Going to Colorado...

I thought I wanted to live in the same city as Jason. It was a large city, and I thought finding a job there would be a piece of cake! I mean, there are thousands of people there, lots of places to work, right? Well, there are...I'm sure. But after a year of searching in that huge metropolitan area, I hadn't found anything.

Well, yes, I was offered a job at a department store for minimum wage. And I had several good interviews for positions that I wanted and thought I would be good at. But none of them panned out or came through for me. I got really frustrated and determined at the same time. Why was I not able to get a job here?, I thought to myself.

My sponsor, meanwhile, was telling me that maybe it's not meant to be. Well, I said to her, that's not possible! I'm going to be with this man, whether or not it's meant to be!! HA! That's not a good attitude to take, I found out later. God has a sense of humor. He will also let me do what I want to do for as long as I want to!

It finally came to me that maybe I should expand my search a bit. I had always, in the back of my mind, wanted to live in Colorado. When we lived in Denver during my growing up years, we, my whole family, had fallen in love with the mountains and the climate. I knew that someday I wanted to go back there! So I expanded my search. I looked at journalismjobs.com, the website for journalists, and found several jobs in Colorado. I think I sent my resume out to Cortez, Steamboat Springs, Craig and maybe one other place.

The publisher in Cortez snapped it up, called me, and asked if I could interview for the Mancos Times editor job! I thought - wow! That was easy! I told Jason about it, and he was non-commital. He said, It's your choice and you've always wanted to live there. I think you should go for it!

So I did!

I drove out there in January to interview for the job. I met the publisher, and met a few of the people who work there and met the current editor. I liked everything I saw,  I liked the area and decided I would take the job if they offered it to me. On the way out there, the roads were clear despite the snow everywhere and I thought it would be an easy trip.

Well, they offered me the job!

Since Jason didn't say to me, "Just stay, honey!", or "Please don't go!", I decided I would go. After all, I needed to do what was best for me. I had been single for a while and knew that I was the only one who was going to look after me! I couldn't wait for, or rely on, a man to tell me what to do. And, I thought to myself, he wasn't going to beg me to stay!

It was emotionally hard, though, to leave what was familiar to me. The house that I lived in in Kansas, with my daughter, was one that I had known for a while. The town was familiar. My friends were familiar. Here I was, going off to a place where I knew nobody, where the job was all that was taking me out there, and leaving everything that I knew. And leaving my daughter was going to be especially hard!

Well, at the time, after living with her for several years, and raising her on my own since she was 16, I was ready to go. I think we both needed to have some space to ourselves and to live on our own. It was hard, but I did it.

I packed my car with all that would fit in it. I made arrangements by email to stay in a place near Mancos that was furnished and close. I said goodbye to all my friends...and said that I would see them again soon.

And off I went to my new job, my new life, and my new experiences!!

Live and learn...

They say that you'll meet someone special when you least expect it....and that's what happened. Jason was very memorable...

It was Pioneer Days at the Cherokee Strip Museum in Arkansas City. I had told Heather that I would help her out during the day, and I was also there to take some pictures for the newspaper I was working for. I had also hoped I would be able to see the gunfighting group that I had heard about from Andrew, the guy that I had met there at the museum.

When I walked over to the place where the group was congregated, as they had already done one performance that day, I think Andrew was with me….or maybe he was there and saw me walk over there.  But when I got there, Jason greeted me with the comment, “You must be single and fabulous!” This took me by surprise! I didn’t know he knew about the shirt that I own that says that very thing on it…I had been wearing it when I met Andrew. So, that struck me as remarkable AND memorable right off the bat. Then, he also struck me as very personable and funny, and he could make me laugh. That always strikes a chord with me.

I looked at the rest of the group and met the rest of them, as Andrew introduced me, or they introduced themselves. Then Jason, in his effort to make me laugh, I guess, showed me his puppets, and made his different voices with them. I loved it.

Later that day, after I had taken some pictures, and wandered around some more, I made sure I rode in the stagecoach that was available, along with Heather. Jason rode in it, too, at the time, and I remember thinking how much I like the way he looked, the way he smiled and just his mannerisms and way of looking at me.

 Later that evening, there was a dance at the Museum. It was a period dance, and the lady who was there was showing everyone how to dance like they did in the pioneer days. Andrew showed up, as did Jason and Mary. I guess by that time, I assumed that Jason was with Mary, and I didn’t bother to find out any differently. It turns out that they were not really together; they were just riding together, and are friends.

I still liked looking at Jason, and liked that way he looked. I took notice of him, but still was trying not to go much farther than that, thinking that he was attached. He did seem to try to talk me into coming to Ingalls the next day to see them do another gunfight, but he says that he was doing that to help Andrew out. I DID go there the next day, and ended up having a nice conversation with him there. I again liked the way he looked and the things he did and said…..the way he carried himself, how tall he is, and the way he smiled, and could make me laugh. But I still thought he and Mary were together. I also found out that he lives in _____, and I figured that was pretty far away, and I would probably not see him for a long time, if ever.

Jason was very special to me for a long time. It is absolutely incredible the way we clicked when we were together, how things have come together for us, in many ways.

Going back to when we met….. I continued to date Andrew a little bit, even after I met Jason and realized I like him. Out of respect for Andrew, and thinking that Jason was not interested, and also that he was attached, I let it go. Or tried to.  Andrew made a few mentions of Jason when we were together, and I think he knew that I liked Jason…well, he knew that I liked his way with words, and his interest in writing.

 The day that Andrew came to pick me up on his way to Wichita, he had Jason with him. We all rode up to Wichita together, and had lunch together…and it was a nice trip. I was very conscious of Jason sitting next to me, but again, I tried to be a “good girl” and not touch him, or seem overly interested in him. I was being respectful of the fact that I was “dating” Andrew. How do I tell someone that I’m dating that I’d much rather date his friend? So I continued with things that way they were.

Then, when my car died, Andrew helped to get it back to ______ for me, and for that I am grateful. He gave me quite a few rides to work, which I was grateful for also. But after the day spent with him and Jason, I pretty much knew that I had the wrong guy… the wrong cowboy…What to do?

It was at that time that he gave me Jason’s phone numbers, and he told me that he’d given Jason my phone numbers. Why, I’m not sure, but I was sure glad he did! It was as if he knew that Jason and I were meant to be together, but I’m not sure about that either, as it turned out. 

Jason and I got in touch with each other. I think he called me first, to ask if I’d heard anything from Andrew. And since, at that time, I hadn’t, and Andrew was in the middle of moving and I didn’t know how to contact him, I didn’t know anything. But I was absolutely thrilled to hear from Jason, and to have a chance to talk to him. Those first few conversations on the phone were long, and we finally got around to the fact that we had been interested in each other from the start. But we both thought the other was involved with someone, and we were trying to be good, and not misbehave in anyway.

We talked a lot about Andrew and how he was just coming out of a marriage, and I assured Jason that I was not interested in Andrew as a relationship. I made one last phone call to Andrew to let him know that I just wanted to be friends, and that I didn’t want to date him anymore. Jason and I talked on the phone for hours those first few weeks. We still talk every single night. It’s helped our relationship so much, and I can’t imagine a day without talking to him, or my life without him. It’s that simple, and I can’t hardly believe it. It is so good. When you have someone in your life that is good and right, it is SO good!

That's been over four years ago....and my feelings for Jason have changed somewhat. I was head over heels in love with him for many months...I think maybe he was too. I'm not sure. We both got a bit scared and about the time that we had to make a decision about our future, I got a job offer in another state. Of course, Jason didn't think he had anything to offer me, to keep me there. Now that I'm 800 miles away from him, it's made me see things in a different way. We both have our lives, but we will always be friends...if anything comes of it, that's only for HP to know right now.

Getting to know me....

My daughter was grown but still living with me, and that was fine. I realized that I was her only parent, and she was my only daughter. I figured there was plenty of time for her to grow up and get out on her own....and I didn't have any intention of living with or marrying anyone for quite some time. I needed some time to get to know myself, to become comfortable in my own skin, and to learn to get along on my own. I didn't want my emotions to be tied up in a relationship so soon after my separation, and I knew that in order to become the woman I wanted to become, I would have to learn to like myself. My recovery had a lot to do with that, and I also wanted to get and stay sober without the hindrance of another person there....yes, dragging me down!! I had HAD it with men who just wanted to be taken care of, and being the one to do that! I needed to take care of ME!! What it took, I was going to stay sober, get to know me, and become a whole person again!

I was still working as the tourism coordinator when I moved into my new home. My office was at the chamber of commerce, right downtown, and I felt like I was in the center of all the activity there. I guess I was! A lot of people knew me, and I knew a lot of people too...but I didn't particularly like it. My heart was not really into it anymore. I wanted to have more of a private life, and that wasn't the way to go about it....but I kept going and kept working. I didn't feel, at the time, like I was doing the job justice. I wasn't sure how to go about 'marketing' Ark City, a town of 11,000 people close to the Oklahoma line, whose only claim to fame was the Cherokee Strip Land Rush in 1893. There were historical buildings, yes...there were a few things to do during the year, but there was no 'essence', per say...that I felt like I could market. I tried....I talked, went to meetings, did a lot of thinking, planned, traveled. I saw others marketing Kansas....other places, but I didn't seem to be able to market Ark City. I wasn't making really great money either, so I was looking around for something else.

