My Beginning

 Today is quiet. The stillness echoing through this ole house. The memories singing from the walls that have been painted by me more times than I care to count. They are white now. A clean slate. A new beginning. A fresh view. These walls have seen my children grow. My oldest was 3 when I began my family journey in this ole house. I moved into this home on November 1, 2008- my 24th birthday. My daughter was born 2 days later on November 3. No birthday present can come close to having her. I don't particularly care for gifts anyway. I care for connection. People. Which makes sense why nothing could ever be gifted on my birthday greater than my beautiful daughter. Let me rewind to when I was younger and where I feel like I should begin. 

My first memories go back to Las Vegas. My parents immigrated here from Great Britain. My mom is from Northern Ireland and is the most beautiful, tenderhearted, God devoted woman that I know. My dad is from England and is the dreamer. The most courageous man I know. I know for those who know my dad will wonder why I think that because to many he looks fallen and lost. I was around 3 months old when we moved to the United States of America. As a child my mom and dad would blast the song "We're Coming to America" by Neil Diamond. Still one of my most favorite songs and greatest memories seeing both of my parents full of the American Dream belting the lyrics at the top of their lungs. It is just as you would imagine in a Hollywood movie with kids and parents dancing in a huge living room. 

As my family movie goes on it is one of shattered dreams and grief that could never be communicated through words. My parents first moved to California to live with my dad's parents. They were awful to my family. From what I understand it was pretty common, even then, for my dad to be absent and my mom left to find resources to sustain her children. My mom would go without food and nutrition. It would leave me as a baby sucking from her dried and cracked tit from not enough milk production. I can't imagine how much that physically hurt her. She told me there was a time that I would be drinking blood because there was literally nothing left. I developed rickets. If you don't know what that is, you can google it. I'm sure there were dark thoughts in my parents mind as I could have died. Welp- I'm still here! :) So dramatic.... I had weird physical issues as a child and I would refuse to pee causing extreme pain and constant UTIs. I remember hurting down there when they performed a scope through my urethra. I had to have been under 6 years old because I only remember having to open my legs and my dad holding my hand. 

So now, to my personal memories. Oh how I love my Vegas memories. We lived in North Las Vegas and it was a poor area, but we would have never known as kids. 1300 Sattes Street, Las Vegas, NV. Adjustable skates that you strapped on over your shoes. My 2 older brothers that I admired and looked up to. Aaron was two years older than me my best friend from the day I was born. I had another best friend who lived across the street. Her dad was a terrible man. I didn't fully understand back then, but she would do things to me that her dad would do to her. I was too young to know that it was sexual abuse. I enjoyed it. It was fun and it felt good. I never knew to think that it could have been wrong or dirty. Nobody knew it was happening to me or I'm sure an adult would have intervened. I can't even tell you when I first knew that it was wrong to do that- probably when I was closer to 12 did I know that it was wrong. You see- kids don't always know what needs to be protected. We moved from Las Vegas to Hurricane, UT. This is the place that has memories of absolute joy and absolute terror. My oldest brother was born to my mom and her ex husband. My dad had the upmost contempt towards him. He would beat the shit out of my older brother, but never beat his children. There were so many times that my brother Aaron and I would be on top of my dad trying to rip him off of our older brother. Complete chaos. Normal? Yes. Because nobody told us otherwise and we were still children. I loved my family. Oh, I absolutely loved my family. I was pretty mean to my younger sister who was born 4 years after me. I liked to be the center of attention and perhaps felt like she stole that from me. I was a child. I didn't know that those feelings toward her were wrong. Nobody told me. She is now my biggest ally and greatest cheerleader through this life. My dad was wrong in what he did to my older brother, but man, did I love my dad. I really loved my dad. He was fun! He was a jokester and full of life. At times absolutely psychotic- due to drugs and alcohol. Him and my mom would fight just about every Sunday. He would scream in her face. My mom would scream back with tears streaming down her cheeks. Aaron would jump in and take my dad's side screaming at my mom to stop and I would jump in on my mom's side screaming at both Aaron and my dad to stop. A beautiful chaotic storm of singing screams. Nobody won. My mom would pack us kids in the van and drive up to Zion National Park to get away or sometimes just the Hurricane park. I remember one time she gathered enough money to bring us to a motel in Hurricane to hide from my dad. She hid the car so he wouldn't know that we were there. My mom did an incredible job trying to shelter and protect us. I can't imagine how hard that was for her. I was my mom's ally and we tag teamed to protect my younger siblings. My mom would wake me up really early every Saturday morning to lay in her bed with the babies while she would attend the LDS temple. I loved those Saturday mornings. I didn't always like having to be home on Friday nights, but it was just our thing. I loved how the house would light up when my mom would return from the temple. I was so curious and wanted to know what made her so happy. I would love to watch her change out of her dress into everyday clothes with a hop to her tune. Just pure happiness. She would then turn on music and start her Saturday cleaning. Windows wide open with a bleach rag in her hand and the Bee Gees blaring. How I loved Saturday mornings. The calm and joy before the next day of chaos and terror.