Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Daddy's Little Girl

Nothing like the bright sunshine and the great outdoors, except having friends to enjoy it with. I however had no friends because mommy rarely allowed me to go outside. But today she had a visitor; it was the strange man that had been staring at us during the time my father passed away, so she allowed me to sit out front.

I was sitting on the porch steps watching my brother play catch with his friends. Our neighborhood was full of little boys but all the girls were so much older than me, plus, I didn’t feel much like doing what the girls did anyway. I was used to being with my daddy and today, I missed him a lot. Seems it was always my oldest brother with my Aunt Pattie-pooh because she had four daughters but always wanted a son so she looked at my brother like so. My mother always had my baby sister Renee because she was the youngest and looked most like her. My oldest brother Man always had my baby brother Brian, of course because he was a boy.

Crying was not an option as I sat on the steps but I could at least think of my dad in hopes that my day dreaming would help me feel close to him today. My dad used to take me everywhere with him because I was daddy’s little girl. He took me on long walks from one neighborhood to the next and we would stop at the parks in these areas. Daddy would push me so high on the swings that I thought I was going to touch the sky. I would throw my head back, close my eyes and smile. I trusted him. I knew he would keep me safe.

The thing I recall most was when my dad took me to this house that seemed to be in a whole different world. The house was nothing like ours. Yes, it was made of brick outside like ours and attached to other houses but the inside was huge, the steps were made of wood and there was carpet on the floors. Our house was concrete and steel inside but at least my mom kept it clean. This house was junky every time dad and I went to visit. It had a huge kitchen and a separate dining area whereas we had a two-in-one, kitchen and dining room combo.

Each time we visited, we would climb the steep stairs but before we reached the door a petite lady with short hair and small frame would emerge from the other side greeting him with a smile, hug and then a kiss. Somehow, even as young as I was, I knew this was his “other woman”…his girlfriend but I never asked any questions. I was just happy to be with my daddy.

The woman had a daughter who appeared to be about my age. It was actually pretty scary because when I looked at her it was like looking in a mirror. We were about the same complexion, smiled just the same; both wore the same pony tails and had the same love in our eyes for my daddy. Ironically, I believe her name was Tracey. I was slightly taller than her and though we never discussed ages or birthdays for some reason I always thought that she was a little older than me, not much but maybe a few months.

Tracey and I were given a 40 ounce can of beer, told to share it and prompted to sit on the stairs being sure not to move until our parents came back for us. Sometimes we sat just holding the can, looking at one another with questions in our eyes but neither of us bold enough to ask with our lips. Those days of drinking beer with Tracey gave me a strong distaste for it and made me hate seeing women drink beer. In fact, I made a vow with myself at that early age to avoid beer altogether when I grew up.

Eventually our parents would come back and get us, take us into the kitchen and feed us sandwiches. Afterwards my daddy and I would leave. Most times it was pitch black outside so we would walk a ways, then mount a bus or grab a cab to head home. When we arrived at home, LATE, dad reeked of beer, mom would be there waiting with fire in her eyes. I remember one time she asked him where the hell he had been and I blurted out the answer, saying we had just come from daddy’s girlfriend’s house. It didn’t come from a place of mischief, I really don’t know what made me answer but I said it with a smile like I was happy. That couldn’t possibly have made my mother feel like a woman or feel loved. As my dad turned to look at me I felt like a traitor. Actually, I felt like a two-fold traitor, one for being with my dad’s girlfriend AND being happy about it which I knew was wrong for my dad to do and two, for telling on my dad knowing it landed him in hot water. I was sent upstairs and the screaming match ensued.

The next day when I saw dad preparing for our daily outdoor adventure I quickly ran and grabbed my shoes and jacket, rushing back to my father’s side. As I stood beside him with all my normal excursion gear he looked down at me and informed me that I was not able to go with him. I asked him why and then I heard a voice behind me say because I said so. It was mommy. Dad just looked up at her as she glared back almost daring him to say something. I tugged dad’s pants leg and begged him to take me with him. He said he couldn’t this time but promised he would do something special with me when he came back.

As he walked out the door I burst into tears and at this very moment, I was shaken from my daydream with the strange man asking me if I was okay. I had not realized the tears from my daydream actually fell in my reality also. Embarrassed, I quickly wiped my eyes and shook my head, nodding that I was okay. The man patted the top of my head, turned and yelled to my brother, “BALL”. My brother threw it to him and the man told him to go long and then threw the ball back to my brother and his friends. He turned back to me saying be a good girl with a partial smile on his face. I watched him as he walked away and then turned to go inside. My mother was standing in the doorway watching the man walk away also. She opened the door for me and then called for my brother to come in telling both of us to go upstairs and wash up because it was time for dinner.

As I walked up the stairs guilt consumed me. I began feeling like I was the reason my father left and that if I had only kept quiet he would still be with us, I would still be traveling the city with him and he would be alive. I stayed in the bathroom for a while after we washed our hands and splashed water on my face to cover my tears. I held those tears for as long as I could but was no longer able to hold them inside. I didn’t want to upset my mother or have my brother make fun of me. No one cried since the funeral and even then mom was not the one I saw shedding tears and certainly no one discussed my dad’s passing. I needed this moment, I needed my dad. 

__________________________________________________

LETTER

To My Daughter:

Before you were brought forth, you were loved. As the prayers flowed and the tears fell, you were loved. On the day of your birth and you showed up, you were loved. As the doctors were working to pull you into this world, you were loved.

Once you were placed in my hands, I realized that I was LOVED! As I saw you had your toes & hands and I knew I was loved. As you started to walk and talk, I knew I was loved. As you began to speak your own thoughts and make your own decisions, I knew I was loved. When you learned to play chess, help with your brother and hugged me with your loving touch, I knew I was loved.

When you started school and it was clear that you had a special gift, I knew you were loved. When you listened and understood all the times I told you that you are # 1 because of the LOVE of God, I knew we were both Loved. As you learned & lived the Love of God, I knew we were Loved.

Life has come full circle and I KNOW THAT GOD LOVED BOTH OF US ALL ALONG. Thank you for being a wonderful daughter. Thank you for loving me, and I certainly thank God I was and am still able to love you. Nothing, not even death can keep me from loving you!

Love You Baby Girl,

Daddy

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 7

Chapter 7

An Open Heart

One day I was walking down the street with my mom and saw an old man wrapped in dirty blankets. His hair was long and he spelled of a horrible odor as we walked by. For some reason my dad entered my mind. Somehow this man reminded me of my father. It wasn’t that he resembled my dad but the smell was an all too familiar one – that of alcohol. The man reached out and touched my moms arm asking if she had any spare change for him to get some food. Mom pulled her arm away from him and grabbed me with her free hand pulling me along as she hurriedly walked away telling him that she unfortunately could not help.

As I looked back at the man I was filled with grief – sort of made me miss my dad. It made me wonder if my dad had ever stood on the corners like this when he reeked of alcohol. I asked my mom why he was outside laying on the street and she replied that he was homeless. Homeless, I repeated in confusion. She said yes and went on to tell me how he lived on the streets, didn’t have access to food on a regular basis, had no place to wash his body, air or clothing and probably had no family to care for him.