It was during this time that I met a man on the internet....(actually that became a place where I met quite a few men!) and this particular one lived in Arkansas. I'll call him "Sam". I don't think I'll use his real name, because I've not been in contact with him for a while, and I think he likes it that way. But he seemed to be a nice guy. There were things about him that raised a red flag, if I stopped and thought about it. Like the fact that he was married. He told me, of course, that they were not living together, and he told me the reason....that they were in different towns, etc, etc. and that was good enough for me....at the time. We got together from time to time. He had a big Honda motorcycle, and he loved to work on it, put all this extra stuff on it, and make it as comfortable as he could. It was great! He would come up to my house, and then we would go for long rides. I loved it!! I love seeing the countryside on the back of a motorcycle. I think I always did, but his bike was very comfortable, and he made the rides alot of run. We even went to an NA campout on it one summer..probably 01 or 02, down in Oklahoma....pulling a camper/trailer behind the bike. It was a fun trip! He got along allrlight with my daughter, too, and that was important. I drove down to his apartment in Arkansas a couple times, a drive that I loved. Arkansas is a beautiful state. Of course this was after he had moved to a different town than his wife lived in, but I guess it didn't bother me at the time. We had our ups and downs, and I wanted to know what he was doing some of the time. After all, we were together, right?? Didn't I have the right to know what he was doing or who he was doing it with?? There were large gaps in our communications...and that bothered me....

I got a different job at a publishing company near Blackwell, Oklahoma. I thought it was going to be better money. The only thing was I had to drive a ways each morning and evening to get there. It was run by two women who were gay, which didn't bother me. What bothered me was that they, at least one of them, was a micro-manager, and she looked over everything that I did. Now, I understand when you have begun and built a company that you would want to oversee every thing that goes out the door. But, I just wasn't comfortable with that....So by mutual consent, we parted ways. I was only a few weeks without a job...and found the reporter job at the Winfield Courier....about 10 miles from where I lived. "Sam" and I were no longer communicating, by his own doing. In fact, he cut off communication with me. This was to happen to me again...and again...with other people.

I liked it there....it was a good job, even though it didn't pay well. I was there about a year and a half I guess. I met some great people, too. Roy, the managing editor, was a guy who I'd met in leadership class a couple years before. I'm sure that had a lot to do with why I got the job...maybe. Judith, the lifestyles editor and a few years older than me, is an opinionated woman who I ended up really liking, even though we locked horns a few times while I was there. I had my own desk, and got along with everyone in the newsroom. The paper is in an old building there in Winfield, and the newsroom is crammed in a very small space. It was lively and noisy, with discussions and questions being thrown around all the time. Other areas of the paper complained that we were too noisy, but I like a newsroom to be that way, sometimes!! How else are you going to know about things and be able to form your own opinions?? I covered the county commission, the courtroom, and a whatever else happened in town. I didn't cover the board of education or the city. That was for someone else. I did get to cover the festivals and musical events, which I liked...sometimes the county fair and the veterans stuff.

While at the Courier, I went to the Pioneer Days at the Cherokee Strip Land Rush museum in Ark City....to cover their festival. There I met the man that I would be with for the next year or so.....

A new life...finally

I guess it wasn't long after Sept. 11 that I made the decision to move out of my house that I shared with my second husband. I had been thinking about it for a while...obviously...and had talked about it with my sponsor. I had only been sober since August 17 of that year, and I was still being watchful and careful of anything extreme that would disrupt that fragile state of mind that I had. Usually, when getting sober, we are told not to make any large decisions about our lives - divorce, moving, job...anything of that nature. But, my sponsor and I agreed that it would be best for me to do this. That this was the only way I was going to stay sober, and I had to do it. I really felt it was right. Do you ever get that feeling inside you...that something is just right? It felt that way. And I was just learning to trust that feeling inside me....that gut feeling that tells you that something is the very thing you are supposed to do!

I was going to meetings every day, like I knew that I needed to. I had made a commitment to my recovery this time. I was going to do anything it took to stay sober, even if it meant leaving my husband who drove me crazy, even if it meant going to a meeting every day....several times a day, if necessary!! This was a town that I had lived in for many years, and I knew what I needed to do...where I needed to go, and where NOT to go! I went about my daily life, went to work, and took care of my daughter.

She and I were looking at houses to possibly buy and move into. We were in contact with a realtor and I had told her my price range...the one we looked at were ok...and some were not. Chelsea and I had a good time looking though, and I think it helped to bring us closer together! Even though my dad was going to help me out with a down payment, my credit was bad, and I wasn't sure how I was going to swing the loan. But we came across a house that that owner would sell on contract for deed. It didn't take long, in realty terms, to make an offer and get it accepted. Chelsea and I moved into the house in December of 2001. It was a tough move, in many ways. I didn't like leaving what was familiar, even though it was not my favorite place to be. I was leaving my husband, which was hard as well. And I was embarking on a new life...

At the same time as I was leaving my husband, buying a new home, getting and trying to stay sober, I was also going through menopause...and I was kind of a mess, mentally! My doctor put me on an antidepressant, which I really needed at the time. It worked, and I felt pretty good. But each day was a struggle for me, just putting one foot in front of the other, being nice to people and nice to myself, and still trying to work and pay bills and do all the daily stuff that was expected of me. I experienced at that time a deep, dark depression that I will not soon forget. It felt miserable. I could see myself getting deeper and deeper into it and not being about to do anything about it. I didn't care about anything, and nothing, really, made me happy. Now, I had enough 'responsibility' ingrained in me that I put on a happy face most of the time...when it was possible. But inside, I had that depression that nothing seemed to be able to cure. It is horrible!!

I did things that made me happy, though. I found things that I loved...like bubble baths, nice conversations, sparkling water....and I was determined to make things good with my daughter. She was still in her adolescent stage, but was growing up fast. She was also glad to get out of the house that I shared with my second husband and get into our own place. She is an organizer, so she was in her element!! She loved being the mom to me as we were organizing the new place!! I had lots of dreams and visions for my new home, but it was good to just get into my own place!! I was finally on my own!!

In my head I visualized people coming over and having coffee in my kitchen, at my table, feeling good and comfortable and AT HOME in my new place. I could see a garden and potted plants hanging on the porch. I could see lilac bushes in the side yard and fruit trees growing. Mostly, I pictured serenity, peace, tranquility....and that was my goal for my life.

Terrorism..

It was right before I moved out of the trailer into my own house...September 2001. I was getting ready for work that morning, and I had Good Morning America on the tv, glancing at it every now and then as I rushed through the living room. I stopped, though, when I saw one of the twin Trade Center towers on fire, smoke billowing out of it, and a panicky-sounding news anchor talking hurriedly. I couldn't really stop and listen, though. I had to get to work. It was almost 8 a.m. and I had to go!!

When I got to work, though, there was talk among the others, and everyone in town, about how the World Trade Centers had been hit by a plane and had exploded and were on fire...and then had collapsed! Oh....how that made me feel....! I was shocked, awed, confused, and wondering what in the world was happening!

As the news unfolded, we were informed about the terrorists that had piloted the planes into the side of the towers, one and then another...and then how the towers had gone down right in the middle of New York City! All day...on the news...nothing but stories and reports of what had happened. We were all just in shock. How could this happen? What would happen now? How many people were in there? What would happen to the survivors? To the folks that were close to the buildings? To the rest of the people in my city? So many questions went through my mind...and I just couldn't grasp it all.

In the small Kansas town where I lived, people were trying to find ways to show their support. Flags went up everywhere. Yellow ribbons. Red, white and blue was everywhere! The lines at the gas stations were long, because someone had started a rumor that the gas would be in short supply because of this disaster. I"m not sure where that came from, but I ignored it. I figured I had bigger things to worry about than where my gas was going to come from, and how much it cost. I would wait and see.

Then, we heard about the plane crashing at the Pentago, another devastating and confusing time for all of us. What was going on?

I remember sitting in the laundromat...later that week...and seeing the replay on their little television, once again, of the planes flying into the side of the tall trade center buildings....and feeling tears come to my eyes. Why? I asked myself. Why? Why would anyone do that and kill so many people!? WHY??

On my own, continued....

So...not only did I get sober, I left my husband of six years, a move that was both good and bad. It was good, because I felt like it was something that would keep me sober. I was not happy with him, with our life, and with the way things were going. Every time I got drunk, the meanness would come out in me and I would rail at him, yell at him, start an argument, and just generally make an ass of myself. At home. In the privacy of my own home. And each time I did that I would berate myself and hate myself, and swear it wouldn't happen again. That I would drink but not get stupid. But that didn't happen, mainly because it just couldn't. I was an alcoholic and when an alcoholic drinks, the same thing happens over and over again! I had to realize that. I couldn't drink like a normal person. On August 17, 2001, that's what happened. I had had too much to drink - AGAIN - and I found myself in my car, at 2 a.m., with my cell phone in my hand, and only my underpants on. I have NO idea how I got there, what I was doing there, or who I was calling. But I looked at myself in the car's rear view mirror and was totally humiliated by what I had done and how far I had come..and how I had gotten to that point! This was after a 6 month relapse, and I already knew about the AA program. I knew how to stop, I knew what God could do for me, what my sponsor could do for me. But I had to go out and do some more 'research'. And so I found that YES I am an alcoholic. No question about it. I am. And so now...what I had to do...at that point, was to pick myself up and get back on track with sobriety.

I was a hard thing to do. And now - almost 9 years later - I am convinced that each time you relapse, it is harder to get back to the program. When I got sober that summer day in 2001, I made a commitment to my recovery. I was going to "go to any lengths" to stay sober, as it said in the Big Book Alcoholics Anonymous. And I did. I went to a meeting every day for many months. I talked to my sponsor every day. I talked to other alcoholics. I stayed aware of each moment that I walked through the day, and made sure that I had a plan for any circumstance where drinking might be going on. I HAD to!! I had to stay sober this time. I had gotten my daughter back, but I wanted to keep her and I really wanted to stay sober!! I hated myself when I drank. I hated the way my life was going. I hated that I acted so stupidly.

