Monica was buried at Calgary Cemetary (Catholic) in "Babyland," in Seattle, WA. Because she had not actually been baptized, there wasn't a church funeral...only a graveside service. She received a Catholic burial. She did receive the "Last Sacraments." It was the end of my association with the Catholic Church.

They did not practice what they preached, and I was tired of the lies that had been foisted on me by priests and nuns. If I had not been aware of the "Baptism of Desire," Monica would have been buried as a pagan. According to Catholic doctrine, she would have been relegated to a place called "Limbo" forever and ever. ANOTHER lie! She was a pure as a newly born soul could possibly be. She had just come from Heaven and would be welcomed "Home" with open arms. That much I knew and KNOW.

I returned only once to Monica's grave. She wasn't there. It was just a cold, lonely patch of earth that held her decaying body. The cemetary didn't care for the graves in "Babyland" and Monica's was weed-covered. I tore the weeds away from her tiny gravestone and laid a bouquet of tiny roses there. From that day forward, she lives in my heart and memory. Whenever I see "Baby's Breath," I think of her.

It took many, many years for the guilt I carried to leave me. Her birthdate every year was spent in tears and remorse, and then again on the date of her death. It was in 1989 that my sister, Susan, began to set me free of that guilt. How she did that will come later.

Buddy was bitter and so hurt. He could hardly bear to look at me. I wanted to end our marriage and, several weeks later, told him that I could not live with someone who despised me for "murdering his daughter." I explained that he could not possibly know the pain that I was, also, feeling. We had grown so far apart that we were as strangers. The barrier came down. We held each other and cried together. We made love that night for the first time in many months.

Buddy took a job with Foster Tug and Launch. His tug towed laden barges between Longview, WA and Hawaii. Vikki and I moved to a one-bedroom apartment near Northgate (a shopping mall), in north Seattle. I found a reputable babysitter and took a job with Bartell Drugs, at Northgate. I didn't have a car, so I was lucky to have found a job within walking distance of the apartment. Eventually, I worked my way up to being the Buyer for their cosmetics department. It was the first time in my life that I had been on my own and I enjoyed the independence immensely. On some evenings, I would watch the two sons of the single father who lived next door to us. Paying the rent and keeping up the bills was a new experience for me, but I handled it without a problem. Life was good and I enjoyed only having to be responsible for my daughter, Vikki.

Vikki learned to walk and was exploring everything she could reach. She found that grabbing the end of the toilet paper and toddling through the apartment was GREAT fun. I was able to get a picture of her doing that and captioned it, "A roll a day bring trouble my way."

At the end of six months, Buddy's job came to an end. He returned to Seattle and came directly to the apartment. He was not happy with me. He told me that it was a man's job to support his family and that a mother should be at home with the children. The fact that our finances were in perfect order and the baby was neat, happy and well cared for carried no weight with him. I was appalled and angry, but let it slide.

A few evenings later, the man from next door knocked at the door to ask if I would watch his boys that evening. Buddy had a fit. He sent the fellow on his way, telling him that I would no longer be available for babysitting. My temper came to the surface and I raged at Buddy. How dare he just come waltzing in and expect me to swoon at his feet? Not THIS gal! He countered with his suspicion that I was having sex with the neighbor. Oh no! Not again! The green-eyed monster called Jealousy was ruling him, again. How could he think such a thing? We had an horrendous argument. He slept on the couch that night and I cried myself to sleep in our bed.

The next morning, he was still in a rage. Saying nothing, I fed Vikki her breakfast, put her down for her morning nap, then went to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. I sat down at the kitchen table with it and continued to hold my silence. The next thing I know I'm being pulled out of the chair by my hair and thrown on the floor. A beating commenced that I shall never forget. With his fists, he hit me on the head and in the face. Still, I held my silence. I knew that if I spoke, he might kill me. He had lost control completely.

Finally, the beating stopped and he left the apartment, slamming the door. The loud noise woke Vikki and caused her to cry, but I couldn't go to her just yet. Blood was running from my nose and mouth. I had to get it stopped and get myself cleaned up or it would have frightened her terribly. I was shaking with anger, more than fear. Buddy had never hit me before now. Both eyes were beginning to swell and there was the beginning of bruising on my face and neck. My lip was split and there was a cut on my chin. I had no place to run. I just couldn't call my parents because they were elderly and I was afraid that seeing my condition might cause a heart attack.

