Monday, December 21, 2009
I was struggling. I kept reading "More" magazine, the magazine targeted toward women of a "certain age." I read each issue full of stories of women who are "reinventing themselves" and finding purpose again...or possibly for the first time in life.
Rather than finding inspiration in the pages, I actually felt depressed. How can these women become so successful and I can't find a job, a "real" client (everyone loves my ideas and coaching, but no one loves to pay), or purpose.
I moved to a new state...which may as well be a new country because the business/social atmosphere out here is worlds different than Texas. The economy tanked. And I was wondering around aimlessly. Not my style.
I was indeed struggling. And then I took time away from the struggle and away from the state to visit my friend Anne in Kansas City. She encouraged me to find my birth mother. And unwittingly inspired my new passion. Since I've started my search quest, I realized that I have a real knack and patience for sifting through documents and putting pieces of human puzzles together.
By taking a VACATION from the struggle, my new purpose came to ME. I was chasing an invisible goal.
Since taking the training, I have already helped many people in ways that were just a hope for them.
My education, experience, ability to connect with people in a safe way, my patience and persistence makes my new vocation make sense.
So...maybe the moral of the story is to stop struggling and stop searching. Keep your heart, mind and eyes open so that when the opportunity/answer presents itself, you are squarely prepared. And one more thing can only help: FAITH!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
For my entire life, I dreamed of the day I would look at my mother...for the first time...and tell her that I forgive her.
Now...everything I thought I knew about my life...isn't.
I can't forgive my mother for abandoning me. She didn't.
This really sucks because I still suffer from abandonment issues...and wasn't even abandoned. Someone stole my mother from me.
What are these issues called?
Some people don't want to be found. Some people want to move forward and never look back. Some people start new lives and do not share their former lives with the new people in their new life.
I often thought, "What if my mother just wants to forget her awful stint with my father? What if she just ran away?" He is a beast. I know that. I barely survived with him. I would never blame her if she had run away. I did, too!
Then I thought, "What if she has a new life with a new person? What if she never told him about her previous life?" I would never want to interject myself into someone's life that could create terrible disruption and perhaps destruction.
I always said, "The only reason I would ever really want to find my birth mother would be to tell her that I don't blame her for running from him. I want her to know that I forgive her for abandoning me. After all, she was just a child."
I want my mother to know that she gave birth to a compassionate soul.
My current guilty feelings stems from the fact that I did not aggressively pursue answers for my mother earlier in life. Did I want to? Yes. Did I think about her? Yes. In fact, every birthday and every mother's day I ever lived has been ruined with abandonment issues.
Every birthday and mother's, I was consumed with "How could a mother do this? Why did she abandon me? Where is she? Why doesn't she come find me?"
And now I am wracked with guilt that I didn't find HER. I know I wouldn't have found her, but the answers would have come sooner and maybe she could have rested better and sooner.
Then again, maybe she never will.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
"Finding out" about people, events and situations can be like fire--it can warm the heart or it can burn the soul. Maybe both. I am living the paradox.
I am helping people answer yet unanswered questions in their lives. I must continually ask myself...and my "clients" the questions, "When is enough enough? When shall we stop? Do we stop? Do we let go? Or to we dig until all the shit is uncovered once and for all?"
These are questions that must be asked and answered continuously.
Example: I "found" the father of a woman recently. Turns out that he is not only a rapist, but a murderer...several times over. Did we need to know that? Did we need to find the picture of him holding his prisoner identification number?
Perhaps...but best to proceed with caution....
I haven't had any more help or leads about my mother. It is a upsetting, as I seem to be the only one that cares about her or her soul. I need to go to her in person.
However, I am as certain...even more certain...than ever that my father murdered my mother. That was the deep dark secret that the family held close all these years.
It explains so many oddities I witnessed in my early life. It explains his becoming a hermit, never having anyone to the house...ever. It explains the utter isolation in which I lived for my entire childhood. I was never allowed to have friends or to have sleepovers. I was never allowed to go to friends' houses, either. It explains his over-reactions whenever I inquired about my birth mother. It explains his threats of violence when others inquired about my mother's whereabouts.
It explains his complete, vile behavior as I was growing up.
Yes. I am certain that he did it. I do know it. Things aren't left unknown.
I know. And I am better off knowing.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I found support groups for people who have lost their parents, their spouses, their children, their limbs, their marriages, their spirits and others who have lost their way.
No one seems to be "out there" for us. And then came Lacey. (Not her real name, unless she give me permission.) I don't know how she found me, but she did. And I am grateful. She is the other person in my two-person support group.
