Let me to just start by saying my life has been a mess. Growing up my mother and I didn't see eye to eye. It seemed I was always in trouble. In my own opinion I didn't deserve the constant heartache that I lived with not being accepted by her. My dad, I guess you could say, was my salvation, my strength, and my friend. By the time I was twelve my mother seemed to hate me and I'd go to school with tears in my eyes from whatever it was she might have been mad about, depending on what morning it was. I don't mean to down talk her, I know that was the best that she could do with what upbringing she had. She loved me and nurtured me when I was sick or hurt, but, never was she my friend or any kind of companion during my childhood. Never any direction or guidance on a personal level which I think that every young woman should have at such a time in her life. Anyway, there was a young boy who lived next door to me every since 1976. His name was Eugene. I was 3 and he was 4 when we first met. I remember that very day. Growing up with him, I fell in love with him. And still do love him to this day. He wasn't the right kind of boy that my parents approved of or even liked. And they're probably right at that. Throughout the years there was an ongoing battle between my parents and his family. But, I loved him. I was 13 when I first snuck out of the house to go meet him. The first time I did, we made love in the old broke down Chevy Impala that sat out in his yard. The next morning, he and I were in his front room when the Sheriff came knocking on his front looking for me. He took me home, next door, where my mother was waiting on me. She had called my dad to come home from work. When he did, I had never seen him so mad, I remember his exact words, he said, "Pack your stuff, you're going to your granny's, and you won't be back." He held that grudge for seven years. And my mom held a grudge for four years. From there I stayed with aunts, uncles, cousins that were old enough to have their own homes, families, ect.....I admit, after dad threw me out, I wouldn't be told what to do. And eventually no one would have me. So I stayed on the run. Sometimes I would be found and put into homes and I'd run some more. I'd go stay with friends and when I was fifteen I fell in love with a boy named Lee. He was fifteen, too. I lived with him for six months and during that time I became pregnant. Well, we lived with his grandmother, stepgrandfather and uncle. When his grandmother learned that I was pregnant she concocted a plan to invite over Lee's ex girlfriend to lure him away from me. She and I became vicious enemies and I had to leave. Duane had been a friend of mine for a few years and he was coming over during that recent time and he took me out of there. I seen Lee only one time after that, but, by then, I wasn't welcome at his home and he had nowhere to take me and so it was over. I moved with Duane to where he had been staying with some friends in Jacksonville and from there we were on the move until we eventually wound up in Interlachen where we stayed with his grandmother. His mom's mom. I guess by then, I was seven months pregnant. I began going to doctor's visits, found out I was having a boy, and I couldn't wait for him to be born. Duane took me down to the old pier in Palatka and told me that I would have to put him up for adoption. He said he would never pay child support for a child that wasn't his. And I was devastated, I wished that I wasn't even pregnant anymore. I didn't know how I would live through turning over my first born child to someone else that would raise him, or how would I live through being separated from my very own child. My grandmother would call me everyday for about a month begging me to give my son to her son's second wife's sister, not to help me to keep my son, but, for her own glorification that she might would recieve from her son and his second wife. I wanted my son. I wanted someone to help me. Everytime she would call I would get so angry. I found an ad in the Yellow Pages for an adoption agency. It was a 800 number and it turned out to be American Friends of Children, Imc.. in Washington, D.C. Daryl was born January 22nd 1990 at 9:52 pm. Duane said "He looks just like Lee." He was right at that. We were married January 27th and we were on the train the 30th taking my baby to be adopted. I hated that ride. All I could do was cry. We got there and Kathy Davidson met us to put us up in a hotel and to have me sign a paper and to take my son. Just like that. I handed him to her and I fell to my knees and cried hysterically. We went the next day to some make do office and there I signed paper after paper after paper after paper, signing away every right that I had to my son. I asked to see him one last time and they brought him to me and I held him as he slept and I kissed him goodbye. We got back on the train and headed back home and I cried the whole ride back. Duane said, "why are you just crying?" That's all I could do. We got back home and packed up to move to South Carolina. I think they must've had some hurricane there that year. He chased those disasters like that. We found an apartment in North Charleston, he worked and I stayed home and cried. For months I'd wake up and cry, and go to bed crying. I prayed for God to give me my son back, I even sold my soul to the devil if only he would give me my son back. Nothing worked. Then one blessed day, I found out I was pregnant again and I knew in my heart that God had given me another son. Finally my tears subsided and I felt happiness after such devastation. And I began to prepare for my second born son. We found a little trailer on a nice little lot in Monchs Corner and we moved out of the apartment. About eight months into the pregnancy Duane came to me and told me that I would have to put this child up for adoption, too. After all that I had suffered, I knew there was no way that I could live through that again. It's a wonder to me that I lived through the first time. I told him don't make me make a decision like that, because, I'll keep this child, reguardless of whatever else it may mean. Finally, Timothy was born March 4th 1991 at 1:55 pm. My gift from God. He bestowed his mercy on me. I guess Timmy was about a month old and Duane bought us a trailer in Summerville and so we moved again. There, Duane began to abuse me and control me. I suffered with that until Timmy was a year and a half. Just hoping that he would change, but, he never did. After repeated abuse, black eyes, busted lips, a broken nose ect..., I left with my son. By then we were in Miami after hurricane Andrew. I got on a bus and went back home to Green Cove and talked my Granny into letting me stay with her until I got on my feet. I got a job at Gustafson's Dairy and milked cows at night. I'd ride my bicycle to and from work. There I met my second husband, Ernie. Which I knew already, I just had not seen him in about four years. He was good to me and for years it seemed we were smitten. At least I was. I could swear that he was, too, but, he was and is a drunk. Always cheating on me for about nine years and I began to do him the same way when Eugene came back into my life back in November of 2003. And I fell completely out of love with Ernie. And this is where I sit today. Daryl will be eighteen in January and Timmy will be seventeen in March. Thank God, He has led me through a long hard journey and kept my strength and sanity about myself. Without Him, I would have never made it this far. Only He knows what lies ahead for me now. All I can do is try my best to stay close to Him for guidance and direction that I still do so desperately need.