Of course I knew my dad had these things when he was alive but sadness still overwhelmed me at the thought of my dad being homeless and alone. Quite frequently I fantasized about him coming home but at this moment, something beyond grief began to fill me. I was filled with disappointment, anger and frustration. Since I was about age three I remember watching the late night feed the hungry children in Africa commercials but I never fathomed we, America, had a problem feeding and housing our own people. From my three year old perspective, all problems were solvable. With all the resources Americans had, we certainly should all be able to live under one roof without problems, right?

Now actually witnessing homeless people eat out of trash cans, sleep on street benches or cuddled under bridges to protect themselves from the earths sometimes harsh elements of cold, wind and even the sun or hearing of homeless persons dying in the streets brought anguish and discomfort to me. I wondered where their families were and how such things could happen. My body physically throbbed with pain when I thought of the emotional, mental and physical discomforts the homeless encountered daily.

Not a day went by after the encounter with the homeless man that I didn’t consider ways to resolve these problems. One day, not long after seeing the homeless man on the streets, I decided I had the answer to end homelessness and world hunger. Rushing into the kitchen where my mother was seated at the dinner table, I said to her almost out of breath, “Mommy, we should let all the homeless people live with us…AND, we can feed them too.” My mom looked at me with warm eyes, as if she knew my pain, but her mouth uttered, “Stacie, we can’t just bring strangers into our house. Some of them are sick, dirty and we can’t trust anyone. I’m not willing to jeopardize your safety or the safety of your brothers and sisters.”

I stood firmly planted on my legs and looked at my mother with an indescribable disappointment. Her words cut deep into the core of my soul and although I was hurt by her response I continued to plead my case for the hungry and homeless. “Ma, I’m not afraid. They won’t hurt us if we take care of them. They will be grateful just like you tell us to be when you feed us, clean us and give us new clothes. I know we only have a little bit of money and our house is not that big but they can sleep in my bed. I will lie on the floor and I will watch them to be sure they don’t steal. We can find their families and then take them home. Plus, you always make big pots of soup and it’s always left overs for three days. We can share our soup!”

My mom turned away and began to fiddle with the items on the table. In a low grumble my mother said, “Stac, we can’t do that.” Just as I began to respond in a whiny voice, “but ma-meeeee”, my mother turned to me and said, “NO! N-O- and that’s it. Don’t say anything else about it.” I was crushed! I walked away with my head down, tears filling and flowing like rivers from my eyes.

I was disappointed, hurt, angry and just plain sad that people had the means to help others but were just too selfish and afraid to do so. Furthermore, I couldn’t believe my mom was one of the selfish ones. I promised myself that when I grew up I would always keep my doors open without fear or selfishness. All I considered is that it could easily be me without a place to lay my head. I could not begin to imagine the discomforts of being on the streets when temperatures dropped below freezing. Equally, I could not imagine being in Africa with desert like conditions, without water to quench my thirst. Nor could I think of not having food to eat to soothe my grumbling belly. I figured, when I grew up, I would change the world. Of course looking back I see that my mom was clearly trying to protect us but my views remain.

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 6

Chapter 6
The Day the Phone Rang

I don’t quite remember how many days went by but I do remember it was early this particular morning. My oldest brother and I were dressed, sitting downstairs in the living room. We had just finished having breakfast. I believe the babies had been up early and were now sleeping. My mom was still in her house clothes, floor length light blue cotton nightgown with a floral robe on top. She was pacing the floor anxiously. My oldest brother and I could read the confusion on one another’s faces. We were actually a little nervous. Mom was typically calm so her behavior had us on pins and needles. We broke our awkward silence, turned to look at each other and I whispered to my brother asking him if he knew what was wrong with mommy. He said she missed dad and was having a hard time taking care of us by herself. That was at least his best guess as the oldest.

As mom walked towards the door, she took long drags on her cigarette, slowly exhaling until the cigarette almost disappeared between her fingers. It was like watching a scary haunted movie where we all knew something bad was about to happen but didn’t know what. Suddenly, the phone rang. We all jumped and then Man and I watched mom wisp towards the kitchen to answer the phone. For some reason we knew the call had something to do with our father. Mom slowly walked towards the living room sofa with the phone in her hand as she listened intently and waved us to get up and go upstairs all in the same motion. As we moved towards the stairs, seemingly in slow motion, Man and I grabbed hands and looked at one another knowing that the news wouldn’t be good.

We reached the top of the stairs, stopped and sat, waiting, hoping to hear something that would give us a clue as to mom’s anxiety. Almost simultaneously my brother and I said daddy died. It was this gut feeling that led us to verbalize what we were thinking. We sat on the steps hugging, almost at the point of tears but never letting a drop fall.

Felt like an eternity before mom called us back downstairs. We eagerly rushed down the stairs and then over to where she sat on the sofa. She looked at us almost blankly; maybe more shock than anything, no true expression written on her face, just distance in her eyes. Even though we knew our guts hadn’t led us astray, anxiety had traded places and we now stood where our mom stood earlier, as we waited for her to say something to break the silence and clue us in. Finally she told us that our daddy died and wouldn’t be coming back home again. We hugged our mom tightly and lay in her arms allowing rivers of silent tears to flow.

The entire week was spent with family, friends and plenty of unfamiliar faces of people professing their love for our father. My siblings and I were shifted from arm to arm and house to house as everyone pitched in to assist my mom while funeral arrangements were being made. A man showed up who looked a lot like my dad except he was taller, thicker and wore a mustache. Along with his mustache a somber look was painted on his face as if he had lost his dog. Seemed to me, every time I looked up he was watching me and my brother. It was weird but I never asked any questions just smiled, kept an eye on my mom and tried not to get in the adults way.

Finally it was time to say our last goodbyes to my dad. We entered the church to find it filled with people, again, most of whom I couldn’t recall seeing before. As we walked down the aisle to the front of the church I remember an older man with glasses. He wore a white robe trimmed in red and held a book in his left hand as his arms dangled by his side. I remember this specifically because he was standing behind a box that held my father. Felt like we were walking forever before we finally reached the front of the church. I don’t remember much more except me and my brother Man sat by my mom in the front pew just watching my dad’s still body. It looked like he was sleeping to me. I kept waiting for him to get up, to scream surprise or something, I mean, he was known for playing cruel and unusual jokes.

As I sat there in the pew beside my mother, my mind drifted back to how my grandmother recently died and we were here in this same church with a different set of folks screaming and crying. These people included my father who as I recall was extremely sad when Grandma Mayme passed away. I thought about how when it was time for her funeral my father sat outside on the car smoking a cigarette looking dazed but when he noticed I was standing there he plucked his cigarette away, blew the smoke in the opposite direction and reached down to pick me up. I was in a frilly laced dress. He told me I looked pretty, pinched my nose and then kissed my cheek. I grabbed both of his cheeks with my tiny little hands and asked him if he was sad. Instead of answering me he asked me if I was sad. With teary eyes I told him I missed grandma and then asked where dead people go. He said to heaven after we bury them. I was confused but didn’t want to keep asking questions, as I could see that talking about this made him upset.