Here was may latest email response to Lacey:
I think my father broke my mother's neck and threw her in a mine shaft. I truly BELIEVE this. The only thing that will "prove" it would be for someone to strong arm him so hard that he fesses up. How sad is this??
I don't know your experience, but to have BELIEVED (because your father told you) that your mother abandoned you, threw you away and didn't love you creates such childhood wounds that are never to be healed.
Then, much later in life, to discover that she never had a chance to love you is DEVASTATING.
You still have to deal with the wounds and lasting conditions of abandonment. But in ADDITION, it crashes and burns everything you thought you knew.
It is strangely comforting to connect with someone who "gets it."
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I am quite frustrated about the lack of information and help. No one cares, it seems, and really, that is understandable. I need to go to the area of my mother's birth and youth to knock on doors. She must have had friends and/or family that would know her or about her.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Several people "needed" me today; and that is okay. That gives me energy.
But at the end of the day, the day that was supposed to leave me feeling rested, I am feeling absolutely exhausted.
I did find www.vocationvacation.com and this inspiring story, http://vocationvacations.com/MessagePages/val-agosta.php. Enjoy.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The next line lists my father as John Wayne Parisotto, a white laborer (miner), 21 years old and working at Clay Products Company.
The following lines are about mother. Her maiden name is listed as Frances Louise Wells, a 17-year-old white woman. Her birthplace was also Springfield, IL. But what is interesting is that there are no marriage records proving that my mother and father ever married.
The attending physician was John M. Holland, 700 N. 7th Street, Springfield.
There are two "John M. Hollands" still living in Springfield. I am sure he wouldn't remember me.
The only other “odd” piece of information is the signature of a clerk and the date, May 3rd, 1968.
I know I was put into a foster home between the ages of 11 months and four or five years. Was this the date my father and “new” mother retrieved me? What is this about?
I looked up Cooper Township, and Rochester is a tiny, farming community, or at least it was at the time. It seems quite non-descript; nothing notable here. I couldn’t even find a Clay Products Company.
I am clearly from nowhere.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The FBI told me that there is no evidence of a federal crime. “No duh, Sherlock. If someone were dumped in a mineshaft over 40 years ago, that would make sense. Makes one feel safe that you are an agent, Asshole.”
I contacted the state and local police. No one responded. I am in this alone. No one will or can help me. It is exhausting to think about.
But I cannot let this go. I cannot let him get away with murder. I cannot let him be buried in Jefferson Barracks Military Cemetery, while my mother rotted in a mineshaft. He always bragged about his worthiness to be buried in such an honorable place. Hardly. I cannot let that happen.
As I try to find out what happened to my mother, I find nothing. I subscribed to numerous database searchers. Nothing. NOTHING. I am even starting to wonder if my birth certificate is authentic.
My next step is to research every single digit and every single word on this age-yellowed document in front of me, “Certificate of Live Birth.”
Next Chapter: “Certificate of Live Birth.”
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
My father murdered my mother.
He then abandoned me in a local park when I was 11 months old and deformed from the waist down. After several years in a foster home, he and his new wife, my “new mother,” started their years of brainwashing me.
For years, they would sit me down at the kitchen table and tell stories of how horrible my first mother was. They told me that she never loved me and that she abused me. They told me that she abandoned me. They told me that all I have was them. I believed.
How do I know that my father murdered my mother? I know it like I saw it. Of course, I didn’t, but I know it like I saw it.
All I have is my birth certificate and my memories, none of which made sense…until now. And now, it all makes so much sense.
Per my birth record, my mother, Frances Louise Wells Parisotto, was 17 when I was born at St. John’s Hospital in Springfield, Illinois. At 16, she had my brother. My father, John Wayne Parisotto, was 21 when I was born; 20 when my brother was born.
What follows is my theory, and I am setting out to prove it.
If my mother was 16 years old when she had my brother, Americo Fideli Parisotto (more about the names later), she would have become pregnant at 15 years old. I am not certain, but I suspect that in that time in the rural Midwest, becoming pregnant while unwed was shameful. Perhaps her family did what many did at that time. Perhaps they disowned her.
Perhaps my mother had nowhere to turn but to the people on Milton Street, the Parisottos. What if my father’s extended family took them in? I know that my Aunt Jesse lived on Milton Street. My mother stayed there until she had my brother. Less than 11 months later, I was born. Do the math.
I think that in a fit of rage, (and I know he is capable of torture and rage…again, more later), he killed her. He dumped her body in a mine shaft, as he was a coal miner at the time. So, at 17 years old, my mother, perhaps disowned and certainly unaccounted for, was murdered. She was dumped like garbage without regard for her life. And no-one knew. For all we know, no-one cared…until now. I care. I care more than anything in my life. I care, Mom.
