myself more than anything else did because long after I grew up I allowed people to come into my life to continue the abuse.
I have been my worst enemy. I accepted the abuse as a normal thing in my life and I kept it as part of my existence.
I have lived my entire life positioning myself for abuse, the perfect victim. I was always willing to be victimized. I needed to be otherwise, I would feel like a foreigner, like a fish out of water and so out of place.
I simply lived the life of a victim without escape from a hurtful and dark past. Now I have taken responsibility for my present and my future. I now understand that my past was obscured and that I was horribly wronged and cheated of a good and safe (normal) childhood. But now I have a choice of what my life should be today and how my future will be tomorrow because of God's grace upon my life. God has given us all free will to choose how we want to live our lives and nothing nor anyone can take it away from us unless we give them permission to do so.
I chose to be happy and to use my experience to help others. Make a positive out of a negative no matter how big or small it is, I must use it for good. What devil intended and planned to cause me harm, God has turned it around for my good. I can sit around the rest of my life moping and feeling sorry for myself, allowing my mind and heart to drown in my sorrows and not making an effort to help anyone to cope, survive and overcome their experience. Then again, I can pick up my pieces, put them together, not forgetting what I have lived but putting it to good use for the benefit of others and myself. That is what God wants me to do and I am willing to obey Him.
My experiences have made me committed to helping other victims of abuse understand that they can have a good life in spite of what they have gone through. I want to open my life and my heart to everyone who feels alone. There is light at the en of the tunnel. The light is that of the Holy Spirit and the tunnel leads to Jesus who suffered abuse until He died on a cross. He understands what we have been through and therefore, He can comfort us. He suffered, He died but He also resurrected victorious that we to may have victory in our lives.
Humorous in Fear
"hide the bump/bruise"
The following is the funniest story I know or ever heard and it is as real as the one you just read.
My Mom usually took my brother with her because he was just terrible. It was almost impossible for me to baby-sit him like I did my sisters, without chaos showing its ugly face. This day she decided that he was to be punished and the punishment was that he would not be allowed to go with her to grandma's house. He was grandma’s favorite and her home his favorite place.
Those days, everyone was into skating, and so was he. Our floors had no rugs because Mom preferred ceramic tiles in the entire house. Of course, they were expensive and we were not allowed to skate in the house. Before she left, we were warned about it and we were not allowed to go outside until she got back.Did you guess, yet? Yep! As soon as she left, my brother put on his skates and began to do what he was told not to do. I chased him a couple times and tried taking the skates away but he was hitting me and kicking me with the skates; so, I just warned him that Mom would find out about this.
There was a skating show that played every week and we were all very much in tune with it; including my Mom. It was called "Roller Derby" or "Roller Action" The skaters used to beat each other to gain points. Well, my brother thought he was the one called, Richard Brown. He was the best of them all and my brother’s favorite.He continued to skate very fast inside the house while broadcasting his own moves.
He was really enjoying it until he ran his head into the corner of a cement wall. We all ran to assist him; not because we cared so much but because our beating would be determined depending on how much damage he had done to himself. This was definitely grounds for a beating. We were all warned. When one messed up, we were all in danger.
When I looked at him and saw the big bump on his forehead, my knees got weak and I almost fainted. My sisters and I began crying. Then I calm down and decided it was time to fix the problem before Mom got home.
I got some ice while my sisters got him comfortable on the couch in the living room. I pressed down on the bruise with the ice and every minute, I would ask them if they thought the bump was going down.
One said yes but the youngest would stare at it and say, "I think it is getting bigger." I would yell at her to shut up and move away. That was not what I needed to hear. In fact, I saw it getting smaller. It wasn't, but I saw what I needed to see at the time. After about ten minutes of ice treatment, I had to face that it was not working at all. It was getting worse.
I was worried and had trouble thinking straight but I remembered something. I had another idea so excited, I yelled to my sisters, "I remember daddy used butter on someone’s bruises and it helped. Get me the butter, this is the answer, I know this will work!" I put some butter on the purple bump on his forehead and waited for the miracle to happen. What? Nothing happened! "It worked for daddy, so, what am I doing wrong?"
I uttered a horrible scream out of frustration. I was lost. Man, I had so many things running through my mind. I was bound to find the solution. Then, I remembered again. "OK, I know what is missing" I cried. I asked my sisters to bring me a tablespoon. I began massaging the bruise with the spoon using the butter as ointment. Pressing down as hard as I could, I was trying to force the bump back into his forehead.