I snapped out of my day dream and was snatched back to reality as the preacher concluded his prayer with Amen, and asked everyone to stand to their feet. The funeral directors came forth to provide instructions and as the man closed the casket another harsh reality almost choked the life from me as I watch my father’s face fade away. My mom stood, tearless.

______________________________________________

LETTER

To My Daughter:

Before you were brought forth, you were loved. As the prayers flowed and the tears fell, you were loved. On the day of your birth, you showed up while your mother was grimacing through the pains of birthing you, still, you were loved. As the doctors were working to pull you into this world, you were loved.

Once you were placed in my arms, I realized that I was LOVED! As I saw you had your toes & hands, I knew I was loved. As you started to walk and talk, I knew I was loved. As you began to speak your own thoughts and make your own decisions, I knew I was loved. When you learned to play chess, help with your brother and hugged me with your loving touch, I knew I was loved.

When you started school and it was clear that you had a special gift, I knew you were loved. When I told you that “you are # 1” only because of the LOVE of God, I knew we were Both Loved. As you learn, live and I watch your tender heart come to life, I know the world is loved and better because you are in it.

Thank you for being a wonderful daughter. Thank you for loving me and I thank God I was able to love you. Nothing, not even death can keep me from loving you!

Love You Baby Girl,

Daddy

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

She Never Cried

Late one night during the winter I heard my mom and dad having another argument about him being the man of “HIS” house and how she better start listening to him or else he was leaving. My mom said something to the effect of him not threatening to leave but that if he wanted to leave the door was open. She went on to say that if he tried coming back this time she would not let him in – then came the tussling. I heard dad sort of growl through his teeth saying owwwww, you bit me. My mom said that’s right and imma bite you again if you don’t let me go.

She went on screaming she was sick of his crap, the lying, the cheating – the fights. She said she deserved better. Then I heard mommy whimper saying my dad was hurting her and then there was a thud to the floor and in that moment the whimpering reversed. It sounded as if dad was crying when he asked her why she had to do that. I lay there trying to use my little imagination to figure out what my mother could have possibly done to break free from my dad, knock him to the floor and make him cry. The loud argument faded but the discussion continued as I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke the next morning the house was ironically quiet as we usually wake to chaos. Mom was downstairs, Luther Van Dross was playing softly on the stereo and she was seated at the kitchen table in her floral printed bathrobe and her rugged slippers, coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Somehow I already knew the answer to the question before I asked but I felt compelled to ask anyway. I walked slowly towards my mother’s seat asking her where my dad was and if he was coming back. She looked up at me with tear stained cheeks and simply answered that she didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if the answer was for question one or question two but what I did know is that I most certainly was not the only person in anguish, although, I didn’t quite understand why my mom was sad. I figured she should be happy she didn’t have to fuss and fight with him anymore.

After that day in the kitchen, she was fairly quiet; I never saw her cry again. My aunts stopped by periodically to check on my mother. My aunts tried to get her to leave the house, to go out and have fun but she made many excuses every time. One day, while my aunt was visiting I overheard her say that she received a call from my father and that he was in California. Hearing that excited something in me so I jumped up and moved quickly towards the kitchen. I knew they would tell me it was grown up conversation and to go back into the living room. So in that moment I figured I would simply ask for water so it would not seem as though I were spying. I mean it had been quite a while since I saw or heard from my father – I missed my daddy – not being able to see him or talk to him was killing me.

Just as I entered the kitchen doorway, mom pulled a letter from her pocket and showed it to my aunt. It was from my dad. They went on to discuss the details of the letter never noticing I was standing there. Apparently my father found another woman, was living with her in California and wanted to marry her which meant he would have to divorce my mother. My aunt and mother sat quietly at the kitchen table for hours before my aunt took her leave.

_____________________________________________

LETTER

Dear Daughter,

For many years now, I have walked around carrying a heavy load on my shoulders. I have asked myself many times would you, could you have lived a much better life, had I been sober of mind, heart and body. Instead I was addicted to alcohol and could not see the forest for the trees.

Yes, my child I was a drunk! No! I did not drink every day, however, when I did; my goal was to get drunk, escaping my daily realities. Baby girl, every time I did. I saw you watch in confusion.

If you can remember, I believed that I knew it all, but in reality I was turning myself into a living veggie, most of all I was not smart enough to see, or know the pain that I was bringing to your life. What a jerk I was, the people I loved the most were the very same people I brought pain and shame.

The yelling, the fussing and God knows whatever unnecessary behavior I had shown. Many times I should have been home with you and the rest of the family but would find myself drunk with some woman and I could not tell you who they were now. If I could only turn back the hands of time, I would do many things differently. I would be a better man, a better father. There are many things I could write about; however, this is not easy. I wish there were other words I could say, other expressions I could use; but there is no other way to say I am sorry for any pain, shame or scarring I caused you!

With Deep Regret and Heartfelt Apology,

Dad

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Time to Run Again

Seems we just settled into our home in Newport News, Virginia, as my father was in the service, when my mother packed me, my two brothers and my baby sister up, returning us to Baltimore. My aunt and grandparents opened their homes to us and after a while, my father encountered issues pertaining to his job and he too moved back home. Not long after living with my grandparent’s did we move into the projects of Westport near Cherry Hill in Baltimore.

Dad had become increasingly hostile. Seems he was angry all the time. When he went into his flailing, yelling and screaming fits, typically my mother escaped quickly, gathering me and my siblings and scuffling us to the nearest family members house. I remember my aunts and uncles would get angry that mom had us out so late at night. They were mostly livid with my dad and would saddle up like lone-rangers to pursue and punish him in the family way.

This particular night, rain beat hard against the window as my siblings and I sat in the living room. We were supposed to be waiting for mom to give us a snack and prepare us for bed but just as she was about to go into the kitchen my father stormed into the house and immediately began slinging all manner of curse words at her. She asked him if he had been drinking and all he could say was it didn't matter. Mom told him to go upstairs and get his self together so she could finish with us and then she would talk to him about whatever had him so angry. He insisted that she stop what she was doing and come upstairs with him at that very moment.

Mom refused so dad came over, grabbed her by her arm and began pushing her towards the stairs. Mommy was screaming telling dad to let her arm go because he was hurting her but he ignored her declaring that she would learn to respect him one way or the other. Mom called for my oldest brother telling him to come to her. I didn't realize then but she was using him as a shield, figuring if dad could only see the look in his sons’ eyes he would cease with his intentions to “teach her a lesson.” Man, my oldest brother, ran over to mom and began pleading with my dad to stop and let her go but dad insisted that he stay in a child’s place and go back to his seat.

I then ran over and grabbed my dad around his leg crying, yelling and asking him to please stop. I’ll never forget that night because it was the night my dad turned to me, grabbed me by my two ponytails, picked me up by them and partially slung me off of his leg. At that moment I was a broken little girl. As far as I could remember in my almost five years of life my dad had never even spanked me but now in a moment he crushed me, not physically but my spirit was far removed. I was daddy’s girl and was unaccustomed to this behavior towards me.