How Did This All Start?
Anne, my great and wonderful friend, Anne, encouraged me to find my mother. She said, “There isn’t a mother alive that doesn’t think of her children every day. You need to find her for her, not for you.”
For my entire life people have asked, “Why don’t you look for your mother?” Great question. I always wanted to, but was too afraid. My mantra had always been the truth. “She did the best she could. My father is a beast. I am sure that she has gone on with her life.” I did believe that she had a new life with a new family, but I also knew that her leaving me was not her fault. My father was so abusive that she HAD to abandon me to survive.
The only motivation that I ever felt to find her was to look in her eyes and tell her, “I don’t blame you. I understand. I do understand.” All I ever wanted to do in finding her is to relieve her of any guilt she may have been carrying all these years. I wanted her to know that, no matter what she did to survive, I understood and forgave her.
Further, I thought, “What if I found her and she rejected me again? Could I handle that? No.” So I didn’t look. I knew I couldn’t handle yet another rejection. After all, I have been a throw-away person all my life. As far as I was told, my mother threw me away in a park. My father threw me away in fits of abuse. As I matured in the foster care system, I was thrown away.
In addition, I thought, “Life is not an Oprah Show.” Most reunions are not the happy, tear-stained, jumping hysterically events that we see on Oprah. Life is NOT and Oprah Show.
I thought that if I looked and found my mother…and her new family…I may be opening cans of worms that I could never contain.
But Anne came at me from a different direction. She knows that I am so empathic as a person, and especially as a mother. She poo poo’d all my “heady” thoughts, and told me that my mother must be suffering, not knowing where her baby girl is or how she turned out.
She got to me. That is how this started.
The Next Day
The next day, I joined a genealogy web site. For 10 hours, I researched my roots. I found out, for the first time, that I am the great grand-daughter of Giuseppe Parisotto of Asolo, Italy. Asolo is a tiny, beautiful village in far north east Italy. Who knew? I know now.
I learned that there are still people living in Springfield, IL, on Milton Street.
“Frances Louise Wells Parisotto” was nowhere to be found. Nowhere. According to my birth certificate, she resided on a farm, Rural Route 1, Rochester, Illinois, prior to my birth. I found nothing about my mother.
I did find out, however, that there were no marriage records for John Parisotto and Frances Wells. My parents weren’t married at the time of my birth. (By the way, I will mention my brother very little, as he turned into a clone of my father. I work so hard in life to make up for their existences.)
After exhaustive searches, I found nothing. How could there be no records of a human being? How could that be? I could not believe this.
I was processing all of my findings and non-findings that evening. BAM!!! It hit me. And it hit me harder than any fist ever landed on me!
MY FATHER MURDERED MY MOTHER!
Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus! I don’t’ really mean this, as I am not Catholic, nor am I even religious (Oh…that is another later story.)
I may as well as been hit by a truck. Immediately, I was destroyed…yet again. I have spent my whole life being kicked down, only to get back up. And truly, this felt like the final blow. In frankness, it really may be. I think that once this is over, so am I. I am okay with it.
I felt that I was drowning. How ironic. I fear drowning.
The flood of emotions overwhelmed me. He KILLED her. He BLAMED her for my painful life. He ABUSED me all during my time with him; use your imagination. He allowed me to be ABANDONED and TORTURED for all these years. He RUINED my life in a LIE.
I have felt abandoned and have SUFFERED immensely the effects of abandonment, never to have a moment of relief from it. Abandonment is truly the worst form of child abuse. When a child is abandoned before the age of 5, they live with fear and are negatively affected for their entire lives…and so is everyone around them. Panic bursts my soul within 30 seconds of any incident, still at 45 years of age. I can’t even go to Home Depot with my husband without fear of abandonment. How fucked up is that?
Trust builds when a parent comes back. Mine did not.
Monday, November 9, 2009
After I got the realization that my father may have murdered her and lied about it my entire life, I fell into a very lonely place. I need help through the pain, the maze of confusion, and the rage.
I searched the internet for "people like me" that have been through this. No luck. There is all kinds of help out there for people that have lost a spouse or a child to murder. But I sure couldn't find a support group for grown children who realize that one of their parents killed the other parent and lied about it for decades.
So...again...I put a request out again to the Universe. "Is there anyone out there like me and going through this?" Once again, the Universe responded.