I couldn't blame Jeff. I couldn't blame anyone else for my drinking. and I knew that. But I also knew that in my own head, I was rebelling against the way my life was at the time. And my marriage to Jeff, and my life with him, and my life in that trailer, was NOT what I wanted nor what I felt I deserved. I wanted a better life for me and for my daughter, that involved a nicer home, a bigger home, and peace and contentment each day. Sure, I knew I would have some troubles, but I didn't want to feel like turning to booze every time I had troubles!! I wanted to smile each day, and be able to take a deep breath and know that all was going to be ok. And I wanted to be able to talk to my higher power every day and know that I was being heard...that I had a clear conscience when I did talk to him.

It was so good to get into my own home with my daughter and not worry about drinking...or having to do housework when I got home, or worry about what HE was going to do. It was just me and her, and that was all I needed to be concerned about. I continued to go to meetings, and work my steps and talk to my sponsor and talk to God. Things were going fine....and I finally had some peace.

On my own....

So....I tried to get sober a couple times...and each time, at about four months or so, I would twist off, as they say, and start drinking again. The last time, I was working at the convention and visitors bureau, at the Chamber of Commerce, and I was attending a political caucus. It was in February 2001. I remember clearly that I was in another world in my head, not the one I was supposed to be in, because there was free booze everywhere!! There was wine on the tables, there were bars where you could get a couple free drinks with your attendance....and I was struggling NOT to drink....but I failed. I figured, why not...it's free. So I got a glass of wine. I was discreet, and didn't over do it, but that opened the doors for me again. I screwed up so why not keep going? I thought. Now I'm back to drinking, and I was feeling ok again. That relapse lasted until August, when I got sober for the last time.

During that time, I was still living with Jeff, but I was not happy. I was going to meetings, talking with my sponsor, trying to figure out HOW to stay sober!! When they would say "Don't drink and go to meetings", I could get the go to meeting part, but not the don't drink part!! I was arguing with Jeff, and just really all over the place. When I finally did hit bottom, in August, I was really ready to leave and Jeff and I were not getting along very well. I know I was trying to make it work, I really was...but I just wasn't happy...and I thought maybe that had something to do with my drinking and not being able to stop. After I got sober, I went to a meeting every day, sometimes twice a day, and worked on my sobriety with everything I had. The home life just wasn't good...between Jeff and Chelsea...it was hard to make my recovery work. I know....outside influences shouldn't make a difference, but they seemed to at the time. And since I had made a commitment to my recovery, I wanted to do whatever it took to stay sober!!

I had enough sense in my brain to think about leaving...and Chelsea and I were looking at a couple houses to buy. I was talking with a real estate woman and having her help me find a house I could comfortably afford. I know Jeff knew it...he could tell I wasn't happy. We talked about it, and he said that he really wanted me to be happy...and if leaving was going to do it, then I needed to leave. I was thinking that I needed to leave in order to stay sober. But I didn't want that to be a cop out and so I talked it over with my sponsor. Usually geographic changes are not a good idea to stay sober, but we both felt that this was probably a good idea.

I got sober in August 2001. It took me until December of that year to get things together to buy my house and leave. I had help from my dad with the down payment, found a house that I could buy on contract for deed, and then moved. During that time I still went to meetings, I still worked my program, I still talked to my sponsor, but I felt my recovery was shaky.

But it felt right to move into that home, away from my husband. It felt good. And, even though I wanted to be away from Jeff, it was a really hard thing to do for me. I was leaving a somewhat secure home, a somewhat secure life - well, I don't know about that, but I was leaving familiarity and routine. There, I said it. Change is hard!! But Chelsea and I took what we wanted out of the trashy trailer that we were living in with Jeff and moved into this house on D street. It was nice....it was clean, neat, good, cozy, and it was mine!! I was embarking on a new life...a new chapter in my life, so to speak.

But, there really was a lot going on!! I was leaving my home, leaving my husband, getting and staying sober, going through menopause, and buying a home. Chelsea was 17 at the time, and she had just lost her dad about a year before that....so I was having a little trouble with my depression and my moods. The doctor had me on an antidepressant at the time, and sometimes it would work and sometimes it wouldn't. I hated the depression, and there were times that it was debilitating...it made me not even want to move. I still had to go to work every day...still had to show up to meetings, and still had to put one foot in front of the other. It was hard. But I kept on...and plodded on...and tried to do the next right thing.

If it hadn't been for my daughter, and my sponsor, and my family....I don't know that I would have been ok...but I knew there were people who loved me and that's what kept me going.

How I got sober...

After Jack's death, I went back to Ark City, my daughter and me, to continue life. She stayed in close touch with her sisters and brother, and I continued with my drinking and living with my second husband. But I don't think, at that point, that I felt it was going to last much longer.

I had tried, unsuccessfully, to quit drinking. I knew that I had a problem. I would drink wine, yell at my husband, get stupid, get angry, and then realize that it was probably the alcohol doing that to me. I knew that I had a problem. I knew that I needed to get help.

I read self-help books. I got on line to an AA meeting. I tried everything....just drink so many drinks, just drink after a certain time, blah, blah, blah. I tried to quit on my own. I did everything except go to an actual AA meeting. I had this idea that it was a smoke-filled room full of old men, smoking cigarettes and cigars, drinking coffee, and laughing about 'guy stuff'...I don't know. I had NO idea, really. I drove by the address of the meeting, called them on the phone several times, but never got up the nerve to go.

But finally I did....one Sunday, I think it was. After a Saturday night of drinking...at home...alone. That was the way I usually did it. I would just drink and get mad and scream or argue, and then pass out. And Jeff would be always forgiving of me...he'd say, "I don't care if you drink, just don't start your shit!" And that would make sense, and it would give me permission to go ahead and drink more. Hey, if my spouse didn't mind, why should I? So, on I went. And he would forgive me for yelling at him, whatever I dished out.

The meeting I went to was the place there where the 'card-signers' went, the ones who had been court-ordered to go to meetings. But I didn't know that at the time. It was just a place where I was able to meet other alcoholics. I remember the first meeting...and that I just sat there and listened. They were all men, if I remember right, and they were all either sober or trying to get and stay that way.

So over the course of a few months, I stayed sober....with the help of the meetings. But I didn't get a sponsor. All I did was read the Big Book and go to meetings. And that was good. I stayed sober for two 4 month stretches, with lots of ups and downs in between. During that time, I somehow, not remembering how, started attending meetings at the local NA house. The Narcotics Anonymous group were really into recovery from addiction, and there was much more female recovery in that group too. So there was where I got a sponsor, started working the steps, and really got into staying sober. Even when I twisted off the second time, I still continued going to meetings and talking to my sponsor. I knew...I just KNEW that was where I belonged and that was who I needed to be talking to...and it was my life line.

My final night of drinking...my BOTTOM, as they call it...was August 16, 2001, when I found myself out in my car, in the wee hours of the morning, with only my underpants on, and talking on my cell phone. I have no idea how I got there, I have no idea who I was talking to. But I was totally humiliated...at myself...for being and doing and looking the way I did. ...I couldn't do it anymore, and I suddenly saw who I really was...a drunk. And that was the last time I drank. I made a new commitment to my recovery the next day...and have been sober since.

It's been a long hard 8 years..but it's been good, and it's been progressive, and full of gratitude. I am soooo glad, every day, that I chose sobriety. And it's always good to talk to others who are going through the same thing....my sponsor, friends, other alcoholics. I can find a meeting anywhere I go...and I feel like I'm coming home.

It was not easy to tell my family, and it's still hard to tell other people, but it gets easier all the time. I am still committed to my recovery, and it is the first thing that I think about most days.

Feeling stronger..

Deep breath....

For some reason, I'm feeling stronger today...stronger than I have in a long time. I'm ready to do some writing...I'm ready to talk/write/think about Jack's death and what it meant to me and to my/his daughter.

It rocked my world!! Even though we had been divorced for about 6 years, and I was even remarried, it shook me up like I never thought it would!! I got the call that he had passed when I was in a meeting at a motel in town. I was working as the convention and visitors bureau coordinator, and was talking with the owners of the motel at the time. I got the call from the nurse at the clinic where he'd been, I think...that he'd passed away. My first thought was - No, you're mistaken!! It can't be!! He's fine!! - Isn't that the thought that most people have when they're told of someone's death? I don't know. But it was my reaction. But then, it sunk in, and my next thought was for my daughter...I knew she was at home, and I didn't know if she'd been told yet. I made my excuses, hurried home, and she was sitting in the doorway of the house we lived in...crying...with the phone in her hand. Apparently her sister, Staci, had called and told her. She was almost inconsolable....and all I could do was hug her.

That day and the days that followed are kind of a blur to me. I don't remember a lot about them...just that we went to southeast Kansas, the town where he'd lived, to be with his other kids. His wishes were to be cremated, but somehow the funeral home was going to allow the family to see him before they sent him away. So he was on a table, with just a blanket over him up to his chest. There was lots of crying..especially from his half-sisters and step mom. His son, Derek, could hardly contain himself, he was so broken up. There were friends there, ones that I hadn't seen for a while, and some that I had.

I don't know what the rest of them did. I do know that Chelsea spent some time in there with him, with her sister, and I think with me...but I'm no sure. When it was finally my turn to go in and 'see' him, I really relished that little bit of time with him. I slowly walked to him, and put my hands on him.....I told him that I loved him, and that I would miss him, and that I was thankful for the good times that we had together....and that I hoped he was in a better place... We had talked about that a lot....about going to heaven, about being whole and healthy again when you die. So, I knew that he could hear me, and that he was happy. THAT made ME feel better, and maybe that's what that's all about. But the important thing is, I was able to say my last goodbyes to his body....but I still, to this day, feel that he can hear me.

