Angels In My Tree a Memoir

Chapter 1

I should, also, dedicate this book to those people who asked me what I had done to make God so angry with me to cause the hardships I suffered throughout life. I often asked myself the same question until I lost all my belongings in a house fire. The day after the fire, a very beautiful lady asked me, Why do bad things keep happening to you? I was really undone with this question. She had left the room and I thought about what she had asked me. I could not think of anyone better or worse to have to bare this cross instead of me. When she returned, I asked confused Who would you want me to wish this on?

She returned my confusion, and said, I don’t know what you mean.

I said gently and quietly, If the fire had not happened to me, to whom would you want me to wish to have the fire? So, I ask, why not me?

Sadness replaced her confusion as she stated flatly, I guess no one.

It is my belief God did not cause the things, which have happened in my life. Most of the things in my life I chose to do on my own. Things I could not control caused many events to happen in my life. In addition, very few things happen by chance.

My own choices remind me of a story told me by a minister’s wife. She said, My son and I had an interesting discussion last night about his disobeying me. I asked him why he had done so many things for which I had told him not to do. Did your friends make you do it or did the devil cause you to do it?

He looked at me and said, No, I thunked of it all by myself

It is just so with us in life, usually we thunked of it on our own.

I want to go on record to you, my reader, that this book is not a book to bring pity, even though it may sound as such in spots. If you are expecting this, then you may not want to read this book. I am sharing my experiences hoping to convey to you how Angels helped me make changes in my life.

We all make our own choices in life, whether we acknowledge them or not. We can try to blame others for these choices, but in the end, we made the final decision. All anyone else can do is influence us, however again, the final choice is our choice to make.

Even if we could go back to make the decisions again we would make the same choices with the same consequences or benefits, if we had the same information in which to make the choice. If we had a way to go back in history to see the scene again, most of the time we would find we made decisions in a hurry, during episodes of fear and plain ignorance. How many of us have made decisions because someone told us we could not do something? Maybe, if we would have time to sit and think a moment, our decisions would have had better outcomes. I do not want to be the one to check out the theory, yet I have felt it was so in my life.

Sometimes, we become defensive when we should explain what made us make the decision we did at the time, because of that, maybe we need to be willing to hear the reason from others before we hand out the judgment, which seems to come so easily at times. It is arrogance on our part when we state self-righteously, I do not know why she or he made such a stupid decision. I am just thankful I am not the judge.

The following pages may not make sense to some, while others will understand what I am saying completely. As I write this, I am healing, as many are, and hope my words will help you on your journey. I have changed the names of some people involved, because I do not wish to embarrass anyone in my life. In some cases, I did not even mention a name because they did not do anything worth mentioning their names. Sometimes in life, a nameless person has helped make our journey through life something memorable or their part in life was too painful. Changing the names does not affect the facts or the roles family, friends and strangers played in my life. No one deserves ridicule or false judgment; remember, how we judge others is how we will be judged on the great judgment day according to the Bible. When we become perfect, we are translated directly to heaven and do not need to finish out our lives here on earth. So, unless you have been translated since you opened this book, give me and all those involved a break. Thank you.

You have a need to know, if you happen to be one of those who do not know me personally, I am long-winded and really like to talk. I may have a profound statement at one time or another, most of the time I stand in awe of those things, which worked out for the good in my life. Again, judgment needs to come to light, I was not bragging when I repeated things, which have happened to me, I was in awe and thankful I did not die.

I fought life for so long, then I woke up and realized life was not the enemy, it was my perception of life and the events in my life. For me to survive, I needed to learn how to live. I, also, needed to know I am OK where I am and who I am; which has been the hardest part of my journey. The teacher of experience is a firm taskmaster. The discipline handed out leaves lasting scars, so we can know what we experienced is for our growth. It is hard to believe; however, it is true.

The story you are about to read is true and not very pretty in places, however it is written to the best of my memory and how I lived through the times in my life. I must say, at this point in my life, my memory is sometimes shortsighted and at best nonexistent in the least, just sit back and read the tale of my life. The life of one who never walked over a penny without picking it up, so I would have good luck all day long. I am the one who never walked under ladders as it may fall on me or paint could drip on me. There is also the worry I might knock the silly thing over, and the poor person at the top would have to cling for dear life; I am not always the most graceful creature on earth; at least I have managed to keep from breaking every bone in my body by the grace of God.

