I will not promise the accuracy of this story. Some of it happened before I was born and the rest when I was too young to remember. It is based on memories of stories I have been told, some of them decades ago.
My mom was the product of a broken home, a mom who went on to marry an abusive sociopath and a dad who was emotionally distant. The disfunction of her family led to a youth of drug abuse. Growing up in the late sixties and early seventies made this lifestyle easier and more attractive.
After an interlude with a friend of her brother’s, she found herself 17 and pregnant. A regular drug user, she was terrified. She had to drop out of school. She decided not to tell the father because she didn’t know that she wanted to raise a child with her brother’s drug abusing friend. She quit using, and though she wasn’t raised in a religious home, she prayed that God would make her baby normal in spite of her drug use.
On September 25, 1972 she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Her dad and step mom took her and her baby in. She got a job and took responsibility for this new life. My life.
One year later at The Festival of the Turning Leaves she met the man who would become her husband. They knew each other for two months and a week when they got married on December 1, 1973. He already had two children from a previous marriage. Soon there was an adoption and another birth and by early 1975, at the age of 21, the young mother was a wife and mother of four.