As I sat on the floor crying I remember hearing my baby brother and sister wailing out of fear, Man was yelling at dad demanding he let mommy go as dad pushed her up the stairs. Finally, they were out of sight but we most certainly could hear the cursing and thumping. After a while my mom came downstairs telling me and my brother to grab our rain coats and to hurry before dad came downstairs.

She never really let us get them all the way on as she marched us out the front door urging us to walk faster. When we finally reached the nearest family members home, mom was surprised to see my aunts and uncles were all there playing cards. Aunt Pattie-pooh asked my mother bluntly what was going on, of course using a few choice words. She could clearly tell that mom had been crying and asked if Eddie, my father came home acting a fool again. Mom answered yes and before she could tell them anything further my uncle said he came home violent and drunk didn't he? My mom seemed reluctant to answer but before long the adults remembered that we, the children were standing in the room, dripping from the rain.

Some of the older cousins were called down to tend to the babies and to get us ready for bed. As we headed upstairs the adult voices began to fade, eventually dissipating altogether and I knew they were all headed to my house to whip on my dad. At the time, I didn't realize he was physically abusing my mother because all he ever allowed us to witness was him yelling at her and grabbing her. And I certainly had not considered that even if he was not physically abusive he sure was wearing her out with mental abuse with all the names he called her and all the ways he humiliated her in front of us and often in front of company. I cried myself to sleep with each of these episodes and woke the next morning to him carrying me back to my house with mom by his side pushing the babies in a stroller and Man trailing behind. Every time I would think that was the end of the fighting things grew worse.

One time my father came home so drunk that he must have forgotten my aunts and uncles didn't tolerate his drunken ignorance. My mom, aunts and uncles were in the kitchen when my father came home, smoking weed, loud, and obnoxious, reeking of alcohol, and barking instructions to all in HIS house. He was sure to remind everyone that he was the king of the castle.

The adults were listening to records and pretty much ignoring his ranting. My dad walked over to the stereo and changed the record to something he wanted to hear. My mother told him to stop smoking the weed in the house around us and then she told him to leave the music alone informing him that they were there first. My father began yelling obscenities; again echoing he was the king in his house and if they didn’t like what he was doing, they could all get out.

As my dad went to the sofa, continuing to smoke his marijuana my mom went to the record player and put on Michael Jackson, a record they listened to hours ago but what they all wanted to hear at the moment. My dad jumped up and pushed my mom into the wall. Just as he raised his fist to hit her, my uncle ran into the living room and stood in between my mom and my dad. My uncle told my father to go upstairs and sleep off his drunken high but my father refused. He told my uncle to stay out of his business and then accused my mother of sleeping with my uncle. Uncle Mike retorted that my dad was an A-hole and warned him that if he did not stop with his outlandish behavior he would put him in his place.

Again, my father must have forgotten that my aunts and uncles were not afraid of him and believed in teaching HIM lessons. Dad jumped in my uncles’ face, called him a few names and told him he wasn’t going to do nothing to him. As my dad tried to reach around my uncle to change the record my uncle caught his arm giving him his final warning to calm down. My dad swung at my uncle and missed. My uncle came back with a blow to his nose. I will never forget watching the blood drip from my dad’s face and although I knew my dad was wrong I was really hurt because he was hurt. This highly dramatic man, screamed out that his nose was broken and went staggering up the stairs to clean up the blood muffling something like he’d be back to take care of my uncle.

Just as a daddy’s girl, I climbed the stairs to check on my daddy. He was in his room with the door closed. I knocked lightly. When he didn't answer I opened the door and found him sitting on the roof just outside of his window. He looked back at me, one nostril clogged with blood and the other with a white powdery residue. He had cough syrup in one hand and the remainder of the joint in the other hand. Looking back, my father was either suicidal or trying desperately to escape deep rooted pains. He told me that he didn't want me to see him like that. He even apologized. That was the first and last time I ever heard him apologize for his conduct. I told him I loved him, reached up to hug him as he reached into the window to receive the hug and a soft peck on the cheek from me. He told me he loved me too and that I should go back down stairs with mommy before she came looking for me. I slowly walked towards the door and I remember thinking, is my daddy going to die. I looked back, told him to be careful and to come down soon. He said okay as I walked out the door, closing it behind me. His slight smile is still etched into the fabric of my memory.

__________________________________________

LETTER

Dear Baby Girl,

I want to at this very moment, wrap my arms around your abandoned heart. I want to squeeze you and embrace you and cover you with my pleading love for you. My heart cries for not being the father you need to protect and provide for you. There are no excuses for my failure of not being a father to you, and I cannot retract what I did, nor can I take back what I did not do but if I could, I most certainly would.

I have carried you in my spirit since the day you were conceived. You are the greatest gift I have contributed to the world. I often felt I wasn’t good enough to be that strong figure in your life to teach you and show you the way a man is supposed to be. I was both present and absent from your life but it had nothing to do with your worth. You were and will always be the gem in my heart. God knew I wasn’t the best fit for a father at the time you were born, but he knew you were supposed to be here and he knew you were a beautiful soul, with the strength of a lion. He knew you would have the strength to pull through your circumstances and become who you were created to be in this world, without me.

I know you yearn for me and will always yearn for me to be there throughout your life, but the truth is that God wouldn’t have put this on you if he didn’t already see that you would overcome this. You have carried this burden long enough and it is time for you to release all the pain I have caused you in not being there. I love you more than words could ever express. You are my heart and forever my baby girl.

I pray that God gives you the strength to forgive me, for my failure as a man, so that you can let the anger and the pain diminish for the sake of freeing yourself. My prayer is and always will be that you know you are worth more than all the riches this world could ever offer. You are priceless, my little girl, the love of my life; my heart will continue to love you throughout eternity.

Always Loving You,


Daddy

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Close Call:

Stealing an Angel's Life That Won't Die

With squinted teary eyes, I looked at my parents and when they spoke to me I responded yet again with cooing, giggles and even laughter. Life seemed normal for my parents, all appeared as if it were well. As far as my mother and father were concerned they shared in the experience of giving birth to a perfectly healthy baby girl. I had all ten fingers and all ten toes. My lungs worked and my heart beat was normal. Little did my parents know, chronic illness, sickness, disease and even predators lay waiting and lurking for an opportunity to steal their baby girl’s life.

My parents were ecstatic to take their beautiful baby girl home but my big brother, well, let’s just say he was not a happy camper when I came home from the hospital. Time passed rapidly but somehow moved slowly at the same time, for I no longer wore infant apparel but instead I grew quickly, barely fitting 6-9 month baby clothing.

One day while my dad was at work, my mom laid me and my brother down for a nap. According to my mother, he was just about two years old and was still having issues coping with me sharing his space so he climbed into my crib with me. Mom says when she came into the room and didn’t see him in his bed her heart began to race. Immediately she ran over to check on me in the crib and found my brother in there with me. His pillow was completely covering my face and he was laying on it. My brother looked up innocently with his big brown eyes as mom reached in to pull him off of me. When she took the pillow off of my face, there I lay with a huge smile, never realizing my brother almost killed me. To this day, I say he was just trying to take a nap with me. He figured if he could share his space, I could share mine – However, auntie and mom noted otherwise.

