Our Mother's Grief

She hurried along in the gathering darkness. Fear clutched at her heart. Her shoulders bent with the weight of her sadness. All the tears in the world would never erase the pain of leaving her four small children alone in the city that never sleeps.

Would she ever hold baby Sandra in her arms and sing soft lullabies? Or, wave 8-year-old Tommy off to school? Would 6-year old Allison come skipping into the kitchen for a cool glass of milk? Would 3-year-old Linda with her dark brown eyes and ringlets of hair remember a Mother's touch at end of day?

It was the winter of 1953 in New York City, and only a few days had passed since she had walked away from the seemingly insurmountable difficulties of trying to support her children and care for her sick mother. The death of her mother and news that her Navy husband was returning to America with a new girlfriend was simply more than Dorothyann could handle.

Slipping open the latch of the small rented room, she felt the icicles of loneliness reach from the shadows and tighten around her. She unconsciously brushed the soft brown curls from her face wet with tears as she sat at the table and began to write.

My Dearest Daughters,

I guess you think your mother has forgotten you. I have not. Mother had to go away for awhile and did not know she would be gone so long. I hope that you are being my good (girls) and that your daddy will write to you too.

Linda are you taking good care of Sandra for me? I hope that by next week I will have a permanent address and will get in touch with Miss Hall as to where I can be reached.

Please tell Miss Hall that I have not forgotten my children and will explain when I get in touch with her sometime next week.

I also hope that I can see you soon. Be my good girls and love your sister and please do not forget your mother or daddy.

I promise that you will be with daddy or me soon. Be good my dears. Kiss Sissy for me and I will write you real soon again.

Thank-you. Mrs. D. Brantley
All my love to my daughters,
Mother

There could be no turning back now. She had to say good-by not knowing what the future held for her and the small children who meant the world to her. She paused as the sounds from a radio drifted through the thin walls. Perry Como's words kept repeating.


"And yes, I know how lonely life can be. The shadows follow me, and the night won't set me free".

Dorothyann loved to sing. Already her clear soprano voice, sparkling eyes and mystic smile had charmed audiences in churches and theaters in New York City. She grew up singing as she walked to school or work. She lulled colicky babies to sleep and sent many soldiers off to war with the memory of her sweet songs.

But then the morning sickness started and she felt the life of a child whose father she would never name. Her nights were filled with helplessness and the days were a blur of nausea, stomach pain from the tight girdles and a brave front as she didn't tell anyone about the pregnancy. The truth was sudden and shocking as she went into labor on the way to church with her family.

Her mother and stepfather adopted the sickly baby they named Thomas John. Dorothyann felt more and more like a stranger in her own home as her baby boy was assumed by others to be her little brother. She felt her mother's scorn and her older sister's rage! She couldn't escape her stepfather's converted glances.

As Dorothyann sealed the farewell letter to her children, she tried to shake off painful memories of her youth. The son she could not call her own. The abuse of her stepfather. The pain of hiding yet another pregnancy from her mother and sister. She swore that her family would not know about this baby until it was born. Somehow she hoped this would make it better.

After almost 9 months of anguish and pain, Dorothyann labored alone for many hours in a strange hospital as the nurses cast knowing glances and told her to shut-up and push harder for the difficult birth. Allison was born on a cold December day in 1947. A few days later Dorothyann thought her heart would break when she had to leave her tiny daughter behind. Her family had refused to acknowledge the birth. She was accused of bringing shame and embarrassment to the family. Her stepfather seemed immune to her feelings.

But, Dorothyann refused to abandon her baby. Most every afternoon for three months, the nurses would warm the formula and hand the bottle to Dorothyann as she slipped in to the nursery to hold and feed baby Allison. Responding to her mother's lullabies and soothing voice, Allison would quickly fall asleep as Dorothyann rocked and whispered sweet promises to the child she had to hide from the world.

After three months, Dorothyann's parents brought the baby home, but once again, Dorothyann was not allowed to love it as her own. In fact, Allison's older sister claimed ownership and Allison would grow up wondering who her mother was and why she didn't want her. She would learn the strange details of her birth mother many years later when the family was finally reunited in a miraculous sort of way.

As the letter dropped with a soft thud into the mailbox, Dorothyann wanted to rush back and retrieve the sad message! Surely there was another way. Maybe Robert would come back to her. Maybe they could patch up their marriage. She kicked a small stone on the path and remembered the moment Robert had walked into her life.

Tall, slender and handsome, Robert looked splendid in his Navy Sailor dress blues. He had swept her off her feet from the first time they met.

New York City had never seemed so bright! She sang to him and her audiences with a fervor she had never known! At last there was someone who would cherish her and her two babies! She could be a loving wife and mother forever. The Korean War was almost over in America and her heart was free to love and be loved!

They married at St. Michael's Church in New York City on December 11, 1949. Linda Jean was born in 1950 and Sandra Lee joined the family in 1952. Dorothyann still enjoyed singing. Sometimes she held little Linda in her arms as she sang, "Sweetest Little Angel". But by this time, dark clouds were looming on the horizon once again and Dorothyann's life would soon be plunged into the darkest ebb she had ever known.

By late 1953, Robert had gone off to war and her mother passed away. Robert said he wasn't coming back to her and she was alone with four little children. Dorothyann didn't know how in the world she would survive. Helplessness overcame her, and in the bitter blackness of night in her soul, she fled and left them all behind.