This is the autobiography of a miner’s brat, which I am. Some dear girl once told me with her nose in the air, You are white trash. Not just white trash, but poor, dirty, white, trailer trash. So, what, this trailer trash has the same career she chose. Ironically, we both chose to be Registered Nurses.

I do not apologize for who or what I have become. And if I wanted to, it would take too many words, and do not know about you, but I believe a book should not be longer than the author’s arm. Just because someone called me trailer trash does not mean it is the case, yet even if it was true, I need not apologize for who I am. How others perceive me is not my problem. How I perceive myself is important. Do not make other’s problem your own, said a man whom I grew to respect. Thank you, PA, Joe

However, I am responsible for how I perceive those I meet in my life. I too, am not to judge others harder than I judge myself. On the other hand, I should not judge myself any harder than I may judge others; it is a never-ending loop.

Now, on with the story of my life. Do not make my struggles your problem. I am sure you have enough of your own for which to contend; otherwise, you would not have bought this book. I hope my words will help answer questions in your life. The most important thing to know is that your choice is okay, and all problems have resolution, though the resolution may not be what we expect. Most decisions turn out to be the right decisions. Others we will have to suffer the consequences. Just remember, there is tomorrow, and all things do manage to turn out in the end.

Chapter 2

The best place to begin an autobiography would be with my birth. Without being born, I could not have experienced what I must to write in an autobiography. I will begin the story of my life from the beginning of my most unusual journey.

I was born in a log cabin. No, not in the woods like Abraham Lincoln, but in the plains in the middle of the United States, in October 1945. The area where I was born is a flat piece of land, with fields of sugar beets, maize, corn, and sometimes I think the farmers would throw in a handful of potato sets and tomato seeds now and then. Anyway, I used to go to town where I was born and dig potatoes and pick tomatoes with my dear Grandma Molly in the early fall. This happened much later, and it is not part of the story, it is just a beautiful memory and it is worth mentioning, and do not we tend to forget the good memories?

October 1945 was the end of World War II, and I was born just slightly before the war ended. I was a war baby and born to a fifteen-year-old girl out of wedlock. I do not know who my biological Father is, nor does it really matter at this point in my life. I did not know I was born without a Father until I was 57, so it was a little late to worry about it. However, I know for a fact my birth was not caused by Immaculate Conception. So somewhere there is a man who is my biological Father and probably died never knowing about me.

As I said, I learned about this when I was 57 years old, and my Mom had died. While going through her old trunk after her death, I discovered the man I loved as my Dad had adopted me in 1951; the fact so much of my life was a lie really rocked my boat and nearly sank it. I was devastated! I cried, yet it did not change the facts of my life.

I did ask myself frequently, Who in the world am I?

The man who I thought was my Dad died in 1977 from black lung disease; he was only 50 years old. The years he spent underground with blasting powder, coal and uranium dust while making a living for six children, took a terrible toll on his health.

He was not a happy man, yet he was a loyal and a hard-working man, managing to keep a roof over our heads (even if it was a tent in the woods), food on our table, though the meat often came from traps, and we were dressed as well as the neighbors could afford to throw away in their trash.

I wish to touch on the meat we ate in our home in the early days of my life. Dad trapped animals to sell the fur. We ate beaver, muskrat, and small birds, like crows. The later became an issue when I was in the fourth grade.

One day we were discussing clichés. The teacher made a statement and said, Sometimes we have to eat crow. What does that mean?

I raised my hand to speak. I said, Oh, no. The June family no longer eats crow. Everyone laughed. I was embarrassed because I did not understand why they were laughing. It was the truth.

I remember the night we were served crow. Daddy took a bite, spat it out, and said, The June family will no longer eat crow.

To this day, I will not eat crow, literally. I was a very stubborn child and I am a stubborn woman with a wee bit of wisdom added in for good measure.

Daddy wanted so badly to get out of the underground mines. He worked underground most of the time since he was 16 years old. Yet, he made more money underground as a contract miner, than he did above ground doing other jobs. He never finished high school, and ran away to join the Navy when he was sixteen-years-old with hope he could learn a new skill.

He loved us children, but never had the luxury of getting to know us as people. The last time I spoke to him, a year before he died, he mentioned he was unhappy he did not know any of any of us as adults. I was unable to see him before he died because of my own illness.