After a few years I was mobile. My big brother learned to love me and to protect me. He also taught me how to get into plenty of trouble. One day when I was about two, mom went to the front door to talk with a neighbor. She left me and my brother sitting nicely in front of the television. In a brief moment I was up exploring the house, specifically, the kitchen. Somehow I decided that cooking would be a great idea and turned on the eye of the stove. I don’t remember all the details but what I do remember is burning up the stove, almost killing me and my brother with smoke

inhalation, a spankin’ and well, I never did receive any food.

By age four, my mother had seen more hospital visits for me than she cared to or even thought she would. Tonsillitis and strep throat were the culprits. With body temperatures exceeding 102.8 degrees and persistent nightly cries due to pain, my mother dragged herself from her bed heading to the nearest emergency room with me toddling beside or straggling behind her. Each occurrence was followed by isolation from my siblings and other family members, crushed Tylenol, cups of jello, scoops of ice-cream and loads of Kool-aid in its assorted flavors. The doctors suggested surgery to remove my tonsils many times but my mother declined after reading the possible repercussions; cutting vocal chords, bleeding to death as well as the possibility of needing a blood transfusion.

If tonsillitis and strep weren’t enough to contend with one night my mom had the wonderful pleasure of finding me at my grandfather’s house laying on the back porch with the dogs, Trip and Misty and what I thought was our new cat. She found me delusional with a fever of almost 104 degrees petting our new house rat. I was immediately rushed to the emergency room. Thinking back, I can easily see how my brother was frustrated about having this new sister around but now he had two other new additions he was forced to share his space with.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I was completely lethargic and was rushed to the back having intravenous tubes inserted, blood drawn, given antibiotics, Tylenol and placed in ice water to bring my fever down. Later my mom learned that I had developed several childhood diseases all at the same time. I had mumps, measles and chicken pox’s. The doctors told my mother that it was a close call, they could have lost me.

Somehow, I lived, but my mother had no clue what other experiences sought to pick this peculiar flower from life, leaving only thorny bushes with pricked, bruised hearts.

Hell & Heaven at 8: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - An Angel is Born

From the day I was born, eventful and often chaotic moments sought to overshadow the gifted jewel I am and would eventually become.

It was a cool Monday morning with brisk breezes and crisp air. Leaves blew along the streets and the aroma of bacon frying upon stove tops flowed into the nostrils urging saliva glands to prepare for intake. The women chattered in the kitchen while cousins watched cartoon after cartoon. Suddenly without notice, a sharp pain reverberated through Barbara’s pelvis. She grumbled something like a growl and a yelp between her teeth, gripping the side of the stove. Pat jumped to her feet and asked if it was time.

My mom went into labor while participating in three of her favorite things; cooking for the family, spending time with my Aunt Pattie-pooh (that’s my pet name for one of the favored women in my life) and eating, however, she did not get to enjoy what she prepared.

As told by mom and Pattie-pooh, they were on their way to the hospital in a cab when it began spinning out of control. Yes, you heard correctly, mom was in labor on her way to the hospital and the cab she was riding in got into an accident. When the car finally stopped spinning it landed in front of a fire station.

The firemen rushed over and found my frightened aunt and my very pregnant mom in the car. They immediately rushed my mother to Johns Hopkins hospital. Moments later a frantic man stormed into the emergency room asking for Barbara Whitaker. You guessed it, that man was my dad Edward. The nurse escorted my dad to my mother’s bedside. When he saw her he immediately began apologizing for a fight they had the night before. Aunt Pat walked over to dad and told him to leave her alone with all that mess until after she recovered from giving birth.

Since dad respected his big sister he immediately turned his focus to the well-being of my mother by asking the nurses and doctors a thousand and one questions: Is the baby alright? Have you checked to see if there is any damage from the accident? How long before its time to push? And so the questions went on and on until finally one of the nurses informed my dad that everything was fine. As they moved my mom to her room, the nurse went on urging him to try and make my mother as comfortable as possible.

The nurse advised him to pat her head with the cool towel, to hold her hand and to massage her lower back.

After several hours of hard labor the doctor came in to see how many centimeters mom had dilated and found that it was time to push. Although mom had done this before she was scared. She wasn’t sure if I had incurred injuries from the accident. Mom also did not believe she had enough energy to birth me through the vaginal canal.

PUSH the doctor yelled. Come on Barbara, you can do it! Dad rubbed moms head and kissed her gently, encouraging her to push. Mom pushed one last time and with that, I slid into the world almost falling out of the doctors’ hands. The doctor introduced them to their beautifully healthy baby girl. I opened my eyes and that is when my singing career began. I belted out a loud cry and when my parents heard my cries they too were filled with tears of joy.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________

POEM / LETTER

Dear Mom and Dad,

Angels aren’t always dressed in white gowns with rosy red cheeks, smiles upon their faces, twinkles in their eyes and wings glistening upon their backs. In fact, Angels come in different shapes and sizes. They sometimes touch you with their tears. They change lives because of their pain. They purify with their innocence. With gentle hands they warm hearts. With kisses they heal. Their laughter chases things that restrain bringing joy to all they encounter.

Messy and dingy with dirt upon their faces yet warmly they embrace you!

These are our earthly Angels living amongst us as examples of success and failure, victory and defeat, triumphs and downfalls but it’s up to each of us to capture the lessons, take our eyes off the Mythical Angels to see the ones we have surrounding us, giving guidance with every step made.

Be well My Angels...

With Tenderness and Love,
Your Angel,
Stacie

 

Hell & Heaven at 8 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Reflection

 

 

Sitting here by the water enjoying the lush green scenery, watching the children run and play, listening to the ducks splash, hearing the birds chirp, catching a whiff of the fall air as the wind blows across the ponds water sends my mind rippling back to my early childhood days. I close my eyes and breathe deeply allowing my nostrils to fill with the combined scents in the air. My ears equally absorb all the noises as they harmoniously synchronize and again, I find myself remembering conversations my mom and I had years earlier. Memories of stories told and the things I remember seeing and hearing all come rushing in. Some moments I find myself happy, smiling as I reminisce and other times I find myself almost at the point of tears as I consider how all of these activities have brought me to the place where I sit today, in this moment, at this time.

Poem

Precious Little Girl

By Stacie J. Whitaker-Harris

I bat my big pretty brown eyes with my lashes quickly opening and shutting

I coo, giggle, laugh and smile reaching out for your ear, your nose and for your eyes

Gently I graze your cheeks with the warmth and the softness of my finger tips

I can see in your eyes that you are proud parents but still, you are afraid

As you cradle me, your baby girl in your arms, I look at you and fear nothing

You smile, realizing that someday soon I’ll grow up,

Learning to crawl, stand, walk and sometimes stumble

But then you see me stand with little bow legs as I learn to run to you

I remember your warming, gentle touch and I see that spark in your eyes

No matter how much I grow you still call me "baby girl"

And that same look resonates in your eyes from when I was a baby

There is no love to replace what I receive from you

No matter the length of my days,

I will never quite explain what I’ve gained from having you in my life

Even if only for a moment

No matter how many years go by, I will always be your precious little girl

 

Hell & Heaven at 8 - Introduction

It is presumptuous of any man to assume the mantle of speaking for all men, or any segment of men. However, most men are able to speak concerning issues endured by women as a result of male figures; manhood. From sexual abuse and molestation, to physical abuse and drug addiction, to neglect and abandonment, men are more often than not the precipitating factors which placed women in these very damaging situations; I’m sorry for this, and ask for your forgiveness on my manhood participation.

