From abuse to happiness.

There are a lot of things in this life that are horrible and would try and keep us down. As I sit here tonight listening to an old tape I made when I was in high school, I can't help but to remember better times. Some would linger on the horrible memories instead of looking for the good that came from the bad. This is something that I refuse to do. I try to see good in most every situation. Most of my life has been difficult. It's hard to pinpoint any specific time that my life became difficult. One could say that it was difficult from the day I was
born. As I sit here today my first memory of my biological mother and father is one of them fighting.
I sat as an infant barely old enough to stand on my own outside a small wooden house peering through a window that I could only reach by standing on a couch that was on the front porch. My sister Mary, barely a year older than myself, had helped me up on this couch so that we both could see what was going on inside the house. I remember the window seal was old and the wood had started to splinter. The window was so filthy it had a film of dust that covered it. I had to squint to be able to tell what was going on inside.
My sister Nicole, that is two years older than myself, was inside with my mom and dad when they were fighting. I don't exactly remember where my sister Crystal, who is four years older then me, was at the time. One thing lead to another and a hammer came flying across the room from where they were and sailed through the window breaking the glass and shattering it all over my sister and I. I don't remember much of anything else about the fight except that my dad got extremely angry and beat my mother until she wasn't moving anymore. I thought that he had killed her. I remember crying and asking my sister why my mom wouldn't wake up. I didn't know at the time that she had just been knocked out. Soon after my dad decided to leave the house for a while. Considering that he had just knocked my mother unconscience that was probably the best idea. However, he left four little girls there with an unconscience mother and no one else to take care of them. This was the first of many tragic memories I have of my family.
I would have to say that the next memory of my early childhood that I have comes as a heartbreak to many. As a three year old most children don't remember past a few days and it takes something tragic to impress it upon their minds for longterm memory. Such is the case with this memory. My memory starts as I am sitting in the waiting area of a DFACS office in Greenvville Alabama. My mom was there. I remember feeling so happy that she had come to see me. I was under the impression that she was finally coming to take me home to live with her again. Oh how I had missed her I remember. I just wanted her to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be alright. This however was not the case. My foster mother tried to distract me as my mother began to leave. Feeling somehow that something was amiss I turned just as the door to go outside was closing. My foster mother jumped up and grabbed me before I could run out and held me back. I screamed in a panic with tears streaming hot down my little red face. "let me go! I want my mommy! let me go!" As the door finally closed all the way the lady let me go and I raced to the glass door. With all my might a tried to open it so that I could get to my mother but I just wasn't strong enough.As I watched my mother turn around to wave goodbye, tears in her own eyes, I banged as hard as I could against the glass trying to break it while screaming "Mommy come back. I love you. Mommy please don't leave me! Come back. Mommy!" by this time I was in such hysterics that I didn't know what was going on. My mother never came back for me. Although I have dreamt this memory over and over again, every time I dream it, I still feel like that little three year old baby girl being ripped from her mothers arms. My throat gets all choked up and I want to cry like that little three year old girl.
For reasons unknown to me at the time my mother never came back and I was no longer allowed to have visits with her. Had I known it that day she walked out of that door I probably would have never let her go. I lived with foster parents after that. To keep their identities protected we will call them Mr. and Mrs. Willows. The Willows were nice people. They were older though and had raised their own kids and were at that time raising a granddaughter a couple years younger than myself. Her and I both had the same first name. Amanda and I would play together a lot of the time. My sister Mary would also play with us. We had fun but eventually something was wrong. For some reason the Willows wouldn't keep Mary anymore. I remember overhearing a phone conversation with them telling someone on the other line that Mary was just uncontrollable and that she shouldn't be in a home with other kids. ySo a few days later the people from DFACS came and took Mary away. I remember asking where she was and when we would get to see her but no one seemed to know the answers. I felt alone and scared. Mary had been my rock. My best friend. I didn't know what to do without her. I felt lost.
A month or two later my biological father came to pick up Crystal, Nicole and myself from our fosterparents house. I got in the car with him and asked where Mary was. I was relieved to find out that we were on our way to pick her up next. Seeing Mary for the first time in months my heart did a dance. I felt as though I had found a long lost friend. I hugged her neck and didn't want to let her go. Eventually my dad had to pull me off of her. (remember the other person in my life to leave was my mom and she never came back.) I was happy to be going "home" with my family. Wherever "home" was at that time. A few happy years passed with us living with our biological father. We played in the yard, had Christmas's together, learned to climb trees, slide down steep inbankments that were made of the reddest clay, and even got on each other's nerves a few times or two. Being the youngest of my siblings there are things that they got to do before I got to do them. One of these things was going to school. I remember waking up in the mornings and watching them walk down the dirtroad to catch the bus at the end. I would wave goodbye and be by myself all day for the most part until they came home. Somehow I always knew when the bus would come and I would walk the little ways to the end of the dirt road and sit there until they were dropped off. I would be so happy when they were finally home because I would have someone to play with again.