It would be another 35 years before Linda would return searching for clues of her mother's disappearance. The sad goodbye letter would be recovered, lost in the dusty files of an old orphanage. Finally, a grand reunion would take place and siblings would celebrate a family reunited.

unavoidably, there would be some bitterness, a sad death, a few regrets and unavoidable rejection. Where there had been four siblings, there would eventually be nine! Another child would surprise the entire clan! Thomas John would slip away. Others would drift apart. The story is not entirely complete, but Linda is at peace knowing that her lifelong mission to find her mother is done.

Who Will Hold Your Hand When You Die?

I cringe when people say I'm too nice. I'm confused when friends tell me I should be angry at those who have deliberately done me wrong in my lifetime. I am saddened when I see my co-workers being rude and spiteful and seeking revenge. I wish we could all hold hands at the end of each day and say, "Let's all just be nice". We all agree that life is short, but few of us really live like we believe that.

I've held the hand of many patients as they take their last breath and I've heard the last heartbeat with my stethoscope. I can't count the number of times I've sat alone with a dying person and just held their hand. The relatives and friends are long parted or haven't made it to the bedside in time. I've had a near death experience myself so I can confidently report that there are no emotions when you die; just the peacefulness of death's passage. Nothing of the past changes the dying.

Not too long ago - or maybe it was a long time ago - my patient who had a terminal illness but wasn't gravely ill suddenly died. I called the daughter and told her to come right away but didn't tell her that her mother had died. The daughter was terribly distraught at the sight of her mother and begged me to tell her that her mother wasn't dead..

"I could never live with myself if I didn't make it in time. I promised mom I'd be there. Please tell me she's still alive" (The patient looked very deceased to me!) But, as the daughter hugged her mother to her heart I got out my stethocospe and said, "Shhhhh. Let me listen." Then I said, "I think I heard a faint heartbeat. Tell your mother goodbye now." She cried and said all the things she should have said to her mother over the years then she turned to me and said, "thank-you" and left the room.

Surely every one of us faces the question death and dying but few live as if it might happen anytime soon. It's a subject we usually prefer to avoid. I think of it a lot because for over 35 years it's been a part of my daily work to deal with death. Us nurses get close to our patients (young or old) and when they die in our care, we reflect on how it affects us. It makes me want to live each day like it could be my last - or not! And, I do sometimes wonder who will hold my hand...

My guardian angel often uses the radio to give me answers to my inquiring questions about discouragement and frustrations of daily life. You may chuckle if you don't believe in angels or have the guidance of a higher power. Believe me, I don't listen to the radio much because after the first song, I'm usually bored. But many times when a problem has been heavy on my mind while I'm driving, I turn on the radio and have an answer within a few minutes.

Just a few days ago I was questioning my faith and belief in something. Finances uncertain, my jobs troubling and friends seemed few and far between. I was driving to my second job (no days off in months!) and as I stopped at a long redlight, I ordered my angel to "give me an answer". I said, "If there are really angels looking after me, I want to hear the announcer say that in the last hour they played a song with the word 'angel' in it." Well, he listed all the songs they just played and there was nothing about angels.

I drove on a bit disappointed but not sure how discouraged I was. I pushed the button searching for something to keep my interest. Suddenly a song was starting that I knew. It was, of course, about an angel sent to watch over me! I remembered the song and sang along with it! I hugged myself with delight and still smile when I remember the incident.

Once when I got to work, the two 7-3 nurses were at odds with each other. As one nurse was walking down the hall she turned and yelled at the other nurse, "Mind your own business". The second nurse hollered back, "You need to get over your mad cow disease!"

This exchange as each nurse is another moment closer to death!

My husband is taking his Master's Degree online and sometimes there is miscommunication in the confines of cyberspace education. If not checked, words become capital letters and angry jabs are thrown back and forth until some calm mediator comes in and redirects everyone back to the task at hand. It is amazing to see how nice professional cyperpeople can become controlling monsters in space! Do they realize they are in the process of dying as they slam angry words back and forth?

One of my new nursing jobs included going back to a facility where I had previously been the supervisor. I returned as a regular staff nurse, but was met with some animosity and distrust because I had been the "boss" a couple years earlier. I understood the wariness but didn't expect the same staff I had worked so well with before to be insulting and rude now. I finally left that job because I realized that courtesy and respect had been replaced by greed and selfishness.

I really needed the money that job provided and at first I trusted that the staff meant me no harm, but soon things were said and done that could affect my nursing license. Maybe I should have been bold and rude and stood my ground, but I believe in living each day as if I might die tonight. I think those nurses have forgotten they are dying too.

Something much better is waiting for me around the corner, my angel assures me.

At another job, I really liked the afternoon staff. I had applied for the position because of a sign-on bonus and was willing to put up with any of the nasty conditions that nursing homes are known for. Most nurses don't like working in nursing homes but this one was clean and had high standards. I was pleasantly surprised at how nice the job was.

Then, I noticed bad vibes between two administrators. Every day I would see one more episode in the saga of power and management. These were two professionals who expected harmony and trust from the employees but couldn't give it to each other. They worked in a facility where people are in the last years of life and where death comes softly all the time. This man and woman had forgotten they are on the same short path of life and death and soon none of this will matter.

Every day or so there's a note at the nurses station regarding a family member who isn't allowed to visit anymore. The family member who gets POA decides who can visit and who can't. I once took care of a man in his 50's who had a stroke and was in a vegetative state with a feeding tube. This man's wife dictated that his own mother could only visit three times a week for one hour at a time.