There are always "whys" and "reasons" that such actions are perpetrated upon women, the nurturers of humanity; however, they are never justifiable. Mental illness, sexual addiction, pornography addiction, esteem issues, relationship dysfunction, being abused, neglected, abandoned, mistreated by women, or just being raised with a zero sense of morality - all inexcusable reasons for men to mistreat the sustainers and nurturers of humanity, women.

All of that being said, the reality of such abuse cannot be denied. While no man can apologize for another man, or for all men, all men can apologize for the insensitivity of manhood. No matter how "in tune" we feel or believe we are to the pain, and trauma of women, our insensitivity is evident in our daily interaction with women. From our unwillingness to give up our seat on the train or bus to a woman, to our insistence that women "know their place," to how we treat (or do not treat) our wife or lady, or mother, or sisters, or daughters, our duplicity is glaring.

All abuse is abuse to the abused. Abuse of neglect, abuse of personal space invasion, and mental abuse, is all abuse to the one being subjected to the abuse.

Yes, apologies are in order! At the same time, acceptance of apologies is also a needed conduit if the abused is really going to find healing. Women must never allow themselves to place their life on hold because a perpetrator has not offered up an apology. Seek independent assistance to do the reaffirming work needed, and then move forward with your awesomely wonderful and beautiful self!

I’m confident that with all of the women each man comes in contact with throughout the course of his life there is any number of women who has felt some level – along the wide spectrum of abuse labels – of abuse as a result of some action on his part. So, all men owe womanhood and some specific woman as well, an apology. Again, I offer my sincere apology to any, and all women wounded as some result of my action or non-action.

Women, when the apology comes, either accept it or reject it, but then move forward. Don’t allow yourself to be stuck in bitterness, hatred, or vengeance. You deserve better than to give a man power over your happiness simply because he was too: vicious, sick, careless, hateful, mean, or any number of the other maladies that can be named, to apologize.

I am sincerely sorry for any and all hurt and pain caused to any woman as a result of any action of mine; real, imagined or over-stated. I hurt at the thought that I have hurt any woman and have not offered my sincere apology for it. Me hurting you was never an intentional act, but had to have been an act of ignorance.

From my: long deceased mother, to my wife, sisters, daughters, mother-in-law, god-daughter, and female friends, I am confident that I have wounded each in some manner. I have always been quick to say "I’m sorry." I take this moment to repeat that refrain; I am sorry!

Please be overwhelmingly aware of my love and respect for yours, and all womanhood. Women, you are the best that God has made. No issue and no situation can change the beauty that is uniquely you. You are strong, loving, and nurturing; you are woman!

In her book series, "Embracing Me," Stacie Harris not only shares her own poignant, painful, and victorious story, she also attempts to use her story, and the letters of apology dispersed throughout the series from men, to inspire, encourage, motivate, and direct other women to, themselves, embrace healing.

Through the letters penned here, and in her other books in this series, it is hoped that this project ushers in a cathartic era for many, if not all, women who find themselves stuck in their pain as a result of never hearing "sorry" from the person they believe caused their pain.

Take this journey! Travel through the pages of this book! Read the letters! Read Stacie’s personal story of her "Hell & Heaven" from book one, and about her "Tears" in book two. Mourn her "Death at 24" in book three, and then share her "Awakening" in book four. I’m confident that not only will Stacie’s personal memoir touch your heart, and prod your instincts, but you will also find one, or many, letters in the series that will strike a powerful chord within your spirit that will provoke your emotions to react. Don’t be afraid of reacting, and of acting; it’s the non-action that has kept you stuck.

Be healed! Be set free from the issues of your past that has held you in bondage. You are not the product of abuse. You are not the offspring of destruction. You are not the memory of a mistake. You are the chosen of God. You are called to do wonderful exploits in His name. You are strong, beautiful, nurturing, and amazing; I am sorry for anything I have done to make you feel otherwise. I am sorry for anything manhood has done to hinder your growth, or blind your view.

Forgive me! Forgive manhood! Embrace your womanhood! Make the declaration today by screaming with your loudest inner voice, "Today, I am "Embracing Me!"

Go Master The Day,

Dr. Allen C. Barham, Sr.(Dr. B)

Memoir Sharing - Dedication / Statement of Intent

In the coming weeks, I intend to share the pages of the first book in The Embracing Me Memoir Series, "Hell & Heaven at 8". Today  I start by sharing the Dedication and Statement of Intent. 

 

Additionally, I will provide a platform for questions and open discussion from the 20 chapters. "Hell & Heaven at 8" was published December 2011 and has traveled around the globe impacting lives of people near and far.

 

DEDICATION:

 

This book is dedicated to every young girl, woman and any male who experienced the discomforts and humiliation of watching family members, especially fathers and mothers, waste away, being consumed by drugs and alcohol.  Equally, the book is dedicated to the neglected, abandoned, and anyone who has ever suffered from sexual, physical, mental or verbal abuse: thus lacking self-love, self-esteem, self-worth and/or self-respect.  To those whose minds were or still are consumed with suicidal thoughts in hopes to rid yourself of the nightmares in reliving moments of pain over and over again.  To those who still cry yourself to sleep at night wishing to turn back the hands of time.  To the victorious ones who exceeded the expectations of the disasters you lived through and are living a life complete from guild and shame.

 

And certainly, this book is dedicated to those who struggle with your identity, unable to embrace the true you. 

 

STATEMENT OF INTENT:

 

For almost twenty-five years I have held onto this story for fear of hurting those whom I love, respect, and honor.  That however, is not my intention.  This series is not to cast blame, point fingers or to cry out as a victim: nor is it an opportunity to "air the families dirty laundry".  Neither is disgrace the objective.

 

"Hell & Heaven at 8" is one of four books in The Embracing Me Memoir Series which tells of my life's journey from girlhood to my current womanhood, having gone through abuse, disappointment, rape, molestation and many other experiences.  The story is told in eight year increments, discussing the pivotal points in my life that have allowed me to heal, grow, and embrace myself for the woman I was created to be.

 

The fact of the matter is my story is a common one, often held inside without the gory details of each bitter experience that has left and leaves young women wounded for generations.  Although the book discloses true accounts of my life, again, it is not to bash or tear down, but rather; to build.

 

My hope is that in sharing and exposing the deepest parts of me, other women and girls will have an opportunity to embrace every experience that makes them valuable, uniquely created, intricate members of society while going through their own process of healing.  This series opens the doorway for each reader to reconcile with past hurts, abuses in any form, abandonment, neglect, disappointment, grief, divorce, rape, abortion, sexual assault, miscarriage and the list goes on.

 

It is my hope that you gain an understanding of your own significance to begin embracing who you are and without defining yourself according to failures, successes, generational curses or the like.  Essentially, healing broken women leads to healing and restoration of broken boys, men and prayerfully, families.