I sat in on the meeting of my stepkids and the funeral director. I didn't have much say so in what was being done, but I felt I could be there to advise or console. Their mother was there, too, and I didn't have a problem with that, either. By that time, she and I were friends, because we knew there was nothing to keep us from being that!!

Chelsea and I came back home for a day or two, because they decided to have the memorial service later that week, and we couldn't stay until then, and I had to get back to work. But we went back for the service....and it was nice. The kids had made a collage of all his pictures - a big one of him in his favorite shirt and shorts, and then smaller ones of them, and me, and Chelsea, growing up in different stages of life. It was a wonderful tribute to him. The service was not long, and his friend, Stan, spoke. Stan had been a friend to him during our marriage and after as well. I know he talked to Stan about our relationship, my leaving and all that stuff. And I have a feeling Stan was not very happy with me...but he never said anything to me. My name was mentioned in the eulogy that Stan gave...the "Jeanne was the love of Jack's life.." That made me feel good...and I am glad that other people heard that...I'm not sure why. I just wanted (needed) that validation. Jack was the love of MY life too....I just couldn't be married to him anymore. And since nobody asked me, I never did say that...I feel like Jack knew that...in his heart.

I don't want to dwell on this...but there was a time after the service that his older sister, Susan, absolutely snubbed me...I went to try and hug her, and she just put her hands up like "Don't touch me!" She was the one who wailed during the whole service, too...and others heard it as well. That's fine....she wasn't around much when he was alive, and I felt that she had no cause to be so grief-stricken when he died. I don't lose any sleep over the snubbing - she was NOT one of my favorite people anyway.

It's been hard for Chelsea, over the last 10 years since he's been gone. And I understand that....and I have been as supportive and understanding as I can be. She doesn't like to talk about him....but once in awhile she will say something about him...like what she remembers him doing, or what he said...or what he was like. And it's become more and more frequent....like she is finally able to talk about him without crying. I have come to terms - somewhat - with his death, as I hope his other kids have too. I have the guilt to deal with as well...the guilt that I carried around for so long. I felt guilty about divorcing him, especially after he died. I dont' feel that way anymore....in fact, I feel good about him watching me and knowing what I am doing. I talk to him from time to time, and know that he is in a good place.

Snow...

I don't want to write about the next, natural part in my life, that is, after Jack died, and Chelsea and I were left to go on. And the reason I don't want to write about it right now is because I'm struggling with depression, and I just think that it wouldn't be a great idea. So I'm going to write about the snow that we've had here in southwest Colorado...and it just keeps coming!!

I like snow! I really do. And it's a good thing, since I live where I do. I wonder, sometimes, about the people I encounter who really don't like snow. I wonder why they live here, and why they don't go somewhere where it's warm all year round. There are plenty of people who do that, and they really like it. But I like the snow. But I especially like the sunshine that we get here, whether or not it's snowing!

I would like to say that my depression is due to the fact that the sun hasn't shone around here for about three days or more, and it finally IS today! It is SO good to see the sun again. I didn't realize how important the sun is to me! The blue sky, the warm sun, the cheerfulness of it. For me, it's hard to be depressed on a day when the sun is shining, and I can see people wandering around with sunglasses, and smiles on their faces. Even when they're bundled up against the cold, it heartens me to see them out and about.

We have about 2 feet of snow on the ground - or more - and we had just a skiff last evening. It was a very light snow yesterday, light enough that I was able to just sweep it off my car. Monday morning, though, I went down to start my car, and I discovered about 6 inches or more of heavy, heavy snow, and I had to spend about an hour shoveling out behind my car, so I could get it out. I don't mind...it gives me a chance to get outside, and it offers me a time to think about things and get started on my day. I just don't want to have a heart attack while I'm doing it! It's also a good thing that I don't have to be at work at a certain time. I can take my time, and rest every once in awhile.

I haven't written anything for a while, either, and I wonder if that is contributing to my depression. I should write every day, at least something, even if it's a little bit about how I'm feeling that day. That way i can get my feelings out and I won't feel so cooped up, so wrapped up, so constricted....and my feelings will be out there....I won't have to keep them inside and dwell on them. Maybe that's the key...to let my feelings go...out there somewhere, and then I won't have them to make me depressed!!

I have started writing a book and I know that I need to write on it, at least every day too. It's overwhelming, and I know - in my head, anyway - all the tricks....take it one part at a time, little bits...keep writing and don't edit yourself, don't worry about how it's going to sound, just keep writing. And I can do that. It's just setting my butt down in the chair and doing it that's the problem. Right now, anyway. It seems that I have a lot of things swirling around in my head that I feel that I'd like to write down, but i don't know where to start and I don't know what form they should take, and I guess I just get confused. I make excuses for myself all the time, but I know it's just a matter of sitting down and writing....writing...writing...and getting into the habit.

Still in the present...

Ok, it's still January 2010...and I'm still needing to talk about my daughter...

She's in good hands. I know that.

After her surgery, and subsequent recuperation in Ark City, her sisters loaded her up and took her back to KC with them, with her dogs. I know she really appreciated everything they did for her, and I did too!! I still do!! I talked with her by phone about every day, and she would let me know how things were progressing with her. She didn't seem to be healing as fast as I thought she should, but then I am not there, and I wasn't sure. At one point she even started crying on the phone when I was talking to her, because she was frustrated at not being able to get around like she wanted to, and upset the she hurt no matter what she did! I felt so badly for her, and wanted to hug her....it made me feel bad. But I also knew that healing takes time.

This is Saturday...I am not sure what day it was but one day - maybe Tuesday or Wednesday - the sister that she was staying with got in a fight with her husband, and later that day decided to leave the house, supposedly to go smoke crack. That's what Chelsea said. (She's an addict - we already knew that, but I thought she had been clean for a while.) Anyway, Chelsea called me telling me that she was pissed, that her sister had taken Chelsea's dogs with her and had been gone for about 5 hours!! It was a drama-filled day, needless to say. The sister's son was having a birthday that next day, and Chelsea was just really worried about how this was going to affect everyone. All I could do, on the phone, was commiserate with her, listen to her, and then tell her to wait. Which she already knew to do.

The next day she called and said that Stella had finally come home, with Chelsea's dogs, after about 7 hours of being gone. Yes, Chelsea thinks she had been smoking crack, but the sister came up with an excuse as to why she had been gone for so long. She had run into a friend, they had gone to a bar to get a couple drinks, blah, blah, blah. Chelsea knew it was a lie, but all she was concerned about was her dogs. Then, when I talked with her later that day, she said that Stella had gone to jail....for trying to steal someone's purse, and driving on a suspended license. Well, that was that. I told Chelsea there was definitely nothing she could do now!! Stella's husband was a big boy, and the kids were just going to have to deal with the consequences. She loaded up her stuff and went to stay with her other sister, Staci. That was fine, except Stacie's husband is just not too fine with having dogs in the house. But I also knew it was the best place for her....

Then... that night, she called and said that she was in the emergency room at the hospital there. Staci said she thought her belly was swollen and red, and it shouldn't be that way...They admitted her, and I fretted all night long about how she was going to be, and whether or not she would be ok. I found out the next day that she still had fluid inside her, in pockets around her bladder and uterus...and they didn't know if they were infected or not....That was a couple days ago, and she'll be there until her fever goes down, she said.

It's all been kind of a blur. I have tried to deal with it, and take it in stride. I have talked with Staci and Chelsea, and listened and learned what I can. I am still very, very appreciative and thankful for her sister, Staci, but I still feel guilty. It's hard being this far away. I know she wants me there, but with all the snow we've had, I really doubt that I could go out there, even if I had the money to travel. My best friend, Netta, lives a few hours away, and she went up to stay with Chelsea last night, and I was really happy about that. Yesterday was when they took out her staples, and did a sonagram on her belly to see what was in there. Chelsea sounded pretty good yesterday, but she gets really upset about things and I know that's not good either. They were giving her Dilaudid and Atavan to calm her down...and so she was dopey. She was also irritable.

I'm feeling lonely, sad, depressed....and kind of out of it, actually. I cry at the drop of a hat, and I'm not sure if it's because of all this, or something else. I stay to myself, and don't really want to talk to anyone. Again, I don't know if it's because of what's going on with Chelsea, or just because I'm isolating. I should call my sponsor and talk with her..... I feel out of place, out of sorts, lost...homesick...I'm not sure. Where I was feeling so grateful and blessed a week or so ago, I'm feeling dejected and out of sorts today. I take walks to get out in the fresh air, but I still feel lost when I get home.


........
I talked to my friend, Netta, who is still there this Saturday evening. She filled me in on what has been going on with Chelsea. She was there all night last night, and she said that Chelsea was up and down, that the machine was beeping a lot, and that she is very restless, irritable, and talks constantly about going home, being with her dogs, seeing her old man, and just hating to be in the hospital. she also told me that the doctor came in and took a culture of Chelsea's 'leakage' from her incision, and then intimated that it might be staph. THAT made me cry....and all I can do is hope for the best. To stay positive and know that it's all in God's hands.

Then I tried calling Chelsea's phone again, and there was no answer. What do I do? Do I try to figure out how to make the trip and go there? All I can do is hold her hand, be there for her, give her moral support. That's essentially what her sister and my friend, Netta, are doing. They can't make her relax, they can't make her calm down. I called my sponsor and cried on her shoulder for a while. She said the same thing - all you can do is offer moral support. Even if I was able to go there, that's all I could do. But I go back and forth between feeling guilty and feeling ok...between feeling like I should be there , and feeling like it's ok if I'm not..that she's in good hands.

