I am pleased to share with you the story of my life, which I believe was part of a greater plan from the very beginning. As the eldest of three sister souls, I am eager to recount experiences that have shaped my journey. So here it goes. What do you remember of your past. What is the earliest memory you have?
Before I was four my stepdad got mad at me, as he was building a metal building outside and I was being too loud, he threw a piece of tin at me and cut my leg. There was one time I remember he put me outside during a storm and I hid in the doghouse till my mom came to get me. My nose had started to bleed and when she picked me up, she saw the blood.
I remember losing a shoe in the snow and he made me go look for it with only one shoe on.
I don't ever remember Don and my mother in the same room with each other. Like a family would be. But I do know that she loved to cook. One time she was making cookies and told me not to touch the top of the stove, but I did and burned my left hand on the eye.
When I was four years old, I witnessed a murder. This was not on television or in our neighborhood; this murder occurred in our own home. I have a sister named Donna, who was only two at the time. I another sister, Chera, but her story comes later in our lives, almost 50 years later.
On July 16, 1971, my mom was only 23. I was asleep in my bed when I was awakened by a loud noise; it was the door of the trailer hitting the side of our home as it opened. A few minutes, I heard noises coming from the kitchen: the refrigerator and banging of glass as the door opened and then slammed shut. A few minutes later, I saw a shadow in the hallway outside our bedroom door heading toward our mother's room. I recognized this person. It was Don Sykora, my stepdad. Out of curiosity, as children often are, I followed him to my mom's bedroom and watched as he took a cord from the curtains and strangled her. Not fully understanding what was happening, Donna and I slept next to her after he left. I remember the phone rang and I answered it the voice on the phone asked for my mom. I told them that she is asleep but not moving. Like a mother would if her children had snuck into bed.
Don killed our mother. The question of why became the biggest mystery for everyone. Later in life, we learned that all she wanted to do was escape from him and raise her daughters in peace.
On that fateful day, she had filed a restraining order against Don and had also installed a chain lock on the front door. Additionally, we had an aunt who lived with us, Don's sister, Rita. I do not recall her residing with us. Apparently, she slept in the car that night because she could not get into the house. It seems peculiar that if someone is not home, my mom would put the chain on the door to prevent anyone to come in. There remain numerous unanswered questions regarding the murder, and today, he is a free man. His sister provided the perfect alibi.
Donna recalls playing with a little girl, and we were reprimanded for being too loud at our mom's funeral. I do not share this memory. But I do remember the ride home, during which my grandparents were very upset, and all I could hear was "I know he did it." Immediately after the murder, when the police were present, Donna and I went next door to a neighbor's house. I retrieved a Barbie doll, took a piece of rope, wrapped it around her neck, and said, "This is what he did. This is what my dad did," to my mom.
I went to live with my maternal grandparents, who were alcoholics. Donna went to live with her paternal grandparents I was aware of my sister's existence, Donna was unaware of us. We would send her a large box at Christmas time, and then, one year, we quit sending them. I learned that she had begun to inquire about the box so without letting the secret out, we had to stop sending the packages.
My grandparents adopted me, and before I turned six, they divorced but remained friends. I lived with an uncle, who, due to the adoption, became my brother, Franklin. It is quite confusing when I explain to others that Franklin is my uncle by blood, but legally, he is my brother. Fifty years later I learned that my adoption was a closed adoption. I always knew that I was adopted but not so much that it was a closed one. In a closed adoption the new parents are put unto a new birth certificate. Since finding out about the closed adoption my question is why? I already had the same last name, so who or what were they hiding from me?
Several years later after the murder, two people dressed in suits came to our house to inquire about what had happened that night. I remember sitting on this big pink teddy bear in the corner of my room. This bear was as big as I. I don't know what ever happened to that bear, probably lost with all the moves I have made. I don't know where the bear came from, maybe my grandparents bought him for me to have a safe place? Anyway...these people had hypnotized me, but I remained silent. I later learned that I did not talk much when I was young. Additionally, as we proceeded through a pretrial almost 40+ years later, I discovered that there was no record of anyone ever visiting the house. Therefore, who were these individuals? I suspect that Don orchestrated this to determine if I could recall what had happen that night.
When I was around 6, kindergarten age. I wanted to be superman and fly. Let me explain. I was jumping over some glass jars in the garage and thinking I could fly what harm could there be? Well, let me tell you when jumping over glass jars all laws of gravity go out the window. I fell into the middle of them and cut my leg, I do not remember how many stitches I got but I know it was a big cut. As I look at the scare on my leg now and how big it is still, I can only imagine how small my leg was as a child. The cut took over the whole area of my thigh.
At the age of seven, I was sexually abused by one my grandmother's boyfriends for almost a year. He would get her drunk, wait for her to lose consciousness, and then pursue me. Somehow, my grandmother became aware of the situation, and we quit going to his home. Shortly after this, we learned he had died. I always wondered if my grandmother had anything to with this. If she did, I guess she was only protecting me the best way she could. Could she had killed him to protect me? I will never know.
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