Abortion

To those who chant my body, my choice, or say Abortion is a right guaranteed under the Constitution,

Hear me when I say…please read the Constitution again.

Abortion is NOT a guaranteed right under the Constitution… but do you know what right is guaranteed? The Inalienable right to “LIFE, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness for every American.”

Abortion takes away every one of those rights for the pre-born. After five years, the research showed that 95 percent (5212 out of 5502) of the biologists affirmed the biological view that a human’s life begins at fertilization, revealing that biology professors in American academia overwhelmingly agree with this pro-life position.

standupgirlfoundation.org › new-study-most-biologists-believe-life-begins-at-conception

Abortion is not a contraceptive, but instead, it is the systematic elimination of another human being. Therefore, the choice not to have a child must come either before, or at the time of the sexual contact, because once you are pregnant, your right to choose is then superseded by the “child’s right to live” under the Constitution. The right to use, or not use condoms or other forms of contraception does belong to you. That is the choice you are guaranteed under the Constitution.

The day that the rain came down :)

I had a house with a sunroof in my bedroom and the first relaxed night in there, my husband and I were in the midst of making love on our king sized waterbed and suddenly there was a lightening strike and then nothing. All at once, the rain came pouring down right on top of us. We jumped out of that bed and my husband was running around trying to pull the sunroof closed. We have never laughed so much in our entire life

Mark

I am missing you. Always. It is not a sad missing at all, but rather it is a very deep missing,  I am loving you. All of you.  You in Him, Him in you, and you in you. I don’t know you and yet I feel as if I know everything that is honest within you. I was reading Luke 24:32  “And they said one to another, did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?” Oh the stirring in my heart

Chapters of my Life

We lived on Delsea Dr. in Vineland, NJ until I was six. At that time it was pretty much countrified. Every street was lined with beautiful dogwood trees, some of which were pink, but most of which were white. Our rented abode was a rather large white house perched on a little hill. It had this awesome covered porch that extended across the entire front of the house, where we used to play during the day, and later congregate on hot summer nights. The adults often refreshed themselves, with glass after glass of Gallo Port wine, while the kids cooled off with a pitcher of flavored Kool Aide. If we were really lucky, the wine could be our ally, and my parents would let us walk down to the gas station and each one could buy a Coke. For as long as I can remember we have always had an open door policy at our house. People came and went and sometimes they stayed for days, weeks, months, and some for years.. Such was the case with my Uncle Randy. To almost everyone who knew him he was a loveable, teddy bear of a guy. He was probably about 5’8″ and weighed in at a minimum of 300 lbs. He lived with us while in the Air Force, and later while going to college. He played the Ukulele, had a Washtub Band, and they used to practice at our house before going out on Friday Nights. As we roasted marshmallows in the fireplace, they could be heard leading us in songs such as  “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight?”,  “There was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly”, “The Ballad of Davy Crockett”, “Sixteen Tons”, “Red Sails in the Sunset”, and  many other favorites of the 50’s. It was a treat we looked forward to. Randy was also our babysitter when the rest of the adults in the house went out. He was like a big kid in some ways who loved playing pranks, and telling jokes.

Around this time, my father was working in engineering for RCA. During World War II and for some time beyond, RCA formed several new divisions gaining a Government contract working for the Defense department. This is the department my father worked in, and something about the secretive work he was doing made him uncomfortable enough to seek employment elsewhere. He began selling Life Insurance for Mutual of Omaha.

While we lived in the house on Delsea Dr., there was this devil of a boy named Butchy. He was at least two years older than I was ,and he had this great big evil looking dog that he used to tease me with. The minute I stepped out my back door, he would bring out this barking monster and chase after me. I learned to climb trees when I was just six.

My father, bless his heart, was a professional man who was totally in the dark when it came to fixing things, or being any kind of handyman at all. My parents purchased a swing gym for us to play on. It had a slide, two swings with rings that allowed you to stand and swing, as well as sit and swing, and a swinging seesaw. For a short while Butchy seemed to change. He would call and ask me to come out and play on the swings. He would bring me candy and be nice to me. Of course I would go out and play with him. I loved candy.  He had not changed at all unless it was for the worse. If he wasn’t knocking me off the seesaw, scaring me up a tree requiring stitches, then he was trying to push me off the steps of the bus as I was getting on for school. One day this meant Butchy was fooling around on the steps and the bus driver did not see me behind him and closed the door of the bus and caught my right foot in the door and dragged me about fifteen feet before anyone realized anything was wrong. I had immediately gone into shock.  That time I was a mess and had bruises and blood everywhere, and yes there were stitches once again. I could not w2ait for him to fall off the face of the earth. I prayed at night that he would move away.

Bonnie

My memories may well be scattered, perhaps even tainted, by the dirty little shards of pain, caused by years of neglect and abuse. Memories are sometimes fluid, which provides a nice assist when it came to covering up secrets all the time just to feel better… just to feel somewhat normal. I seemed to spend my childhood being   “That little girl longing to fit in somewhere”.