Chelsea finally called me back. I asked her how she was doing, and she said the same old thing. "i'm in the hospital and the same thing is going on...." I said that she didn't need to get irritable with me, and she said fine that she would just go. And hung up. I tried calling her back and left a message. No answer. I guess I really can't say much to her at this point. She is really upset and irritable and nothing I say is going to make a difference. It makes me cry...it makes my cry...I don't know what to do!!

I guess I will wait and find out what the doctor says tomorrow about the culture and go from there. Mean while...I can pray...i can get my head right, my heart right, and know know know that God is in control. He is taking care of all of this and all I can do is trust trust trust.....

Sisters...

Zip back to the present - January 2010. I just have to write about this. Especially now that it's on the uphill climb, and I'm feeling better.

On Friday, Jan. 8, two days ago, Chelsea called me crying, saying she was in terrible pain. And that the pain went from her breasts all the way down to her belly...and she didn't know what to do. Of course she knew that I couldn't do anything either, but that is her M.O....to call her mommy when she is not feeling good. That was about 4:30 my time, and I was about do go on a dinner date. I told her that, and was perfectly willing to stay home...but she said "go, and have a good time". So I went, with the condition that she call me if anything changed, or she decided to go to the hospital. I didn't hear from her, but I called her phone when I got home. Her boyfriend Larry answered and said she was still in pain, and that she couldn't really talk. Then later, her friend Heather called, saying that Chelsea wanted her to call me and let me know that she was no better. I don't think Heather really knew what to do.

In hindsight, this is when I wish I had talked her into going to the hospital. This is when I think it would have been crucial to have gotten some help. But I wasn't there - I didn't know.

I prayed, and then I went to bed.

The next morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing.It was about 6 a.m. It was Chelsea's neighbor, Nancy, letting me know that she was at Chelsea's house, and she had called an ambulance for her and it was on its way. ...she just wanted to let me know. She said that Chelsea just couldn't take the pain any longer, and that she couldn't walk, or hold her head up, it was so bad. She stayed with me on the phone until the ambulance got there. I asked her to call me back, and she said, of course she would.

It wasn't long before she called me again. They had seen Chelsea at the emergency room, and they found that she was bleeding internally. That's all they knew at this point. I even talked to the physician's assistant, and he said it was bleeding inside her. Nancy said she was going to stay until they found out what going on, and I thanked her for staying and letting me know what was going on. The next time she called, which was just maybe 30 minutes later, or less, she told me they had found out she was, in fact, bleeding internally and they were going to go in and find out what was going on. This was frightening news. And she had obviously lost an awful lot of blood!! Nancy thought they would definitely admit her. Yes, she found out, they were going to do surgery.....

I was beside myself, but I tried to stay calm. I called Staci, her sister who lives in Kansas City. (she is a half-sister, but she and HER sister, Stella, are very close to Chelsea...) When I called her and explained that Chelsea was going into surgery for internal bleeding, the first thing Staci said was 'why?'. I didn't know anything, other than that what I had been told. I asked her, by any chance, could she or Stella drive down there to be with her in the hospital? She didn't even hesitate. She said "absolutely, I'll go!" All she said she had to do was pack a few things and get on the road. She said she would also call Leeann, her friend in Ark City where Chelsea lives and ask her to go over there until Staci got there. LeeAnn was a nurse and would be able to tell Staci a bit more about what was going on. I was so thankful, so glad, so relieved...that Staci was so willing to go...I breathed a little easier. Chelsea was asking for me, and I was thinking about what I would do, and how I would get there.

While I was waiting for news about the surgery, I found out that a round trip airline ticket would cost $600!! There was no way I could afford that!! And if I drove it would take a couple days, and some money as well!! I talked to my neighbor and she helped me decide to wait and see what things looked like after Staci got there. Meanwhile, Staci called me and said she had gone by to pick up Stella and they were on their way!! I couldn't believe that both of them were going!! Plus, Staci had brought her daughter, Danielle, with them too!! I was so thankful...grateful...I was speechless at the love and family that was taking place with my daughter!!

All that day, I though about nothing else but my daughter, her sisters, what she was going through, and what I could do, if anything. I have learned through my recovery that stuff will happen no matter what we do...and that all I can do is let it go, let God take care of it, and try to stay positive. I did try to do that, and succeeded to a point. But I'm sure my body was still tense and upset just because of the fact that I couldn't be there...

But really, what could I do? What difference would it make if I WAS there? I couldn't do anything except wait, and I could do that here.

So, when she got out of surgery, which didn't take more than 45 minutes, I bet, Nancy called again and let me know it had been a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. They had to remove one ovary, and a fallopian tube. And they had given her more blood to replace all that she had lost. Her kidneys were fine, she was on IV fluids, and she would stay in ICU for a day or so. The doctor said that if she hadn't come to the hospital when she did, she would have died in a matter of minutes...gone into hemorhaggic shock, and then died. I didn't know what to say, and all I did was cry.....

It wasn't long after that that the girls got there. They kept reassuring me that things would be fine, that they would see to Chelsea, to her house, to her dogs, and that I didn't need to worry about anything....I kept telling them that I felt like I should be there but that I didn't know if I could afford to come out. They said, don't worry....we'll be fine, don't worry...

So I didn't...but I don't think I took a breath until the next day, or maybe that evening when I heard Chelsea's voice on the phone. Chelsea was awake, but doped up. Her voice was raspy and weak, but she was able to talk to me for a few minutes. Her friend, Bev, had also spent most of the day at the hospital as well and was very good about reassuring me during the day about Chelsea's condition.

Meanwhile, I did my laundry, went to the office to work ahead on my paper, in case I did need to go. I also went to my favorite yarn shop that evening to knit, just so I would have something to keep my mind on, and to relax. It worked. Having all those women around me, gabbing and happy, took my mind off my daughter for a little while. Plus, while I was there, I heard from Bev and from Chelsea, and was able to get some more reassurance that all was well.

The world goes on without me....without MOM taking care of things and being there to hold her hand!! Imagine that!!

The next day, Saturday, I was feeling better. I was not feeling as guilty as I was before, except for the fact that the girls were dealing with everything and I wasn't. But my mind was on them all the time.

Chelsea called me from her own phone about noon, and I was able to talk to her for a while. She was said about the pregnancy, but she knew this was not a good time to have a baby for her. (We had already talked about that.) She talked about the signs that she hadn't recognized about the ectopic pregnancy. She talked about Larry not really wanting to go to the hospital cause it was where he had already lost one child. She said she didn't use birth control ...not with Larry...I told her that now that she's had one pregnancy like this, she would need to be careful that she doesn't have another one...she would have to be really careful. I don't know how much of what MOM says she hears. I know that she listens to her sisters probably more than she does me. She was already annoyed about haveing to be in the hospital, which was a good sign. and then she got tired and wanted to get off phone.

Later on, I called Staci. She said that they had taken the catheter out and Stella had helped Chelsea down to the shower to clean up and wash her hair, and they had both combed it out for her. What a great sisterly picture that brought to mind!! She assured me everything was fine...they had walked the dogs, cleaned up the house, done laundry....etc...and I told her it made me feel SO much better, that it was such a load off my mind, to have them there and taking care of everything. She kept saying it was fine, that she was our little sister, and we wouldn't have done anything else! I am just in awe! I love them so much..I just can't beleive they did this!! And Chelsea was very surprised to see them, and very appreciative as well...she also couldn't believe they would come to her side like they did. And Danielle too!! I know...I KNOW...that this was the best thing for her.

THEN they were saying that they had already told Chelsea that she was going to go home with them when she got out of the hospital..so they could take care of her!! Oh my!! I am so overwhelmed by the love and caring that they were showing...without any effort!! I was constantly grateful...and it warmed my heart beyond words.

I didn't have any sisters..I don't know what it would be like to have other women taking care of you that are related by blood...who love you JUST BECAUSE you are their sister!! They have done so much for her, and I know that I can rely on them to do the right thing by Chelsea because they are her sisters and they love her.

So, now I have a new and updated respect for the girls...not that I didn't already love and respect them already!! But now, they are angels, in my eyes. They are the epitome of family...they are unconditional love...they are sweetness, they are kindness, they are goodness, and they are sisters!! I am so fortunate...and so grateful!! Now I could breathe, relax, know that my daughter was taken care of, and so were her dogs....I could know that all this was for a reason and that having her sisters take care of her was, really, better than having mom there...don't you think??

I still....a few days after all this happened...want to cry when I think about how close to death she was. Was that the doctor just saying that so that she would call for help a little sooner next time? Or is it true? Either way, my heart hurts to think of it, and from the somewhat helpless feeling that I get when I think about her there by herself. But, then, I think about her sisters and how much they love her, and I get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. She is ok with my not being there, and she is ok with her sisters being there....

I remain grateful and humble each day.....

I kept drinking....

My second husband and I were together for a couple years before we decided to get married. Well, I guess it was mostly my decision to get married, as Jeff loved to brag about the fact that he was in his late 30's and never been married. Was that a good thing? I didn't know at the time. He seemed to think so. All I knew was that I was feeling like I was too old to be calling him my boyfriend all the time. Now, though, when I look back, that should have been fine. I never should have married him. It was too final, too definite, too confining....but I thought it was the best thing for me and him both.

I was still drinking heavily, and even though we were getting in arguments, they weren't too bad ...yet. I love him, I thought, and we seemed to be getting along in between the arguments. I still numbed my feelings with the alcohol, escaped the parts of my life that cause me pain with the alcohol...and loudly voice my opinions to him when I had the chance. I realized that I was turning into the sort or woman that I didn't like...that I never wanted to be -loud, argumentative, vengeful, bitchy, and resentful.