My dad did little in the way of work that I remember. Most of the time I remember him being passed out in his room on drugs. Never did I ever see him drink a drop of alcohol but that didn't mean that he didn't do it. He was a regular smoker. My sister Mary and I stole a carton of his cigarrettes once. We decided we were going to try and see why all the grownups liked smoking these things so much. I remember I got about Halfway through a cigarrett and began to feel sick. I thought "oh my. These things are horrible." Mary had apparently come to the same conclusion because she looked about as sick as I felt. We took the rest of that carton of cigarrettes and threw them into the pond beside the house. My dad was furious when he couldn't find his cigarrettes but Mary and I never said a word. He eventually just assumed that he had lost them or that they had fallen out of the car accidentally when he was out. Because Mary and I didn't want to get into trouble, we never told him any different.
Many childish things like this we did while we lived with my biological father. Me being the baby of the bunch I seemed to get away with more than the others did but what more I got away with through my dad I got the brunt for through my sisters. I can't begin to tell you the number of times I had my rear end handed to me by one of my older sisters. That would all change though. Eventually my dad's drug problem became mine and my sisters problem. He sent the two oldest away first. They went to live with his daughter, my half sister, that he had had from another marriage. Mary and I would visit but we never got to stay. One day my dad's dad came to pick me up. I didn't know why but I was glad to be going to spend the night with "Pa pye the sailor man." (which was our nickname for him.) I climbed into his truck not thinking twice. After all my daddy was telling me it was okay and since he had picked me up from the foster parents and taken me home I thought that there wasn't anything wrong. I didn't know that I wouldn't see my dad again for several years.
I need to pause here a moment and say that I loved my father but not everything was "peaches and cream" living with him. There were times when he would be so high that it felt as though we didn't have a father around. In a sense my sisters and I raised ourselves for those few years that we lived with him. There were times that he would be using drugs that he wouldn't remember making me smoke crack cocaine with him too. I remember asking him to not make me do it and him insisting that it wouldn't hurt me and that I needed to do it because it would make me grow up into a beautiful woman. These are just a few of the bad things I remember.
However life isn't all bad. Headed to my grandfathers house, nanny Hazel was there waiting for me. I couldn't wait to see her. There were many times we would ask how she was doing and we would always get an okay. We had seen my grandfather several times but never understood why "nanny Hazel" had stopped coming to visit. I remember jumping out of my grandfather's truck and running to her just so that I could hug her. I said "I have missed you nanny Hazel. Where have you been hiding." She laughingly answered that she hadn't been hiding at all but had been sick and couldn't go out like she used to. Me being about six didn't understand this. I just knew that she was there in front of me and that she looked to be seemingly healthy at the time. We went inside and she asked if I would like to stay with her for a while and help with the house and things. Me being eager to please shook my head in an earnest "yes!"
I have a few memories of Nanny Hazel. Some of them being of her helping me with my homework. Others of her teaching me how to read my Bible at night and how to pray. I even have memories of her telling me about her cancer and that she would always love me and that no matter what happened she would love me. I remember sitting at her bedside one night as she was particularly drained and didn't have any energy as she said those words to me. I told her that I didn't understand what she was saying. She replied "it's ok mandi jo. just remember that I will always love you and if you can remember that then you will understand everything else I told you later." Being about six years old I didn't worry about it much. I just went and brushed my teeth, washed my face and got ready for bed as she had instructed me to do. I crawled into bed pretty early that night thinking about school the next day and other things that six year olds think of. Eventually I drifted off to sleep. Only to be woken by the sound of sirens. There was an ambulance outside. They had come to take my nanny to the hospital. Of course at six years old no one thinks that a six year old knows what is going on. They were conversing in front of me. I heard one paramedic say to my grandfather that he needed to follow him to the hospital that this could be it. I didn't know exactly what was meant but I knew that it meant that I needed to grab a coat and a pair of shoes. My grandfather had thought to call a friend to come and watch me for the night but I insisted that I go too. I was worried about Nanny and I didn't know why.
I remember vividly arriving at the hospital and the long trek to the room where Nanny was already laying on a hospital bed. I walked up to her bedside and told her that I loved her. Everyone in the hallway was crying but I didn't understand why. I told her that I had gotten all my homework done and that she didn't have to worry that when she got home I would take care of the house so that she could rest. A slight and ever so weak smile came to the corner of her mouth. She spoke quietly and slowly as though she were in tremendous pain. She didn't even open her eyes when she said "I love you mandi jo. You will always be my little angel." At this all I wanted to do was hug her and I would have had the nurse not come in and hurried me out of the room. Apparently about ten minutes after my few words with her she had passed away.
As a six year old, you don't really understand the meaning of "passing away" I just knew that she, like my mom, had been taken away and that she probably wouldn't be returning either. For the next couple of days after her passing my grandfather tried to be strong in front of me but I knew that he only cried. He wouldn't eat and I knew he barely slept because I was worried about him and would stay up to listen to him cry. I remember few things about the funeral. I remember seeing my nanny in the box and not knowing why she wouldn't wake up. I remember them putting her in the ground and me wondering why they were doing it. After that I don't remember much of anything that went on. I do remember having a memorial service for her at the house after the funeral. It seemed like everyone was there and all I wanted was for them to go away and leave us alone. Eventually that's what everyone ended up doing.
My grandfather would cry almost every night after the funeral. I would listen to him cry most of the night, get myself up and dressed for school the next morning and head off to school before he ever woke up. The next few months of my life consisted of this routine. One day I came down with a really high fever and wasn't feeling good at all. In order for my grandfather to keep an eye on me during the night he had me sleep in the bed with him. Since I had done this while nanny was still alive I didn't see the error in it then. However, this little act of sleeping in the bed with him would bring me to one of the biggest pains and suffering of not only my childhood but for the better part of my life so far.