I came in after a long, wonderful outing at in the majestic Catalina mountains in southern Arizona. I wasn't ready to go to bed, so I started channel surfing. Because of my new "vocation," I rested on "48 Hours." The story was about a woman whose father murdered her mother when she was 11 years old. He then raised his daughter to believe that her mother abandoned her. Here is the link to the story, http://www.channel3000.com/news/17749338/detail.html.
The investigator in the case asked,
I found the woman this morning and reached out to her via email. I wonder if she will reach back.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
I have been padding around an empty house, with no career (a move across country and a tanked economy...no one can afford "success coaching")...thinking that the best is in the past. I was quite busy being incredibly sad.
I recently was encouraged to find my birth mother. So, for the first time in my life, I made a concerted effort. The findings came with mixed blessings: some good/some horrifying. If you read this blog, you get it.
As I am recovering from the fog of disbelief, I have to be honest with myself. I am treading life...not living up to my full potential and making excuses for that fact. I was needed...am needed...usually in crisis only. Seemingly forgotten otherwise.
This morning, I asked the Universe...yet again...to hit me like a Mack Truck for inspiration for what I needed to be doing. I asked for a purpose that will be easily sustainable and will provide me the intellectual and creative stimulation I need to grow. I am currently in mental atrophy.
The Mack Truck came rolling in this morning as I listed my attributes:
1. I am an internationally recognized communicator.
2. I am an award-winning writer.
3. I am the best facilitator I've ever known or known about.
4. People believe in me...for good reason.
5. I am effective and trustworthy.
6. I love research.
7. I love being at home and having a flexible schedule (or out to lunch with my computer).
8. I am a master critical thinker.
I have figured out what will sustain, intrigue and inspire me, and I am going to pursue becoming an INTERNET INVESTIGATOR. Started with realization that my mother was murdered.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Father kills mother when baby was 11 months old. Father leaves baby in foster home for a few years. Father comes back to retrieve baby, but he brings a new mother with him.
Father tells baby as she is growing up that her first mother didn't love her. He tells baby that her mother abused and abandoned her own baby.
All this time, I grew up thinking and believing that I was unlovable. After all, as a mother myself, I know that no mother could abandon her baby. Was it because I was deformed? How was it that I so unlovable that my mother could leave me in a park all by myself at 11 months old?
Abandonment is a gift that keeps on giving your entire life. You are always afraid that you will be "left." And because of this, you cling. And because of this, you are left. Then you learn not to cling, but you have this constant fear that keeps you from living fully and freely. You are never free. Not ever.
So, if my mother was murdered, she didn't abandon me. She couldn't have. But I'm still left with the effects of separation anxiety and fear of future abandonment.
I have a headache.
What really pisses me off is that he not only murdered my MOTHER, he maligned her to try to make it seem like she abused and abandoned me. I have been feeling abandoned and have been "gifted" with subsequent abandonment issues my entire life. Fucker.
He robbed me of a mother's love. He abused me, robbing me of a father's love and worse...robbing me of the innocence of childhood. Bastard.
He broke me in so many ways. He stole my ability to trust...anyone. He took everything from me...including my ability to have good and healthy relationships. Fucking bastard.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I also found out that my great grandfather was Giuseppe Parisotto. How lovely is that?
On the other side of the blessing, I realized that my father murdered my mother. It all (My past and it events) make more sense now.
I am nearly certain that my father, John Wayne Parisotto, murdered my mother, Frances Louise Wells (Parisotto). He is 66 and lives in rural Illinois. This crime occurred in Sangamon County, Illinois, over 40 years ago. (I am 45.)
He dumped me in a park in Springfield when I was 11 months old. Springfield police found me.
He abused me until the State took custody of me and put me in foster care. Life has been hell. He needs to face his crimes.
What do I do to pursue this?
Please, please, please help me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
HE SHOVED HER INTO A COAL MINE AND BURIED HER.
Do I have proof? No. Do I have strong circumstances? If my going to the FBI tomorrow morning means anything, you have the answer.
He is 66 years old, and he is about to meet his consequences.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Well, it has been a long time since I have written here. Too long.
I have been very busy, wallowing in self pity. I have been wallowing in my personal losses. Wallowing is unbearably unattractive, but I could not get myself out of the funk.
I would share all the reasons (excuses, really) for my negativity, but really, would that be of value? I think not.
As of today, I am pulling out of my pity party and going someplace much more fun and productive for me and thee. Where? I don't know and I don't care to know. Knowing is highly over-rated, you know.
For some reason, I had gotten out of the habit of reading over the last few years. It is easy to do in these days of constant distraction. In my zest for "not caring to know," I created the intention of reading more.
