The Story, Part1

There was a time…a moment…when I truly felt content. Not because I had won the lottery or finally become the truest form of myself, but because I realized that I had done it. I had overcome some pretty huge obstacles in my life. I guess you could say that I had the most difficult past of my friends. Not at first glance, of course. I grew up in the biggest house on the street, an older character home a with wooden staircase that led to my room; French doors and a nice backyard where I have so many memories; climbing the tree, skating and swimming in the summers, bbq's and family parties, and how I loved that house! We would have wonderful Christmas Dinners where there would be presents all the way to the kitchen floor, I remember playing outside and doing cartwheels across the lawn and playing with dolls with my friends on the porch, and double-dutch in the driveway and playing games in the clubhouse my father built. I remember birthday parties with lots of friends and cake and streamers. In the basement, I would roller-skate and listen to Madonna on my little record player as my mom made fresh blueberry pie. My Dad & I would go to church on Sundays and then we would stop at the candy store on the way home in his big red truck, brings back so many memories of a time that I actuallly rememer feeling content. you know the feeling... being at the park, running and laughing and swinging back and forth, your head held back with not a care in the world. And then, ... it all changed. I remember sitting in the kitchen at seven years old as my father told me that he and my mother, who sat across the oak table, were not my biological parents. I remember the blood rushing to my feet and feeling cold as he explained that my real mother had died when I was just a baby due to an illness. I actually still remember the feeling, as if I was going through it now, of running into the living room and on to the couch – this deep sadness in my chest mixed with confusion, almost as if it wasn’t happening. I began to cry but couldn’t connect with what was said; I didn’t know how to feel. Or, how I should feel. I simply felt lost. From that moment on. I don’t remember what happened afterwards or the next day even. I feel like we acted as if it didn't even happen. That was the last time that my father ever spoke to me about my past in that way. They never explained what happened or how I came to live with them, until I asked my mother years later. I asked her about a memory I had of walking across the street with my parents on each hand to a courthouse, wearing a little white dress and pig-tails in my hair. She told me that we went so that I could tell the judge that I wanted to live with them. I don't remember why but I can assume it was to adopt me, which didn't happen legally until I was older. My uncle, my biological mother’s brother who was the same age as me, told me that she had been shot. I was 7 years old. It all felt like a story being told to me, like a movie he had seen and was recounting. You know how when someone tells you a story, you almost play the visuals in your head? I have been doing that my whole life. The problem is, the story keeps changing and so I keep having to change how I see it and feel about it. Even now, at 33 years old I am finding out details! For many years, this screwed me up! On top of being adopted and the ever-changing past, I was a teenager and dealing with so much. I often felt so alone and frightened of the 'story' that ran through my head over and over ... of where I came from and who I really was. I couldn't seem to relate to anyone as they didn't understand. I often heard that I shouldn't be so sad about it since 'i didn't really know her anyway'. But I did. The feelings that I yearned for as a child (a connection to her and to it all) finally came and I believe now that it would have to for me to actually heal and get through it, but I admit it bothered me that in my most screwed up phase where I was skipping school, drinking and was so angry, that there was not a lot of understanding. I am certain it was thought that