I had to stop for tonight but I will write more later. Thank you to all who read this. I hope it can help.

I won't post more until I know if others are actually reading it. Don't want to waste my time if it's not going to help anyone.

My Grandfather became a very lonely man after the death of my nanny Hazel. I remember so many things about him. He stayed secluded and worked on cars all day. He didn't want to interact with other people. This however is no excuse for what was done.
The pain and suffering that I was talking about I will start to tell you about now.

That night I was sick and went to sleep in bed with him I remember crawling under the covers and being asleep. I will not go into great detail about it because it is very crude. I was raped by my grandfather that night. I remember being six years old not knowing what was happening to my body. I didn't know that what he was doing was wrong. All I knew is that it hurt and that I didn't like it. I remember not wanting to move or get out of bed the next morning. I remember trying to ask him questions about it. Instead he just told me that it was our little secret and that I was never to tell anyone about it or he would get into serious trouble and that I wouldn't be allowed to live with him anymore. In saying this what he implied to me is that there was no where for me to go. (which at that point in time was probably true. My family was so messed up. There probably wasn't anyone in my famly that could take me in.) So of course I kept my mouth shut. What six year old wouldn't?
I remember trying to go back to bed in my own room after this. There was one night that I started to go back to my room and he told me that I was to start sleeping in the room with him. I hated this. . . but I didn't say anything because I wanted to have a home. Four years I lived with this abuse.
I think the only thing that got me through those four years of my life is a friend of mine. I used to walk across the neighbors field to her house.

It was because of her that I became a Christian. In the mornings we would meet each other and walk to school together. Many summer days we spent skating together in the church parking lot that was down the street between our houses. We would ride our bikes together, or ride the three wheeler together. She was the first person to ever introduce me to video games. Her mother is a great woman. Joanne (Kenzie's mom) would let us play video games and cook us hot dogs for lunch. We would have hot coco at bedtime. Many Sunday mornings I would walk up to their house and get a ride to the Baptist Church that they attended. When there I met a woman (my sunday school teacher) name Lisa. There were many times that Lisa helped me through. I had so many questions as a child. She was so patient with me and answered them for me. I was very much inspired by her as far as faith goes. I looked forward to going to church every week. I even got up and "sang" in the choir when I could. I didn't necessarily know the words to the song but I would do my best. When I started to sing with the Choir there was a certain lady that would play the piano. Her and I were what many would say "kindred Spirits". Her birthday was the day after mine. She took care of me and showed interest in me when most people wouldn't. Because of her I learned to love music. I wrapped myself in learning music. She would sit before church would start and teach me certain notes on the piano. I would love to say that I became an avid piano player but I never did. I loved learning music from her. I learned how to read music and sing the words of the songs as they pertained to each note. This was my escape. This was my freedom from the abuse that I was going through every day.

I need to stop here and say that it was not that other people didn't notice that I was reserved. They tried to understand where I was at in life. Many had speculated the abuse and would ask me certain questions trying to get me to open up to them about it but I would not. I would not say anything about it because I didn't want to lose my home. I didn't want to lose my family.

