Author Archives: Clara Hinton

Chosen to be a Child Molester’s Enabler: The Beginning of My Story

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Part of my mission, my purpose in life, is to educate others about child predators.  I’m not here to stir up some kind of crazy hype, but to present the facts and to give you a bit of insight as to what happened in my own life.  How was I so blinded to the fact that for forty years I was living with a practicing pedophile?  How did I not see the signs?  How did I not pick up on something being very wrong with the man I married?  
The truth is that I sensed something was wrong even before we got married, but I didn’t listen to my inner being.  I didn’t pay attention to those nudgings that something was wrong.  Why?  Because as a Christian it had been taught to me from little up that people who went to church were good, honest, moral people.  I was taught to trust people who said they believed in God and followed His teachings.  And, I did just that.  I was, unfortunately, one of the most trusting women who ever walked the face of the earth!

Pay attention to this, please!  Just because a person tells you that they walk by the teachings of God does not mean it’s true.  In fact, the word of God warns us against “wolves in sheep’s clothing”, and I learned first-hand just what that meant.  But, it would be years before my eyes were totally opened to this fact. 
As a bit of background information, I came from a broken home.  My parents divorced when I was fourteen, a sister of mine died when she was thirteen, my mother was an alcoholic, and my father was by today’s terms a “dead beat dad.”  Needless to say, I longed for a different life, and I prayed constantly that God would send a good, righteous, faithful Christian into my life so that I could build a home on godly principles and a firm foundation. 


I worked hard all through high school so that I could go to college.  But, I didn’t want to go to just any college.  It had to be a Christian college because I sincerely believed that was the only place I would ever meet a Christian man to marry.  Because I worked so hard all through high school, I earned a four-year scholarship to a four-year state school.  BUT, you guessed it!  The idea of finding and marrying a Christian man was so ingrained in my heart and mind by now that I passed up the scholarship and instead went to a very small, two-year Christian College.  Little did I know that this one decision would lead to so much heartache for me and for those who are most special in my life — my children.  While it’s true that we can’t see around every bend in the road, there are signs and signals along the way.  I didn’t pay attention to anyone who tried to talk to me.  One thing was on my mind — finding a Christian mate!

Every person wants to feel special, and longs to be told that they stand out among all of the rest.  During the summer between my first and second year of college I met a young man who was articulate, bright, funny, witty, and who also told me that I stood out.  He was spending the summer at college and so was I.  A friendship developed, and even though I was engaged to marry someone else, this young man worked very hard every day to convince me that I was with the wrong person.  He pointed out all of the flaws of the man whose ring I was wearing until he finally convinced me to break off the engagement.  That’s a story in and of itself — maybe I’ll share that with you another day. 

What was a bit strange to me was that the man I would soon marry had a quiet control over me like nobody ever had before.  Even though I had low self-esteem I was used to making my own decisions and being very independent.  For the first time in my life I found I was reporting my every move to this quiet, shy young man. He told me I was special.  He said out of all the girls on campus I was the only one that he thought was pretty and was a true Christian.  He told me just what I wanted to hear.  It was the word “Christian” that nailed me!  I knew he was the one I had been praying about since my youth!

One of the greatest stories my now ex-husband loved to tell was how he spotted me from across campus and said to his roommate, “See that girl?  I’m going to marry her.”  This was totally absurd because at the time he said that we had not even met!  He later told me he would hide and watch me — study me — and he knew my schedule, when I was going to eat, when I’d walk back to campus, when I would go to work.  He said, “I knew everything about you.  I knew where you were from morning until night. I knew I would marry you.” 

Instead of being freaked out and thinking this guy was some kind of stalker psycho, I was flattered.  “He chose me.”  Out of all of the girls around, he chose me and that again was more evidence of answered prayers.  Deep inside, though, was a gnawing feeling that something wasn’t right.  He didn’t talk much.  And, for a man who said he loved God, he made fun of people in a mean way.  He mocked people’s insecurities.  Yes, you guessed it!  He mocked me on several occasions and I felt like a piece of dirt he had stepped on.  He made fun of the size of my nose.  He made fun of my feet calling them “hammer head toes.”  He made fun of the space I have between my teeth.  I cried myself to sleep many, many nights, but still……..he was a Christian man, and he was so nice when we were together in public.  He opened the car door for me (it was my car, by the way).  He paid the bill when we went out to eat and left a nice tip.  (It was my money that he used.)  He talked me into giving him my car (which I had since I was 16) and I found myself asking him for permission to use my own car.  This was really weird! 