The wife was hardly ever there, but the crippled mother hobbled in every other day and someone waited outside in a car while she spent a few moments with her son. She read the paper to him or fussed with his hair. Sometimes she forgot her hour was up and the driver would come in and yell at her because he had to wait a few minutes extra.

In another situation, we got a note that a daughter could not visit her mother and we were to stop her if she came into the building. The daughter had gotten into an argument with her brother who was Power Of Attorney. Our patient was somewhat confused and keept asking us to call her daughter and see why she hadn't been in to bring her favorite foods and clean clothes. I told her the phone was broken.

It doesn't matter if you have been the president of the company, a great leader in our country or just worked hard all your life to support your family. What means the most is if you know you have done your best and are ready for that moment in time. All that is left are the memories that people have of you. Those who hold your hand will and remember your touch and the good you did for others.

Take Care On the (Short) Journey of Life,

Love, Linda

Contact Information

My email for this blog is lindasbook@usa.com

To read another chapter, just click the title on the left side of this page and it will bring up that chapter.

You can click lindasbook@usa.com to send me an email, or at the end of each chapter there's a small comment area. Click the envelope and follow directions to send me an email. I check for email most every day.

Take Care on Your Journey!

~Linda

Linda Cash - for 23 years!

My boys must be thinking, “What’s mom going to write about dad?”

After all, Bill Cash and I were married for over 23 years. We married when I was 20 years old and a few days past graduating from school as a Licensed Practical Nurse. When we divorced he had his PhD and I was still a hard working LPN.

Bill was a senior at Southern College, Collegedale, TN back in 1970. We met at my first alumni homecoming at Laurelbrook School where I graduated from high school. After a long alumni-hosted afternoon walk, he asked me to be his steady girl and we said an emotional good-by at the airport as I left to return to LPN school in Dayton, Ohio.

We planned the wedding while I was away at school. We got married upon my return during his Spring Break on March 7, 1971.

I remember one thought that I had on my wedding day. “I don’t care if I am this happy for only one day, it will be worth it!”

In the end, Bill told me I was still the loving sweet person he had married but we had grown apart in too many ways. Whatever we saw in each other on that alumni reunion day wasn’t enough to keep us whole for all those years. The church was the walls that held us together and our two boys were the glue that held us together. Both of us are very proud of Billy and Philip. We do share that in common!

A few days ago I was chatting long distance to an old friend, Neil Hunt. Neil has been a mutual friend since before Billy was born. Neil commented that the hardest part about the divorce was not seeing Bill and I together. It seemed that we had always been together! We had created a family civilization, and I’m sure our family and friends were just as perplexed as to why we split up and how to react as our boys were.

Especially hurt was Philip, and to this day I still feel sorry for the hurt he experienced. But, Philip recently reminded me that both of us (his parents) have changed over the years having learned lessons from the past. My wise son said when a relationship is in trouble, "both feel the hurt of it".

Having said that, and if you’re still reading this, we did have lots of good times and carried on a fairly normal existence as a family. I think what held us together the most was our affiliation with the Seventh-day Adventist church. We were both leaders and contributed in many ways especially to the Eau Claire SDA Church and School in Eau Claire, Michigan.

As the boys got older, I followed them through each little Sabbath School department leading out in the Kindergarten, Junior and other classes. I often played the piano or told stories from the Bible or provided activities. . And, I always enjoyed being with my boys!

I still recall fondly the times Bill and I provided special music at church services with him at the piano and me playing the flute. We played, “The Holy City” to hushed audiences and it still chills me to remember how well we did that together! It is such a majestic song!

But, deep down I didn’t feel comfortable with Bill and perhaps he didn’t with me. We never took the time to really know the true person inside each other and ourselves. My low self-esteem and his ‘know-all’ attitude didn’t help. I felt that it was impossible for me to make him happy no matter how hard I tried to please him.

My cooking wasn’t good enough. I didn’t control spending the way I should. I didn’t keep up with him socially and I couldn’t say no when others asked for my help.

Eventually Grandma Mascunana needed care and I was the only family member who couldn’t say no to her. She moved to a nearby retirement home and demanded constant medical care and a lot of the very limited time that I had with my family. I was working 16-18 hours a day as a nurse and even then we couldn’t pay all the bills. Grandma also continued to be ungrateful and inconsiderate of my feelings.

I was feeling the frustration that had surfaced so many times with grandma, only now I could see a way out and was finally able to walk away. He wasn’t a bad man, just someone I couldn’t live with and continue breathing!

The final good-by was swift and complete. It was decided right after I won the election for township clerk. I think he was shocked that I had won! His comment was that having won the election, I would be able to take care of myself and perhaps wouldn’t feel abandoned if we divorced. He knew my biggest fear in life was that I’d be left all alone again.

I was afraid we would get divorced but he would still continue to control me, so I wanted a clean break. I was also concerned that he would consider me “clingy” if we continued to keep in touch on a regular basis. Obiviously, I wanted to live my life “my way”.

Bill didn’t want me to have any communication with his mother who always said I was like a daughter she never had. His mother and I respected Bill’s wishes for several years, but we still send birthday and Christmas cards. I was careful to disassociate myself from his dad who was always very kind to me because Bill was often jealous of that relationship even when we were married. Billy was away at college and Philip was almost ready for college. So in the end, I did have an empty nest but I discovered that I was stronger than I thought!