We had been in that raggedy trailer for all this time. I had put up curtains, painted the walls, gotten everything going in the kitchen - the gas, etc. - and just generally tried to make it a home for us. And it was ...not bad. Cozy and comfortable, at least as much as it could be. It was my home, as much as I could make it that. I just didn't let anyone see it.

I really don't want to dwell on the fact that I was a bad mom for those few years that I was with my second husband. But I was. The times that my daughter came to visit were not good. She and I argued a lot, even though there were times that we had some good discussions and good times. She was an adolescent, and that's when they seem to know everything. Then when she came to live with us, it was still up and down with the arguments.

I do remember some good times when she had friends over. She made a friend or two at school and would bring them home. One in particular was even related to my husband, and she became a really close friend of Chelsea's. They seemed to do everything together. They had their times when they were mad at each other, but they always made up and became friends again. Amongst it all, though I remember being very tense and anxious about her, and the things she was going through. And I was still drinking at the time, too. Times like when I dropped her off at the middle school and it was raining. She walked to my place of work - about 20 blocks or so - and was standing in the front office just dripping, saying that she just didn't want to go to school that day!! I was so mad!! I took her home, tried to make her change her clothes and take her back to school. But when she refused to go to school, I felt helpless. What could I do? I couldn't physically make her go to school? I couldn't physically make her do anything! I talked to the principal - he could only do so much from his end. I talked to the police - they couldn't do much unless she had broken the law. I talked to a counselor - they couldn't do much unless Chelsea was willing to talk to them. She was very sarcastic, hateful, and uncooperative. And I just didn't know what to do.

At some point she went back to her dad's, got in trouble, and went to a group home in Pittsburg, Kansas. I think it was for mostly truancy and maybe smoking. That was obviously not allowed in her school. So I made the drive over to Pittsburg every so often, probably every other weekend, to see her. When I was there I would take her out to eat, or swimming, or shopping, or just spend some time with her. I was also trying to get sober at this time. She got out of that place, went back to live with her dad that summer, and promptly got in trouble again when school started. This time she went to a place in Columbus, Kansas. It was not quite as confining as the other one, as she went to public school there, but it was still a not very nice place for her to be. This time, when I went to see her, it seemed like she was learning her lesson, and definitely didnt' want to be there!! I think when kids realize that they don't want to be someplace like that, then they know what they have to do NOT to go there again!! I didn't feel like she was playing me, and she could easily have done that, I'm sure.

This was when I was getting sober, taking parenting classes, and doing whatever the judge wanted me to do in order for Chelsea to move in with me. They had already determined that she couldnt' live with her dad anymore, cause that's where she got in trouble.

I had mixed feelings. I wanted her to be with me....no doubt about that. But she was so jaded, so rebellious, that I wasn't sure I would be able to handle her. And, as it turned out, I really couldn't handle her. Not the way I thought I was supposed to, anyway. She was acting up, being lippy, hateful, not doing what I asked her to do, and I was, many times, at my wit's end as to what to do about her. But, in my mind and my heart, I knew that I couldn't give up on her. She was my daughter! That was all there was to it! If I, as her mother, gave up on her, then who was going to stick around and believe in her. I HAD to believe in her. And so I didn't give up...I kept trying to love her, get help for her, get help for me, and hang in there.

When she was 16, in March of 2000, Chelsea's dad passed away. She was living with me at the time. I will never forget the phone call I got about it. I was working for the Convention and Visitors Bureau there in town, and I was at a meeting at one of the motels in town. I was called to the phone, which was unusual. And it turned out to be the nurse at the hospital where he had died. He had been at the doctor's office for a checkup, Stella was with him, (my youngest stepdaughter) and he just had a massive heart attack right there. By the time he was taken to the hospital, I guess he was dead. I cried on the phone, I cried because I just couldn't believe it. And I rushed home, because I wanted to be the one to tell Chelsea. But by the time I got home, she had already talked to her sister, Staci, who had told her. She was sitting on the floor, crying, and I couldn't console her. She didn't want to talk, so I just left her alone. It was the hardest thing I think she and I have gone through.

The next few days were a blur. We went over to Iola for the funeral, or to help with the arrangements. Since I was no longer Jack's wife, I felt like I didn't have much say so in what happened with him. But his kids, mostly his daughters, were very capable of taking care of everything. It was his decision to be cremated, but the family, especially his sisters, wanted to view the body. I don't know if that's unusual, but the funeral home let us see him before they sent him to be cremated. That was very hard for me, but it gave me a chance to say goodbye...to his body. I had said goodbye to him spiritually already...and have talked with him many times since then.

This seemed to be a turning point in the relationship between me and Chelsea. She realized that I was her only parent left, and I realized, not for the first time, that life is precious and can be snuffed out in a moment. Plus, that she was, and is still, very precious to me...and that I wanted to protect her and keep her close to me no matter what.

My leaving....

When I left my first husband, it was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I remember saying that to myself at the time. We had been married 16 years, we had history, and I knew that it was going to be a hard thing to do. What hurt me the most, though, was that I left my daughter behind, and that was really hard. I had envisioned she and I being together, just the two of us, even if he wasn't going to be in the picture.... I guess that was not fair to her dad. I wanted to be fair, though, so I tried not to force my feelings onto her or him. I can only imagine what this all must have been like for him at the time. He was the one who told me to leave, but he really didn't think there was anything wrong, and he really didn't think I'd do it!!

I know he had a friend to talk to about all of this...and I know he did. His friend was a man he knew from church, and had remained friends with. I didn't particularly care for the friend - I thought his views were sexist, but I know Jack thought a lot of him at the time. I did, and still do, think that everyone needs a friend during times of upheaval and crisis. I met Jack a few times to 'exchange' Chelsea, and we talked briefly at those times. But the main thing I remember thinking was that I didn't want to be around him too long, as I knew he would talk me out of staying gone. And I knew I didn't want that to happen. I was weak enough, and wobbly enough in my convictions, that I knew it wouldn't take much for him to talk me into coming back to live with him. Somehow I knew that wasn't the right thing for me. I still loved him...and would have probably gone back to him, thinking that things would be different. But I was worried about my mental health.

After I stayed with frieds for a few days, I found a little apartment on B Street there in town. It wasn't much, and my heart was hurting. I figured it would be ok for me and for Chelsea. I continued to work at the grocery store where I had a job, and my supervisor there, (the girl I had gone to Wichita with) helped me out by giving me as many hours as she could. I did ok...but not great. Meanwhile, I suppose Jack was getting by out there in the country where we lived, but was making plans to move.

Ok..my heart is hurting right now..writing this..and it's really, really hard to go back over this in my mind. I continue to blame myself for all the heartache and pain that I caused him at the time, that I caused my daughter, and that I went through too. I don't know if it was the right thing to do...I think it was, for me. But it just doesn't seem to make it right, or good, or ok. When I think about the confusion, and the anger, and the hurt....it just is so hard to even think about. I have no idea what he must have been feeling, what he must have gone through...what he must have thought of me... I know, like I said, he talked about it with a friend, but did that help? What happened to him inside? This is making me cry and hurt...and wonder...

I think what happened was that he and his older kids packed everything up out at the house in the country. I let him take care of all that...I was trying to be hands off with all that. Should I have helped? He moved all the stuff to a house in Winfield...10 miles north of the town where I lived. Chelsea decided to stay with him, which was devastating for me, on top of everything else. I wasn't expecting that...but I had to deal with it, and go with it.

What makes it hurt so much now, and made it hurt a lot then, was that we had a good marriage...up until that time, that is. We had a good time together, laughing, playing cards, dancing, holding each other, talking about everything. We had good friends, both old and new. His friends, my friends, and the friends me made together. We made it through the hard times, the times with very little money. We knew we would always have each other. We worked together through the crap that his kids put us through, the car repossessions, the evictions, the job losses,our parents, the moves...all of it. Divorce was never an option for me, as that was the way I was raised. I just figured that we would be together forever. He made me smile and laugh, with his jokes and stories. I guess...after all that, life just caught up with us, got in the way, and I..not him..but I let life and those around me influence my thinking. I let the feelings that I got from others tell me what to do in my marriage. Maybe I was wrong, I don't know. Maybe we grew apart, or I grew away from him. I'm not sure. It hurt like hell, but I knew, or thought I knew, that I didn't want to be with him anymore.

And so...my drinking escalated. Not because of Chelsea being with him, although I'm sure that didn't help. It was everything taken together, I suppose, I continued to have liasons with a few men, continued to drink, and thought I was doing allright. After all, I was on my own, wasn't I? I was away from the man and the situation that had made me crazy, right??

I found out that the brother of the man I was having an affair with was single, and he recommended that I maybe see him, or date him. I said, sure...why not? I really didn't think it would happen, but one night he (the brother, Jeff) ended up on my doorstep. I had my daughter with me at the time. He asked if I had a beer (he had been at the bar) and I said no. I was suspicious. Then he asked if I had a glass of water. What could I say, I thought? So I let him in..and we talked. He told me a bunch of his favorite jokes, and I had a good time talking to him. Of course Chelsea was in the next room, sleeping. I think he probably stayed over that night, which is indicative of the kind of woman I was....no scruples. It wasn't long after that, a few days, I guess, that Chelsea and I had to go out of town for a long weekend, and Jeff asked if he could 'camp out' in my place while I was gone. He was just renting a room in some guy's house, and my place was more suitable for him. I said yea....I figured it would be ok.