My sister Mary lived about a mile from me. We grew up more as best friends more than anything. My Aunt Debbie was the lady that kept Mary. She had other children as well. Hollie, Fred, Travis and Mary. She also had an older daughter named Candi. Candi was grown however and didn't live with her. Aunt Debbie was one of those people who had speculated about the abuse but because she could never prove it there was nothing done about it.

My Aunt Debbie however was another one of those people in my life that had she not been there I don't know what I would have done. She went out of her way to make sure that Mary and I had every opportunity that a child with a normal family had. She enrolled us in everything from Cheerleading to beauty pageants to tee ball and eventually softball. She and her family would take really good care of us. I Never will forget that dear lady and I thank God for her being in my life.
I remember being about nine years old when her and her husband divorced. I felt so bad for her. The divorce was not her choice. Her husband had cheated on her and decided to leave her for one of her best friends. I don't know why but I knew somehow after that the way of life for my sisters and I would change. Nothing would be the same.

There was a little gas station (Probably the only gas station in the small town of McKenzie Alabama) in the center of town. My grandpa and I used to go there all the time. I would always get a snack. Once while living with my grandfather he decided to open a shop in town that he could run for fixing cars. It wasn't too far away from the only little restraunt in town called "the cozy Korner". Every day after school I would walk to the shop and get a dollar from my grandpa and walk to the Cozy Korner and get an icecream cone. Mrs. Lisa was the waitress there and she somehow always knew to expect me around the time school got out. very rarely did I ever skip not getting my icecream after school.
There were many times that I felt blessed in having the freedoms that I had as a child. I would love to say that this helped me become the person I am today but I am not sure that it is entirely true. Eventually my grandpa fell behind on the payments for the shop. He couldn't keep up with them and we had to close it down. I didn't mind this. It just meant that I could go back to "camping" in the woods behind the old farmhouse that we lived in. It meant that I could "explore" the outside world more and more. This little house is where I learned to love being outside and nature. This little house is where I learned to think for myself. It's where I learned to love other people. This little house was the center of HELL for me.
When I turned ten years old my grandfather decided that he could not take care of my anymore and that I was getting to be too much for him. He married a woman that I barely knew. I was not upset that he married this woman. I was stunned really that he just up and married a woman that I had barely known for two or three weeks. She and her son came to live with us. Seeing that her son was a decade older than me he and I didn't really get along. He was a trained firefighter and me. . . well I was an awkward ten year old girl who was just starting to develop some parts of the female anatomy that I didn't even know I had the capability of possessing. He and I would fight all the time. He made snide comments to me and called me names like "stupid heiffer" and other things like that. I of course had my ways of getting him back for this. I was not very outspoken and would rather speak only when I chose to. My revenge on him came from doing things that I knew would particularly erk him.
One day he was particularly mean to me. He was on some kind of mission to see how particularly mad that he could make me. I didn't really say anything back to him. I simply just raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders at him as if to shrug his comments off. . . However I didn't shrug his comments off. Instead I went to his truck and poored a whole bottle of my grandpa's deer scent in his seat. (my grandpa loved to hunt. If you have never smelled this stuff. . . you really don't want to.) I closed the door back to the truck and walked away as if I had done nothing. On the land where we lived there was a little spring that crawfish would live in. I was there playing in the water and watching the baby crawfish swim around when I heard the screams. He was so mad! I heard him cursing and screaming and the door to his truck slam. As I peeked from behind the hedges and brush bushes that were blocking the view of the house to the spring I could see him storming up the steps to the front porch and into the house. I cracked a small smile and just shook my head. It didn't take long, however, for my grandpa's wife to come out the front door screaming my name. She was really mean to me. I knew I was in trouble. But I still thought it was funny and that it was worth it. My Grandpa was still outside working on a car. I heard him scream "mandi jo" and I knew I had to come out. So I slowly stepped from behind the brush and bushes and started walking to the house with my head hung down. I was really going to get it. So I walked up the steps to the front porch and she told me to go inside. I could see that her son had to change his pants. (lets call him Jake.) He was livid with me. Right away she (lets call her Dotty) let into me. "why did you do this? he has a date tonight. I am going to beat your butt" except she didn't say butt.
As she came at me with a frying pan and began to hit me with it my grandpa stepped through the front door. He has apparently been listening and watching through the window to the front porch. He grabbed the pan from her with one quick grab and told her that she would not touch me. He demanded to know what was going on. Before I or Dotty could say anything Jake spoke up and using a few choice words he said "she poured deer [bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse][bless and do not curse] in my truck seat and I have a date tonight!" I thought for sure "I am dead now! They ratted on me."
Instead of yelling or fussing at me my grandpa cracked a huge smile and looked at me and shook his head. He slowly started laughing until he just busted up into laughing. Jake looked at him in shock. "THAT SH** AINT FUNNY!" he screamed. Dotty just looked at my grandpa as if to say "are you really laughing about this?" I looked at him as if to say "you mean I am not going to get in trouble for this."
Dotty then asked my grandpa why he thought it was so funny and demanded that he punish me. Instead of punishing me he turned around and told her that he was not going to punish me because Jake had been being mean to me for quite some time. He told her that had Jake not called me names and made snide comments to me that I wouldn't have poored the stuff in his truck. He also told her that I was not going to be punished for it because frankly if it had been him that he would have done this to Jake way before I did. I was amazed. My grandpa however did turn and look at me and inform me that if I ever pulled a prank like that on Jake again that I would be in serious trouble. I said "yes sir" and began to walk away. Dotty however was not satisfied with this. She screamed "hold on just a minute." and I started to turn around and look at her. My grandpa said "I said that's the end of it." He looked at her with one of the sternest looks I have ever seen him give anyone. She didn't say anything else. He told me to go back outside and play which I did.