I have many stories already written during the times the boys were growing up and will add this to this book soon now that I've cleared the way by explaining about me and Bill Cash. There will be a better understanding of the way we lived when I was 20-40 years old.

A Poem, "One Small Note"

While searching for my mother, I found the contents of my 30-year old orphanage file in New York City.

A Father James Gusweller who was associated with St. Barnabas Orphange when Sandra and I were there in 1954 located our old files in a basement.

The contents included a letter from our mother that she had written to us almost 30 years earlier!

No one remembered about the letter! In it, she said she had to go away for awhile but she or our father would come back for us!

She wrote, "Whoever is reading this to my babies, give them a kiss and tell them that mother has not forgotten them."

This was the first inkling we had that our mother might still be alive. I wrote this poem after receiving her letter.

One Small Note

Where is my mother in this world?

She left so long ago,

And all I have is one small note

That's treasured more than gold.

"I've had to go away awhile.

I hope my days I'm gone are few.

Kiss Sissy and take good care of her.

I will not forget about you!"

"Who ever reads this note to my babies dear,

Please kiss them both and tell them not to fear."

Where is my mother in this world?

I've wondered since a child.

Did she go away expecting to return?

Or did she go away not knowing where to turn?

Has she thought of me and sister Sandra too?

Has she looked in vain and found the options few?

I love you, mom, though I'm a mother and a wife.

I took good care of Sissy.

But we've missed you all our life.

Where is our mother in this world?

She left so long ago.

And all we have is one small note

That's treasured more than gold.

~Linda Cash (1986)

Did You Know This About Me?

I wanted to call this, "My Obituary" just to get your attention, but the idea got Jim unsettled and he said the boys wouldn't like it either. So, after some thought, I've renamed tonight's chapter.

The Terri Schiavo story is big in the news right now. Just yesterday her feeding tube was removed for the 4th time. Her husband who lives with another woman and has a least 2 children by this mistress, wants Terri to die because he insists that she would not have wanted to be kept alive with a feeding tube. Her parents are pleading for Terri's life and it's seems that the President of the United States may play a part on whether she has the tube or not. Congress is expected to vote on the case any minute now!

For the record, if life support would give me another chance to enjoy my family and friends then I'm all for it. But if a feeding tube and/or other support would just keep my body alive and I would have to be taken care of by other people, then please let me go in peace. I've taken care of enough people like Terri to know I would not want that, nor would I want my family to keep me that way. When I go, learn from me and remember some good things about me every once in a while.

I encourage everyone to think about what and who creates within you feelings of cheer and satisfaction. It occurs to me that I am the best person in the world to appreciate my past accomplishments, reflect on my brightest joys and plan my future goals. So, let's get started!

Becoming a Registered Nurse has always been an off and on goal. Even after being an LPN for 35 years, I still sign up at the local college for RN classes!. On the other hand, I'm such a good LPN that I'd never be an even greater RN. Just to walk across a platform in a graduation gown would be something I know I'd feel very good about.

I was surprised when I figured out that I've had less than 7 years of formal education? Grandma believed in holding a child back to start school until they were 8 years old and by the end of my second grade, grandma had us hidden way back in the Ozark Mountains where she proclaimed to be our teacher but we rarely spent an entire day under her tudor. When I was 16, I spent a few glorious months as a freshman at Ozark Academy in Arkansas. There I took flute lessons and was soon playing in the band. English was my favorite class! Grandma also ran a nursing home and my sister and I spent more hours than children were legally allowed washing dishes and pots and pans before and after school. I'll write more about Ozark Acadmey later.

We next moved to Laurelbrook School in Tennessee where I was placed in the 11th grade. Because Laurelbrook's high school diploma isn't recognized by the state, I took the GED after graduating from Laurelbrook to qualify for LPN school. I spent a busy year with a wonderful family in Dayton Ohio while I attended the Dayton School of Practical Nursing there. I was 18 years old and worked nights at Kettering Hospital to help pay my way through the LPN course. A lifelong thank-you to Kathryn and Bob Flood for providing this opportunity to me. I'll write more about that exciting but busy year too.

My really happiest moments are when I'm going to school, having to read books and take tests to challenge myself!
I regret that my education has always taken a back seat, because choosing what I want has always been difficult for me to choose. I'm usually helping others; cheering then on to what's next! I should have gotten more education because it's such a "high" for me and I would have made such good use of it. Maybe it will still happen. If I was rich, I'd spend more time in school!

While we lived in Michigan and the boys were small, I was a correspondent for The Herald-Palladium in St. Joseph, Michigan, I learned how it feels to be filled with ambition, confidence and purpose. Those eight years were crazy because I ran after every fire, accident and unusual event in our town 24/7 except when I was working as a nurse in another town. I covered town meetings and school board meetings as a reporter and could quote every word. I enjoyed writing about people and telling their stories. Police Chief Jim Kesterke, presented me with an award for always providing first-aid first before I brought out the newspaper camera! My monthly newspaper "string" was longer than most other correspondents' but Bill Cash was quick to point out that even a 17-foot string didn't make us very much money!

I couldn't have been a such a successful correspondent without my longsuffering, chain smoking editor, Tom Brundrett. He taught me everything about journalism and computers at the time. We spent so much time together that our spouses were jealous but they needn't have worried. I was known as a fair and honest reporter and was always respected by the officials in our town.

Teaching CPR for the American Red Cross and volunteering at special events in our county was exciting for me. I also worked closely with the firemen and policemen keeping them all updated in CPR. I don't think my teenage Billy appreciated my close association with the local police at the time, but he knew I was happy and looked forward to teaching those classes.