About 11 p.m., I heard his key in the door. He came in staggering and slurring his words. Buddy seldom drank alcohol, but this night he was roaring drunk. He began his litany of apologies and told me that he would never hit me, again. I told him that he certainly wouldn't, because I wanted a divorce. I would no longer live with a "Loose Cannon." He didn't hear those words, because he fell into an alcoholic stupor and slept right there on the living room floor.

Days went by with no more than a word or two between us. What he had done to me was right there in front of his face. My bruised eyes were swollen almost shut, my nose was also swollen and my split lip had puffed up and turned blue. He was afraid that I would go to the doctor and that he would be thrown in jail. He begged for forgiveness and told me how much he loved me. I did forgive him and we made love that night.

You guessed it. I became pregnant immediately. We couldn't even consider divorce with another baby on the way, so we were forced to face and deal with our pain and resentment. Throughout the pregnancy, we talked about our feelings and were able, in time, to accept and welcome the soon-to-be-born child. I knew the baby would be another girl, and that it would be hard on Buddy.

We moved from North Seattle to Mountlake Terrace. We rented a two-bedroon house for a few months, then bought a three-bedroom house in Lynnwood. We got settled in and I joined a bowling league. On September 19, 1966, I felt the first twinges of beginning labor, while I was bowling. No problem. We finished league and I went home to wait for labor to progress. Mama came to take Vikki home with her, so we could leave for the hospital at a moment's notice. I remember little Vikki saying, "Baby come? Baby come?"

There wasn't to be any sleep that night, and in the wee hours of the morning we made the trip to the hospital. Buddy was extremely nervous because this time, he would be with me throughout labor AND join me in the delivery room. Once we got to the hospital, we didn't have long to wait. Within an hour, I was wheeled quickly to the delivery room. Buddy barely had time to get into his "scrubs" and wash with antibacterial soap. He stood next to me and gripped my hand as our sweet, little Linda Louise came into the world, on September 20, 1966.

He bravely cut Linda's birth cord, although he was as pale as a ghost. He held my hand and watched as the afterbirth left my body and the process of stitching me. Tears streamed down his face as the nurse laid little Linda on my stomach. He kept repeating, "I never knew, I never knew," over and over, almost as a mantra.

By the time I was taken to my room, I was famished. All I could think of was FOOD! I told the nurse that I was starving and could she please get me something to eat. She smiled and said, "I'll bet you're hungry. You have done the equal of three consecutive eight-hours shifts of very hard physical labor. I'll have a tray brought to you immediately." Buddy came into the room just in time to hear what she said. He came to me and gently kissed me. He said, "Linda is beautiful, just like her mother."

I ate every bite of the food that was on my tray and Buddy went home to make phone calls, announcing Linda's birth, and get some much needed sleep. With a full stomach, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and didn't wake until the next morning. Nurses had come and gone during the rest of that day and night, but I slept through all of their ministrations.

The following day, I had many visitors, including Nonny and Buddy's mother, Mary. While they were there, Buddy came into the room very red-faced and very angry. He looked at me with hatred and said, "Who did you screw? That is certainly not MY child. She has red hair! You are nothing but a cheap whore! I wash my hands of you! First you murder Monica, then you are unfaithful! I HATE you!!!" I was nonplussed. What on earth was he talking about?

Nonny stood up and, with hands on her hips, said, "Sit DOWN and listen to me! What is wrong with you?" Buddy, still angry, sat down.

"What color is my hair?," Nonny said.

"Grey, of course," Buddy answered.

Nonny asked, "And what color was my hair before it turned grey?"

"I don't know. I don't remember," Buddy said.

"It was red, you fool! It was more of a carrot color than Linda's, but definitely red! And what about your mother? What color was HER hair," Nonny shouted.

Buddy's face had turned from red to an ashen grey. "I don't really know. She has always used a henna rinse, which makes it red," he said.

"You are an idiot," Nonny said quietly. "Her hair was the same color as mine, until it began to grey. Your daughter has your mother's and my hair. She looks just like Carolyn, but she has our hair color. How could you think such a thing about your own wife? Perhaps in your heart of hearts, you feel she SHOULD have wanted another man. Where is your self-esteem?"

Again came the mantra, "I didn't know, I didn't know."

"And another thing," Nonny added. "You know your mother lost a child to SIDS, as well as your sister, Judy. Don't you think it's time for you to become realistic and realize that your wife is your love and the mother of your children?"

