A Daughter's Love

A Daughter’s Love

I was born in a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland nestled between the Chesapeake Bay and the Big Annemessex River. The middle child born after an eight-year period between one sister and twin brothers, I was the “surprise child” that came along when my parents were already in their thirties and the three oldest children were teenagers. My younger sister, Tara, was born three years after me. Donnie, one half of the twins, died when I was seven-years old. I don’t remember much about it except that he developed Reye’s syndrome at the age of sixteen. He had three seizures every two weeks for six weeks which each time grew progressively worse until he passed away on June 2, 1977. I remember my oldest sister sitting my little sister, who was four, and me down to tell us that Donnie was in heaven. I never said anything which is how I have always been. Very few people know the true me. I keep everything inside and don’t let people get too close. Shortly, before Donnie died, Debbie, my oldest sister got married and moved out. David quickly followed. This left just my sister and me.

My Mom was a stay-at-home Mom because my Dad was from the “old school” that the male was the sole bread-winner. My Dad was a carpenter who owned his own business. We were poor with so many mouths to feed but everyone we knew were poor so we didn’t think we were any different than anyone else. I often look back and wonder how we made it. It seemed that when we were in dire straits something would always work out for us. Mom has said that during Christmas Dad would borrow the money from family & friends in order to provide for us if we didn’t have the money. Winter was always the hardest on us because there was little or no work. I think that is why I hate winter so much today. In January we would have what my Dad called a “freeze up”. This was when everything came to a stand still literally. There was no work for anyone. The waterman couldn’t work because the bay was frozen and my Dad couldn’t work because no one could afford home improvements. Sometimes I didn’t mind the freeze ups because it seemed that we became closer as a family. I remember during one freeze up Dad had nine cents. He didn’t have any gas for the truck so he couldn’t go anywhere. When I came home from school, he had played 105 games of Solitaire. I also didn’t mind the freeze ups because my Dad couldn’t go to the bar. Dad had a major drinking problem. I never thought that we were any different from other families because all of my friends had Dad’s who drank too. If my Dad wasn’t at the bar, then his friends would be at our house. At least four or five times a week, there was a party at our house where the beer flowed, the music played and the cards were dealt. It was fun most of the time because my Dad’s friends had kids that they would bring over to play with us.

On the days that Dad would be at the bar, Mom would take us there hoping that we could convince him to come home. He would always say, “One more beer”. This generally meant at least three more hours because he liked to talk so he would sip on his beer to make the time go slower. Mom would make me ride home with Dad to keep him awake and to keep him from going in the ditch. I was very young so I don’t know how I could have kept him from going in the ditch. I guess that she was hoping that if I kept talking to him, he would stay awake. I always hated that because I was scared that he would have an accident. The more he drank the slower he drove and the more he headed towards the ditches or other cars. I would watch him doze at the wheel so I would yell out, “Dad.” He would wake up and say, “I’m ok, baby”. I kept talking to him hoping that I would keep him awake until we got home. It was only a short distance from the bar to our house but it seemed like forever. This was during the 1970s when the drinking driving laws weren’t as strict as they are now. Sometimes the cops would even bring my Dad home if he was passed out or had driven his truck into a ditch.

Most of the time it was just Mom, Tara and me because Dad was either working or at the bar. Tara & I would sit at the kitchen table and do our homework while Mom cooked dinner. When we saw Dad’s old black truck swerving down our road towards home, Mom would yell out, “Hurry up! Get back into your bedrooms and wait until Dad passes out. I will come and get you when he does and you can come back out.” We would take off running towards our bedrooms. It didn’t take long for Dad to pass out. Mom knew how to treat him. She wouldn’t say a word and within minutes he would be out. Sometimes he would come home and be ready to argue which would scare us. I remember once during a particularly bad fight, Tara and I were hysterically holding hands, crying and praying back in our bedrooms that Dad wouldn’t kill Mom. He never once touched her.

When I was nine-years old, my Mom and Dad made a decision that would affect me profoundly. They decided to send Tara and me to a private Christian School. Tara was having issues dealing with Donnie’s death which affected her school performance. This resulted in her having to repeat kindergarten. Instead of letting her repeat kindergarten, my parents decided to try a new school with new teachers. They decided at the last minute to send me as well so that we could attend the same school.

My house was situated directly behind the Church and School that we would be attending. I remember attending Church once-in-a-while before I started attending the Christian school but it never lasted. My Dad was saved for a few months and didn’t drink but he ultimately returned to his old ways.