After Mom’s death, I found several letters in her trunk showing both were very unhappy people, and had been in love and engaged to someone else before they married. I also found a letter written by an attorney stating my adoption had gone through before I started the first grade.

Because of the letter, I lost one half of my family tree, and it took several months for me to realize it didn’t matter who contributed the sperm, so I could be born. What difference did it make if I had one half of the chance to have a heart attack, cancer or other unfriendly diseases which seems to run in both sides of the family, I am who I am, and I would not change it for the life of me.

I am wandering and need to get on with the story. I ran ahead. This has been a problem all my life, I like getting to the end and skipping the middle. Maybe it is why I have had such a colorful life, and had made so many wrong decisions.

Violet, my Mom, was an unwed Mother living in an era, which made her worse than a whore according to society. She was only a child herself when she discovered she was pregnant with me at the age of fourteen, which is too young to become pregnant in any era.

The story I was told about Daddy to fit the lie was as follows:

"The military men did not know if they would come back alive from war and they used this information to get into the pants of any woman who would fall for their story." It probably should not have happened, but it did. How I was conceived really does not matter. The fact of my conception cannot be disputed, though unexpected. I was very much unwanted, which became part of the problems in my life.

Since I discovered I was adopted, I have thought often of how difficult it must have been for Mom to be fourteen, pregnant, and sin of sins, not married. Young and old alike would have shunned her. Her friends and her family would have shunned her. Talk about the walk of shame.

Girls, who came from rich families, were sent to a family member out of town or to a home for unwed mothers to have their baby. The girl would then return to her family just as if the pregnancy had never happened. Yet, there could have been a new cousin, brother or sister, or any other means of covering the pregnancy results.

Sometimes a family, who were not able to have children of their own, became parents; this in some ways was much better than having babies without Fathers to help them along the way, and better than having an abortion. The ironic thing, no one was fooled. Yet, the girl was spared some of the shame of being marked as a whore by other women. At least she was only whispered about and not shunned.

Speculation can be our best friend at times. If Mom had been rich when I was born, then I would not be here telling you the story of my life. I would not have become the person I am today and who knows, maybe my life would have been worse than it is now.

I have given this a lot of thought throughout my life. So often in life, we have multiple paths from which to choose. Then we seem to what if ourselves to the point of insanity. The what if path is a one-way path to nowhere and needs to be barricaded for eternity. It is important we get on with life we did choose. Life has enough curves, rocks, and potholes in it to keep life exciting and maddening. Our curves, quicksand and rocks are to make us grow into humans we are meant to become, not destroy us. Our bad choices are not to act as an excuse to destroy others’ lives and property or to destroy our own lives.

One of my life Angels I have encountered told me our lives are like a diamond in the rough. An uncut diamond looks like many other rocks we kick with our foot; dull and gray, seemingly of no worth. Yet with the violent act of cutting in the facets into the stone, the jeweler makes the bright, shining diamonds women and men value. Without hardship, how would we know we are having a good time?

Mom did not bond with me at birth, making it difficult for her to rear me. Ignoring me was not easy because I was an inquisitive child and I was always into something that seemed to be off limits all the time.

Many times, I found her glaring at me when I was growing up for no apparent reason, and she would say if it were not for me, she could have been rich and happy instead of being saddled with five kids.

I will get back to this statement later in my story to explain it better. It was rather confusing for me when she said this to me. I never understood how one so young had so much power to make it so bad for one’s own Mother. I was just a little girl, but the confusion of the statement led me to trying to make it up to her, which failed miserably each time. I never pleased her during her life time.

Mom’s belief of me being the cause of her unhappiness caused me to believe anything to have happened in the family or even in the world was my entire fault. It was my own perception of what was happening in my life. Mom did not make me chose anything in life. You may be right in saying my thought of fault is crazy for a child to think or even an adult, but it is how I felt and thought growing up. At times the guilt I felt was very overwhelming. I was a sad child, as a result, at times. I am sure many of you have also felt this way. I know, because I have met several of you.

The guilt was like a great boulder around my neck when I chose to believe the lies I had told myself. It was a great struggle carrying all the blame for the major part of my life. Even though I prayed for forgiveness almost constantly, the guilt never lessened. I struggled with this daily, bringing many hours of pain and suffering I did not have to suffer. For this reason, we really need to be very careful about what we say to our children, we do not know what they are going to carry around as a stone