Life must have misplaced the meaning of love… somewhere in between the somber reality of listening to late-night alcohol-fueled fights, seeing the shadows on the wall through depths of darkness that warned me evil was once again making it’s way into my room, and then,  the ridicule I met in school and on the playground.  M y reality was such a shattered one, and, at the time, those lies made it almost seem bearable… to me.

Out of eight children, I have just one  sister named Dona, who is eighteen months younger than I am, and what I saw over the years, was that somehow she was blessed with  a different route to staying sane. I now know it was God who just blocked out many of those painful years of her life as a survival mechanism for a sensitive and extremely fragile child, and because of that she has practically no childhood memories whatsoever. Some might say she was the lucky one, in a way, because without the memories she could just push on with life. Without the memories there was never a need for lies.  Me, on the other hand, it was in our toxic everyday lives, that I learned to lie even before I learned to spell, composing a completely different life than the one I had been given, I needed one that I could survive in.

I also had six brothers.  Chris died at the dentist office from a possible reaction to the gas they gave him when he was only eighteen years old. I was ten when he died.

Tony was shot to death on a busy Chicago street, during the early evening hours,  while on the way home to his second wife, Anne, who was pregnant with his third child.

Another brother, Michael,  ran away from home at fourteen and became a drug addict. He was gay and came “out of the closet” long before it was fashionable and died from Aids at just thirty-nine years old.

My older brother Andy ran away at thirteen, and then again at seventeen. Twenty years later he retired from the Navy and walked away from the family completely, even changing  his name. We cannot find him anymore…he became very good at hiding and he has never looked back. I often ask myself  “Who could blame him?”.

Like Tony, Bob had his issues with alcohol.

Don graduated from Marquette University  in spite of being  legally blind and having hydrocephalus. He  dedicated his life to God through his work helping the homeless but he was not without his curses either. He died from Bone Cancer when he was only  forty-three.

Now, it’s just me and Dona that are left. The ghosts of our childhood have all fallen away and what we are left with now,  are  those fragmented, often disturbing  memories and the  weight of a lifetime of psychological trauma.

The Beginning

He was such a good-looking man. A man that always wore a suit.  Those crystal blue eyes twinkled when he spoke; they were framed by long, curly, pitch-black lashes. He completed the look with his gangster hat and black horn-rimmed glasses, which only added their own dramatic effect. She was completely mesmerized.  He was a college graduate. He had an easy, vibrant smile, and a dimple that spoke volumes to the beautiful and very wealthy, young socialite.  He stood out in a crowd, and she loved the way he dressed to perfection and the self-assurance she saw in him.

She was not the only one who was falling hard. He had planned on a life in the priesthood and was looking forward to joining the Jesuits the following Fall.  Suddenly, he found himself second-guessing his life-long dream. Before him, stood a vision of loveliness that took root in his mind and heart.  She was only sixteen but she seemed far more sophisticated and mature than his younger sister and they were the same age.  She had the lithe body of a dancer. Her skin was olive in tone, and her hair was several shades of natural blonde,  blending together in a shimmering sort of way.  She had piercing cat eyes, and there seemed to be a vulnerability about her, that he longed to protect. She was a mysterious woman, a  glamorous woman and he could not resist. 

Before the year was out these beautiful people exchanged vows of forever love, signified by a simple platinum wedding band bought at Woolworth’s. My mother was determined not to become Catholic just to marry my father. She had to believe, so they married in the Church Rectory and she continued studying. I loved that in her. Thus began the lifelong passionate love affair of my parents, Bob and Bobbe Wright. When I say passionate I do mean passionate in every sense of the word.

The first of many nightmares

As a child, I had been put down for an afternoon nap in my crib, and some time later awoke to the sound of blood-curdling screams that seemed to be coming from somewhere off in the distance. I had no way of knowing that those screams were actually coming from me, and served to wake me from a nightmare.   As she cupped my tiny head close to her chest, my Mother simultaneously reached down to retrieve my blanket, and then she wrapped it around me while she made her way downstairs to the little love seat that leaned against the wall in the front hall. Once there, she melodiously cooed aaa ah aaa over and over. The soft scent from her shampoo calmed me, and the vibrations of her voice reverberated into the most soothing feeling I had ever known. I closed my eyes feeling safe and warm, drifting off to sleep, and never ever wanting it to end.

Heart to Heart

How is it possible for a child to develop as she should when even the most basic elements of love are missing from her little life? When some of the very people who are supposed to protect her are doing her harm? When everywhere she looks no one is paying anything more than the slightest  bit of attention to her most basic physical needs?

How is it possible  for a child to develop as she should when she  exists in the midst of a sea of people called family,  and yet she knows instinctively that she is really all alone?  There are no caretakers here. There is distorted love here. Her whole world is made up of dysfunction, chaos and pain, and I wonder…  will she sink into a world of madness? Is it possible that she can survive? Will she survive? What is to become of this child who is starving for love?