It is no secret to those of you who have been following that I come from a completeley fractured family. We had it all-alcohol abuse, sexual abuse, drug addiction, depression, mental illness, bullying, suicide and I probably could go on and on.

Luckily for me [depending on how you look at the situation] I grew up in the caretakers role. Some of my earliest memories are of my younger brother Frank on all fours in his crib rocking back and forth banging his head with every foreward motion. I was in kindergarten. I used to sit next to his crib and speak quietly to him until he stopped. I did not want him to hurt his head.

I had a mother who was on valium and not emotionally present. She was not very good at laundry, cooking or cleaning. This frustrated my father terribly. He wanted a nicely kept home and well dressed kids.

I was a dreamer…in kindergarten. I had big dreams of being a nice Mommy, a pretty wife and having a clean home. My mother told me to stop dreaming.

My father was a dreamer also. My mother would tell both of us we had grandiose idea’s. I had no idea what that meant.

When I was 11 my mother left my father. I missed him.

I grew up very insecure and introverted. I hid in my closet, read books and then re-wrote them. I did not like the ending of a few Nancy Drew novels.

I lived to care for and please others. I was the absolute best babysitter ever [very lucrative I always had cash]. The neighbor’s loved me.

When I married I kept an immaculate house and my babies never wanted for anything; I never put them down.

When I went to work I anticipated what my boss wanted before he knew. I had to be indespensible.

I was a really good friend. I opened my door to those with pending divorce’s and no where to go and to children who needed some love.

I had to be the best student. I had to know every answer. Bully’s called me stupid. I had to prove I was smart.

I wore so many masks I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. I knew I wanted to be loved. I wanted to have a nice family. I also had a really. big. dream. I wanted to write books. Fiction novels. Historical fiction. Ghosts stories.

I was quite happy with my feature writer’s position; thrilled with it actually. I still held on to my dream. I had so many stories in my head.

When my brother was murdered I had trouble coping. I journaled. When the justice system let us down I decided the world needed to know.

My family came together and supported me. That was surely different. I liked the feeling. When the book became more than a dream everything changed. A grandiose idea, some said. Sensationalizing my brothers death another said. Why do they not understand this story has to be told?

Other memoir writers have told me they have run into the same brick walls. My family is divided…still fractured.  I had a silly grandiose idea of bringing us all together… I am so thankful to those that do support me. My husband, my husband’s family, my Dad and Stepmom, my children, my cousin, a few friends and a bunch of strangers…you…thank you. Thank you for your kind comments, your inspiration and your support. You are not strangers you are friends.

My favorite quote this week:  “I do not ask to walk smooth paths Nor bear an easy load.  I pray for strength and fortitude to climb the rock strewn road.  Give me such courage and I can scale the highest peaks alone, And transform every stumbling block Into a stepping stone.”  ~ Gail Brook Burket

Doreen