The Christian School was different for what I was used to in public school. I had to wear a uniform and sit at a desk called a station. This was a small cubicle with walls on each side. We were not allowed to turn around without permission or we would risk having a detention for an hour after school.

On Wednesdays we had Chapel Service which was when someone came and preached to us. I hated Chapel Service because it was so boring. However, during one Chapel Service a few months after I started attending school, I accepted Jesus into my life as my Personal Savior. I stayed true to my Faith throughout my school years. Since my religion was Pentecostal, I chose to not wear pants or shorts because my religion didn’t believe in it. I never wore a pair of pants from the age of nine until fifteen nor did I wear shorts until I was seventeen. I wanted my outward appearance to reflect how I felt inside.

Along with a strong Christian Faith, I felt God was calling me to live my life as a missionary. I wanted to travel the world and open up Christian Schools so that others could have the kind of education that I had received.

My Dad’s drinking continually got worse as the years went by. Work started to grow scarcer because people were afraid to hire him due to his drinking. There were reports of him drinking on different jobs. He would pop his first beer as soon as he awoke and never stopped until he passed out at night. My sister and I would go to school and learn about God’s Goodness but come home to a house full of turmoil. I often wonder what would have happened to my sister and me if something had happened to Mom. Dad was in no shape to take care of us. Mom kept our family together. What sacrifices she had to have made for us!

When I was fourteen-years old a miracle took place in my life. Ironically, it was during one of the infamous “freeze ups” and I was home sick with bronchitis which was quite often when I was young. Dad wasn’t feeling well so he was lounging around as well. This was very rare for him. I can’t ever remember him being sick. He used to brag that the alcohol kept him well. I was lying on the couch watching TV. Dad had gotten up to go into the kitchen when he went to say something to my Mom about not feeling well and like a fountain blood spurted forth from his mouth. It was everywhere, the walls, the curtains, and the floor. Mom screamed and I went running to see what was wrong. He was rushed to the hospital where he was told that he had a bleeding ulcer from the years of drinking. He was also told that if he didn’t stop drinking immediately then he would die. His weight had dropped to a mere 113 lbs.

I never knew how stubborn my Dad was because no one really had much hope that he would quit drinking but he did. It amazes me how he had so many friends when he drank but when he quit none of the drinking buddies came by anymore. A few tried to stop by with beer when he got out of the hospital but he told them that he had quit so they stopped coming by. Life for us immediately began to improve. Work began to pick up. My Dad’s reputation as a hard honest worker began to be restored. My Dad got a really good job building homes for a real estate company and for the first time in our lives we had money. Chaos that had once ruled our home had been replaced by quiet and peace. After spending fourteen years in fear, I now could sit at the kitchen table and have decent conversations with my family. No longer did we have to go into our bedrooms and wait until Dad passed out.

Since my Dad wasn’t drinking anymore, he was home in the evenings after work. I began to spend more time with him. I not only looked like him but I soon realized that we shared common interests. During the long winter evenings, we sat around the table and played games. Our favorites were Yahtzee and Monopoly. Dad taught me to play card games such as 500 Rummy. I got pretty good at it after awhile and would make him mad when I beat him.


During the summer we would go bike riding and walking, things that I still love to do today. My Dad was a big old school country fan with his favorites being Johnny Cash, George Jones, and Merle Haggard. He used to take me riding and show me where his Dad’s family was from and listen to country music.

My Dad loved the woods. He seemed to know exactly where to go to find the ripest pecans and walnuts from the trees. He would take me with him and show me the different trees and what to look for with the nuts. We would go hiking and pick as many as we could and take them home.

He taught me so much. He taught me how to read the sky and tell what the weather would be like the next day. He even taught me how to understand how many days it would be until it snowed or rained by reading the moon. If there was a white ring around the moon in the winter, it generally meant that snow would be on its way in a couple of days. I even learned how to predict when it was going to get windy or cold by watching the sky.

My Dad had always been an avid pro wrestling fan. No one liked it in my family but after I sat down one night and started watching it with him, I grew to love it. We began to go to the local matches when they came to town. This was just another way for us to grow closer together.

When I graduated from school with top honors, I chose to go to a Bible college in Tennessee to start my journey as a missionary. I only stayed one semester. I never felt like I belonged there. I came home and attended a local college for a year while working as a waitress. It was a far cry from the mission field that I envisioned.