Why did I put up with it?  Why does anybody put up with abuse?  Because they’ve been so used to being beaten down that they think this is the norm. Please, please — if you’re in a situation like this run for your life!!!  This is NOT the way a good relationship works!  And, it’s a red flag indicator of many other problems — in my case, it was a big red flag that I was being masterfully manipulated.  Groomed to be the wife of a pedophile who was already deeply involved in porn and child sexual molestation!  

 Learn to listen for “clues” that a decision you’re making might not be right.  I had BIG clues that I passed off as “odd”, “not making much sense”, “silly”, or “not that big of a deal.”

Clue 1:  For the last four months we dated, my fiance was in Israel doing overseas study.  We corresponded by letter only.  We were to get married less than one week after he arrived back in the states.  In his letters he would write to tell me how he would hide behind the grasses on the beach and watch girls changing out of their clothes and swimming nude.  He said he’d skip class and stay there all day.  In other words, he was openly telling me he was a “peeping Tom.”  This was a test of how far he could manipulate me and I passed with flying colors! I never questioned him about it.  Oh, I cried lots, but I never questioned him!

Clue 2:  He told me while we were dating that he and one of his cousins spent the summers together and they would steal cartons of cigarettes from stores and sneak out of the house at night and smoke the cigarettes and look at “porn” all night long.  Another test!  I looked at him quietly but never questioned him.  If you want to know the truth — I didn’t even know what porn was!!!!!  I had to ask my college roommates.  Again, I was being tested.  Could he get away with doing things right under my nose?  Sure he could. I’d never question a man of God!

Clue 3:  He was almost 21 and his favorite job was to “babysit all the little kids at church for free because he loved to give them baths and powder their little butts.”  I’m totally sick now as I write these words.  Why in heaven’s name didn’t I run from this man? There were so many clues that something was wrong, and I passed them off as being a little odd.  Nothing more — just a little bit odd. In fact, I actually thought this was kind of nice.  I never saw my father get involved in parenting like that, and I thought, “Wow!  This man will make a wonderful father!”    

Porn.  Lying.  Peeping Tom.  A young man who loves bathing and powdering little kids.  Masterfully manipulating.  Gaining the trust of adults. (Church people loved him babysitting their kids!)

I was another one of his victims.  I was being set up. I was being groomed  I would be the perfect alibi for his continued evil behavior.  He was calculating.  He studied me.  He used me.  He used my faith as a means to get what he wanted.  He knew what he was doing! His actions were no mistake.  He worked very hard to plan every detail.   

Listen up everyone!  Please don’t do as I did!  If your gut is telling you something is wrong, it probably is!!! Pay attention to the little details and the little voice that is whispering something is wrong!!! 

This is just the beginning of my story.  I will share more in the weeks to come in hopes that others will not be blinded to the facts as I was.   We must get educated about child sexual molesters so that we can protect life’s most precious blessings — our children!

Why am I sharing the ugly, sad parts of my life?  That’s simple.  Because children are beautiful.  Children are precious.  Children deserve to be protected.  Statistics (according to information found here ) tell us that 1 in every 3 girls and 1 in every 6 boys are molested by the age of 18.  Please help me to stop this!  Let’s get educated!  Let’s do all we can to make it incredibly difficult for the molester!  Let’s be vigilant on behalf of our children — at all times!!! 

Every child should have the ability to grow up feeling safe and loved and whole and pure! 

It isn’t easy or comfortable for me to write about this, but I must.  I must take this terribleness and do something positive with it.  I must work for the safety of our children. 
Thanks so much for stopping by and for taking the time to read this.  Thanks even more for making yourself more aware of what is going on right under our noses — in our schools, our churches, our camps, our homes.  Let’s do all we can to work together to make this a safe place for our children!  

Love,
Clara

 

So, How Does a Mom of Seventeen Really See Mother’s Day?