My poor brother was such a good patient. He was crying a lot but he was letting me do everything that came to mind. As I pressed down, he yelled, "Ouch, ouch, that hurts." After another five minutes, I stared at the bruise and I hated that bump. It was making my life a living hell. I stared at his forehead and if looks could kill, I would have melted at least half of my brother’s brain cells.
Suddenly, I realized that nothing was making it better, so I held the spoon real hard and began banging on the bruise with the spoon trying to beat that stupid, trouble making, purple looking, swelling by the minute, frustrating and annoying bump back inside his skull. Instead, all I accomplished was to make the bruise worse, give my brother a bigger headache and cause him to cry even more.
Frustration and fear had taken over but I had to try one more thing. My brother had a pretty big afro Afro. His hair was long just not long enough to cover the bruise on his forehead. I decided to give him a new look. I pulled his hair forward combing and stretching his hair as far forward as possible. By the time my mother got home the piece of hair on top the area close to the bruise was so stretched; it looked as though it had been chemically relaxed. He definitely had a new hairstyle.
These types of situations were always the case for us, my siblings and I, that is. Therefore, when things are at their worst, we still find a way to turn it into humor. We just find ourselves laughing and making fun of whatever it is before us.
People sometimes look at us like we are crazy because it isn't always the appropriate thing or time to be laughing but it is how we best cope with things. Sometimes we look at each other and laugh because we know that any minute, one of us will soon come up with something silly to do or say and everything will be all right. We gain control over it with laughter, just like in the old days.
The following is the funniest story I know or ever heard and it is as real as the one you just read.
My Mom usually took my brother with her because he was just terrible. It was almost impossible for me to baby-sit him like I did my sisters, without chaos showing its ugly face. This day she decided that he was to be punished and the punishment was that he would not be allowed to go with her to grandma's house. He was grandma’s favorite and her home his favorite place.
Those days, everyone was into skating, and so was he. Our floors had no rugs because Mom preferred ceramic tiles in the entire house. Of course, they were expensive and we were not allowed to skate in the house. Before she left, we were warned about it and we were not allowed to go outside until she got back.Did you guess, yet? Yep! As soon as she left, my brother put on his skates and began to do what he was told not to do. I chased him a couple times and tried taking the skates away but he was hitting me and kicking me with the skates; so, I just warned him that Mom would find out about this.
There was a skating show that played every week and we were all very much in tune with it; including my Mom. It was called "Roller Derby" or "Roller Action" The skaters used to beat each other to gain points. Well, my brother thought he was the one called, Richard Brown. He was the best of them all and my brother’s favorite.He continued to skate very fast inside the house while broadcasting his own moves.
He was really enjoying it until he ran his head into the corner of a cement wall. We all ran to assist him; not because we cared so much but because our beating would be determined depending on how much damage he had done to himself. This was definitely grounds for a beating. We were all warned. When one messed up, we were all in danger.
When I looked at him and saw the big bump on his forehead, my knees got weak and I almost fainted. My sisters and I began crying. Then I calm down and decided it was time to fix the problem before Mom got home.
I got some ice while my sisters got him comfortable on the couch in the living room. I pressed down on the bruise with the ice and every minute, I would ask them if they thought the bump was going down.
One said yes but the youngest would stare at it and say, "I think it is getting bigger." I would yell at her to shut up and move away. That was not what I needed to hear. In fact, I saw it getting smaller. It wasn't, but I saw what I needed to see at the time. After about ten minutes of ice treatment, I had to face that it was not working at all. It was getting worse.
I was worried and had trouble thinking straight but I remembered something. I had another idea so excited, I yelled to my sisters, "I remember daddy used butter on someone’s bruises and it helped. Get me the butter, this is the answer, I know this will work!" I put some butter on the purple bump on his forehead and waited for the miracle to happen. What? Nothing happened! "It worked for daddy, so, what am I doing wrong?"
I uttered a horrible scream out of frustration. I was lost. Man, I had so many things running through my mind. I was bound to find the solution. Then, I remembered again. "OK, I know what is missing" I cried. I asked my sisters to bring me a tablespoon. I began massaging the bruise with the spoon using the butter as ointment. Pressing down as hard as I could, I was trying to force the bump back into his forehead.
My poor brother was such a good patient. He was crying a lot but he was letting me do everything that came to mind. As I pressed down, he yelled, "Ouch, ouch, that hurts." After another five minutes, I stared at the bruise and I hated that bump. It was making my life a living hell. I stared at his forehead and if looks could kill, I would have melted at least half of my brother’s brain cells.
Suddenly, I realized that nothing was making it better, so I held the spoon real hard and began banging on the bruise with the spoon trying to beat that stupid, trouble making, purple looking, swelling by the minute, frustrating and annoying bump back inside his skull. Instead, all I accomplished was to make the bruise worse, give my brother a bigger headache and cause him to cry even more.