It was during this time that I began to hang around people who were not associated with Church. I began to experiment with alcohol. At first it wasn’t a big deal and I didn’t really care if I drank or not. However as time went on, I began to develop a taste for it. By now, I had forsaken God’s plan for me to be a missionary and had forgotten how it was prophesied in Church that I would become one. I had turned my back on God.

Because of the problems that alcohol had caused for my family, my mother forbad alcohol in our house so I began to sneak it into our house anyway that I could. I would hide it under my bed in my bedroom. I thought that I was so cool. Mom and Dad never suspected a thing because they trusted me so much. Because of their trust, I was allowed to take Tara wherever I went so if she wanted to drink I let her. It all blew up in our face one night when Tara was pulled over for a DWI at the age of seventeen. I didn’t happen to be with her that night because I had worked an extra long shift and was asleep when she left. Mom & Dad had to pick her up at the police station. I knew that we were both dead meat but Mom & Dad were both very understanding. No one yelled which was ten times worse than anything else.


When I turned twenty-years old, I began to have self-doubt as to where I was going and what I was doing. When I thought about the future, I couldn’t imagine spending my days as a waitress. I made good money but I wasn’t happy. Finally, one day when it was extremely busy at work and I was particularly cranky because of everything going wrong, I started talking out loud, “What am I doing”? Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off in my head and I said, “Hey, I’ll join the military.” The next day I contacted the Navy Recruiter about joining. I knew that my Dad had been a Navy man so I thought that I would follow in his footsteps. However, when I went to meet with the recruiter, things didn’t turn out the way that I anticipated. I didn’t like it when he told me that “the only role that the females had in the Navy was in serving coffee to the males”. I thanked him for his time, walked out the door and right into the Air Force Recruiter’s office. Six months later I was on a plane bound for basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas.

My first night of basic training was absolutely horrible. Just before I had left for basic, my Dad had given me some advice while we were out floating along in our pool. He said, “No matter what happens when you come home again, things will never be the same. You’ll change”. He also advised me to not “make waves” in basic. This was basically him telling me to fly below the radar and not let them notice you. I really wish that I had taken his advice because on the very first night my name was well known. It had to be the first name that was learned because I certainly heard it yelled enough. It didn’t help that there was a big mess-up at the airport and my luggage was lost. It was finally found in St. Louis, Missouri, three days later and forwarded on to me. I had to borrow everything from my fellow recruits until my luggage arrived.

I was constantly harassed by the training instructors for everything. I was yelled at once for my walk and was asked if I was a country bumpkin. I wanted to yell back, “Try walking in marsh mud all of your life and see if you don’t walk differently” but of course, I couldn’t. I began to grow accustomed to being yelled at and developed a hard outer shell. When the instructors stopped yelling at me and started yelling at some of my friends, I would deliberately mess up so that they would leave them alone.
Graduation day from basic finally arrived, and I was sent to Biloxi, Mississippi, for Technical School for six weeks. I liked Biloxi. It reminded me a lot of home with the humidity and the marshes everywhere. After I graduated from tech school, I was stationed at Pope Air Force Base in Fayetteville, North Carolina. This was my first choice of places to go because it was only six hours from home and I had a friend from back home that was stationed at nearby FT. Bragg. I was ecstatic. Mom had everyone in Church pray that I would get stationed close to home. When I called to tell her where I was getting stationed, I tricked her and told her that I was getting stationed in Turkey. I thought that she would have a heart attack until I finally told her the truth.

When I had been at Pope for only a week my parents drove my car down so that I could have transportation. My office was on the other side of base and there was no transportation to take you to the other side so I needed my car. I hadn’t had time to make any friends yet so I was hanging out in my room when they arrived. It was a Friday night and it seemed like everyone was outside their dorm room with the alcohol and music cranked to a million. I wondered if this was the norm. My Dad and Mom walked in and Dad started fussing, “Pack your bags. You’re going home. We didn’t act like this when I was in the Navy. I’m not letting my daughter stay here with these actions going on. I’ll call the General and tell him myself”. It took me awhile to calm him down and make him realize that I wasn’t going anywhere. I was there for the duration.

After I began to fall into a routine, I soon realized that the military suited me. I had been used to the discipline and structure from my years with the Christian School so it didn’t take me long to become adjusted to the various rules and regulations associated with military life.

I was granted leave for my first Christmas home for a few days. I never really had time to get homesick because I would drive the six hours home at least once or twice a month. I could only stay a few days and had to return to base for two days before getting leave for New Years. I convinced my Dad to drive down to Pope with me for the two days that I had to work and then drive back home on New Years. He complained about a sore throat and being tired the entire time. He thought that he was catching a cold. During the hours that I had to work, he slept in the hotel room the entire time. We still managed to have a long talk and to go to dinner together. It was truly a bonding time.