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The cat is out of the bag.  For those of you who don’t know — yes, it’s true. To set the record straight, I have been pregnant seventeen times, and I had the most awesome experience of giving birth to eleven living children!  Six of my children left my womb much too early to survive outside of me, and one more baby could have survived outside of me, but his little heart stopped beating too soon.  He was born still.  I’ve had both ends of the spectrum as a mom — giving birth to wailing, flailing babies, and having to say good-bye before having the opportunity to see and hear all of the wonders of delivering a live baby.

So, what does Mother’s Day mean to this mom of so many?  How do I feel — really?  Was it all worth it?  Would I do it all over again?  Well, here it is straight from the heart.

Motherhood is the hardest thing on face of this earth!  Your body is stretched every which way, you gain 40 or 50 pounds and stay sick day and night for four months or more, you go through bouts of indigestion, throwing up, leg pains, cramping, and being kicked constantly from the inside out — and that’s all before the baby is born!  

Then, you go through hormonal rages and changes and waves of ups and downs that send your emotions off the charts.  Not to mention the brutal pulling apart of your body to get that little stinker that took 9 months to grow OUTSIDE of your body so that you can begin to take off the 40 or 50 pounds you put on and reverse this whole process again to get back to “normal” — which by the way there is never “normal” following the birth of a child.  Normal flies out the window the minute you are pregnant!  Never is a woman the same!  

Here are two of my daughters touting their full size bellies in all of their glory!  Blame it on the genes — we like this thing called motherhood! 
For the first year following the birth of each of my children I was in a trance-like state simply studying their little faces.  Watching their every movement.  Feeling their heart beat with mine.  Worrying through fevers and colds and unknown viruses.  Sleepless nights with babies that got their days and nights mixed up.  Changing thousands of diapers.  And, breast feeding.  Yes, this old body of mine was determined to breast feed every single one of the eleven, and that I did!  Baby and I were attached in more ways than one!

As my kids grew older, I grew older, too.  I thought about more things than just feeding and diapering.  Were my kids happy?  Was I giving them enough attention?  Were they developing as they should?  Did I read them enough books?  (Let’s just say, they had enough books to fill a college-sized library!)  Was there enough of “me” to go around for them?  Kids don’t get it — they don’t get this part of motherhood until they are parents themselves.  And, you learn early on this is a pretty thankless job until much, much later in life.  Okay, I promised to be truthful, right?   
All days with kids are not easy days, nor are they all fun!  When the crying hits a pitch so high your ears are going to break and you’ve cleaned up so much throw up that you begin to throw up, and you know you still have 20 hours left before a new day, often my only option was to sit down on the floor and cry right with them.  And, cry we did!  My kids and I have shared many wailing moments together.  Hmmm…I wonder what they thought when they learned I could cry just as loud and just as long as them? 
But, then you get back up and brush yourself off, look at those smiles, get smothered in those slobbery kisses and it’s all worth while.  For a while — it’s all worthwhile. 
Before you know it, they’re very mobile and into everything.  And, this was the beginning of the most difficult stage of motherhood for me.  My kids were inquisitive.  I guess that’s a nice way of putting it.  There were broken bones, stitches to the eyes, head, chin, knees, legs and various other places.  Scrapes, falls, knots on heads, bloody noses and…..well, there was a lot!  I have very little remembrance of a lot of these “moments in motherhood” because it’s just too terrifying to remember.  They outnumbered me, and to stay I couldn’t keep up with them is an understatement.  It was during this stage of motherhood that I began to ask the question, “What in the world have you gotten yourself into, girl?  This stuff is real!  And, there seems to be no end in sight!”

The old adage is true, “They grow up way too fast.”  After about the hundredth prom, school dance, basketball game, baseball came, dance recital, band concert, chorus concert and who remembers what else, there comes this pause in life when you know that something is shifting in your role as a mother.  As you watch your children pack up their belongings and head off to college, to their jobs, to get married, to live on their own, your heart stops beating the same way. 

My heat stopped beating the same way when my first child spread her wings and began her own life, and my heart almost stopped beating completely when the last of my children walked out the door with her final bit of clothes, and said, “Bye, mom.  I’ll be in touch.”

