The Beginning Experience of a Wounded Child

It must have been cold. Very cold in the winter time of early January of 1941. I was just twenty months old. This foreboding beginning could not have been altered. This fateful, ominous time could not be changed.

We lived on eleven acres in California and had a small farm.

My mother had just given birth to my younger sister, ten days earlier. The photos that I have of my mom, show a beautiful and affectionate mother. Holding me and playing with me.

When she gave birth to my older brother, nine years older than me, she was not to have any other children. She had gone into, temporary, deep psychotic, psychosis. Then came my older sister, by 4 years. Again, a temporary psychotic state. Then I came along. She was not as bad with my delivery and a shorter psychotic period. (I have found, 70 years later, that this was not true.)

She was very beautiful and had been a ballerina. She came from a large, early California, pioneer family. A Danish immigrant's family. Delicate and frail. A soft voice and quick wit. A bit of an artist and she played piano. So I believe that I really loved her. Bonded with her as completely as a baby can. The photos of her and me being silly and loving, portray it.

So when I was twenty months old, she gave birth to my younger sister. This time she didn't come back. She went into the deepest psychotic state and was institutionalized after ten days. I believe they did try to let her come home to be with the baby on a visit?. Perhaps after a few months? I remember the baby. I looked over the side of a cradle and saw her.

But I also remember two nurses coming into the house. There was a man too. He must have been a doctor. Mom was crying softly and they took her by the arms and led her away. I was helpless. I didn't even cry?

I feel this was a shock, or trauma for me.

(Now, after 71 years, I have learned the truth. My daughter's doctor acquired the file on my mother. It is at the end of this book. She came home at least 22 times for weekend visits between 1941 and 1943. She was allowed to be alone with us. She had gone mad and was a schizophrenic. I do know from aunts and other family members that I was found two or three times, unconscious under her or being squeezed tight by her.

My almost lifeless body was torn away from her on at least three occasions. My grandmother wrote the hospital, that she feared for our lives and our safety.)

I have no memory of the next year. My grand mother and grandfather took me. My little sister went to our maternal uncle and his wife. My older brother and sister stayed with my father.

My memories of my years with my grandma were loving and warm. She was a Danish power house. Secure, safe and I could sit on her lap anytime. She told me over and over again, that I was a cousin to the royal family. I didn't know what she meant, but she would dress me in long dresses and I would dance and dance. She treated me as though I was a princess. She curled my hair and dotted on me. Dresses and curls and ribbons and bows! I had dolls and a doll house and was always in dress up, play time.

I found her weeping one day. It frightened me and I begged to know what happened. She said her papers had all been burned, by accident. Everything was burned. She had been receiving dividends from Europe and needed her papers for identification. She cried for a long time. I tried to comfort her with a pillow.

On a visit to my aunt and uncle I do remember being very worried that grandma would leave me. I asked her to promise, she would never leave me. She promised. Then I asked her if, "Could I be sure to die before you, so I would not be without you?" She promised. Then she hugged me. I must have been almost four.

I did see my mother once when I was around four,—an overnight. She was on a visit and my sisters and brother were there. My mother was so beautiful and I just wanted to hear her speak.

As I remember, it was an uneventful visit. I went back to my grandma.

She did come to my grandma's house one time. My mother had run away! My grandma said she had to go back. I remember the words as though it was yesterday.

"You have to go back!" Grandma said.

It must have killed my Grandma to do it. This was her favorite child that she was sending away. I just looked on. My mother held my gaze and gently smiled at me. I said nothing. I just looked at her. I stood frozen! Helpless to it all. Helpless.

My grandma and grandpa were my parents. They were my everything. I was tucked in at night and secure. All was well.

They would take me to see my mother, perhaps twice a year. The buildings were huge and I thought it was a castle! We would go on a picnic or out to a country, outdoor garden, restaurant. It was enchanting to be with her. She was so beautiful and her voice was soft, like a whisper. Black hair and dark, dark eyes. She would always give me a little present of some kind. Some coins or some ribbons. I cherished them and held them close to me. Then I would say "good bye" to her. I never cried. Strange that I never cried.

Early Years and First Marriage

I think I had the measles. I was tucked in and cozy and warm. The sun was up, but I was still in bed. Grandma had taken my temp. She was standing at the foot of my bed. I was almost five years old. I looked up and a strange man was standing over me. Grandma started screaming! Crying and screaming and yelling. The man grabbed me and started out the door. Grandma chased us. Screaming and screaming! I was terrified. But she couldn't get to me. I was helpless. There were two other men in the car. They put me in the car and I could see her. She was running after the car and screaming!

I said to myself, "I am too afraid. I can not go through this. I am going away."—I went away. It was the...