Looking back, I know I made him out, and the relationship, to be something he wasn't, and it wasn't. He was looking for a woman to take care of him, cause he was basically lazy and didn't want to exert himself. I know that now...but I didn't know it then. I wish I had....but my rose-colored glasses told me differently.

After a few weeks of seeing him, in which I thought I was having a good time, I let him move in. We talked, laughed, drank, and had good sex together....I thought, what the hell? He's not an asshole, he comes home every night, and he contributes money to the household. I couldn't ask for much more, could I? He got along ok with Chelsea, but then that was the least of my worries. She wasn't there all the time...this had to be hard for her, too.

I got a job at a book publishing company later that year, and I thought I was really doing well. It was in the office, and I did ok for a while. But then they decided they didn't need me there, and, instead of just letting me go, they found a spot for me in the factory part of the company, collating books. It was ok...not what I wanted, but it was a job.

Meanwhile, I kept drinking, and kept seeing the man that I had been having an affair with. I couldn't seem to stop that....we were actually developing a relationship, although I knew he would never leave his wife. I drank beer, malt liquor, wine, and thought I was doing ok. I felt happy in my little apartment, felt like life was good cause I had a good man (?) and I had a good job. What did it hurt if I drank a little now and then. Jeff did too, didn't he?? We had a good time together, and that's all that mattered now. He went to work every day, at a beef slaughtering plant in another town, came home every night, and sometimes we would go out. Or we might stay in and watch tv. He loved it when I cooked, took care of things, and I thought he was the best guy I'd ever had!!

We acquired some fish and some birds, all in that little apartment. It was at this time, looking back, that I realize that I was again letting go of myself and letting myself be molded into what another person wanted me to be. I began to like the things he liked, dislike the things he disliked, doing the things he did, and not doin the things he didn't want to do. I don't know where that comes from...I really don't. I didn't think my parents raised me to be that way, nor did I see my mother do that with my dad. I just did it....not even knowing that I was doing it! But looking back now, I see that that's exactly what happened.

He loved to watch football and gamble on it. He also wanted to raise some fighting chickens and fight them as well. We watched football in my apartment, and he did some gambling there, but that was all. But after about 6 months of being togther, he said he had found a place that we could move into. I know he'd been talking to the guy that he got a ride to work with every day. It was his, Dave's, place...and Jeff thought it would be a good place to raise his fightin cocks. He talked to me about it, and I went over to look at it. It was awful...really it was. But I was so in love with being in love, that I over looked the awfulness of it, and told him I thought I could make it into a home.

It was a raggedy trailer, on the edge of town, that had an old abandoned house next to it. It was the house that had been on that property years ago, and had trash, fallen plaster, old appliances, and holes all over. The trailer was small - 12 by 60, I think - had a sand point for the water, and gas for heat. (A sandpoint. That is long (30 foot) pipe that goes into the ground, with a pointed end on it. The point has holes in it, and thus the water in the sandy ground, on which we lived, could go into the sandpoint, and then be sucked up through the pipe by an electric water pump. That's all we had for water....it was fine when it was working, but anytime the electricity went off, or the pump quit working, we were shit out of luck. And both of those things happened with more frequency than I care to admit. I swore that would never happen to me again.)I guess everything was working at the time, and I didn't even pay attention to what the dangers might be. It also had about 5 acres with it, which was obviously the attraction for Jeff. It had stone steps leading up to the rickety wooden porch. And not NICE stone steps...just big rocks that had been put there to step on. But all this I over looked...what an idiot I was!! I wasn't even thinking about what Chelsea might think.....she was busy living with her father at this point, and I only saw her every other weekend.

I really hate to admit it, but at this point I probably wasn't thinking about my daughter like I should have been. As I said, I was in love with being in love. (I'm shaking my head as I write this...what an idiot I was!) Now I know that she should have been the most important thing in my life at the time....and that carries a lot of guilt with it as well....I let her go, both physically and mentally...and maybe even emotionally.

So, we moved into this trailer....it didn't take long. I think I did most of the moving...as usual, he didn't lift a finger.

My drinking story....

I drank some as I was becoming an adult. I drank in college, off and on. In fact, the night that I lost my virginity, I was probably drunk. I DO remember it, though, so I couldn't have been too drunk. I remember going to the local beer joint and sitting there with friends, poking money into the jukebox, moving to the music, and lamenting about our lives. I met a few 'townies' in there too, and admit to a few one-night stands. It seemed to be the drinking hang out for the college at the time. I also drank in my dorm room. Some of us girls would get together and have a party, and there was almost always alcohol involved. But, again, I didn't really go overboard, or drink in excess.

I guess drinking made me feel grown up in a way. Really, being in college made me feel pretty grown up. I really didn't have an opinion about the drinking one way or the other. I think I did it because other people were doing it. It didn't seem to affect me either way.

After I got married the first time, my husband and I hung around with friends that drank. Not a lot...just on weekends, or during a football game. I drank my share of beer during that time, and liked it. I also remember going to the disco clubs on the weekends, and having some beer there....I probably got drunk a few times, and said some things that I shouldn't have said.
Drinking probably led to some behaviors, at that time, that were not good. For instance, in the process of going to clubs, and hanging out with friends, I got involved with another man...not an affair...just a look across a room, a wink, a promise. Nothing ever came of it, but it nevertheless made my husband feel like crap, and I ended up feeling guilty and responsible. I blame the alcohol for what happened, but I take responsibility for what I did...now. I guess at that time, I liked the way that alcohol made me feel, but I didn't act on it...not then.

It wasn't until later on in our marriage....after I'd had my child, and things started getting difficult with the bills, and the child-rearing, and the stepkids, and the self-esteem. All it took was a few beers, a glass of wine, to make me realize that the effects of the alcohol took me away. It helped me escape, and made me feel so much better.
I was a social drinker, but I quickly turned into a non-social drinker. I drank alone, for the most part. Oh, there were times, later on, when I would go to a bar with my second husband, and sit there and drink a few beers with him. But mostly I drank at home, with a bottle of wine, and tell myself that it was ok.

When I first separated from my first husband, I lived in an apartment, and drank lots of beer. I would go to to the liquor store and buy it, in bottles. Sometimes I would buy malt liquor, or wine. Then, I quit drinking the beer, and went straight to the wine. It seemed quicker, and I liked the taste better.
I would stop at the liquor store once a week and get a bottle of wine. That quickly escalated into several times a week, and then into almost every day. And then, instead of everyday, I bought several bottles when I did go, so I didn't have to go again so soon. This all happened over a time period of several years. I spread my liquor business over several different liquor stores so one of them wouldn't see that I was there all the time...I wasn't fooling anyone, I'm sure.

When my second husband and I moved into our home - a raggedy trailer that I tried to make into a home but ended up hating - I was drinking quite a bit. But I still didn't think it was a problem. He would watch football, gamble, and talk on the phone, and I would sit there and drink. When I cooked I would sip on a glass of wine. When I read, I would sip on a glass of wine. When he would go to the horse racing track and gamble, I would sip on a glass of wine. It was simple - his vice was gambling, mine was drinking. And I had kept up my wandering eye, and my promiscuity.
It wasn't until he and I had had several really loud, physical arguments that I realized that my drinking, and his, at times, was contributing to the problem. But still, I ignored it, and vowed each time that it would be different, that I wouldn't get verbally abusive or loud and argumentative this time.

I tried church. I tried reading self-help books. I tried online help. I tried everything...except admitting that I had a problem. And I still didn't want to do that...cause I didn't have one!!

The thought of an AA meeting - filled with old men in a smoke-filled room - didn't appeal to me at all. I wasn't one of them anyway!! So I continued with my drinking, continued with my loud, yelling fights, continued with my promiscuity, until I hit my bottom. Actually I had several bottoms, but my last one came after I had hit the first few. I had to keep doing research until I was convinced I was an alcoholic.

When I was drinking, I:
- Made an ass of myself by yelling at my husband in front of a whole bar full of people...I even slapped him on the face!!
- Made an ass of myself by talking stupidly in front of my family
- Made an ass of myself by having sex with people I NEVER would have done had I been sober.
- Thought I was being sneaky and innocent by putting my wine in another container and taking it with me
- Made an ass of myself even when I wasn't drinking, simply because of my anger and resentments that had built up in me.
- Got jealous and envious of people when I shouldn't have...
-Probably screwed up a lot of my life, and my daughter's life....
- Blacked out quite a few times. The most embarrassing times were when I knew I had made love to my husband but couldn't remember it.

On August 16, 2001, late at night, after I'd been drinking heavily all evening, I found myself - and I say that because I'd been having blackouts quite frequently up till then - in my car, out in my driveway, and only wearing my underwear, with a glass of wine in one hand, and my cell phone in the other. I have no idea how I got there, or what I was doing, but I was totally ashamed of myself. Nobody around...nobody to see me...but at that point I hated myself for how I got where I was. I haven't had a drink since then.

It started out slowly....

It started out slowly....

I guess my drinking started out when I was feeling overwhelmed by Jack, his kids, my daughter, my job, the bills, no money, the creditors...blah, blah, blah...and all of that spread out over so many years. I was unhappy with my situation and with my husband being gone. And when I drank, it made me comfortably numb. Oh, what a feeling!!

At first, I would stop by the liquor store on the way home. I had a 12 mile drive to the house every day, and when I would come home from picking Chelsea up from school, I would stop and get a six-pack of beer, or a bottle of wine. Who knew? Chelsea was too little to know, or care....Jack was gone all the time, and his kids....well, none of them were living with us at that particular point in time. So I would bring it home, stick it in the back of the refrigerator, and enjoy it after I put Chelsea to bed. If I knew Jack was going to be home, I would just not have any, or hide it somewhere else. (Is that the first sign of an alcoholic? Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself...)