Sure, you go through days, months, and even years of all kinds of things with your kids.  Some good, some not-so-good, but you’re never prepared for those words, “Bye, mom.  I’ll give you a call sometime in the next few weeks.” 

NEVER is a mother prepared — at least this mother was not prepared. 

My kids are all out of the house now, and I have the quiet I longed for so much back in the days when I heard nothing by crying, fighting, screaming kids.  The door very rarely opens except when I open it to come home after a long day of work.  No more is the kitchen door swinging back and forth with friends coming and going yelling, “Hi, mom!”, and me looking twice to see if that was my kid or a friend of my kids who decided to stay for a week. 

The quiet is nice, but sometimes I find it’s strangely quiet.  I listen for sounds and smile as I remember how I’d lay awake at night (pretending to be asleep) waiting to hear the last footsteps of the kids as they finally settled down to sleep.  That was when I could breathe a bit easier and say, “Thank you, God.  They’re all tucked in for another night.” 

What will I do this Mother’s Day?  Oh, I don’t know.  Probably eat with some of the kids.  They live all over the place and most of them have families of their own, so now I’m more “gram” than I am “mom”, but that’s okay.  I’m growing into my new role, but it’s going to take some time.  I’ll look at pictures a lot and think, “Wow!  That was crazy having so many kids! It was like a nut house at times.  It was like cooking for an army! The washing machine was always going!” I’m sure I’ll do a lot of reminiscing on Mother’s Day — and it will be good!  It will be happy! 
It’s funny how the bad days fade into a far away distant thought, but I can tell you so many GREAT moments spent with the kids.  I remember special moments spent with each of the eleven, and that’s what I’ll focus on this Mother’s Day.
Would I go through all of this craziness again?  Would I put myself on hold for all of those years?  In my case, having so many kids, I really did have to put my needs far away on the back burner.  It took a lot of work and planning and sacrifices to make sure there was food on the table and clothes to wear! Some day I’ll talk about planning the meals for each day.  I got to be very innovative learning how to make food stretch.  It’s part of a mother’s many talents!
So, how do I view Mother’s Day?  I think it’s totally wonderful that there has been a day set aside to honor mothers for all that they have done, and all that they continue to do every day of their lives.  A mother isn’t just a mother until her kids turn eighteen.  A mother is a mother all the days of her life!  And, I love it when my kids acknowledge me with respect and honor on Mother’s Day!  It makes me feel like the most special person on face of this earth! 
Would I do it all over again — have so many kids?  Are you kidding me?  In a heart beat!  I can’t imagine my life without them!!!  A mother gives so much, but she really and truly does get back more!  At the end of a day, I can sit and smile and say, “It is well.  It really is well with my soul.”
PS  This little piece of computer art work was given to me one Mother’s Day by Alex, my youngest.  We had been going through a rough time at home, and I had to take on a full-time job in order to keep the mortgage going.  Needless to say, there was a big change in home life from that day forward.  Alex sent this little message to me, and it served as my screen saver for YEARS!  This flower and sunshine speaks volumes to me — that’s the essence of motherhood.  Flowers and sunshine — gifts from above.
Kids, I love you each and every one — Michelle, Mike, Joe, Tim, Chris, Jimmy, Cherie, Mandy, Marc, Steph, and Alex!  You have blessed my life in millions of different ways, and I thank my God every single day for giving me the honor and privilege of being called your mother!
Love,
Mom 

The Day I Drove My Car Straight Into A Rainbow!

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Did you ever have a “miracle moment” — the kind of happening that gives you a knock on the head, a slam against the wall, or a punch to the gut that let’s you know this is for you?  Twenty five years ago, a few days past Mother’s Day was my run-in with a rainbow!

I won’t go into a lot of the gory details, but on Mother’s Day twenty five years ago I was pregnant.  Only this was “not a regular kind of pregnant” because the baby that was inside of me wasn’t alive.  I found out ten days before that he had died and it was the doctor’s strong suggestion (okay, the doctor would have it no other way) that I wait to go into regular labor to deliver this stillborn baby boy.

Not a fun Mother’s Day! 

