Memories are Roses in December

“Memories are Roses in December”
A Look into My Past
By: Lola Maria (Hilliard) King

On June 17, 1956, in Abilene, Texas; a baby girl was born to Mr. James Alford Hilliard & his wife, Edith Mae Hilliard. He named her Lola Maria. He walked into the nursery of the Abilene General Hospital; and all the babies were crying, except for one little dark haired infant on the other side of the room. He had not been shown his child yet; so he looked across the room at the silent infant, believing it to be his own. He walked over to the crib in which she lay, picked up her little wrist and read the name tag, "Baby Girl - Hilliard". Tears of joy ran down his cheeks, for he was proud that his child was the only one not crying. As he held her tiny hand in his, and he looked into her eyes; he had a strange feeling that she knew him. He felt that her gaze was saying to him, "I know you, you are my Daddy; and you are responsible for me." He told me this story many times, with much love in his voice. And you know what? Every since he held my tiny hand in his, on that first day of my life, I have always been "A Daddy's Girl".

My life has not been the same, since I lost him on May 8, 1993 to brain cancer. Eight days later, on May 16, 1993, I lost my Mom to a heart attack. You know, life can really deal out some heavy blows at times; however, God gave us Memories that we might have Roses in December...

Daddy and Mom's first child together was named Linda. She was born in 1949, seven years before my birth. She died in the hospital at one week old; either due to the fact of her difficulty in being born, or other complications during the pregnancy. Daddy and Mom, of course, took it very hard. Daddy was struggling with the thought that her death possibly could have been a result of temper tantrums that my Mom had thrown during the pregnancy. At which time she would fall upon the floor, flailing about. Daddy would tell her to stop it, because he was afraid it would harm the baby. Well, needless to say, Mom, after Linda's death, was struggling with feelings of guilt and tortured with thoughts that perhaps she was to blame. They both had a lot of problems dealing and coping...

All of my life, I have regretted never having the privilege of knowing my only full blood sibling, my only sister. Always wondering, what might have been... Wondering what I missed. Grieving for a sister I never knew...