 

Life is a journey with many roads.  It's like a tree with many roots that lead to many branches.  Each root with its own purpose and each branch having its purpose, yet, they are connected by the middle.  They sustain one another and give purpose one to the other.  This story and the story yet unwritten, embracing my life, holds just as much significance as the root to the tree.  The tree which grows lives and will continue long after I am gone.  I embrace the past, present, future, the known and the unknown.  With time I have learned to accept each part of my life, each branch, every root and all the ties in this daily pursuit of Embracing Me.

 

"In order to know who you really are, In order to know the power which you possess, In order to grow, In order to live and be free, You must first be willing to embrace every moment...The days before your existence, The days when you came to be and the legacy that you will leave behind...Know thyself, Embrace who you are."

~ Stacie J. Whitaker-Harris 

Thank you for going on this journey of embracing through self-discovery 

 

 

 

POEM: A Greater Strength

Some of my greatest powers and strengths come in the form of knowing my own limitations and thus knowing when to ask for help. 

It comes after constant inward battles of inadequacy. It comes with the ever nagging thoughts of who will judge me. It comes rejection after rejection due to expectations that one sees, knows, understands, and will respect me as I am.

My strength is in my heart, but it is not physical. It's in my love but not the word, the action. 

My strength comes when I forgive others who have wronged me - be it real or perceived. 

My strength comes in the acknowledgement of the perfectly imperfect thorns in my flesh. The anger, hatred, rage and self-destructive behaviors that seemingly rise with the thought of conquering my mind by consuming my soul...drawing from it the love that is mine to both give and receive. 

My strength is in my stance, in my eyes, in my walk, in my belly. 

My greatest strength took longest to cultivate - the ability to forgive myself, move beyond my fears, and love myself deeply.

Imagine That!!!

After much cogitation regarding the prior year (2014), I declare with the voice of Mr. Thomas Edison: "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work". (SMILING WITHIN & OUTWARDLY)

Creative beings such as myself and probably many of you reading this post, typically venture into uncertain territory to formulate and cultivate things and ideas others think of but are afraid to try - mostly due to fear of failure or rejection of others. And although many visionaries try, not many are willing to continue trying over and over and over again until accomplishing the desired outcome if they feel they've failed.

Let me just encourage you as you start this year (2015), bright, bubbly, full of energy and ideas - one road block is just that...ONE! Failure is not a means to an end, but the opportunity to begin again, anew! Failure is also an idea! IMAGINE THAT!!!

Choose to accept or deny the idea of failure!

May you pursue and conquer! God bless you abundantly as you continue to IMAGINE THAT!!!

Listen to God - Follow your heart...IMAGINE THAT!!!

Snapshot of What's Coming

As we prepare for the release of the remaining three books in The Embracing Me Memoir Series, let's revisit Book I of the series, "Hell & Heaven at 8".  In the coming weeks, I will provide a platform for questions and open discussion from the 20 chapters. Regardless of whether you purchased the book in the past or not, you can still contribute. 

If you are asking how, it's easy, I will post each chapter, and later post the discussion questions. 

What To Look Forward To:

Embracing Me Memoir Book II: "16 Tears"

SNAPSHOT: As a growing teenager I finally asserted myself against my sexual and physical abuser, only to find I was a highly vulnerable and extremely naive little girl. Becoming a prostitute was not an option, yet I searched for love in all the wrong places, landing myself in unusual circumstances. Quite often I entertained the thought of suicide. Just at the point of giving up on life, I found out I was pregnant. My tears were endless but somehow I found the courage, strength, and faith to go on. I mean, killing myself was one thing, but taking the life of a baby - I could not bring myself to that.

Embracing Me Memoir Book III: "Death At 24"

SNAPSHOT: All grown up now - developing a growing relationship with my former abuser, beating the odds against a debilitating chronic illness, in love, married with three beautiful jewels, working hard, in college, contemplating home ownership as well as entrepreneurship and then, the unthinkable happened - My mother died from a heart attack. How could this be - orphaned at age 24. When she died, a part of me died too.

Embracing Me Memoir Book IV: "32 The Awakening"

SNAPSHOT: After much trauma, a failed marriage, broken friendships and relationships, losing EVERYTHING - I woke up to some harsh, but very true realities. Sex and food had been my vices - some might even call them addictions. I realized why I felt stuck and what was necessary to change the perpetuated cycle for not just myself, but for generations to come. The awakening caused an internal implosion and the fight for restoration began IN me but most assuredly was no easy task.

MORE TO COME...STAY TUNED

"In order to know who you really are, 

In order to know the power which you possess, In order to grow, 

In order to live and be free, 

You must first be willing to embrace every moment…

The days before your existence, 

The days when you came to be and the legacy that you will leave behind… 

Know thyself, Embrace who you are"

~ Stacie J Whitaker-Harris

I Had A Plan

Before I share my plan, I would like to extend seasons greetings to you and your family!

Once upon a time I had a plan. One filled with big dreams, high hopes, major expectations, fulfillment and excitement. This plan included a very rigid and structured outline regarding the precise process as well as the most direct route to accomplish each step. First of all, it took a big heart, courage, and bold faith to set out on roads unknown to me, but I was determined to do what my heart desired to fulfill each vision as well as my purpose.

I mean, who sets out to be a first generation college graduate when statistics (and people) say it's highly unlikely given that I was a teenage mother? Who helps those in need regardless of their own needs? Who mentors girls and boys alike because they believe in them? Who studies multiple languages because they enjoy both communication and learning other cultures? Who advocates for the least vigorously, when they themselves are deemed least? Who fights injustices ferociously with limited resources? Who goes against what is popular to institute what is right? Who boost the morale of those considered outcast in order to encourage them as well as remind them, they too are an intricate part of society - no matter their past.

You guessed it - ME, Stacie Joyce Whitaker-Harris. I had intentional plans to participate in the unpopular with no other motive than to help make the world a little better simply by doing my small part. 

With twist, turns, ups, downs, sickness, death, disappointment, and so often, very few in my corner to lift me when I found myself lacking that "self-starter - go-get-it" drive most are accustomed to seeing me function from, I lost sight of the plan. Frustrated and overwhelmed, I found myself trapped in a past plan...looking for a route back to that road. My mentor would often remind me that I could just start a new road, but being the stubborn, often "one-track-minded" person I am, I grimaced at the thought. 

Now today, after many months of trying to get back to a past desired path (plan), I've finally realized how critical my elders advice was to my progression as well as the fulfillment of my prior vision. The dips, curves, and sink holes in life were simply there for continued guidance. Once I stopped looking at the changes as "bad" I realized I was actually still on course with my plan. 

Albert Einstein's quote, "The measure of intelligence is the ability to change" basically says, be flexible and change will happen smoothly and that my friend, is SMART! With that said, I leave you all who much like myself, have plans, with this final quote by Kevin Thoman, "I want to caution you against the idea that balance has to be a routine that looks the same week in and week out".

New Year's resolutions are meant to improve moment by moment, be flexible to the change that is happening both, within and outwardly. 