I want to say that my grandpa was not completely unfeeling. Had it not been for the sexual abuse that he inflicted upon me at least once a week my life with him would have been better than it had been before I had come to live with him. He was not a smart man. A lot of what he knew was just things that he had learned over several years. He had been struck by lightening and had to relearn everything so he didn't really remember how to read or write. I think sometimes that he had a harder time remembering things as well. He couldn't remember simple things like "we live in North America." One time he and I argued til I finally had to show him on a map in my geography book that we actually lived on the continent of North America instead of South America. He really thought that we lived in South America.
He stood up for me many times. Some of these times were very vivid memories that I have. I have so many memories of this time in my life But I want to be sure to share these specific two.

The first memory is one of being in the 4th grade. There was a particular girl that never got along with me. She tried to compete with me in everything. She had to be better than me at everything and she tried to make me jealous every chance she got. (Lets say her name was Lily) One day our teacher had taken us out to the playground for recess. I had forgotten something in the classroom and wanted to go back and get it. (can't really remember why it was that we were sent to get those things from the class) Lily, my friend Ellie and I were sent back to the classroom. As I started to open the classroom door with the key Lily reached up and pushed me to the side. I pushed her back and reached for the door. She pushed me again and I pushed her back. She then slapped me. At this I grabbed her by her hair and slung her into the floor. Ellie just stood there in shock. Lily of course began to cry and I just finished walking into the classroom and getting what I needed and began to walk back to the playground. Lily had gotten up and ran to the playground and told the teacher that I attacked her and that she of course had done nothing wrong. The teacher took her side and accused me of beating up Lily without even really knowing what happened. Ellie tried to tell the teacher that Lily had started it but the teacher told her that it was none of her business and to stay out of it. Lily and I were sent to the principle's office. Because it was so late in the day and time to go home the principle decided that we would "DEAL" with the situation the next morning. So the next morning I was immediately sent to the principles office. I sat down on the bench outside the principle's office and just waited. I didn't say anything to my grandpa that night. I was too scared to say anything. I knew I was in trouble and that I was probably going to be in even bigger trouble for fighting at school and not telling him about it. As I was sitting there thinking more about what my grandpa was going to do rather than the principle Lily and her grandmother walked in. (she lived with her grandma.) Lily's grandmother immediately began to curse and scream at me and call me names. She started saying things like "I am going to beat your a**" and other such things. The principle finally got her attention and took her into his office as I sat out in the waiting area. I could hear her in there screaming about me and saying that I was nothing but "trash" and that I beat up her granddaughter and that I needed to be expelled from school. I was then called into the principles office with Lily and her grandmother. Instead of the principle asking me what happened he demanded an apology from me to Lily and basically accused me of being the one that was wrong and that Lily had done nothing wrong. I refused to apologize. I then asked to call my grandpa. The principle refused to let me call him but I ended up calling him. When my grandpa showed up at the school a term I remember someone else using very vividly comes to mind. . . "ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE!" The cops had to be called. (my grandpa was a former police officer). It was only after my grandpa had arrived at the school that the principle actually realized who my grandpa was. My grandpa was furious that they confronted me without him present and was even more upset that they refused to call a parent when I had specifically asked for him to be called. He was mad that the lady was allowed to talk to me the way that she did and he informed her that she was never to talk to me that way again.
Instead of me being the only one to be in trouble for the fight, Lily and I both got suspended. It was a long ride home in silence. I think that was the longest half a mile of my life! When we got home my grandpa put the truck in park and instead of turning the engine off he turned to look at me and simply said "you know had you not won that fight I would have beat your a** again!" I looked at him in confusion. He said "you better not ever let me catch you letting someone else beat on you! If someone hits you or starts a fight with you then you Da** well better finish it because if you get in a fight you better win or I will beat your a**. No child of mine is going to let someone run all over them." I think this was one of the moments in my life that opened my eyes to how the world worked. I never did get in trouble from him for that fight at school. He simply opened the door to his truck and got out. I remember sitting there for a minute thinking that I was dreaming and that he was surely going to come back and beat my butt for fighting in school. He never even turned around to look at me. He just kept on going.