Daddy and Mom parted ways when I was only 18 months old. Daddy kept me, and Mom kept Jimmy, my older half-brother. Mom lived with another man for awhile and had another son, Rex, my younger half-brother. Daddy lived with another woman, Mary Helen, off and on, up until the day he died. They were finally married about a month before he died. I was led to believe that Helen was my Mama until I was 6 years old. At which time, I received a little blue Bible at Christmas from my real Mother. Up until that time, I only knew her as "The Lady in St. Paul Who Loved Me". I never really understood why some stranger loved me so much that she would send Christmas and Birthday gifts every year. Well, like children do, I liked to plunder through things; and one day, in the bathroom closet, I found a letter from this Lady in St. Paul, Kansas. I was only in the first grade at the time, so I could not make out everything it said; since it was written in cursive handwriting. However, I could make out four words: Mother, Daughter, Love and Lola. I think I knew at that point, but my young mind did not understand or grasp onto it fully; or maybe, I just did not want to. So, I tucked it away in my mind and never said a word to anyone. Well, Christmas of 1962, when I was 6 years old, she sent that little blue Bible. Inside of the Bible were pictures of Father and Family Tree, and pictures of Mother and Family Tree. Below these pictures of them and their Family Trees was a picture of me, their child. She had signed the gift presentation page to me as my Mother. Daddy had not told me who she really was all of those years for two reasons. First of all, Helen was a jealous woman, who wanted to claim me as her own blood child. I believe that if it had of been left up to her, I would have never known the truth. The other reason, you will soon see from my Daddy's own words. I can see the wisdom in my Mother's action, sending that Bible. She undoubtedly knew that I would possibly never know; so, she sent a gift that would reveal the truth. Knowing that they would either have to give it to me and explain, or withhold my Christmas gift from her. Now, Daddy was faced with a decision. He made the only decision that an honest man could make. After Helen had gone to bed that night, he sat me down on the couch and told me that he had something very important to tell me. He told me that the Lady in St. Paul was my real Mother; and that he had not told me before, because he feared that I was too young to understand. He said that he hoped that I was old enough now to understand, but that he feared I wasn't; and that he was forced to tell me now, because of a gift that she had sent. He then had me open the gift. Together we looked at the pictures and the Family Trees. He asked if I understood; and I said, "Yes". This memory is so clear, as if it were only last week. It is hard to believe that it has now been 40 years ago. Impressions of life and tears of pain never leave you. They remain there, hidden deep within the soul; only to surface again & again. After I told Daddy that I understood, we went to bed. I went into my bedroom and lay alone in my bed and cried. Funny, but I never wanted anyone to see my tears. I have been like that all of my life. Maybe, deep in my mind, I remember how happy & proud he was on that first day of my life. He was so proud that I was the only child, in the Hospital Nursery, that was not crying. He always wanted me to be brave, to be tough, to not show weakness, to never lose a fight. Being a Daddy's Girl, for me, was not about being a sissy or a cry baby. However, I do remember, when I was 20 years old, in Texas; I came to him, after a very close call with suicide. I never told him what I had almost just done. I couldn't. It would have broken his heart. Anyway, I drove into the driveway; and he came happily out of the house, grinning from ear to ear, so happy to see me. I got out of the car, trying to keep my composure for his benefit. But one look at my face, or maybe it was my eyes, he could always read my eyes. Fortunately, he could not read between the lines and know the whole story. He saw my face, and his voice broke as he started crying himself; and he said, "Oh, Baby, what's wrong?" I went running into his arms, and just let him hold me tight, as I returned the hug. I then told him about how the unfaithful Texan boyfriend had left me, but I withheld the fact that I had almost committed suicide about 15 minutes ago. I had the gun in hand, sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to go down a list, in my mind, of all the people I knew, to find just one that really needed me. I came to the last one on the list, but surely not least, My Daddy. I thought, "He loves me, but he does not really need me... "My throat let out a big sob, as I realized that I was going to do it... I lifted the gun and looked at it, as I was trying to decide whether to put it to the side of my head or into my mouth. All of the sudden, I heard a small, timid whine. I looked around, and up on one of the pillows of the bed lay my little female Chihuahua, Mickey. She was looking me right in the eyes & whining. It was just what I needed. I realized that my little dog needed me, or at least that is what I thought at the time. Actually, she may have survived without me, if they found my body in time, before she starved to death. But whatever, God used that little dog to save my life... sad, pitiful, whatever you want to call it. I put the gun back into the dresser drawer where the unfaithful Texan always kept it. I picked up my Mickey and walked out of the room, out of the apartment, got in the car, and went to Daddy. I never could tell him that I thought that he did not need me, because I did not want to break his heart knowing my thought. Also, I realize now that it would have been the worst thing I could ever do to him, if I had gone through with it. I think of it as a miracle that God used a dog to save me; however, I also realize that it could have been a coincidence that she whined at that moment, feeling my sorrow and condition of mind; but whatever, miracle or coincidence, it saved me. Being needed is a very important element required for human survival; otherwise we decline into a pit of depression and possibly death.

Anyway, back to the night Daddy told me who was really my Mother. I lay alone in bed and cried. I cried for different reasons; but I think the main one was that I knew then, without a doubt, that Helen was not my Mother. That seemed a loss to me. She had been with me since I was 18 months old. I also knew then, that I did not have my true family together, like most other children. I spent the rest of my life regretting that I never got to really know my Mom. When she died on May 16, 1993; I felt another loss also, other than her death. I knew then, that I would never be able to bring her to live with me and care for her in her old age. I knew then, that I would never get to build the bond that I had been denied.

Well, I can say one uplifting thing about my losses...
My losses are Heaven's Gains.

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