My Letters to Amy: A Search for Generational Healing

By Kimberley Schumacher

I cant change how people choose to see things. I can choose to forgive. I may even be the lucky one. As the scapegoat I was sent out and away, shunned by all sides and made to carry the guilt of the entire situation on my head. But I was sent away, out into the wilderness where I cried, I mourned, and I was able to heal instead of harbor resentment and hatred.

From there I began to rebuild, and pray for forgiveness. I would pray so that I could forgive. Then I began to feel restored and my Father in heaven began to help me see myself the way He does. I dont have to carry the pain; I only need from time to time to explain the scars. Hopefully, in doing so, I can prevent some of historys mistakes from invading our tomorrows

Its our turn now, put down the rocks, share the gift.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512738612

Kimberley Schumacher

ABOUT THE AUTHOR As a communications specialist and trained lay-minister who enjoys the avocation of studying personalities and family connections; Kimberley is endlessly curious about how to heal people’s hurts through conversation. Like her father before her, she enjoys debate and the flushing out of ideas with friends and loved ones. Connections and conversations help us to better appreciate one another and to see the “why” in our choices. It is this quest to understand the people that she loves that drives Kimberley Avallon Schumacher to write and speak about her own experiences by way of storytelling now today.

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Copyright © 2016 Kimberley Schumacher.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3862-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3863-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-3861-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016906322

WestBow Press rev. date: 07/14/2016

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prolog: A Glimpse in to the Past, Country Club Hills, IL – 1973

Connecting with the Kaleidoscope, Summer – 2009

A Glimpse in to the Past, Christmas – 1966

A Loss of Color, Christmas Season – 2013

A Glimpse in to the Past, King of the Castle – 1970

Fragments of Time, Recalling Vietnam, March – 2014

A Glimpse in to the Past, Brother’s Baptism – 1971

Moving Pieces, Recalling 1973 to 1976 – June 2014

A Glimpse in to the Past, the North Woods – 1972

Brother’s Turn of the Kaleidoscope, Recalling the 80’s & 90’s – 2014

A Glimpse in to the Past, Their Wedding – 1976

Smeared Shades of Black and White, Recalling 1982 & 83 – 2013

A Glimpse in to the Past, The Train – 1978

Emerging Color and Light, Summer – 1983

A Glimpse in to the Past, Vacation – 1997

The Pallet of Colors, Recalling 1985 – 2014

A Glimpse in to the Past, Sisters – 1974 to 1996

Color Blinded, Veterans Day, Recalling 1998 – 2014

A Glimpse in to the Past, The Fall Out – 1996 to 1998

Colorless Black, Winter Approaches – 2015

A Glimpse and a Letter, Our Italian Father’s Heart – Present Day

Changing the Lens; Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

Epilog: Life is Simply Too Short

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

With humble gratitude, I give thanks for the endless encouragement of my dear friend and sister in Christ, Kerstin Schaefer. For her council, for her editing, proof reading, and for her timeless and priceless view on the importance of relationships. Thank you for living out the values of your heart in every day. You are Mafia to me!

Great thanks and respect are offered to Chaplain Erik Neider, my Pastor and Friend. For speaking plainly, for offering challenge, and for giving me permission to explore and talk about this life’s dark experiences so that Christ’s light might be seen in our transformations. Erik, thank you for living A Life Worth Dying For. Because you do I am encouraged to attempt to do the same!

Dr Susan E Geschke, composer, choir director and friend. Thank you for giving my ideas a test drive and for pointing out the holes in my story. Your understanding of my imperfections first encouraged me to return to choir and sing again. Then, it inspired me to compose my own gift to share with others through this story. You helped me see that our gifts don’t have to be perfect in order to be helpful to others. I can give something of worth out of my imperfection. Thank you for living the gift of encouragement!