Frustration and fear had taken over but I had to try one more thing. My brother had a pretty big afro Afro. His hair was long just not long enough to cover the bruise on his forehead. I decided to give him a new look. I pulled his hair forward combing and stretching his hair as far forward as possible. By the time my mother got home the piece of hair on top the area close to the bruise was so stretched; it looked as though it had been chemically relaxed. He definitely had a new hairstyle.
These types of situations were always the case for us, my siblings and I, that is. Therefore, when things are at their worst, we still find a way to turn it into humor. We just find ourselves laughing and making fun of whatever it is before us.
People sometimes look at us like we are crazy because it isn't always the appropriate thing or time to be laughing but it is how we best cope with things. Sometimes we look at each other and laugh because we know that any minute, one of us will soon come up with something silly to do or say and everything will be all right. We gain control over it with laughter, just like in the old days.
My life, your story!
I would like to share some stories from my book with you. Please, read and share your thoughts.
Early Childhood:
One afternoon, I was on the ground and she said I waited until she looked at me and then I put a handful of dirt in my mouth. Well, I've always known that I was considered to be a very smart child, above average but at the age of one, what did I know about being spiteful? Could it be? Maybe testing! I don't think so but you figure it out. Well, Mom was angry and she was going to teach me not to mess with her. She lit a paper bag and burnt my right hand. After so many years, the scar still remains. The punishment was justifiable in her eyes, in spite of the severity of it or how much damage it could have caused. That is how she reasoned many times and no one dared to differ.
She did this in front of other people but no one stopped her. In those days, the Child Abuse Laws were not as strict as they are today but even if they were, I doubt any one would intentionally get in my mother's way. They all knew she had no middle grounds; when good, extremely good but when bad beyond bad.
My mother apologized to us for the beatings. She said that accepting God made her understand how wrong she was and that she could have been thrown in jail for how severely she punished us.
It was very difficult for her to apologize because she was a very proud woman and because it took away from her wanting to be a better mother than her mother ever was. She seemed upset when she was apologizing but we understood and saw how she felt more ashamed than anything else.We sincerely forgave her because we saw and remembered not only the times when she caused us to bleed and cry with pain but also the times when we needed her even as adults and she was always there for us.
Our relationship with our mom was such a bitter sweet one. A cup of sorrow one moment and a cup of joy the other. Fright and pain then comfort and care. There was never a medium, only extremes of bad and good.
Just a Little Older:
Of course, my stepfather knew me enough to know that it would not be long before I showed up. I repeatedly told him that I would not allow him to hurt my sisters. So, when I got home, there he was waiting for me. He grabbed me and kissed me. I pushed him away and told him that I needed to go take a shower and then go to bed before Mom came home.
I thought maybe he had given up for the night but as I walked into my bedroom, he grabbed me and kissed me on the mouth. I tighten my mouth, hiding my lips to keep him from kissing me. Then, he bit me real hard forcing me to release my lips and he kissed me.
Suddenly, we heard the door slam and my Mom rushing into the house. She had come back home to get some money to play bingo. Instead, she saw him running, leaving my bed, and pretending to be tucking my sisters.
My mother got suspicious and asked him what he was doing. He got very defensive and said, "Nothing, can't I tuck the girls in?" I on the other hand, was scared and shaking; yet, trying to fake that I was asleep because I didn't want to deal with any of it.
When she was close enough, she yanked my sheet away and saw that my pants and panties were halfway down. Whew! My Mom’s eyes got really big and her right hand went up in the air. Then it came down with such speed and smacking my face so hard; it threw me off the bed. As many times as my mother beat me, that slap was the one that broke my spirit. It was the beginning of my downfall as a person; the end of whatever little self-esteem I had left. With that slap, she accused, judged and condemned me; all for being abused by him.
I was way too young to have to deal with all this mess but the reality is that I was dealing with it or maybe not dealing with it at all. I guess I was just allowing it all to happen to me. Not that at the time I thought I could do something about the whole thing but just that even though I was filled with shame and was angry for my mother not seeing the truth in me, I still remained a "good" child; in appearance because beneath all the politeness, manners and good behavior, I was bad.
I was a “good” child on the outside, while rotting away in the inside. Within me, contempt was engendered intertwined with all the love I felt for both my mother and my stepfather and I was a very confused child. One minute I loved, craved and needed their love and attention and yet in the same breath wanting to run far away from them.
I was not trying to be a hypocrite, I was being a “good” girl but it wasn't by choice. I was too afraid of my mother to rebel against her or my stepfather I felt like a monster lived inside of me. I believed I was a sick person and I was disgusted with myself.