White-faced, he walked toward my bed to make his apologies, but I asked him to leave. I had much thinking to do and I suggested that he do the same. I, too, had wondered about Linda's hair color. You see, since I had been adopted at such a young age, I knew nothing of my own heritage. Nonny's explanation to Buddy made sense. Linda DID have her grandmother's and great-grandmother's hair color. Buddy couldn't deny it and now I knew, too.

My visitors left and I was able to think about what had just transpired. I couldn't believe that Buddy could even consider that I was unfaithful. How could he even think such a thing? The thought had truly never entered my mind.

"My God, could we continue to live together with such awful feelings between us?" I knew I had to consider divorce, but I was too tired to think clearly. I fell into a sleep of utter exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

The next morning, a bouquet of two dozen red roses was brought to me. Attached to the vase was a simple note that said, "I'm so sorry and I love you. Please give me a chance to make it up to you." It was from Buddy.

The urge to throw the flowers across the room was quelled by the thought of the work it would make for the cleaning lady. So instead, I cried. When the angry, self-pitying tears subsided, I cried for Buddy. I thought of his years of growing up in a majorly dysfunctional family. All he knew of family was that his parents only cared for themselves. The children were considered a bother, a hindrance to the free and easy lifestyle that they both wanted to have. His father was a philanderer, he had an eye for the ladies, and his mother loved his father far more than she loved her children. The children had to fend for themselves, with the older children taking care of their younger siblings. They wore dirty, torn and wrinkled clothes and their shoes were too small, so they went barefoot much of the time. They did poorly in school and when they became teenagers, they only wanted to escape their sordid environment of squalor and poverty...poverty of mind, body, and soul. Buddy escaped into the Coast Guard when he was 17 years old. Yes, he lied about his age in order to enlist. His sisters got pregnant and then married, all except for one. She got married, then got pregnant. Another child was lost to SIDS.

I had been loved and pampered by my wonderful, adoptive parents. They gave me everything they could possibly give. I went to the best parochial schools that they could afford and received a good education. Piano lessons, Girl Scouts, beautiful clothes, meals prepared by Mama everyday...and Mama was even a Girl Scout leader. We had great, fun camping trips. Always, they would be happy to let me invite a friend or two to go on these trips with us. I had a stable, loving upbringing, where Buddy had quite the opposite.

To divorce Buddy was to admit that I wasn't mature enough to make a go of our marriage. Besides, I loved him in spite of our problems. He was a good man, a good father, and I knew he loved me. Still, we couldn't make our marriage work with all of the hostility and pain that stood between us. We would have to do some soul-searching, independently and together. Again, I fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep.

That afternoon, a nurse brought my precious, little Linda to me. She was so small, only 6lbs. 5 0z., but was beautiful and perfect. Her hair was a stunning copper color. I wasn't able to breast feed her, and as I gave her her bottle I wondered if I would ever know of my own heritage. I wanted my darling little daughters, Vikki and Linda, to know of their roots. Putting her over my shoulder, patting her little back to get a burp, she snuggled her tiny face into my neck. I said out loud, "Oh, my sweet, precious little Linda, you are wanted and loved. I will try to be the best mommy in the world."

When Buddy came to the hospital that evening, he was full of apologies and tears. I told him that he had to overcome his jealousy or it would be the end of our marriage. Since I had never been unfaithful to him, I didn't deserve his reaction to Linda and neither did she. He was abashed and full of self-recrimination. We decided that our marriage and our daughters were worth trying to make a go of it.

Dr. Yarbro, my Obstetrician, came to see me that final morning of my hospital stay. He told me that he thought it would be best if I had a Hysterectomy, because 12 pregnancies had really taken their toll on my uterus. He didn't want me to get pregnant, again, because it could be life threatening. I told him that I would discuss it with Buddy. I would completely forget about it, as I got into being a new mommy.

Vikki adored her new baby sister, Linda. She couldn't say "Linda," so she called her "Baby Nina." Buddy pampered me so much that I finally had to tell him that I was well and could get up for the 2 a.m. feedings myself. He told me that he had always taken pregnancy and the birth process as being natural to women and no big thing. When he saw the actual birth of Linda, he discovered that it was so much more than he had imagined. He was glad that he had received that education, but would not want to see it again. Buddy said that EVERY man should participate in at least one of his children's births...preferably the first one...then, he would know what a woman went through to have a child.

Vikki wanted to do everything for little Linda. She would carry diapers to the diaper pail or soiled ones to the toilet. She spent hours just watching Linda sleep. She was in seventh heaven when I allowed her to feed the baby her bottle, propped up in the corner of the couch. Life was delightful with my two adorable daughters.

Part 9

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