To all the people of Schuvallonpaa, you know who you are. Our children, step children, grandchildren, in-laws, outlaws and exes who are all wonderful individuals, each in their own ways. I give thanks for each of your nesses and the lessons we learn together. Some are good, some are really hard, some hurt, some heal, but each conflict that gets resolved teaches us the meaning of grace. I promise to continue to explore this idea with a never ending hope that one day we can all realize grace for and from one another, continuously. Nothing in this life is perfect, much is broken, but still good. Yah, still good.

To my Husband, Dave, there are no words to express the amazing gift your acceptance of me has been. From day one, through the years, today, and into our tomorrow; you hold the key to my heart because you see all of me and still choose to love me. (You were there.) Because of you, I have the courage to finish my course and the ministry which I received … (Acts 20:24). Because of you, I am no longer afraid to give the best that I have been made to give. Because of you, I want to give that same gift of acceptance to everyone I see! You are my missing piece.

And, most of all I give thanks and praise to my Father in heaven and to his Son who bore all of our 25lb rocks so that we might live with freedom by the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Today, I know whose I am and where my real inheritance comes from. There is no question of my belonging.

For Carl and for Troy, whose hearts I hear beating every time the thunder rolls.

May their precious but abbreviated lives serve as constant reminders

that life truly is too short to hold on to hurts …

Let them go!

Prolog: A Glimpse in to the Past

Country Club Hills, 1973

Use your imagination, or consider this a dream. But something here seemed very real once, a long time ago …

There once was a little house on a little block in a little town in the middle of nowhere and in it lived a little girl. No one outstanding or different, she was probably much like your own daughter might be. The little girl walked to catholic school with her Mom’s youngest brothers who lived ‘round the corner. She went to Sunday Mass with her Mother’s Father, Grandpa was an elder in the parish. The little girl’s godmother was her Mother’s closest sister and her godfather was her Father’s only brother. This little girl was the oldest in a family of five and the first grandchild on both sides.

At her home they always hosted Sunday dinner with grandparents or aunts and uncles, or friends and neighbors. She knew from her Father’s stories that she was part of a special family with great generational pride for their name. There was history and mystery in this and much to live up to. She knew from her Mother that she would always be cared for, because she was part of a large and close knit clan.

Into security and love she was born and in all of that she flourished. This little girl was not shy, there was no reason to be – she was loved and so she loved. When bullies would follow her home, her uncles would threaten to beat them up and the bullies would leave her alone. When Mom and Dad went out, her uncle and his girl would come to play and put her to bed. The little girl’s brother and sister made her laugh and they made her cry and they made her mad and even sad sometimes, but they were always around. They were family.

The little girl marveled at her Pop-Pops’ war medals. Pop was her Father’s daddy and he would reflect on what the medals meant and he would talk about the lessons bestowed upon him by his grandfather. Lessons of courage, valor, and the importance of defense and defending. The medals would be her brothers someday and he would tell his children of their meaning and the gallancy of the Vezelay men and the reasons Pop had to risk his life in what was known as the Great War.

The little girl would get giddy with glee when her Mother’s mom talked about who would wear her ring when she’d gone. It was a beautiful ring that grandma’s grandmother had passed down to her when she was just a young woman. The little girl knew she would someday wear that ring because those special trinkets always skipped a generation. The little girl’s mother’s ring would then go to her daughter in keeping with tradition. That is how it was, they were family.

They would all go to the cemetery at the start of each season, all but winter which was forgone for Christmas Holiday. There, the ladies would pray for the souls of old and the men would talk of what each person who had gone before them was like, and how long their term in purgatory might be. The little girl would skip around the graves and distribute carnations in the vases, knowing one day she would lie with them and they all would become a part of each other because, they were family.

She knew the dark side too; life was not always peaches and cream. There were fights and arguments and sometimes people didn’t talk to each other for days. Aunt Annie needed to be taken care of because she had married a bum. And Uncle Joe, though great fun at parties, had occasion to drink too much. The cousins were ruffians and most of the nephews ran holes in the knees of their jeans so they couldn’t be passed along. The girls were too screamy or too giggly, depending on which aunt you talked to and each generation started sooner than the next … whatever that was supposed to mean. But it all eventually comes around because, they were family.