Photography developed from a sense of wanted to start my own business and make money at it. My diary reflects how scared I was to take that step to order the studio equipment. I remember the day it arrived, I cried because I thought I'd never be able to understand the f-stops and shadows and light placements. But, I became the best wedding photographer in the county and shared that business with Billy and Philip as they often helped me with setting up the studio and accompanied me on weddings. I still shoot weddings but have left the studio work behind for awhile.

Friends pushed me into studying for the Ham Radio license. I was sure I'd never pass something like that but wanted to enter into the world of electronics and Amateur Radio.. Today I'm proud of that license and plan to join a radio club in Columbus, Ohio. It can be a rather expensive hobby and I don't have much equipment but it's a fun experience I look forward to. I'm looking for a service oriented radio club.

Winning an elected position on our township and becoming the township clerk probably was the catalyst for my divorce from Bill Cash. As with most of my interests, he was usually quietly pessimistic and not overly supportive. I'm sure he thought I'd make a fool of myself by running against a lifelong incumbent for the township clerk position. It was many months of hard, hard work. I went to most every door in our town and depended on a very loyal election committee who advised me, made calls, passed out pamphlets, put up signs and in every way gave me unconditional support. We marched in the July 4th parade, attended pancake breakfasts and kissed a lot of babies (just kidding). I won a four-year term and another 4-year term the second time around. Billy and Philip are still in awe about my political experience.

About then I also took the Emergency Medical Technician Course (EMT) so I could volunteer for the local ambulance service. I considered becoming a Paramedic but discovered that my body mechanics were not good enough to protect my back while lifting heavy people and big stretchers. Working as an EMT was short-lived but I look back at that experience with satisfaction and pride.

My work with handicapped children at the county school for MRDD was very gratifying. For 5 years I was one of the nurses at Blossomland Learning Center in Berrien Springs, Michigan. I loved every child and knew each of the 250 little ones by name and history. They taught me about being positive no matter what the handicap, enjoying life no matter what the challenge, and the pure pleasure of little accomplishments!

I have a little picture on the wall by my bathroom lightswitch that says, "If I can't do great things, I will do small things in a great way." It really works for me! I appreciate knowing that with only a few months of formal lessons I can enjoy playing the piano, the organ, the flute and the accordion. I have books of published poetry and award-winning photography. I have traded on E-bay and learned how to post on the World-Wide Web.

It is beyond imagination what I would be doing today if I had 18-20 years of education like I helped provide for my first husband and children. Certainly I would not be working in a nursing home passing medications to the elderly, nor would I have a second job working 12-hour shifts for an MRDD facility where management is sporadic at best. My hourly pay would be far more than the pennies I make now, and I would be part of a creative team to help make whatever I'm doing far better than it was when I got there.

The best I can offer my jobs now is a cheerful attitude, dependability and error-free nursing.

Proof of what can happen if I'm given the opportunity to shine is my history with Teresa's County Homes in Berrien Springs. Teresa hired me as her floating nurse for the three Assisted Living Homes she owned there. Because Teresa is a very smart and talented businesswoman, the 40-bed homes prospered and she was able to move to sunny Florida and leave the day-to-day management of the homes to me. I was made the Administrator. I worked closely with her administrative assistant, Marian Mendel to keep the homes above census and site-free for several years. I really loved the employees, some of whom will read this story. Marian is a jewell of a woman. I appreciate the trust Teresa had in me and will never forget what I learned about being a good leader.

Above all, I am thankful for what I have now. My children cherish and love me and would be at my side in a moment if I called. My baby sister that I practically raised is a happily married woman in control of her destiny. The mystery of our mother has been solved. My husband today thinks I am more of an angel than I really am. He brings me purpose and vision. We look forward to the next 55 years with confidence, optimism and contentment.

Carver Creek Walkabout, part 2

I'm glad you are taking this walk with me. Step carefully because the path has high weeds and each leaf is full of little chiggers that bite and dig in to your skin with a vengeance. A dip of kerosene will get rid of most of them but they will itch for weeks! After we get there, we have to check each other for ticks too. Especially on your legs and back and in your hair because if you don't find them before they settle in, you'll probably have to pick off a few from under your arms and around your waistline after you go to bed tonight.

We're on our way to the Bleven's boys house on a sneak visit because grandma thinks we're going to help Cindy Westbrook with her chores. Actually it's 3 boys and 1 girl who live in the large unpainted bare house by the side of the road. Mr. Blevens is mean and loud! Mrs. Blevens is meek and usually hides in the bedroom if anyone comes by. Elijah is the oldest and doesn't say much. David likes Cindy (they later married) and Amos thinks Sandra is cute. The girl is awkward and silly and giggles as we enter the doorway.

I see a playpen full of dirty clothes and bare mattresses without sheets or pillows. In the kitchen is a hot woodburning stove and a large bucket of lard sitting in the window sill. The few dishes scattered around are dirty but ready to be used for the next meal. Several skinny dogs are growling but not moving after Mr. Blevens gives them a swift kick across the room.

Amos and David want to go for a walk with us but I feel uncomfortable and want to leave. In the end, I wait on the path for them to return laughing and acting like fools, I think. It's difficult for me to play and have fun and tell jokes. I wish I could be like Sandra and enjoy sneaking around. The boys tease me a little and they all laugh at me for being such a stick-in-the-mud and seriously threaten me if I even think of telling on them.