I may just end up like her. But the more I knew I felt like, the better I would feel, and couldn't shake that there must be a reason that this happened. And so my first step towards finding out the 'truth' was when I went through my parents drawers when they weren’t home…looking for clues into my past. And in the bottom drawer of their bedroom dresser was a large brown envelope. This held the whole story I thought. I remember jumping on to their bed and opening it so very gently. I pulled out an old page that had been ripped from a photo album. There were newspaper articles disheveled and yellow. The first one read “Dead Girl Looking for a New Life”. did that even make sense? (I thought to myself) as I stared into her eyes, a picture I had never seen. The article spoke about how she was married to a man for 2 years (my real father) who was in jail for petty theft and writing bad cheques. She was staying in a room for girls and attending classes to try to better herself. It told the story that she had just a 10-month old baby staying with relatives as she went out to a party and a 12-gauge shut gun pointed at her right hand and left temple and killed her at 6:45 am. I looked at the picture of her and felt the connection. I didn’t tell anyone what I had found and didn’t ask questions. But whenever my parents would go out, I would go through the envelope and through pictures and letters from my real dad. He had written from jail after my mom had died. He wrote of being proud of me and how beautiful I was. He said he “didn’t know how my Mom Cecille and Jean came to take care of me as he never talked to him about it”. I saw a picture of her holding me as a baby, feeding me a bottle. She looked as if she was in a uniform and the sad thing is she looked frustrated and angry, not happy at all to be holding me. I have no other pictures of us together. For the next few years, I just lived my life. Differently I suppose than I would have, had I not had my whole world turned upside down. And then there was my family life. My parents loved me, I know that they did. But, my mother drank and my father became distant as I grew older which was so tough as that was when I needed them most. No more drives after church to the candy store. He changed to a man who did not really ever speak to me except to criticize. I think that I changed, I became angry and my parents didn't know how to deal with it. They had 4 children out of the house and honestly, I thought for a long time that my father regretted adopting me. I know he thought that I had traits in me from my real parents, and I think this scared the shit out of him! And they argued, my mom would drink in order to hide from it and from her disapointments - of the things she never got to do having gotten married so young! I think she felt that she missed out on life and sadly that she was not much, only a 'homemaker' she would say. I saw so much pain, but I do remember feeling loved through the chaos, and I have such respect for my parents. I love them with all of my heart and hope they feel proud of who they are. As an adult I try to tell them that as much as I can. But looking back, I remember as I grew older, the anger set in. I was frustrated with the injustice of it all and that no one wanted to know more about what happened. (I didn’t agree with the story in the papers, it just didn’t make sense or compute….but everyone seemed to just ‘accept it’) I had no idea of the sacrifices that were made and in the end, learning that is what led me to my epiphany and ultimately, forgiveness. Coming to terms with my mother being murdered when I was only 10 months old and taken in by a cousin who had given up her own unborn child to adopt me. Of course this, like many other facts, I found out only as time went on. I also of course heard other stories from cousins and neighborhood friends who overheard their parents talking about us – that it was actually my real dad that killed my mother; that she was pregnant with another man’s child at the time. Of course, I didn’t know what to believe as I had never been told the true story.