For weeks following the birth/death of baby Samuel (who wasn’t named until many years later — another story for another time) the only thing I did was cry.  I only had about thirty minutes together with Samuel in my arms.  He was a beautiful little boy, and looked much like my son Tim.  He had blonde peach fuzz for hair, and his eyelashes were strawberry colored.  His fingers and toes were all there and so perfectly formed.  He was such a handsome little fella, but I never got to tell him that — not while he was alive.  And, so my heart broke — over and over and over again it broke. My heart didn’t just break.  It shattered. 

And then about three months later came the most bizarre day I’ve ever experienced when I ran the car off the old country road while crying my eyes out.  There had been a terrible rain storm and I was sobbing as hard as the rain when suddenly, almost as though there was a switch that turned off the downpour, I found myself in a field smack dab up against a rainbow!

I have only seen a few rainbows in my entire life, and this one was not a regular rainbow.  I can tell you that this was a talking rainbow.  This rainbow spoke volumes to me that day! 

Let me assure you I’m not crazy, nor do I make it a habit to run into rainbows with the car or have conversations with rainbows, but I’m telling you this was one of those moments — one of those times when you know you’re getting bonked over the head for a reason. 

I believe God sent me this rainbow to tell me that there was hope beyond Samuel’s death.

Not long after my run-in with the rainbow, my heart began to feel different.  I saw life in a much clearer way than I had before.  So many things that I had overlooked in the past seemed to stand out and shout, “I’m beautiful.  Look at me! This day is for you!  Learn to enjoy it!”  I honestly think that smashing into that rainbow changed my eyesight.  I definitely know it changed my “heart sight.”  We do see with our hearts, you know!

And, that’s when the idea of beginning a healing garden was born.  Why not plant flowers and trees and living plants that would return year after year as a reminder of the miracle and beauty of life?  And, so I began to do just that — plant something each year as a reminder of the miraculous blessing of life!

This giant snowball bush began as a teensy-tiny twig that I ordered through the mail from Michigan Bulb. This is the twenty-fifth year anniversary of that little twig, and the flowers from this bush have been used for wedding bouquets, baby bouquets, anniversary bouquets, and for decorating all throughout the rooms in my home.  Such a hopeful reminder of how life can go on even when we’ve experienced the devastation of the death of a child.  Look how many lives have been blessed because of this little twig planted in memory of Samuel! 

In the fall, the flowers on this bush turn a lovely pink!  A little trick is to feed your snowball bush with some Epsom Salts a couple times a season.  Samuel, look what you continue to give back to so many!!!!

Planted among my healing gardens are hundreds of irises of all varieties and colors!  On this particular morning, this iris seemed to be crying a tear of both joy and sadness with me as I remembered my little boy, along with the others who are missing from my family.  Sadness doesn’t always mean despondency.  I continue to marvel at the details of the bearded iris.  Nature sure is full of beautiful miracles, isn’t it? 

And, so as this Mother’s Day approaches, I will again be planting flowers in memory of Samuel, and in honor of life.  Just today I bought some red dianthus plants and two climbing clematis plants.

A few years ago, some of my family gathered at my son Tim’s home to celebrate a happy occasion.  With me was my grandson Jon who was born just three months following the death of my Samuel.  When I look at Jon I always think of my Samuel — in a wonderful kind of way!  Sure, I wonder if those two would have played basketball together in school.  Would they have gone to the prom together?  Would they have gone on road trips together?  I’m sure they would have been great together, but it didn’t turn out that way.

We are left with choices in life.  Sometimes, life is hard.  Many times things come into our lives that are beyond our control and we wish those things had never happened.  But, we can’t change those things.  What we can change is how we view the heartache that comes into our lives. 

Look for your rainbow.  Pray for your rainbow to appear out of nowhere!  Ask God to direct your path right into a rainbow so that you get that bonk over the head that lets you know that there is hope!  Life does go on, and there are beautiful, wonderful blessings that surround us each day!

Jon is standing front and center in this picture and he will always have a front and center place in my heart!  Samuel, I have a feeling you’re smiling right now.  I know your mama sure is!

Twenty five years later — missed, loved, and still a part of my heart and life!  Bloom, flowers, bloom!  Samuel has a lot of hopeful giving to do yet!

Love,
Mom 
PS  If you’ve been shattered by child loss and need some extra encouragement, please visit here and here.  And, be sure to get a copy of the book, Silent Grief. And, keep praying for that rainbow!   