My second memory of my grandpa taking up for me would have to be one time I came into the kitchen from school. Something had obviously been bothering me but as a child and even now as an adult I don't really like to talk about things until I am ready to talk about them. (things pertaining to personal experiences and thoughts). As I walked into the kitchen Dotty was there. She had picked up on the fact that I was not particularly in a great mood. "what the hell's wrong with you" came from her no sooner than I had started to rumage through the pantry shelves for a snack. I replied very quietly "I don't want to talk about it". She insisted that I talk to her about it. She was at the point that she was ready to beat it out of me by the time my grandpa had come into the room. I was already crying for having been forced into the situation. My grandpa demanded to know what was going on. Dotty told him that I was in a bad mood and I wouldn't tell her why. My grandpa told her that I didn't have to tell her what was wrong with me. He told her "I never force her to talk to me about things that she doesn't want to talk about. If she has something that she wants or needs to say then she will come to you or me on her own time and tell us." This was very true about him. He never forced me to talk about things. Especially when I was upset. He always allowed me a calm down time. One of the things I have to keep in mind now that I am married with my husband. . . I have to calm down and get my emotions in control so that I can think logically about the situation rather than just thinking about my emotions in the situation. I was taught by him that it's okay to walk away and come back when you can deal with the situation. One of the places I liked to go was under a big oak tree that was a short walk down the dirtroad drive way away from the house. I would sit under that tree for hours reading and thinking. There were many days I sat under that tree praying to God asking him about so many different things. Under this tree was my personal place. This was my "spot" to just be me. My place to have my alone time! I very much wish I had another oak tree to sit under sometimes.

I need to stop for tonight. I will write more later. Thanks again for all who are reading this.

So the story goes on. . . Thanks to all who have been reading this. I hope it can help a bit.

Life for me went on like this for years. When I was ten years old my church started visiting nearby nursing homes. I loved doing this ministry with them. It made me feel important but more than that it brought joy to my heart seeing all the elderly people smile. I knew that some of them had hard times getting in and out of the room that we did chapel services in and often I would "help" the nurses with these patients. As a child I loved singing in church. I was so excited about singing this particular Sunday because I was getting to sing a solo of Amazing Grace. I loved that song as a child and even to this day I still love it. My voice has changed quite a bit however. I don't sing as well as I used to when I was a child.

I remember being nervous about getting up and singing in front of a bunch of people that I didn't know. I felt like I was going to mess up and these people were going to judge me for it. but.... I got up and sang anyways. I recieved a clap at the end of the song and my pastor saying to me. . . You did great. I took my seat and sat through the rest of the service. I particularly remember it being a great service although for the life of me I can't remember what the pastor was saying. Funny how those memories are so fleeting when you really wish you could recall that certain detail.

As we started to gather our gear to leave for the evening I overheard a nurse saying "alright Ms Emmie it's time to go back to your room." I stopped dead in my tracks. "did she just say Emmie?" I spun around and went walking back into the chapel. I looked the nurse in the face and asked "is her name Emmie?" The nurse confirmed that it was. Again I asked "her name is Emmie?" The nurse looking at me in puzzlement said yes! "Emmie Smith?" I asked. The nurse still kind of looking at me like she didn't quite understand what was going on replied with a "YES!" I closed my eyes and almost began to cry. "She's my great granmother." I had been looking for her and my mom since I was three years old. The nurse looked at me in shock. She asked. "are you sure?" "One hundred percent positive." I replied. I walked the nurse and the elderly lady back to her room. I wanted to cry so bad as I walked in and saw baby pictures of me and my sisters sitting on the top of her dresser. Here I had thought that she had forgotten me. . . But she didn't. I sat with her as long as I could without being left behind by the church members and finally, reluctantly I left the nursing home. My great grandmother didn't recognize who I was. She thought that I was just part of the Church members that had come to spend time with her. She was an Alzhiemers patient. I was so upset seeing her like this. Somehow I knew at that moment my life was about to change.