It really was nice. It was such a great way to escape. It tasted good, too, and I really didn't think it was a bad thing. I had drank before...in my college years...and in the early years of our marriage. But going to church for those 4 or 5 years had turned me into a tee-totaler, and the idea of drinking anything was BAD...bad, bad. bad!! At least, that's what the church made me feel....wanted me to feel...and I had talked myself into it. Hence, the hiding...the secretive way I went about it.

It wasn't long after that that another man showed some interest in me...a man whom Jack and I both knew and who was also married. Now THAT felt good, too!! Again, the church, obviously, frowned on extra-marital anything, let alone affairs, emotional or otherwise. I let it happen, though. I went with it...I ate it up. It was just a matter of a touch here, and longing look there...but it made me feel so darn special!! Something I apparently hadn't felt for a long time....This attention led to another man's attention...and off I went...I was unfaithful to my husband for the first time in 16 years...Did I feel bad about it? Yes...and no. It made me lose what little respect I had left for him...but I'm not sure I knew that at the time...That's twisted, though...MY infidelity made me lose respect for HIM...how does that work? But I did...

My drinking was still confined to what I could manage in the evenings....I wasn't drinking every day, nor did I want to, at that point. I was working in the deli section of a grocery store in town, and one of the girls there was a good friend of mine. She and I seemed to be going through the same thing, emotionally...and maritally. She was not certain she wanted to be married to her husband anymore. And I was not feeling good about what was going on in my marriage either. We were able to commiserate with each other, and spent some good times together. Even though she was 12 years younger than I was, I think we seemed to click on some level…at least at that point in our lives. I think, looking back, that I was very selfish in some ways, but in others, I think I was finally sticking up for myself, and learning how to look out for me, and not him all the time.

I really did try to be a good wife, off and on. I had my daughter to think about, and after all, he and I were a couple! We had history!! Plus, I didn’t really want to be a statistic…another divorce.

But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that splitting with Jack at that time, when Chelsea was young, would be better than waiting till when she was, say...16. Wouldn't it? Again, my mind might have been playing games with me, but that's the reasoning I used. So I left. And the catalyst was one night when I went out with the friend that I worked with, and didn't get home until 2 a.m. Ok...my excuse was we had gone to Wichita, and it takes an hour to drive each way. We had a good time going to a couple of clubs, having a few drinks, laughing, and talking about men. It was a good get away for both of us. I really (really!) hadn't been unfaithful that night...nor had I intended to be. But my husband thought it was wrong. Left over church jargon? Maybe....He said "No married woman should be out that late! I want you out of this house by morning!"

So I left...

I don't think he meant it at the time...but it was the opening I needed and was waiting for...

Despite the fact that I was leaving a comfortable home, a semi-secure, long-standing and comfortable marriage, I stayed gone. It was the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do, I think. Why? Because my daughter did not go with me....and that's not how I had visualized it. She stayed with Jack, I thought, until I could have her live with me in whatever living arrangements I could find. But...after it was all said and done...she decided that she wanted to stay with her dad. That broke my heart...in a million pieces. No man, no bottle, nothing could soothe my heart....

But I was going to get through it. I had to...and so I continued to drink. Through the separation, through the moving out, through the discussions, through the jobs....through it all. And it continued to get worse, because I relied on it more and more to make me comfortably numb through my pain.

That first night I stayed with friends. Not the same one I had gone out with, but a different one. It’s all a big fuzzy, but I must have stayed there until I found the little apartment that I lived in for a while. It was a very small place, in town, and I made it into a home for me, and for my daughter. It only had four rooms – a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. And it was upstairs, mostly furnished. I moved what little bit I had into it, and continued with my job and kept my chin up the best I could.

I was really hurting inside…I drank a lot of beer, all different kinds, but when that didn't work anymore, I went to wine. I liked wine...my parents drank wine. Wasn't that ok?? I didn't drink much of the hard stuff..I knew it would kill me...

It didn't take long for me to meet my next boyfriend/husband....

The first few years of her life...

Despite the fact that we had very little money, and I wasn't working, we seemed to do ok...at least from my point of view. My job, at that point, was to take care of my daughter the best way I knew how. I was nursing her, and that took a lot of time right there. Jack wanted to help out, and he did...as much as he could. He loved her, it was easy to see....

It took some time for my body to adjust to being a new mom, but it worked out. It took even longer for my mind to adjust...but that happened ....eventually, too. I got into a routine with her and with myself. I managed to learn about nursing and how she was the one that regulates it - not me. So I let her. I had a little help and advice from friends, but mostly what I knew I learned from reading...and from the fact that I was patient. If I hadn't been, I think i would have given up..like I see a lot of young girls do these days. Nursing is not easy - at first. But the longer I stayed with it, the more I liked it!! No messy bottles...no heating up the milk..no MIXING the milk...and it was easier to feed on demand, which I had decided to do. At least at first. And, when we went somewhere, I didn't have to worry about how many bottles to bring along, whether they would spoil, or where I was going to heat them up! She would cry to eat, and I was ready! In fact....there were times I was ready before she was!! It's amazing how Mother Nature works all that out for us...and how it was intentioned to feed our babies the milk we already have!!

I remember a few times that she threw up that milk on her daddy..at the most inopportune times. It was funny...probably not for him, but it was for me. I had to learn what I could eat that wouldn't make her do that...whatever I ate, SHE ate too!!

We were still attending the Baptist church at that time. There seemed to be a lot of babies at that time, and I felt like I had a lot of friends in the young mothers. What I didn't know, and eventually found out, was that having children seemed to be a hobby of these women! Some of them had lots of babies, and were intending to have more!! There was something in the back of my mind that didn't like that idea...and a few of the other things that were going on then...like the man being the 'head of the household' and stuff like that. I could go along with someone having to BE the head of the house...but these men took it to a different level!! It was like the women couldn't say anything! And if they did, it was really not counted anyway!! HE made all the decisions!!

Jack also had a hard time with that...I think he struggled with it just like I did.. He had friends who he would go to for advice, just like I did....I wanted to be a part..I wanted to be what God wanted me to be. So did he...But he struggled with the fact that didn't own a suit, nor did he want to wear one...the fact that he smoked cigarettes, and the folks in the church didn't like that....He wanted to be the "head of the house'...but he wasn't sure how to go about it, and he also knew that I, as his wife, had as much say in things as he did...and he couldn't reconcile those things...

I enjoyed raising Chelsea in the church environment. She had lots of friends...but again, I felt like some of the ladies were looking down their noses at me if I didn't dress her like their girls...But I kept on doing what I thought was right, and what I wanted to do...

I had to go back to work when she was about 3 years old. Up to that time, I hadn't had to work. But we had one of Jack's daughters living with us, and I just had to work to supplement the income.By that time we had moved out to a house in the country...something Jack had always wanted to do. I liked it fine, except it was inconvenient for all the trips we made to church and back, work and back..etc. And times were hard for us financially.. Seems like they always were.

I remember the first time I left Chelsea at the baby sitter's when I went to work...She cried and yelled MAMA so loud I thought my heart was going to break right then and there. God that was hard!! I will never, ever forget that moment...!! But I got through it, just like I did everything else.

We had good times in that house, and we had some really hard times. Derek, Jack's son, also lived with us. He and the girl, Stella, both were going to school in town, and that was hard. There was one time when I didn't know where our next meal was coming from... and then some food was brought to us by a church member...that was a lifesaver...Jack's job and mine just didn't pay our bills, and he kept getting us deeper and deeper in debt.

One time, late at night, a sheriff came by our house. I think it was 9 p.m. I was there alone, with Chelsea, who was a toddler. The sheriff was there to arrest me and take me to jail for an outstanding ticket I had for no insurance. I had forgotten to pay it, or else we didnt' have the money... I didn't know what to do!! I cried, and he asked me if I had any family I could leave Chelsea with...I said no, which was the truth. But I definitely didn't want to leave her anywhere!! He took pity on me and said if I paid the fine the next morning, he wouldn't take me in...God was watching over me that night...

It seemed like our lives were filled with situations like that. The car would die, we had no car, no phone, no way to get to town....no money, plus the anxiety that his kids brought to MY life...he was always gone. Stella was involved in a group home in Wichita...Derek was in trouble all the time. I clung to my Chelsea for solace...and to the fact that I was ok..

My mother and dad must have really wondered what had gotten into me...I sure did!! I look back and think...'Was that really me?' It was a terrible existence...and I wish I had it to do over again....

Jack had an accident at work. He had some big boxes of pork butts fall onto his neck/shoulder area. He lost the use of his left arm...and we went through countless surgeries and stress over that....he couldn't work for a time, and we were in worse shape than before. We tried to do what 'God' wanted us to do..but it seemed like things just got worse.

After a few years of going to church, trying to do what they wanted us to do....it finally become too much of a hardship, for me and for Jack. They stared putting pressure on him to conform...to wear a suit, and to quit smoking. Afer all, they said, you represent the church! Do you think it helps for others to see you smoking?? Then, I didn't like the way they were treating him...so after HE quit going to church, so did I. (That was after I had taught school at the church academy for a couple years, to help pay for Chelsea's tuition.)

We moved into the double-wide mobile home that was next to the old house we'd been in...it was so nice!! Lots of room and much better insulation. Jack started driving over the road for a cattle hauler, and was gone alot...even more than before. I had to listen to his kids...the creditors calling on the phone, the church folks... I home-schooled Chelsea her second grade...which I loved!! I could stay home...play with her, teach her, read to her...and I didn't have to face anyone....For her next year of school, I put her in public school in town.

My feelings for church, and all that it represented has gone through a lot of changes in the ensuing years...

That's when my drinking started....