The fake family appears and makes headlines.
My father murders on June 8, 1968 and we adopt this little boy and appear in the local paper on August 26, 1973. The riddle of my family couldn’t have been scripted. No person could have unraveled the demonic turmoil they hide.
In this newspaper article, my mother says, “Another boy was ‘just right’ for the farm-like setting. We had a lot out here to share with a boy like Jimmy.” The article continues, “The adoption agency had been quite specific in describing Jimmy’s speech and emotional problems. Jimmy is talking in complete sentences now, but only when asked to do so. Previously, he communicated with one word at a time, or meaningless ‘baby talk.'”
What the fuck was this family doing adopting an abused child? Their house was already filled with abused children.
This picture still breaks my heart.
The lies we lived. It’s excruciating to remember them. Somehow through it all I maintained some sense of gratitude or gratefulness. I have no idea how.
Was it because I left that room alive while she laid down the hill under years of rubbish? Or was the denial strong enough to help me see that some day I would find a way out?
I cannot tell you but I know that God put a resilience in my soul that they could not be beaten or abused out of me.
Last night I was visiting with a friend. She looked at me and said, “You’re like an angel on earth, Jodie.”
What a remarkable thing to hear! I am grateful that through His spirit I can now live and help others out of the darkness.
Don’t believe the lies of your past. They won’t stand with you. STAND ANYWAY!