Apparently a long lost Aunt of mine had come to visit with my great grandmother and the nurses explained to her that I had been there. They gave her my contact information and she called to see if she could come and visit with me and my sisters. Seeing that we had not seen her in ages and truthfully I didn't even remember who she was, I agreed as did my grandfather. So one morning my sisters Nicole and Mary and I all sat at the little gas station in town waiting for her to come see us. We met her for the first time since we were kids. None of us really remembered who she was. All we remembered is that she was our Mother's sister. She picked us all up and we went to spend the week at her house in Georgia. It was a very weird sensation for me. Spending the week with a family that I barely knew. I had never really had a "family" environment. I had always been very independent and done things by myself. This was a new experience for me. We were taken to six flags theme park for the first time. I remember the first roller coaster I ever rode was the Georgia Scorcher. I will never forget that. It was a lot of fun. . . and for the first time in my life I felt like I could relax. I felt like I didn't have to worry about making sure the bills in the house were paid or making sure that laundry was done or cooking dinner or anything else that children shouldn't worry about. All I had to worry about was spending time with my sisters and my cousins and having fun.

The night we arrived at my aunts house I remember coming in the front door and seeing my cousin asleep in the recliner. I ran over to him leapt into his lap and (while waking him up) I screamed "I missed you chubby" lol. For some reason he was the one person in this whole family that I had remembered. He was upset with me at first but then I saw a small smile come to the corner of his mouth. He grinned at me and said. . . "yeah yeah yeah... I missed you too! I guess" I remember in that moment finally feeling safe. I remember feeling like I belonged. It was only too good to be true and way short lived. We only stayed for a week.

Our aunt brought us back home and dropped us off. It wasnt but about a month or so later that she ended up fighting for custody of Mary and Nicole and winning. They were taken to Georgia to live. I remember missing them terribly and feeling alone and outcast. I didn't say anything and I enjoyed getting phonecalls from them whenever they could call. I even more enjoyed being able to visit them when I could as well. Life went on like this for the rest of the first part of school. It was February when they made their next trip down to see me. I asked them if they wouldn't mind going to see great grandma Smith. I missed her terribly and I really was wanting her to remember who I was. My aunt agreed to let us go and see her. So for the first time my sisters and I all went to see her (my aunt had gotten special permission to take my sister Crystal on a trip.) So Crystal, Nicole, Mary, and I all filed one by one into my great grandmothers room there at the nursing home. As I knealed down on the floor in front of her and tried desperately to tell her who I was I realized that she may not ever know. "I am AMANDA!" I would say this over and over again. It was only when she saw us girls together that she finally realized what I had been trying to tell her. She began to cry. The realization in her eyes and the pure joy in the facial expressions that she made let me know that I had done the right thing. I was happy. I think I was more happy at the fact that she was happy. We spent the day with her that day. Talking and catching up. I loved hearing her laugh more than anything. My heart melts every time I think about those few hours I had with her that day.

My joy however was very short lived. A week later she passed away. This time I understood completely what it meant. I was devistated. I went to her funeral and cried. I hated myself for not spending more time with her. More than anything I hated God for taking her away from me. I blamed God for taking everything that I loved. As I walked into the parlor of the funeral home a woman with big fluffy hair (resembling that of an afro) approached me standing there with my aunt and uncle. She asked my aunt. "is this cindi" (my aunts little girl) my aunt replied "no that's Amanda. Don't you even recognize your own baby girl when you see her?" I didn't really know what was going on except that this lady leaned down and looked at me and said "there's my baby girl." I SPLIT! I took off running so fast I don't even know if my uncle could have even caught me to bring me back if he wanted to. I ran into the chapel of the funeral home and straight to my grandmother (who had been there with me and my sisters through many foster homes as children.) I climbed into her lap and hugged her neck and wouldn't let go to save anyone's life. I stayed there until the funeral was over. I wouldn't budge. Finally I was headed out the door. I took off so fast that this lady didn't have time to see me again.
I remember going to the graveyard services and seeing the casket there. I remember seeing my biological mother there as well but I would not let her get anywhere near me. I was too afraid of her.