Two months later we found out what was the cause of the sore throat and tiredness. It was throat cancer. My world had suddenly come crashing down around me. It was rumored that I would be going to Turkey for three months when Mom called to tell me to come home immediately. She had to contact the American Red Cross in order for me to get granted emergency leave because my Dad was slated for surgery the next morning in Baltimore.

Just as I have always done in times of crisis, I turned to my one true Rock the one who has always been there for me, Jesus. I prayed earnestly for my Dad. Sure enough after seven grueling hours of surgery, he came through it fine. The doctors were confident that they had gotten all of the cancer. The prognosis came at a price; however because my Dad had to have all of his teeth pulled for the radiation treatment that would soon follow. He could no longer enjoy crispy fried chicken or peanuts which were his favorites. Not only did he have a problem with eating, but he also had a problem with swallowing. He choked easily and it would pour out his nose and mouth which embarrassed him greatly. He also had to carry water continuously because the radiation treatment made him thirsty. My Dad explained the thirst to me once when we were driving down the road. He said that it would come upon him so fast that if he didn’t get water immediately, he felt as if he would die. We learned how to tell when he was getting thirsty because his voice would take on a shrill whistling sound. We would say, “Dad, do you need something to drink”? His face and throat had been burnt by the radiation so that one side of his face was constantly red. These were just small inconveniences as long as we had him. Once a month my Dad and Mom would have to travel to Baltimore to have a checkup. I would pray earnestly until they returned with a clean bill of health.

Things went by smoothly for the next two years. I had a group of six friends that I hung-out with continuously as well as a great job with the Air Force. I was able to travel throughout the states and even spent six weeks at Rhein-Main Air Base Germany as well as The Azores Portugal. These were truly wonderful experiences that I will never forget. Of course during this time I started drinking again.

In 1994 my parents made plans to come visit me for my Dad’s birthday in March. When I had gone home for a long weekend in February, my Dad and I had taken a walk but we couldn’t complete it because he was tired. He sat in the recliner and dozed the entire weekend. I just chalked it up to fatigue. I talked on the phone to him a few weeks before the scheduled visit about all of the things that we wanted to do when they came to visit. My Dad and I had talked about going to Western North Carolina and going hiking in the mountains. Mom didn’t like the outdoors so we joked about leaving her at home. He said in his country drawl, “We’ll be getting purdy days here soon so we’ll be able to do some stuff”.

Two weeks after our conversation we found out the source of Dad’s fatigue. It was cancer. This time the prognosis was not good. He had cancer in his liver and colon and it was terminal. Not only was it terminal but when his kidneys quit functioning, he was only given two – three days to live! When I got the phone call, I was told to come home immediately or I might not get to see him. I dropped the phone and fell to the floor prostrate with grief. I couldn’t sleep that night waiting for morning so that I could go home. I lay in a fetal position and cried silent tears all evening. I kept repeating in my mind, “Why my Dad, Lord? Take me instead”.

Just before I arrived home, my Dad’s kidneys started functioning again. The Doctor changed the prognosis from two – three days until two – six months. I started calculating that if this was April, he might live until November and hopefully will get to see one more Thanksgiving.

My Dad was in great spirits when I arrived at the hospital. Many family members were there along with his closest friends. My Mom warned me not to cry when I saw him because he didn’t want anyone around him who was crying. She said that if I had to cry to go out into the hallway. There was no crying that day only rejoicing because shortly before my Dad found out about the cancer, he asked his brother, Tommy, to come over and pray with him. In our den that my Dad built with his two bare hands, my Dad gave his heart over to Jesus. Mom said that after he prayed, he lifted his hands into the air and shouted out, “Hallelujah”!

My Dad asked that he would be allowed to go home to die. He made Mom promise that no matter what happened he would get to be home when the time arrived. Coastal Hospice, a local charity, provided a nurse to come to the house and take care of Dad. At first it was for only one time a day then as he gradually grew worse, it became several times a day until finally it was around-the-clock. Many volunteers (mostly friends of the family) who worked for Coastal Hospice also came to sit with Dad mostly to provide support for Mom who took all of the care of Dad except for when the nurse was there.