Random Journal Entry1

I used to write journals when I was younger. I wrote all the time, mostly when I was feeling depressed and my parents were yelling or I had just gotten home from the bar and needed to let off a little steam. Of course I would also scribble pages when I was in love or was having boy troubles and actually attempting to figure them out! I also wrote about things that were happening to me; my experiences, what I was going through. It helped me release and actually more than anything, it was someone to talk to. I had friends, and although I am probably known as one of the most talkative, someone who carried her ‘heart on her shoulder’ (never really leaving anything out), I actually had a lot of deep-seeded thoughts I never shared. I had a pretty rough childhood and how I got through it (I realized later in life) was to put on a face that everything was alright. You know, the class clown, the popular girl who always had something interesting to say. I wouldn’t fabricate stories, just almost sense my surroundings and my audience, and amuse with jokes and stories. A skill I picked up. Sometimes I would tell them about my past (as I found out) and what happened to me as a child - my mother dying when I was only 10 months old and how my parents were really my 5th cousins … a crazy story that my rich sheltered friends would of course not relate to and so they would gather as if I were telling a scary ghost story around a campfire. Sometimes at sleepovers we would play with a Ouija board and would try to ‘bring my mother back’. They would giggle and think it was so cool. Long after the others had fallen asleep, I would lye awake and cry. It was ‘a story’ and although I felt sad about it, deep down I felt almost guilty that I couldn’t deeply relate to it as I felt I should have, but of course I was too young when it all happened, so how could I? (also, there was SO much I didn't even know at the time) Anyway, I realize now that even though I may not have been in the top of my class when it came to grade-point average, I was aquite creative. Which is strange because I never thought of myself that way. In fact, I don’t really ever remember thinking of myself at all. I mean, I never took the time to realize my strengths such as creativity or singing or writing. I guess I still don’t, I only mention those things because of what came out of me in the years that followed school. And, from those around me in awe of the way I can sort out any situation ... I seem to just 'jump into action', am intuitive and resourceful, organized, can talk my way out of anything (not sure how I picked those up actually!) Probably because from pre-school to Grade 12, I had no choice but to basically just ‘get through’ what was in front of me. I dealt with some big issues at a young age which caused me to have to grow up pretty quickly. I guess I chose to deal with it by unconsciously becoming someone else, in order to fit in. By doing so, I never focused on myself. The report cards, feedback, and comments were more like: ‘Chantelle is a bright young lady who should spend more time paying attention in class.” Any writing I ever handed in brought surprise to my teachers I think because they could see that I wasn’t a ditz, which I am sure I acted like at times. I missed a lot of school and yet still managed to pass – either they saw something in me or felt sorry for me, or I was good at making people do things I wanted them to – by acting as I did as a child (sensing my audience and what they wanted to hear) So, many people go through a traumatic childhood and take on the problems they grew up with and not to say that I do not have issues that have stemmed from that (like perhaps I drink too much, have a very bad temper, am quite sensitive to criticism, I have many bad issues with men, oh and money!) but I think I actually turned out alright! I am a good person, I care for others, never been in trouble with the law or hurt anyone. I go out of my way for people and genuinely try to do well in life. But, I still have the same deep-seeded issue. And even though I may have picked up some survival skills along the way (which I learned later in life are hard for some people) there are some days I wished that I didn't have to go through all of that to learn them and other days I realize, if I hadn't, I would not be the person I am today, whoever that is. It isn’t until after a few drinks and a computer screen in front of me that I get real deep and admit that, I still do not know myself. I have always been jealous of women that ‘take the time, know themselves’. You know, the kind who do yoga, jog, read interesting books, and take classes. I still just live my life by feeling and reaction. I don’t often stop to enjoy life. Ok so I guess there are moments where I feel happy. Times where I sit there and think: my house is nice, I love my job and I am so close with my parents it is awesome! I have great friends (although I never see! Except Val who is my best friend in the world, see everyday @ work and I sometimes fear that I take for granted, cause the truth is I would have never gotten through all of that when I was growing up if it wasn't for her! She was the one who stood up for and with me and honestly don't know what kind of person I would have been if it wasn't for her! But I get so wrapped up ya know! On to the next dilemma before me. Mostly, I think of the things that are wrong in my life…money worries and how my husband and I are so unalike. I worry that I am with someone who doesn’t really get me and if we are truly right for one another. I grasp at the funny and good moments and the trip we took across the country - that led us to being together and wonder what would have happened if we hadn't - and if I can be happy with him for the next 60 years. and then he comes upstairs and says some random thing and I think 'ugh, I love him. Were stuck together!' I sometimes think about the things I feel I was meant to do in my life and about my belief that life is about choices and one decision can change your life, open up a whole new world! (Note I go back and forth between ‘you choose your destiny’ and fate) and so I get mad at myself for not signing up for singing classes or getting my license for god’s sake! The part that lets me procrastinate is the “if it is meant to be, it will just happen” (fate) idea. Wow, just writing that makes me realize I really just have to pick up the phone and make that shit happen. Funny, I spend my time thinking about what we need for the house, what the business needs, people I have to call or email, bills I have to pay – to the point where I almost obsess until I can put a little checkmark beside it. And I can’t book a friggin’ singing lesson or study a drivers ed book. Huh. And I have to say that I have more time now than I have ever had. Ok. So here is the start of my “Shit I Have To Get Done b4 I Turn 34” (um, that’s next month!) … only 5 things! I can handle this!

1. Start exercising! Bike ride, hello…you live around the corner from a park, have a great bike and a friend to go with!

2. Start eating healthy (breakfast at least!)

3. Call studio re: singing lessons!

4. Start studying the drivers ed book – seriously! … and get driving!

5. Creative projects: wedding album & painting around the house.


Ok so my next message will be my progress!
… and anything else I may have on my mind at the moment ;)

Chantelle