So, let's you and me continue our Walkabout of Carver Creek from one end to the other. The next place after the Bleven's house is a couple miles on down the road. Tommy Wake and his family live here but Tommy is not SDA and he rides the bus to the public school in Annapolis. Grandma REALLY doesn't want us associating with Tommy, but Sandy has a crush on him too and we usually find an excuse to stop at his house once in awhile.

Tommy's dad has a little farm and some cows and they have a big house with a front porch and some outhouses. They have indoor plumbing, but we don't ask to use it. We like Tommy's mom a lot because she is nice to us and always offers fresh cookies and milk. One day she left the creek for some reason and after that it was only Tommy and his dad and no more soft chewy cookies.

Here I will interject that when Sandra and I went back to the creek some 30 years later, Tommy was living on our old property in a nice modern mobile home. Sandra was especially thrilled to meet Tommy again and they chatted about old times for several minutes before we went on our way.

After Tommy's house, the road goes uphill and around a large sweeping curve. Perfect for sledding in the wintertime! At the bottom of the hill on the left is an old schoolhouse. In front of the schoolhouse is a well with a hand help pump. You hold the handle and pump up and down to get a gush of sparkling cold water.

It had to be primed each time we wanted to get water from the well, but it was the best water around!

Later Grandma would teach school in that little schoolhouse where we played kickball at recess and memorized Bible verses for every class! On Saturday nights Jimmy would play his fiddle and the boys would buy our apple pies.

Grace and Albert Jordan lived next up the road and they remain my friends even today . They helped grandma get a better house. They rushed to help when we got sick. Albert showed me how to milk cows and Gracie showed us how to make butter. One night I ran to get Albert when I thought our house was on fire. I'm sure he recounted that experience with a good laugh every time because the "fire" was only a bunch of lightening bugs Sandra and I had captured that evening.

The last house in the horseshoe would later become our second house on 5 acres of land overlooking Albert's pasture and Carver Creek. Looking over the hillside 30 years later we were awed by the beauty of it all. When we lived there, it took so much just to survive that we didn't see beyond our childhood vision of hard work and demanding grandmother.

If you continued on to forge the creek again, there were several families we didn't know very well. They were mostly city folk who came from St. Louis on the weekends. Later, Charlie and Eva would move down from St. Louis and take Sandra and I under their wings. But that is for another story.

One family on the other side of the creek was known to us because a young man lived there who became a frequent guest at our house. Norman Reynard was tall, good looking and oh-so polite. He had only one arm due to an accident earlier in life but there was nothing he couldn't do or lift! Norman lived with his parents and helped take care of their farm.

Grandma said Norman had eyes for me. I didn't know what that meant, but I could count on Norman to show up when there was heavy work to be done. Whatever I was doing, Norman would be at my side to offer a helping hand. He was sweet and kind and serious like me. Norman never did anything to make me feel uncomfortable.

I'm sure Grandma wouldn't have cared if I was 14 or 41 if she thought she could gain a son-in-law to help take care of her too. Norman was in his early 20's and handicapped so I'm sure he wouldn't have minded taking a sweet teenage wife. I was terribly naive about it all and thought only of taking care of Sandra and finding my mother. No one had ever stayed long enough in my life to teach me how to love someone.

But in the end, Norman drowned trying to cross Carver Creek on his John Deere tractor on his way to our house after a storm. I figure he was coming to see if we were ok. Maybe his judgement was blinded a little...? I really missed Norman after that - for more reasons than I understood at the time. But, like others in my life, he was gone and I moved on.

Carver Creek Walkabout, Part 1

Sometimes it's hard to imagine the primitive conditions we tolerated in Missouri, especially the first couple years when we were in our pre-teen years. Our house was open to winter's blast and summer rains. Our toilet was a neighbors outhouse a half mile down the path, surrounded by spiders, snakes and scorpions. We had a small sink attached to a wall, but no water. We had no electronics of any kind because there was no electricity. We cooked on a big bellied stove that got so hot it almost burned the house down. Or, if the fire went out in the winter time, we woke to everything cold and frozen.

Yet, I don't remember Sandra or I complaining. Instead of brushing our teeth at night, we pulled out the chamber pot. In place of warm pajamas, we put on extra sweaters and even our coats on the coldest nights. We piled the bed high with all the clothes we could find. We snuggled close and when one of us turned over, the other turned too so we would stay a bit warmer on both sides!

Breakfast was usually one pan of something cooked on top of the stove. Usually corn meal mush or maybe grandma's all-time favorite, tomato gravy and biscuits. I always wished I hadn't seem so many big green worms on the tomato plants and all those wiggly little worms in the flour jar!

We did have was the unconditional acceptance of several families that lived along the creek that bordered our house. Like a horseshoe, we lived between two crossings of Carver Creek and if the creek came up after a rain, we were stranded there until the water went down.

We were about in the middle of the 5-mile stretch of gravel road. The first house was the home of a middle-aged couple named Vernon and Juanita. I believe both have passed on, so I can be honest and say he would be listed today as a child molester. His wife was diagnosed by the state as legally insane and they lived on her disability income. They were the only family on the creek to have a TV and we would beg grandma to let us walk there on Sunday afternoons to watch Lassie Come Home. Vernon would select one of us and sometimes he insisted that both of us sit on his lap and watch TV. We tolerated his lap and his wife's strange behavior for a few moments of watching a normal family life on TV.

