The Forgotten One

You how people say they wish they could remember what it was like to be a baby? I am not one of those people.

My parents got into an argument and my father beat my mother while she was pregnant with me. This caused her to go into early labor and she had to be flown from Homer, Alaska to Anchorage Providence Hospital.

I cannot imagine the fear she felt at the prospect of losing her child. To be alone and in a situation like that is unimaginable.

She gave birth to me on September 23, 1982, at 2 lbs and 11 oz. After I was born, I proceeded to lose weight and dropped down to 1 lbs 9 oz. The doctors were not sure if I was going to make it. I was put on respirators with tubes stuck into me in my wrists to keep alive, hydrated, and fed.

I was in a glass box where no one could hold or touch me without fear of contaminating me with there germs. I did not know the warmth of my mother's arms.

Where was my father in all this, you wonder? In a county jail and once he was released, he moved back in with his parents. My mother did not want to take him back after what he did.

I am not even sure if he or the rest of them even came to see me while I was there.

My father's family has no pictures of me up until almost the age of one. My mother has pictures of me while I was in the hospital.

As my mother and the doctors were fighting to save my life, I guess he decided it was appropriate to serve her with divorce papers.

My father did not really want to fight for custody of me, I am sure his parents convinced him that it would be a good idea. (My grandmother more then my grandfather I am sure.) He relented and finally agreed to it. They funded the costs of going to court because I know we would never have been able to cover the costs.

So started the almost year-long battle for me. Back and forth, I shuffled between my parents once I was able to leave the hospital.

Finally, after a long battle, my father got custody of me. Alaska courts tend to favor the mother when it comes to granting custody. So for a man to get custody in the 80s was very unusual in itself.

Because my grandparents were such staples in the community, they knew so many people, which would include judges and lawyers. I am sure some palms were greased to make sure I landed in my father's custody, and not my mother's.

So now my father was in charge of a child he had never really wanted in the first place. (And believe me, he made me understand and feel that way my entire life.)

My grandmother went back and forth from Anchorage to Kenai, helping him as much as she could.

Meanwhile my times were split between my parents for a while.

At some point, my father thought it would be a good idea to get himself a babysitter to take care of me.

The women he picked was someone whom he had known since high school, so he must have thought it was a good choice.

He could never have been more wrong.

So began the hell that was called my life and the progression from the frying pan into the fire.

In the next chapter: Enter the wicked stepmother and stepsister.