Two Italian Sisters and One Italian Son Equals FUN!

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I’ve been pouring through pictures on my computer for the past few weeks, and for some reason the album “Lucca Restaurant” just popped out at me today and I’ve looked at the pictures in this album probably a hundred times.  Go figure!  Maybe I’m hungry for some authentic Italian food.  Maybe I’m ready for another Pittsburgh adventure.  Maybe I was in the mood for recalling some of my most fond memories.  Or maybe it’s because I was thinking about family, kids, and all of the life changes that have taken place over the past two years.   

Let’s just say I’m so glad for pictures!  They really do make imprints on the heart and mind.  I forgot how excited my sister Ruthie and I were to get all primped up to go to Lucca’s Restaurant in the Burgh!  WOW!  That was a fun night!!! 

Our last name is “Lucca”, and we had some crazy notion that we were going to meet up with relatives of ours from Italy! We had talked about visiting this restaurant for two years, until finally Chris said,
“Okay, ladies.  Put on your Sunday best.  I’m taking you out for a night on the town!”

Let’s just say that Aunt Ruthie was a bit excited to be sitting in “Lucca’s Restaurant” with the special words from Chris, “Order whatever you want.  This is your night!  Pretend you’re in Italy.  The treat is on me!”  (This is only one of many of Aunt Ruthie’s famous “kisses” that Chris got that evening.  Poor guy!  (Italian women tend to get quite emotional and they are not afraid to express their emotions in public!)

This happened to be a five course meal, and along with each course came another bottle of wine.  I’m laughing as I’m recalling how this all played out……..Chris ended up calling a friend to drive us around for several hours following the meal.  We might be crazy, but we’re not stupid!!!!

This night was so special for a thousand different reasons.  For Pete’s sake — this was “LUCCA” Restaurant!  Our name.  A bit of our history.  A bit of nostalgia.  A bit of pride.  A bit of everything Italian you could think of was part of this magical night!  And, we are sisters who are about as polar opposite as you can get, but for this night — by golly we were on the same page.  We were enjoying every minute of being at Lucca’s together.  Thank you, Chris for making it all happen because heaven knows the two of us would never have maneuvered our way around the streets of Pittsburgh on our own! 

The meal was a smashing hit.  The food was off-the-charts delicious.  We drove the waiter to the point of him needing to take a “break from our table.”  Actually, he said he got hit with a terrible headache and had to go rest.  (Aunt Ruthie thought he was cute and plastered some of her famous kisses on him, too!) 

And, we ran up to the poster of “Lucca, Italy” time and time again to pose for pictures, each time with a different story about how we’d one day go to Italy to track down our relatives.  We laughed.  We laughed some more.  And, we daydreamed.  And, the break from real life was wonderful!  Gosh, it’s good to just get away from the everyday routine of work, work, and more work and do some super big fantasizing about life!!!

I’ve often wondered if Chris had any fun at all that night.  He was in a lovely restaurant with his old mom and his crazy aunt.  He took a night out of his hectic life to spend with two sisters who did nothing but yak, yak, yak the entire time.  He heard stories that he’s already heard at least fifty times before.  He put out a huge hunk of change on that meal.  And, he had the honors of being lavished in “Aunt Ruthie’s kisses” for about three solid hours!  (Chris deserves a gold medal, doesn’t he?) 

Following the super high of the  Lucca’s Restaurant escapade, we took in the sights and sounds of Pittsburgh!  All I can say is, “Oh, what a night!”  B E A U T I F U L!!!

What a drop-dead gorgeous city all lit up in the evening!  Every time I look at this picture, it takes my breath away!  The bridges, the tall buildings, the high hills illuminated and glowing from every direction.  I’ll say it again, “Oh, what a night!”

Chris calls himself a Dimwit , but I think he has it all wrong.  He’s a LUCCA!  And, he’s one heck of a special Italian son!  Thank you, Chris, for the memories!!!!  Aunt Ruthie and I still talk about this night and we probably always will.  We’ll still be talking about this night when each of us are sitting in the nursing home saying, “Do you remember the night we spent at Lucca’s with Chris?”

