Dorsi's Book Ch. 1: I Wasn't Supposed to be Born

Who would have thought that when I started to write this book that I would be sitting on the couch with a laptop in my lap, my husbands oversized slippers on, and no goal in mind? I'd always dreamed it would be different, that I would be sitting at an old desk with one of those old vintage typewriters, glasses on, like the writers you see on TV. Buried in my work for days, only taking glimpses into the world to eat, and maybe sleep.

Well, it ain't over tll the fat lady sings,and this chicks not getting any younger - so it's now or never.

A 50th Birthday present to myself - I said - Something memorable to mark the half century mark. Besides, my life has all the makings a of a good book - intrigue, excitement and lots of stories to tell.... and tell....

Wealth, poverty, molestation, divorce, abuse, premature births, death, drug use, alcoholism, infidelity and....

(Unfortunately, all of those things have played some part in my life) Not that I'm proud of it, because I'm not, I've done some great things, and some not so great things in my life - and had some bad things done to me - as we all have - and as a friend once told me, we ALL have a story to tell.

And this is my story.

It's a story about Redemption.

CHAPTER 1

re·demp·tion (r-dmpshn)

n.

1. The act of redeeming or the condition of having been redeemed. 2. Recovery of something pawned or mortgaged. 3. The payment of an obligation, as a government's payment of the value of its bonds. 4. Deliverance upon payment of ransom; rescue. 5. Christianity Salvation from sin through Jesus's sacrifice.

My life, the me that I am, was broken into pieces - then rescued. Rescued by a God that specializes in putting broken pieces back together. True, the finished piece will never look the same again, but maybe the original piece wasn't supposed to look that way in the first place! Take for example my birth. I was supposed to be TWO of us, yes TWO. My mother told me I was a twin, that there was another Dorsi in her womb. I can't imagine that - there being another me! Would he or she have looked just like me? Would we have been sibling soul mates? Like those twins on TV that can read each others minds? I think its kind of sad that I'll never get to know - I even feel a little bad, that maybe I took too much of the life out of my twin. I'll never know until I get to heaven. Then I'll have to ask...

So from the very beginning life sort of sucked, I guess, No twin to play with, to boss around, fight with, get into trouble with. I was a lonely child. Fortunately, I had a beautiful red haired sister named Sherry that had that great love of babies that 13 year olds girls have - she took care of me (not that my mother didn't want too) but my sister was adamant about taking care of her little baby sister. After all, it was my sisters idea that little me should be born.

My parents weren't going to have any more kids, they had my brother Jimmy and my sister Sherry, a boy and girl and that was all they wanted. They probably would have had more children but my sister was desperately sick and needed lots of medical care, because she was born with a congenital heart problem that made her very frail and weak. Doctors couldn't operate when she was born because they just didn't have the technology like they have today. So my dad, being the loving dad that he was, went back into the Navy so my sister could have better medical care. That was also when they decided to have me. My sister bugged them about having a baby until well, they just gave in. Lucky me is all I have to say.

When I was born I got another lucky break - I was born a girl. Had I been a born a boy my brother would have got to name me, but since I was a girl my sister got to name me and that's how I ended up with the name Dorsi. Unfortunately, I never got to ask my sister why she named me that because a year after I was born she died, leaving me with the name she picked, a broken hearted brother, and 2 broken hearted parents that would never get over her loss. Your child dying before you is just never right, is it?

My parents recovered but tears would always spring to my dads eyes whenever he talked about her, and as for my brother, he couldn't talk about her, ever. He had been her champion, and when she died my parents said he was never the same again. She was 13 when she died and he was 11, and I was 1 year old. The operation that my parents had waited 13 years to give her had finally been perfected, so they proceeded with the surgery - which was successful - save for some bleeding. When they went back in to stop the bleeding she got an infection and died. She was allergic to penicillin and back then antibiotics were scarce, and she just couldn't fight any longer. My brave red haired sister went to heaven in 1959, one year after I was born.

My first caretaker was gone.

CHAPTER 2 - Daddy's Little Artist

Ever wonder why some children grow up to be artists? Read my continuing story here for a glimpse into why:

http://dorsi.hubpages.com/hub/Dorsi-A-Story-of-Redemption---Chapter-2