30 Years of Falling

Although it wasn’t funny to me, my children still laugh about the time I fell while out running years ago. They don’t laugh at the fact that I was hurt, but at the ridiculousness of how it happened. Still, for me, that fall was devastating—it triggered an avalanche in my life, a domino effect I never saw coming.

The fall brought physical pain. The pain stole my ability—and my desire—to walk. Not being able to run led to anxiety, worry, doubt, and fear. Those emotions paved a road toward hopelessness. And that road led straight to severe depression. I became stuck, incapable of caring for myself or my family—physically, emotionally, and especially financially.

That fall was the last thing I needed after struggling for years to regain balance from losing everything, including becoming homeless in 2009. Despite my best efforts, the weight of that hardship took a toll on me and my family, and it took a lengthy period of time to get back on track in every way. But today, as I reflect, I realize the true lesson isn’t about how often I’ve fallen—it’s about how I’ve climbed out of those pits of despair. My faith in God and love have always been my anchors, keeping me steady even in life’s harshest storms.

Earlier today, a young man asked me, “How did you recover after falling down?”

I told him that the moment I stopped focusing on my circumstances, the false burden of hopelessness lifted from my shoulders. And in that moment, I soared. I literally got up and started running. I ran to implement new business practices. I ran to volunteer at church. I ran to open my home to vulnerable persons. I ran to create spaces where women felt safe to come in and talk. And I didn’t know it then, but I was discipling women—offering them a space where they felt safe enough to open up and give parts of themselves.

If you ever find yourself lost in the weight of your circumstances, remember this: You are not defined by the fall. You are shaped by how you rise. Let these words guide you back to your strength, your wings, and your hope:

 

"Don't dwell on what went wrong. Instead focus on what to do next. Spend your energy moving forward together towards an answer" (Denis Waitley)

"Sometimes you don't realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness" (Susan Gale) 

"Forget what hurt you but never forget what it taught you" (Unknown) 

"Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose" (Lyndon B. Johnson) 

"Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over" (Nicole Sobon) 

"The strongest of all warriors are these two - Time and Patience" (Leo Tolstoy) 

 "Achievement is conquering even the coldest of nights by creating heat with constant movement" (Stacie J. Whitaker-Harris)

May the falls in your life become springs ever blossoming!

Originally written December 21, 2014
Revised March 30, 2025

 

A Beautiful Flaw

My children often accuse me of searching for, seeking, finding and seeing the good in bad situations, in people, in places, and in things - especially, life events. 

Well, as I sit reminiscing about my dearly departed mother, I am reminded of her constant teaching regarding optimism. At an early age she recognized my tender heart and began cultivating me.

Her words resonate throughout my being this morning as I sit faced with a few of life's challenges. I hear her words, "Stacie, you are so soft and the more I try to get you to become tougher all I see is your heart in your eyes. If this is who you are than you may as well get ready for the twist and turns in life. Be able to find the good so that you can stay motivated with that same zeal, enthusiasm, magnetic, bubbly personality."

These words shaped me in so many ways. Today I encourage you to make fresh, sweet tasting orange juice out of rotten sour lemons. Sounds crazy but it's possible!

"There are always flowers for those who want to see them" (Henri Matisse)

I hear her voice

Today I hear the beautiful melodious voice of Ella Fitzgerald - she's not singing, but rather, she's talking to me. Her words:

"Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration I don't think you can go wrong"

See, I've spent my lifetime dreaming of the future, not just my own, but the future of the world. Constantly I drift off into a world of peace, unity, and love. A world where starvation is a thing of the past. A world where a loving two-parent household serves as example and instruction for our youth to follow. A world where the village is unselfish and supportive. A world without worry or care for the life of our sons for they are shielded by the love of both the two-parent household and the villagers. 

I dream of a world without sickness and disease. One void of oppression and political schemes. A world with coexistence, harmony, and all committed to the preservation of life. I see beyond the now, embracing the healing of nations beginning with me.

See, I am a dreamer. And therefore, I hear the voices of my distant relatives constantly nudging me to be exactly who I am created to be - a light a midst darkness. I am a revived hope and so today I soak up the beautiful, courageous, example through the words of Ella and am reminded to stay the course for humanities sake.

I too encourage you to BE, and never stop believing in the beauty of the world and in each person you encounter regardless of it's fading...regardless of it's blemishes...regardless of it's sunken hope - BE the gift of God's presence in the earth. Be love, Be light, Be laughter. The world needs you to carry on!

Happy Holidays

Holiday Sales

 

Discounts for Bookworms - Up to 30% off

 

 Hell & Heaven at 8 chronicles the first eight years of my life, telling an all to familiar story of tragedy, torture, and trials but ultimately, my determination to live triumphantly. Dedicated to every young girl, woman and any male who experienced the discomforts and humiliation of watching family members, especially fathers and mothers, waste away, being consumed by drugs and alcohol. Equally, the book is dedicated to the neglected, abandoned and anyone who has ever suffered from sexual, physical, mental or verbal abuse.

 

Purchase your book today and be ready for the release of the final three books in the Embracing Me Memoir Series June 2015: 16 Tears, Death at 24, & 32 The Awakening
 

The Whitaker Book of Poetry is a collection of poems written by the seven oldest of my mother's grandchildren and three of her five children, including myself. We are indeed sharing our legacy with you through the collective strokes of our pens. A percentage of each sale helps us with the creation of a foundation in honor of our parents in order that we may give scholarships and other grants for the development of young entrepreneurs.

 

 

 

 

My Now for the College Grad features the collaboration of twenty-six college graduates from around the country, which includes me (Stacie J. Whitaker-Harris), who have used their educational success to achieve life success. It is intended to provide readers with the motivation needed to take action in achieving success after college and to make the most of each life choice. Filled with stories, tips, and  techniques that will inspire readers to seize the moment - NOW!

 

 

More BANG for your buck...
The more you buy, the more you save

Hell & Heaven at 8 $11.99 USDWhitaker Book of Poetry $11.99 USDMy Now for the College Grad $14.95 USDH&H@8 and WhitPoetry $23.98 USDH&H@8 and MyNow $25.00 USDWhitPoetry and MyNow $25.00 USDAll Three Books $36.00 USD

 

Thank you in advance for your purchase!
Thank you for visiting!



 

Our Deepest Fear

Yesterday I did something I rarely do. I sat still for two hours watching television, more specifically, the movie Coach Carter. For me, it was a well deserved break from the current duties and responsibilities of reading (A LOT), writing, and researching. Equally, that two hours served as not only relaxation but also motivation and an urgent reminder of the WHY I dedicate my time to this particular project.


Here are some of the nuggets or motivational reminders I acquired from watching Coach Carter: 

• Be committed
• Go the extra mile
• Never stop believing
• Consistency matters
• Teams are powerful when they realize the power of unity
• Focus your attention on what you want until you achieve it, and then, surpass even that
• Other people's expectations of you have nothing to do with what you expect of yourself

But the greatest lesson/reminder of all was the sharing of Marianne Williamson's powerful quote:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." 

Reflect on this beautifully written quote. Consider your deepest fears and then let them all go, move forward, and keep shining. I believe in the powerful light that is within you. Now, I pray, YOU believe!!!