Next down the dusty road was the Jimmy Jordan family. They lived in a little white house with a roof that was probably not over 5 feet high. It was small even to Sandra and I at that time. Mary kept the house clean and warm! Their epileptic daughter, Lilly, was our best friend. They had lots of chickens and plenty of eggs! I think the hen house was bigger than their home! They had a little wood stove in the middle of the tiny, tiny living room and a big cook stove in the kitchen. Mary could cook some delicious meals and we lived for the after church times when she would invite us over for for Sabbath dinner!

Jimmy played the fiddle like an Ozark Mountain Master! We were always mesmerized by his bow flying back and forth and his foot keeping time with the music. My book will provide some titles to some the songs he played.

When Lilly wasn't busy helping her mother with scrubbing clothes, canning food or cleaning the house, she would walk down the road to our house. We knew she was coming down the road because we could hear her "hen-cackling" laughter from a long way off. Lilly's infectious laugh was sweet music to our ears! She laughed at everything - sometimes imagined - but clearly funny in her mind.

Sandra and I would dance with delight when we heard her laughter as she rounded the corner of our road. We knew she would take us for long walks in the woods and show us eatable plants and good mushrooms. We would come home with tasty greens for salads and mushrooms to be sprinkled with seasoned flour and fried to a golden brown.

But Lilly was prone to frequent massive seizures. Many times our happy outing would end with her having a seizure in the woods or on the road. We learned to sit and wait until she woke up and we would help her back home knowing that she wouldn't be out and about for a day or two.

There were several other very interesting families on down the road. I will post more about them later and I hope you are enjoying my little book.

Dedication for my book, "Dusty Angels"

I am a survivor!

My sister and I grew up fleeing from Child Protective Service workers who only saw a glimpse of the conditions in which we were being raised by our grandmother.

...

This is not about the ancestry of the Brantley family, the Mascunana family or the Cash family.

It is a biography about my life and those who helped create the paths I chose

....

I must write this so that my brothers and sisters

will know who I am!

My mother will understand why I can forgive her.

My children will know the long journey I took

before they were born.

It is a gift to myself and a legacy to the future!

...

Dedicated to Jim - The True Love of my Life.

I am and will always be - Your Angelwings!

...

To my baby sister Sandra - You will always have

a safe haven in my heart!

...

To my children Billy and Philip - You are the Joys of my life.

Both of you are following your dreams for higher education,

and each of you are married to perfect mates!

Katie Yoshihara for Billy and Shelley King for Philip

...

"I Must Have Done Something Good".

"Something Left Behind" The Letter. 'Kiss My Babies for Me'

I remember the overwhelming loneliness even for a 3-year old little girl. I remember feeling the wet tears on my face as I peered out the window of the noisy 18-wheeler as it rushed down the highway away from the bright lights of New York City. Where was my mother? I felt sure she would return to get us and we wouldn't be there. Was she looking for me and baby sister now?

As I watched the stars throughout the long dark night and covered baby sister with a blanket, I knew our mother was in every car that passed by, in every light that blinked in the sky and standing in every window of every house along the way. I felt that somewhere in the darkness she was looking for me. And I was right!

It would take almost 40 years to discover a letter our mother had sent to the orphanage addressed to Linda and Sandra Brantley. We could not remember that someone had read the letter to us when we were just babies. In it she said she had to go away for awhile but she would return. "Whoever is reading this to my babies, please give them a kiss for me and tell them that their mother has not forgotten them".

I didn't understand then of course, but our grandmother, Carolyn Mascunana, had arranged for our truck driver uncle get us from the St. Barnabas Orphanage in New York City and include these two babies in his weekly "load" from New York City to Tampa, Florida.

No one knew what had happened to our mother, Dorothy Brantley, but she had disappeared leaving her 4 children alone there in New York City. Our father, Robert Brantley, was in the Navy cleaning up from the Korean War. We lost contact with our two older siblings. No one knew where either of our parents were. No one knew about the pink envelope tucked away in the orphanage file!

I didn't want to leave the orphanage. I begged to stay and wait for our mother. It was not until our grandparents gave up hope of either of our parents returning and it looked like I might be adopted out, that they sent for the two of us. My screaming rages at being separated from Sandra had prevented my adoption so far.

The trip remains nothing but a blur of bright lights that I concluded were search light from my mother. When we arrived in Tampa, there was some disagreement over who was really suppose to get us. Uncle Harvey and Aunt Tina Kruse were on record as adopting us, but that was the first of many underhanded things our grandmother did to keep us away from our parents and other family members for many years.

The sweetness in the family came from our grandpa, Jorge Mascunana. He was grandma's second husband and actually no blood ties to us, but he was longsuffering and patient when grandma was in a rage. He was kind when she was cruel. He was polite and gracious when she was mean and spiteful! He was small in stature. She was a giant of a woman. Everyone eventually left us all alone with this evil woman.

My sister and I were often afraid. The years that followed were spent being pulled from one place to another. Grandma would sometimes become a screaming maniac who would whip us until blood ran down our legs as she threatened to send us back to the orphanage. We lived in rat infested rooms and cold filthy trailers. We lived in cave-like places near Chattanooga, Tennessee and half build shacks in Missouri. We clung to each other and grew in our love and dependence on the other.

Each of us developed the innter strength to survive - each in opposite ways! I have a strong belief in a Higher Power and Sandra has strong belief in herself. I collect angels. Sandra collects witches. I'm devoted to taking care of others. Sandra takes good care of herself and others. I spent a lifetime of taking care of grandma until she died at over 100 years old! Sandra never forgot what grandma did to us but she accepted grandma's apology near the end of her long life.

