I have been wandering around the board for a while now, and have decided it is time to contribute a bit of my history. I have described my involvement with the Witnesses as being from the outside looking in. My sweet Honey has been trying for two years to get reinstated. Some well-meaning folks here have reacted with horror, as if they had just found an infant playing with the nozzle end of a giant vacuum cleaner. When you get to know me better, I think you will agree it is impossible for me to get sucked in to this organization.
In getting this stuff done, one problem I have is that I feel I have lived several lifetimes already. To get it all down would be tedious for me and boring for you. So I will focus just on the few pivotal moments that directed and shaped me to who I am today. Often when I write about my hard times, it depresses me and makes readers sad. That would not be an accurate reflection of who I am or what my life has been. Like most people I have both happy and sad bits, but when I reflect at the whole, my life is sweet. Like a bittersweet piece of rich, dark chocolate, my hope is that you will enjoy this little taste of my life.
Fluffy Dies
I had my first and only temper tantrum when my kitty, Fluffy, died. A few hours earlier, she had huddled, bleeding, shivering with shock, under my bed. My best pleas could not coax her out. Wild dogs had got at her, we figure. My mom, ignorant of the differences of living in the West Indies, had let Fluffy out for the night. After her injury, my parents waited till I went out to play, then whisked her off to the vet for a peaceful end. I was tormented by the thought of the pain and loneliness Fluffy must have felt, guilt for having forgotten her during her last moments, and enraged that my parents had deceived me. My other memories of living in Trinidad are golden; the tiny flavourful bananas from our neighbour, fresh sugar cane and flowers from our gardener; geckos skittering across the wall, weekends at the beach, playing jungle pirate with the boys at school, Vesta our maid who taught me to sew. Vesta, the one who got me my kitten. How I loved her. I was six years old.
OK, will stop for now. I wrote down three pivotal moments, and realized I was writing a book! I think I will do this in instalments instead. My structure so far,
- Reader Dreamer
- Teen Nerd
- Pregnancy, Violence, Escape
- Single Parent Extraordinaire
- A Parents Grief
- Self Discovery
- My Honey
- Grandma
- A Parents Grief Continued
- Not Over Yet