A Lifetime of Memories

 

As I was thinking about my blog post today, I was thinking what part of my testimony can I share today? Then my braincells kept popping and I started to think about how many days I have been alive. Then it got me thinking about hours, minutes and even seconds. There is an application for us to know the exact time. So I put my date of birth and today's date -- it came up at 4:24PM today 2,061,849,600 seconds. I'm sure it could be more precise if I looked at my actual birth certificate and looked up the exact time I was born, but I didn't want to take the time to dig it out of it's secure place. So my number of seconds is, of course, an approximation. It blew my mind to think of being alive for that many seconds in my lifetime.

I couldn't help but think to myself, it's no wonder why my brain never turns off, there is so much life that I've experienced in that many number of seconds in my life. Have you ever had to wait for something and it takes five minutes or less to get a result? Those minutes and seconds seem to take an eternity when you really want to know the results. One of my frustrations in life is when I have to wait on someone. We've discussed exact times as to when we need to meet someplace, go someplace, etc. For me having to wait on someone is not my favorite thing to do.

As part of my routine, whenever I have to meet someone, etc., I'm always early. My philosophy is when you are there at the exact time, you are late. I used to always be early for work as well. Sometimes I frustrate myself with my compulsion to always be punctual. No matter the event, I'm always going to be early. I've also learned that being early, sometimes isn't early enough and that frustrates me too. I always tell myself, "I guess they had the same idea."

So I veered off my topic, because the reason why I was thinking of the number of seconds I've had in my lifetime is because I thought surely there is always going to be something in my testimony I'll be able to share about. I started thinking about the number of people who have crossed my path or that I've actually met since the day I was born. Of course because we can't remember those times from infancy, you have to take the word of an eye witness who remembers. I can honestly say that my first recollection of memory is from when I was about 2 or 3 years old. During this period, my mother has informed me that we were living in Manchester, New Hampshire. I remember we were in a kitchen in a small apartment. It had a little diner booth in the kitchenette. My Mom was preparing food at the stove. She had given me a small pan or container with a small utensil and I was standing against the back of the booth seat. And I was watching her cook. I have flashes of that time in New Hampshire, because I remember the stair corridor and the smell of mahogany from the wood banisters and the hollow sounds of the floors as we walked. I also remember the snow there. I've already shared the flash of memory I had when my brother and I lived in an orphanage there for a short period of time until my Mom was able to regain custody of us and transport us back to California, Both my brother and I were born in Los Angeles. It was also where my Mom was originally born and where she lived until she married my biological father. I remember the ride back from New Hampshire to California. We rode several busses back until we arrived at the bus depot in El Monte, CA. One thing I recollect is the loud music that echoed in each depot along our trip.

This sparks another memory for me. I had always known that I was born at a Los Angeles Hospital. And as I got older into my teens, there was a song called Born In East LA by Cheech and Chong that I used to make fun of as I listened to it. Then one day I remember my Mom telling me,  "You know you were born in East LA?" I responded, "No, really?" She informed me that was where the hospital I was born in was located. Funny how things work out. I've always been influenced by the Mexican culture, because my Mom is primarily Mexican and fluent with speaking Spanish. My biological father was Canadian French and spoke fluent French. I grew up thinking I was primarily Mexican as well, until I took a DNA test that showed me 74% French with a bit of Scottish and only 25% Mexican. Had I known that, instead of Spanish, I would have taken French in high school. I only know enough Spanish to understand simple phrases and unfortunately, the swear words. I never learned any French, but am in awe of anyone who speaks it. However, my favorite food to this day is still Mexican food, the spicier the better. I also love Cumbias music because of the influence of my Mom's side of the family. I've been told that my art also reflects my Mexican influences, because I like to paint with bright and cheerful colors.

For reasons explained in earlier blog posts, my Mom remarried and moved us away from my Mom's relatives. However, I still used to always go visit them as frequently as I could. I always admired how most of my cousins seemed fluent in Spanish. They clearly understood it and I later learned could speak it, but sometimes it was more Spanglish than Spanish. Because I barely understood and rarely try to speak it when my Mom's brothers and sisters didn't want me to know what they were talking about, they would start speaking in Spanish to each other. My cousins who understood would sometimes translate for me, especially if it involved them talking about me. I also admired their dark hair and eyes. I was always on the lighter side, like my mother and was quite often referred to as Guera. Another thing I truly admired about my Mom's side of the family is that all my cousin's parents were their biological parents. Unlike my Mom. I think I had a couple uncles that may have married twice, but their second wives they stayed married to until one of them had passed away. There just seemed to be more stability when it came to relationships on her side of the family. In all fairness, my Mom and Step Dad married in 1967 and are still married to this day -- however, there was a lot of dysfunction in our immediate family. I'm sure there were problems in some of my relatives lives too, but they didn't directly affect me. I know I always felt safe in my cousins' homes.

I hardly have any recollection of my biological father. I met him when I was 22 years old and we were able to speak briefly for a couple days and prior to his death in 1999, he contacted me one last time. He wrote me a couple letters, which I still have saved. I was able to confirm that I got my singing ability from him. I also would ask him to speak French to me. He never got to physically meet his four grandchildren, but I sent him pictures of them. He took pride in knowing he had grandchildren from both me and my brother. I had always carried his last name with me. He told me that my brother and I were the only children he had in his lifetime. My Mom did not give me a middle name, so I used Grenier as my middle name. I did that through all my marriages except the last one. After my last divorce, I went back to my original birth name and retained my father's last name. I always thought it was a beautiful name. 

In reuniting with my father the last time, I also gained an Aunt who was his sister. I maintained periodic communication with her from 1998 through right before she passed away in 2017. She provided me with quite a few pictures of my father as a boy and when he got older. I also was provided a picture of my Grandmother from his side and I looked just like her. She shared with me the names of relatives from the my father's side. That was strange to see a picture of her that looked like me. She died younger than she should have due to cancer. In fact, my biological father passed away at only 62 years old due to cancer.

The stories that were given to me by my biological parents were conflicting as to why they divorced, so I informed them both that what happened between them long ago had nothing to do with me and that I knew I wasn't the cause and that is all that mattered.  My Mom loathed when I put pictures of my biological father in my house and I had to remind her that what she alleges happened between them had nothing to do with me and all I was presented by him was kindness and remorse for not staying in my life. So, the pictures remain. When my biological father learned of my childhood, it tore him to his core -- he told me had he known and how he was sorry that he hadn't remained in my life. He told me that my Mom had told him to stay away from her and my step father and he didn't want to get in the way of that "stability". All I could provide him before he passed was peace in knowing that I loved him very much.

Psalm 133:1 "How good and pleasant it is when God's people live together in unity!"