I drove to Barnes and Noble to choose a book to get my reading habit started. After wondering around the labyrinth of bound paper and titles, I became overwhelmed and left. Great...just what I needed...another failed attempt at just "getting started."
My intention was still fresh and real, so I decided to just allow the intention to "be."
Then came my birthday. I invited a few gal pals to the house for wine and conversation...(and that will be another story!).
One of my friends (thank you, M!) must have felt my intention and brought me a book, an novel!
The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, started the fire in my belly for reading again! The book truly captivated me and inspired me to read more!
Again, knowing is highly overrated, so put your focus on your INTENTION! And stay very aware.
Monday, June 8, 2009
As I look back on this most trip to France, I am nearly overwhelmed at the richness of the experiences.
- Traveling to Champagne...for champagne...and roaming the pebbled streets of Epernay.
- Enjoying Salad Nicoise and wine at the sidewalk cafes.
- Walking the beaches of Normandy where over 200,000 people gave their lives for our freedom
- Being called "Madame Funny" at the French Italian restaurant "Delices" in Rueil Malmaison. (I was confused about language: "Si, No, Oui, Yes!"
- Getting ripped off at the base of Eiffel Tower.
- Drinking stupid amounts of Valpulacella, Montepulciano, and St. Emmillion wines.
- Learning to ride the Metro...with some mild bruising.
- Learning "loo" etiquette without knowing French.
- Taking in the gardens of Monet in Giverny.
- Meeting fun Americans at Paris cooking school.
- Getting painfully lost, but finding the BEST surprises.
- Mussels and Frites!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
- Dealing with the French with humor and humility, at the same time.
- Learning the Metro
- Getting ripped off at the Eiffel Tower
- Using the toilette--etiquette, that is.
- Buying razors in a strange land
- Taliban on the train
- Smiling to the French--don't
- Being accosted on the Champs Eylesees
- I am sure there is more for me to share...so stay tuned.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Over 500,000 children life in the foster care system in the United States of America! (Startling, huh?)
Each year, over 20,000 of those kids are "aged out" of the system. That means that on their 18th birthday, they are virtually told, "Happy Birthday. Hit the street."
Most kids aged out become incarcerated, pregnant, drug addicted, homeless or dead.
This happens, not because they are "bad" kids, but because they are not being taught enough of the right life lessons.
So many good programs are out there that teach kids how to boil water or how to write a check (who even does that anymore?).
But they are not taught The Big Truth. The Big Truth is the truth about how to not be a foster kid forever, how not to let the past dictate the future, how to move swiftly and strongly into a healthy, productive...even happy...adulthood.
Please review The Big Truth (www.tinyurl.com/cuh8nr).
If you feel compelled to help me help other fosters, order a copy for yourself, for a young person in your life and for a friend...or 10.
Regardless...do be compelled to pass this on...generously.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I prefer to share my thoughts, opinions and observations in the attempt to illuminate how others think for themselves, independently.
When a person shares, it presents the opportunity for others' self-reflection.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wow...what a tall order....to find someone "perfect." And what pressure that puts on oneself. For if I expect my mate to be perfect, I must have to be.
One of the things that makes a relationship truly work is ACCEPTANCE. Yes, you need to know what your values, needs and wants are in order to attract a compatible partner. But to expect that your partner fits ALL of your values, needs and wants is unrealistic.
If you run through potential mates like you change your hair style, you will never get to the real issue: YOU. The only way you can understand YOU is to be with another imperfect person. Because when you are without a partner, you don't need to reflect...and then....of course you are perfect.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Given how gloomy everyone is about the state of the economy and frightened about the future, I was amazed at the chasm between how depressed we are and how upbeat people were behaving in the garden department.
The answer to this puzzle is quite simple. Humans, by nature, are productive beings. We need to be productive and grow. Growth is a need, not a want. We need to grow plants and herbs. We need to grow our families. We need to grow in our professions or avocations.
We need to GROW to be effortlessly happy.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Yesterday I became a grandmother.
I had a complete emotional meltdown.
My girlfriend announced that she, too, is going to be a grandmother....again. She told me to shoot her. I told her, "Okay, I will shoot you; then, you shoot me." She responded, "Let's rethink this."
Friday, February 6, 2009
Today, I am struggling not to struggle. If I were struggling, I'd be struggling about how do I feel less lonely and more valuable.
I saw Ken Robinsong on television ans was drawn to his concept of living our purpose by finding and nurturing our passions. He writes about this in his book, "The Element," www.theelementbook.com.
Recently, I went through a radical life change which has left me feeling quite isolated and valueless.
Currently, I am struggling not to struggle so I can attract my "new purpose."