When I was 13, I was a barefoot girl chopping firewood to keep us warm from the cold Missouri winter. We lived in a half-build house along a winding creek deep in the woods about 100 miles south of St. Louis. We had no electricity or running water. We bathed in the creek and gathered food from the woods. We probably would have died had it not been for the friendship and kindness of the few mountain people who lived within walking distance along Carver Creek near Annapolis, Missouri.

We still keep in contact with Grace and Albert Jordan of Carver Creek. Albert provided firewood from his sawmill. He shared milk from his cows and eggs from the chickens. Gracie canned jars and jars of vegetables every summer. We enjoyed playing with their little sons, Randy and Roger.

We still speak fondly of Lilly Jordan who taught us what wild plants were best to pick from the forest floor and what mushrooms were ready for the plucking after a summer rain.

The pets, it seemed had better living quarters that we did. The cat and dog shared and old weatherworn doghouse while Sandra and I wore threadbare coats to bed and huddled together to keep warm during those bone chilling 40 below winter nights. We knew that if it snowed during the night, we would wake to find tiny threads of snow on our bed that came through the cracks in the walls.

Grandma, stout and tough, would pile her bed high with old clothes and rags and snore the rafters loose! Grandpa refused to endure the cold winters and remained with his large Spanish family in Tampa.

We were cut off from the world. When kids our age were screaming over the Beatles, we were chopping firewood and emptying chamber pots. When "Lassie Come Home" was a family show, we were husking corn and picking out the worms. When Country Music was really country, we had no radio or TV.

One day in 1963, grandma told us that the president of the United States had been shot and killed. We didn't know who the president was! Our friends were orphaned wild animals. Our toys were Indian arrowheads and pretty stones from the creek bed. Our schooling was grandma on a "good day". Raging creeks and flat tires regulated our rare trip to "town".

Grandpa knew we needed his love and support. He sent large packages of toys and pretty clothes to cheer his two adoring adopted grandchildren. (They had adopted us by then.) Every day, Sandra and I would run the mailbox by the edge of the road and watch for the tiny dust trail that signaled, "Johnny the Mailman" and a quick break from grandma's backbreaking garden. For many years after we left there, I sent a Christmas card to "Johnny the Mailman" at Annapolis, Missouri. I never knew his name. I wonder if he knew how much we loved him!

Family and friends didn't ever come to visit, but they did send care packages. Our relatives never knew that grandma didn't let us keep the gifts they sent. She said we needed to share with "those less fortunate". She told us that she sent our precious treasures across the sea to the poor children of China.

In Missouri, we were often sick with raging fevers and lung wrenching coughs. Grandma's remedy for a bad cough was a teaspoon of Kerosene on a spoonful of sugar. Earaches were treated with warm onion juice poured down the ear. A pain in my side called for an over night lemon juice poultice. Sore throats got wrapped with wool and plastic for a day. Deep cuts were sewed together with needle and thread! We grew up thinking this was normal.

In the Springtime, Sandra and I would dance with delight as we hunted barefoot in the thick woods for Springly mushrooms and tasty greens. The angels must have been busy protecting us two little girls running around deep in the Missouri woods alone and barefoot! On the small wood-burning stove, grandma would fry the mushrooms in her unique but tasty bug-infested batter and she would steam the greens with a little butter. Sometimes we got to eat some of the warm corn meal mush she cooked for the dogs.

The Missouri summer storms sent us cowering together in fear; not only of the lightening but that the creek would wash our house away! Carver Creek curved its way around our house and across both ends of the gravel road to our section of the Ozark Mountains. When the creeks came up, no one went out or came in until the floodwater receded!

We learned how dangerous our creek could be when our good friend, Norman, tried to cross the raging water on his John Deere tractor. The tractor was washed away and he was drowned.

The Missouri Mountains may be a great vacation place for some, but Sandra and I knew its monstrous secrets. There were Rattlesnakes on the path to get drinking water from the spring deep in the woods. Water Moccasins lay sunning on the over hanging branches and dropped down beside us as we bathed in the creek. Leeches stuck to our legs or slid into tiny body openings if we lingered too long on a warm summer day.

Sandra and I would argue over whose turn it was to carry the water bucket from the insect-filled spring, but we didn't ague over who would go because neither of us would travel those paths alone! It seemed we could never get the bucket full enough not to splash on our already cold, blue legs, or full enough to please grandma!

Our ankles were swollen and red from constant flea bites. Mice ran across our bed at night and ate any treats we tried to hide from grandma. Each morning we would scramble to help each other untangle cockroaches from our hair! We tried to ignore the cooked worms and weevils in our food. I learned to eat without getting sick by setting aside a bit of food on my place and pretending that it contained all the insects that had been in my food.

To celebrate becoming a teenager, I planted my own little flower garden. I broke up the ground with a heavy old railroad pick! I had already learned how to change tires, mend fences and carry 50-pound bags of feed to the old barn for my pet goat that I milked twice a day. We cooked, sewed, cleaned, canned food and tried to study from any book we could find.

One summer day, a strange car did indeed stop at our house. It was our dad! Grandma didn't seem surprised to see her son. I knew it was my dad the moment I saw him even though I hadn't seen him since I was an infant. Grandma let him drive us to town for commodities and we went swimming and had a picnic.

But our dad only stayed a few days. He was there to offer us a nice home and a new mother!