Although I had been home numerous times since joining the Air Force, this time felt weird sleeping back in my childhood bedroom knowing that my Dad had built that room by hand. Everything from my closet to my shelves was built by him. It was during this time that I started keeping a special journal for my Dad’s personal journey. I would go back into my room, shut the door and write about everything from my Dad’s progress to my own personal feelings. I had always kept a journal since I was nine years old, but this time was different. It helped me deal with everything that I was enduring. To this day, I have never read anything in that journal. It was been packed away until the day that I can read it.

I returned to my base after a few days. I didn’t have a lot of leave saved up and I wasn’t sure what the future held so regrettably I returned to North Carolina. I found myself back home after only two weeks because Dad had caught pneumonia and was back in the hospital. When I walked into the hospital room to see him, I was shocked at how emaciated he had become in just two weeks. I knew that he didn’t have long to live. He couldn’t have weighed more than 100 lbs.

During the entire ordeal I was amazed by two things. One was how many family members and friends came to see him. Someone was always there. My Dad’s sisters stayed with him at night. The nurses brought in a rollaway bed to be placed next to my Dad’s bed. My aunts are really funny and kept us laughing although all of our hearts were breaking. The second thing was how my Dad was never in pain. We would ask him periodically if he was alright or if he was in any pain but never once did he ever complain. He constantly smiled and laughed with whoever stopped by to see him.


The journey ended on a beautiful May morning. It was one of those days where the sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and the sky was that powdery blue color that is associated with spring. It somehow didn’t seem fair. It should have been cloudy and rainy since the sunshine had gone out of my life. My Dad had slipped into a coma three days before he died. The day before he died Mom told me to tell him that I loved him because he could hear me. I leaned down very close to his face and kept saying it repeatedly, “I love you, Dad”. Finally, ever so briefly he opened his eyes and looked at me. I leaned over and kissed his forehead. The next day he was smiling at Jesus.

I was very angry and had a hard time dealing with my grief after my Dad died. I felt like a huge hole was where my heart used to be. I couldn’t feel anything and turned to my old friend alcohol to help me deal with the grief. I found myself in Germany yet again about a month after Dad had died. I volunteered for the trip hoping that it would help me get over his death. It didn’t. I just drank more while I was there. After two months I was sent back to North Carolina where I just drank nonstop for months.

Probably the hardest time that I had was Christmas. I still find myself very depressed and usually weepy during most of the day. It used to be fun when Dad and I would go pick up my Grandmother to spend Christmas with us. We had our big Christmas Eve dinner with the entire family getting together. Dad would fuss at Mom because she “didn’t know how to cook the gravy the way it’s supposed to be cooked” so he usually ended up cooking it. He insisted on carving the turkey himself. Afterwards we would pile everyone into the car and go look at Christmas lights. It was a tradition in our family.

About a year after my Dad died, I had a dream that I now refer to as the Jacob’s ladder dream. I dreamed that the family was gathered at my parent’s home for a family reunion. Everyone was gathered in the living room except me. I was standing outside in the middle of the road looking up towards the sky. The sky opened and a huge, white, marbled ladder came down to earth. There were angels singing the most heavenly songs that I had ever heard. A bright light lit up the entire ladder. It was so bright that it hurt my eyes, yet I couldn’t stop looking at it. My Dad started descending the ladder dressed in a long white robe. I went running up to him and asked him what he was doing. He said that he only stopped by long enough to see everyone and to say, “Hi”.
He walked into the house and greeted everyone. Two grandchildren that had been born only months after he had died were lying on the living room couch asleep. He walked over to them and kissed them on the forehead. I asked him, “Are you here to stay”? He said, “No, babe. Where I am is unbelievable. Words can’t even describe it. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world”. I followed him outside and waved to him as he ascended back up the ladder to heaven. With my arms outstretched towards the ceiling, I awoke with tears streaming down my face.


I tell the grandchildren that never met him stories about him. He was very brave and stubborn. I inherited both of these traits from him. I also inherited his ability to never give up no matter the cost.

I got out of the Air Force after four years and moved back home to be with my family. I was very stubborn for years and insisted on trying to do things my way. After seven years of not having set foot inside a church, I stepped foot into one on 01 October 2006. On 20 November 2006, I turned my life over to Jesus. For years I felt as if I was searching for something that I just couldn’t find. I realize now what it was.

God still has a plan for my life. Whether it is on the mission field in Africa or right here in my hometown, He is working through me and is guiding my every step. I’m so glad that my Dad stopped drinking and I got to get know the remarkable person that he was. I can’t wait for the day to arrive when I see my Dad again and we are able to take those long walks once more.