I constantly asked myself questions like: How could I love a man like this? How could I be a good person and still have positive feeling for this man. Who was I kidding? Often I thought I was as bad as him or even worst. It was the only explanation I had at the time that could explain why I couldn’t hate him once and for all.
Yes, God allowed me to undergo great sufferings but He also gave me the strength to overcome them all. These experiences not only serve to show hardship but to show the power of God in action. No matter how big the storm may be, the love of God can take us through to the other side, safely.
Early Childhood:
One afternoon, I was on the ground and she said I waited until she looked at me and then I put a handful of dirt in my mouth. Well, I've always known that I was considered to be a very smart child, above average but at the age of one, what did I know about being spiteful? Could it be? Maybe testing! I don't think so but you figure it out. Well, Mom was angry and she was going to teach me not to mess with her. She lit a paper bag and burnt my right hand. After so many years, the scar still remains. The punishment was justifiable in her eyes, in spite of the severity of it or how much damage it could have caused. That is how she reasoned many times and no one dared to differ.
She did this in front of other people but no one stopped her. In those days, the Child Abuse Laws were not as strict as they are today but even if they were, I doubt any one would intentionally get in my mother's way. They all knew she had no middle grounds; when good, extremely good but when bad beyond bad.
My mother apologized to us for the beatings. She said that accepting God made her understand how wrong she was and that she could have been thrown in jail for how severely she punished us.
It was very difficult for her to apologize because she was a very proud woman and because it took away from her wanting to be a better mother than her mother ever was. She seemed upset when she was apologizing but we understood and saw how she felt more ashamed than anything else.We sincerely forgave her because we saw and remembered not only the times when she caused us to bleed and cry with pain but also the times when we needed her even as adults and she was always there for us.
Our relationship with our mom was such a bitter sweet one. A cup of sorrow one moment and a cup of joy the other. Fright and pain then comfort and care. There was never a medium, only extremes of bad and good.
Just a Little Older:
Of course, my stepfather knew me enough to know that it would not be long before I showed up. I repeatedly told him that I would not allow him to hurt my sisters. So, when I got home, there he was waiting for me. He grabbed me and kissed me. I pushed him away and told him that I needed to go take a shower and then go to bed before Mom came home.
I thought maybe he had given up for the night but as I walked into my bedroom, he grabbed me and kissed me on the mouth. I tighten my mouth, hiding my lips to keep him from kissing me. Then, he bit me real hard forcing me to release my lips and he kissed me.
Suddenly, we heard the door slam and my Mom rushing into the house. She had come back home to get some money to play bingo. Instead, she saw him running, leaving my bed, and pretending to be tucking my sisters.
My mother got suspicious and asked him what he was doing. He got very defensive and said, "Nothing, can't I tuck the girls in?" I on the other hand, was scared and shaking; yet, trying to fake that I was asleep because I didn't want to deal with any of it.
When she was close enough, she yanked my sheet away and saw that my pants and panties were halfway down. Whew! My Mom’s eyes got really big and her right hand went up in the air. Then it came down with such speed and smacking my face so hard; it threw me off the bed. As many times as my mother beat me, that slap was the one that broke my spirit. It was the beginning of my downfall as a person; the end of whatever little self-esteem I had left. With that slap, she accused, judged and condemned me; all for being abused by him.
I was way too young to have to deal with all this mess but the reality is that I was dealing with it or maybe not dealing with it at all. I guess I was just allowing it all to happen to me. Not that at the time I thought I could do something about the whole thing but just that even though I was filled with shame and was angry for my mother not seeing the truth in me, I still remained a "good" child; in appearance because beneath all the politeness, manners and good behavior, I was bad.
I was a “good” child on the outside, while rotting away in the inside. Within me, contempt was engendered intertwined with all the love I felt for both my mother and my stepfather and I was a very confused child. One minute I loved, craved and needed their love and attention and yet in the same breath wanting to run far away from them.
I was not trying to be a hypocrite, I was being a “good” girl but it wasn't by choice. I was too afraid of my mother to rebel against her or my stepfather I felt like a monster lived inside of me. I believed I was a sick person and I was disgusted with myself.
I constantly asked myself questions like: How could I love a man like this? How could I be a good person and still have positive feeling for this man. Who was I kidding? Often I thought I was as bad as him or even worst. It was the only explanation I had at the time that could explain why I couldn’t hate him once and for all.
Yes, God allowed me to undergo great sufferings but He also gave me the strength to overcome them all. These experiences not only serve to show hardship but to show the power of God in action. No matter how big the storm may be, the love of God can take us through to the other side, safely.
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