Updated January 2024: God will soon welcome me back home, so I felt I should update this "diary" a bit. I
am blessed to have had the opportunity to be the mom of three wonderful
children.
I witnessed and shared so many moments with each of them. I devoted myself to doing what I thought would make my children
safe and happy. That was my top priority. I got pregnant
with Steven when I was 21 and gave birth when I was 22. He weighed 9 lbs 0 oz. I hope I have that right. It's been while.
Steven is a Catholic Saints name.
St. Steven is the Patron Saint of deacons. His feast day is December 26.
St. Steven was called to bear witness to Jesus Christ in both his words
and actions. He is especially honored, because he was a martyr for
Jesus. His bloodshed made him one of the greatest of witnesses.
I chose
the name, because I was very shy in high school. I had never been on a date.
I knew a boy whose name was Steven. He was easy to talk with. He invited me to the prom. That would have been my first date. Of course, I couldn't say yes. Mother saw to that. Son Steven reminds me of someone who was nice to me.
Steven was baptized Catholic and was raised with the deep religious convictions I thought he learned from me.
When
Steven was seventeen (17) months old, a toddler. I was making
breakfast. This sweet, innocent baby reached up and touched the handle
on a frying pan of hot bacon grease. The hot oil splashed on his face
and arm. I had no car and no one to call.
I ran to my neighbor
on the next street: a complete stranger who I had only waved to. His
name was Mr. Easly. His wife watched the two older kids while he drove
me and my crying baby to Children's Hospital. I am still grateful to
those kind neighbors.
Baby Steven was in the burn unit. That evening,
the doctor advised me he might not live through the night. I prayed non
stop. I asked God in the name of His Son Jesus Christ, to save my son. “Let him live,” I
prayed over and over.
My baby boy was still alive the next morning. I slept on a cot with him in his hospital room until he was released.
God did save my son. I was so happy and grateful. I thanked God for His
goodness every hour. Not one family member came to visit or offer help
then or after we got home.
Steven was an attentive and caring son, I thought, but he was also a precocious child. Curious. He strayed from the Catholic Church. I hoped it would be temporary. He tried new things. This and That. He seemed to always be looking for something.
Sometimes, he could be a hothead, jealous, a bit possessive. Not sure why. In this, he's not like me at all. I am passive, serious, humble. I did my best to steer him toward the right path. I guess I failed. But I never expected he'd turn his back on his own mother. I still can't believe it.
Fifty-plus years later, 2019 I think, out
of the blue, Steven telephoned to tell me he was not celebrating
Christmas or Easter anymore. I reacted with shock and surprise for good
reason. This errant son, dishonored God and His Son, Jesus Christ
when he told me he no longer celebrated Jesus’s birthday, crucifixion
and resurrection.
My little baby boy who I was told might die, and who God saved... insulted God, His Son Jesus Christ, his own mother and everything I believe in. I can’t describe my grief. Then he deleted me from his life.
I guess Steven forgot that-- I didn't give up Christmas or Easter. I continue to celebrate these holy days. Yet, because he abandoned God and His Son Jesus Christ, he felt he had to abandon me, too.
I haven't heard from him in years. No contact whatsoever. No Christmas card, no mother's day email, no birthday anything. He's just gone out of my life forever. Year after year, I waited and asked myself, "How can a son break his mother's heart with so much abandon."
So
you see, even being the best mother I could be under horrific
circumstances, loving and caring for my precious children through great
sacrifices and trauma, the devil can take someone you love. Someone you
gave your life for. Temptation is strong. Maybe he listened to the wrong
people. I can only assume, because he
never explained.
This son is a grown man, a grandfather
himself. I don't hear from his kids either. Not even an email.
Being disrespectful to the loving mother he knows me to be, is
the least of his worries. He owes me nothing. But God will judge him. I
don’t know if he has a defense for his behavior. What will become of his soul.
If my dad were here for me to ask, he probably tell me sometimes, even a good son chooses the wrong path.
The decisions I made in my life were never about me, but now they have to be. I deserve to be happy.
As
I near the exit door of life, It took me a bit of time to accept that I
can't change the past. I have to stop suffering. I can’t be worry-mom
anymore. I have to accept them as adults who must lead their life, make
their mistakes and hopefully have a better life than I did.
I
raised my three children with love in my heart. That’s really all I had
to give. I used to say, “If you ever wonder what’s the right thing to
do, ask yourself, what would my mother do?” I taught Steven you get what you give in life.
He's made it clear, he and his children don't want me in their lives. That has to be the devil's doing. None the less, they lost or threw away that all important connection to their ancestors, legacy, family. Knowledge that helps children of all ages, feel whole and pass that strength on to their children. I got the impression they didn't care even a little bit
I think about my
dreams for our family, being a good mom to them, helping each one find
their way, avoiding mistakes, being a good parent so their children
appreciate and respect them, and feeling no regret when they're at that good place in life where I
am.
I browse these pages. I looks like we were such a happy
family. I believe we once were. The few pictures and words I wrote made me realize at the end of
the day, that’s all we have. Memories.
These are the trials and tribulations I have lived and learned. ///