A lesson to all kids:  Parents grow older and when they do, there’s one thing they crave more than any “thing” in the entire world.  That thing is called “spending time with you.”  If you’re hard up for an idea for Mother’s Day or a birthday or any day……just give your parent some of your time!  There is no greater gift than giving of yourself!!! 

From the mouth of an an Italian mama, “Grazie, Christopher!  You are the furthest thing from a Dimwit I’ve ever known!”

Love,
Mother
PS  I did get to go to Italy with Chris, and it was the “adventure” of a lifetime!  Let’s just say I’ve never been the same since!  I guarantee that it truly was seeing Italy from a totally different perspective than in the tour books! 

Thank You, Deb, for Remembering My Anniversary!

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Today’s post will probably be a bit strange for some, but I’m going to write it anyway.  I couldn’t sleep last night — had fitful hours of weird dreams, and finally decided, “You know what?  I’m just going to get it off my chest!”   

If you know me even remotely, you know that I’m no longer married, and I’m sure a lot of people have been wondering, “How is she doing?  What must it be like to have been married for almost forty years, and suddenly find yourself living alone?  What does it feel like to find out that you never really knew the man you married?  What’s it like to have shared the majority of your years on this earth with a man who concealed his heart from you?”  *note:  This is not a pity party, nor is it a bashing party.  This is me telling you what it’s like to find out after almost forty years that you never, ever knew the man you married.  And, I’m telling you my story on the day that would have been my 43rd wedding anniversary. 

Back to the story…….

On April 18, 1970 on a chilly spring afternoon in Villanova, Pennsylvania a gathering of family and friends came to surround me and and the young man I was marrying with love and support and to witness our vows of love and total devotion to each other.  We had an outdoor wedding, and I must say the weather was touch-and-go right up until the final moment of setting up the chairs outdoors.  There had been a terrible thunder, lightening and pelting rain storm the evening before (an omen, maybe?) and we didn’t know if an outdoor wedding would be possible until the skies parted early on that Saturday morning. 