After her funeral I had decided that my life was going to change. No longer was I going to live with the abuse any more. I was tired of it. I was very scared of what would happen to me but in many ways I thought that if God was going to take everything away from me that I loved then why should I even try to be happy. And so as we sat in a back room at the reception after the funeral I confided in my sisters Mary and Nicole that I didn't want to live with my grandfather anymore. I told them to tell Uncle Mike when they got back to Georgia. I didn't want them to say anything while I was still with them because I was afraid that my grandfather would do something very bad. That afternoon I went back to my grandfathers house and cried. I was so upset. As I sat there crying I remember hearing a car pulling down the driveway. I was even more upset when I recognized the strange woman from the funeral sitting in the front seat. I begged him to let me hide but he wouldn't. He explained to me that she was my mother and that she was going to come and spend time with me. Reluctantly I agreed to this. After a while I lightened up and spent a few moments with her. I was especially nervous when I had been left alone with her and of course I went outside with my grandpa the first chance I got. Eventually she left and I again was alone. I went to my room where I spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what in the world had just happened. I remember sitting on my bed wondering if this whole scenario was a dream.

The next afternoon I recieved a phone call from my sister Nicole. My grandfather answered the phone and told me that my sister was on the phone to talk to me. When I answered it wasn't my sister but instead it was my aunt. She started talking to me and trying to figure out what was wrong. She asked me if I was ok. I told her no. She began to ask me questions and before I knew it I ended up telling her everything about my grandfather and his sexual abuse. She told me to not say anything and to just pack a bag for school and that she would meet me at school the next morning. So I did what she asked. I have never felt more scared in my life than I did as a ten year old little girl walking into that school building that morning not knowing what was going to happen to me. I felt like I was the one to blame. I quietly sat at my desk and didn't say a word until I saw my aunt standing in the doorway of the classroom. My heart leapt from my feet into my throat. THANK GOD! I thought I was going to have to do this alone.

sorry it's taking so long to post more on here. I will post more later. Let me know if I should keep going. I don't want to bore people to death.

It has been a long while since I have written and I thank all of you that are reading this for being so patient with me on it.

I have to think hard so that I can try and get my memories in order. There are lots of things in my life that I would like to touch on but I know that by doing that I would end up writing a book about my life through these threads.

My Aunt motioned for the teacher to step outside of the classroom with her. They stayed out there for a few moments and then the teacher came back into the classroom and asked me to step into the supply closet with her so that we could talk. I reluctantly went in there and broke down and told her everything. Of course the Department of Family and Children's services was called. I was whisked away to what I believed to be the nurses office. My teacher had someone come and sit with her class. She accompanied me to the office with my aunt as we waited for the case worker to arrive. When she arrived I told her what had been happening. Detailed questions of the abuse followed and I told everything that I knew. I can't explain what burden was taken off my chest at that time. The relief of other people knowing what I had been through and having them there to comfort and support me was tremendously overwhelming. DFACS (Department of Family and Children's Services) took me from the school that day and placed me in a foster home. The family that I stayed with was Pentecostal. I was transported back and forth for some time to school until they finally switched me to a different school.

While at this new school I made several new friends but something was still missing. I remember sitting in the floor of my foster home and crying wondering why God had abandoned me. I wondered what it was that I had done that was so wrong. Why was I being punished? I learned many valuable lessons from the Bradleys. I became close to them and their family. On May 18th of that year I was picked up from my foster parent's home by my aunt. She was there to take me home with her. (FINALLY)

As we drove back to Georgia I couldn't stop smiling. I wanted so bad to be with my sisters. When we arrived at the house I walked up to the front door where my Uncle had posted a sign that said "Sugar and Spice, Baby girls are so nice! Welcome Home Amanda Jo Whiddon Hill." I couldn't believe it. THIS IS WHERE I BELONG! was all that was running through my head! I couldn't stop smiling. I opened the door and my sisters flung their arms around me and I didn't want to let them go. My cousin Brandon got my bags from the car and brought them inside. We all sat there and did some "catching up."

Finally it was bedtime. So many memories flood my mind when I think about going to live with my aunt and uncle. I wish I could say that they were all good. . . BUT in my life, all good things must come to an end and be followed by something bad and tragic.

I have to go for now. I will write more later. I promise it won't be a long time like before!

Please let me know if you are reading this. Otherwise I won't bother!

I just saw your post now, I've only been to the testimony page once before about 6 months ago. Thanks for sharing your story. I hope that you will share more if you'd like. I've read all of it.

You are a survivor and an inspiration!

Click to expand...

Thanks. I don't feel like it sometimes but I think that If I can help change the life of another through telling my story, . . . Then I should tell it. I haven't had the chance to keep writing on this lately because I have been so busy with both my babies but I will try to write more later. Thank you for reading it.