The first paragraph of “Choosing Life” describes a visit to my GYNP.  Rita was the one who convinced me to write my story.  And she inspired me again.  I just like to talk to her.  She listens and is interested.  Rita read my book and liked it very much.  It made her cry, but I told her I wrote it to encourage people that no matter how bad it is, you can make it.

I was watching TV recently.  There is a commercial with a little girl in the back seat of her family’s car.  A huge stuffed unicorn covers the roof of the car.  She smiles a smile of complete satisfaction.  She is just an adorable little girl who loves pink and whose family loves to spoil her.  That’s when it hit me.  I was an adorable little girl.  I was really pretty.  But nobody cared.  No decisions were made with me in mind.  I had to cope with whatever my family threw at me, moving to new towns and new states at any time of the school year.  My mother worked, so I did her housework and got everything ready for her to cook dinner when she came home.  I was not only not heard, but not seen.  I had to practice piano before my father came home from work.  Then I had to be in my room.  Once, in 9th grade, I forgot my 3-ring binder full of notes from my classes at school, and I left it on the sofa in the living room.  When my father came home from work, he threw it across the room, pages flying everywhere.  I was on my own at 9 years old.  I got myself up, got myself dressed, and got myself to school.  If my folks went away for the weekend, I stayed home alone.   Santa did not come to our house.  In fact, when I was old enough, I got a tree, and I decorated it alone.  Neglect and rejection are forms of abuse.

I had seen that commercial several times, but one time, as I looked at the smile on that little girl’s face, it hit me.  I never had a childhood.  I never got to play.  I was always alone.  I was not loved and protected.  No one tried to make me happy.  I missed it all.  And for the first time in my 72 years, I mourned for that little girl who was never allowed to be a child.  Jehovah God always has the last word.  Mourning may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.  Now, as a little old lady, I am loved by my husband and his daughter and son-in-law.  I am cared for and protected by Almighty God, and He has provided a comfortable though simple life for us.  Joy indeed comes.