As it turned out, there were a few rain puddles, but the sky was crystal clear, the forsythia and daffodils were in bloom, so the outdoor wedding went on as planned! 
I’m not posting any photos of the actual wedding itself.  The photos have faded, and in all truthfulness, I haven’t opened the wedding album in several years now. I have no desire to ever look at those pictures again.  At least, that’s how I feel at this moment in time.
What happened?  Two young Christians, met at a Christian college, fell in love, went through a year-long engagement, got married, settled down in a lovely country setting, became a model minister’s family, had eleven beautiful children, and then slowly (at first) the foundation began crumbling until the climactic moment when the world came crashing down!  
Plain and simple, there was very little verbal communication in this marriage.  I think it’s safe to say that if compacted into time, I cried literal years due to that one thing.  There was little to no talking within the marriage.  By nature, I’m a talker.  He was not.  
Ladies and gentlemen, here’s a lesson learned.  You will never change a person!  I repeat.  You will never change a person!  I was naive enough to believe that after we got married, he would talk more.  Instead, he become more and more quiet, more private, and excluded me from major areas of his life.  ALERT!  This was a big ALERT, but I didn’t pay attention. 
You can learn to live with a non-talker, especially when eleven kids fill your home with noise, chatter, and laughter!  Okay, with six boys and five girls there were some times of drama, crying, fighting, screaming, and all of the crazy, nutty stuff that comes along with having kids one right after the other!  So, the “ALERT” of non-communication was brushed aside temporarily until the kids began leaving the nest. 
And, before we knew it, there were only two daughters left living at home, and many grandchildren being born.  I was beginning to feel a bit strange –eerily strange.  I felt like I was living with someone I didn’t know as the years with the eleven kids at home were winding down. 
But, it’s easy to figure out that I love babies — always have and always will.  They are life’s greatest treasures — the most magnificent of miracles, and I was blessed not once, but eleven wonderful times over!  And, now the next generation was beginning to arrive and my heart soared once again!  Now the grandkids filled those empty places in my heart and that was good……….. 
Except — there was still no communication with the man I loved.  He was more private, more withdrawn, and more secretive with “me” than when we first got married, although he was a gracious, much-loved and respected community member and the most active minister,  volunteer, counselor, and confidante you’d ever find.  ALERT!  Take care of your wife first!  Everyone else comes second.  Wife is next in line after God.  Always!
Let’s just say around year thirty-six, my heart became empty.  Devoid.  No more love left.  My heart had been bleeding — hurting — for so many years that it finally caught up and my heart was bleeding just like the bleeding hearts you see in this picture.  My heart bled, and bled, and bled until there was no more love left for this man I had married almost forty years before.  And, so we parted.  ALERT!  Neglect is a sure sign that something is wrong!  I repeat.  NEGLECT is a sure sign something is very, very wrong!
The sad part of this very true story is that not long after we parted our ways, he was arrested and convicted of being a practicing pedophile since the age of fourteen.  Yes, that is correct.  All through our married lives, he was molesting children — little girls were his preference.  I tremble.  I shake.  I vomit.  I shudder.  I cry.  I go numb.  There’s only so much thinking I can do about this.  The man I loved.  The man I trusted.  The man I looked to for godly instruction.  The man who fathered all of my children.  The man who I wanted to make happy all the days of my life was a practicing pedophile and that is why he was so secretive and quiet and unable to communicate with me.  The man I married now sits in prison serving thirty years of incarceration which I think is a fair exchange for the lifetime of hell his actions created for the countless innocent children who were harmed by this one man.  
How does that make me feel?  Initially like dirt for not seeing what was going on.  Initially broken.  Initially angry beyond words.  Hateful towards him at times.  Weak.  Alone.  Afraid.  And, hurting beyond hell for my family!  What did they do to deserve any of this??????? 
Today, April 18, 2013 is my wedding anniversary and I am celebrating alone.  I will drink a glass of wine.  I will eat a thick, juicy steak.  I will linger over another glass of wine.  And, I will NOT cry.  I will not allow this man to have power over me any more.  I will not feel sorry for myself ever again.  I will not say, “This is terrible and I did not deserve this.”  Life is unfair to most people, and truthfully this part of my life has been terribly unfair, but it will not ruin me!  I will not allow this to define me. I am bigger and stronger than this! 
My message to every person who has been trampled on, deceived, and had your heart stomped on is this:
Take some time to grieve.  Feel the hurt.  Let it go deep.  Allow it to cut and bleed (and believe me, it will)!  But, after the shock of it all and after the pain of the initial blunt force to the heart begins to stop hurting so bad you want to die, walk away for a while and take stock of your life. 
Pull the blanket of hell back and uncover the blessings of heaven that are still there!  In my case, my God, oh my God, how I thank Him for all that has been given to me!  God, how I love my children!  God, how I love the grandchildren you have given to me.  God, how I thank you for allowing me to live this long and have good health.  God, how much I thank you for food, clothing, transportation, and a home.  Oh, my home!  God, how much I thank you for allowing me to wake up to birds singing and to be surrounded by so much nature and beauty.
Do I hate being alone at this stage in my life?  At first, I did.  But, you know what?  I’m beginning to blossom in ways I never thought possible.  I feel more sure of myself than ever before.  I laugh more than I have in a long, long time.  My heart is beginning to feel alive again.  Heck, those aren’t bad things — those things are great things!  And, I’ve found that I’m never really alone.  Every day, there is someone who is placed in my life that blesses me in some wonderful, caring, giving way!
My special thanks today to my friend Deb, who married the man she loved with all of her heart on April 17, 1970, just one day before my wedding.  We were friends before we got married, and we remain friends to this day.  Deb, my special friend, sent me the sweetest message ever yesterday letting me know that even though she was happily celebrating her 43rd wedding anniversary, there was a sadness knowing I was not celebrating mine.
Deb, I am celebrating!  I really, really am.  And, tonight when I lay my head on my pillow, I will thank God for the wonderful blessing of a 43-year-long friendship!
Yes, indeed, April 18, 2013 is a beautiful day!  God bless all those whose hearts have been broken with the fortitude and resolve to go on!  Even with the pain, it’s still a mighty fine life! 
Trust me in this — you WILL survive!  And, you WILL blossom again.  And, you ARE a thousand times stronger than you ever imagined!!!  Don’t ever allow anyone to define who YOU are!  You are magnificently made and you can survive anything!
Let’s celebrate life together!!! 
Love,
Clara