Are you getting the picture? This isn’t just a quaint little story. This was the start of life for Kathrine. Some of the details might seem sketchy, but the feeling that you get about this little dream are as real to today as they were when Theodore and Nadine were raising their little family on the far south side of Chicago. Kathrine was then seven years old.

Do you remember a time when life simply felt good, right, warm, and secure? Do you remember belonging, feeling affirmed, when life was perfect, or perfectly imperfect, but everyone was connected? Back then, Kathrine thought everyone’s life was like this, or it should be. She didn’t know it any other way. Today, now, I still think it should be …

- Katherine

Figure 1.1, Mafia’1973

Figure11Mafia1973.jpg

Connecting with the Kaleidoscope

Summer, 2009

Dear Amy:

I thought you had been lost to me. This was most intriguing and quite a surprise after so many years. A quick anticipation, something like fear and joy all mixed up into one emotion emerged quickly in my heart when I heard your voice. There I stood straddling my bicycle on the path in Stern’s Woods just trying to dodge some raindrops. We had taken shelter under a small directional pavilion when the phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Dan and I had ducked out of the rain for just a moment otherwise I wouldn’t even have answered right then. To be honest, I think Dan was glad for the break from riding. We had about 18 miles in at that point and he was nursing a leaky tire.

Time stopped for just an instant as I thought to myself, I know that voice. I know that beautiful, energetic voice, full of excitement and smiles. I could see your little face and your short brown hair pulled up in a ponytail on the top of your head. And for a second or two I lost myself in memories of babysitting, and vacations, and swimming. But I was quickly brought back to the present by a cold wind and the realization that there was now maturity in that voice. Not just maturity, but something else, something sad and searching. That sad and searching quality was familiar to me because I owned it once. I knew right then why you called. It was because your personal search for the truth had begun.

Life has taught me that each one of us must come to find certain answers on our own. No one can give them to us. We each see life from our own perspective. We each bring to the looking glass our own experiences, relationships, and colored spectacles which slant our view to see what we would like the world to be. However, you and I share a story. We share the times where our paths crossed, we share the ancestry of our Dad, and, we share in common the care of your mother. Until now, we could believe in that world, in the way we each wanted it to be. But from here, as we bring all of those stories together, that will change.

The things that you and I have in common are not known by the others. Sister and brother bought into the bitterness so they simply don’t know that there are people caring and hurting on all sides of the situation. Dad’s sister and brother felt the loss of children and family and cohesiveness, something that your mother never really knew existed there. So Dad’s family may not consider that there is some innocence that still exists beyond their own scars. You and I share a story; we have simply lived out our roles through different years so the overlap seems rare but the characters are all the same. They age and change but in that most important place, in their hearts they have not grown.

Our similarities are not just found in the times that we shared. They are in the circumstances we each have had to confront. If one’s view of life is like peering into the looking glass, then understanding history might be like peering into a kaleidoscope. So many fragments in view, each of their own color, mixing up as the story turns to form a unique picture of the past. Sister, brother, auntie, uncle, they were different people then; and you and I are different people now.

I can’t give you what you are missing because like you, I was only a child through much of it. I may have been the oldest child so I might carry with me the most vibrant memories. But keep in mind that I was simply a child just the same. Even at Dad’s passing, I was still only his daughter. I may have been twenty-eight years old with a family of my own, but my place in the order of things was merely one of his children. Like you, but with more years behind me. However, I know who they used to be and I am probably the only person out of all who were involved that may really know who they each are today. I think that is why you came to me. I’m sorry that the others have hurt you and that they couldn’t be more reasonable.

I can tell you about some of those years past from my child’s perspective, some twenty or more years before you came into this life. The story will be salted and peppered now with my own experiences of parenting which have refined my perspective giving it understanding that now can allow grace where it didn’t before.

This turn of the kaleidoscope is good, for without this understanding the tale would be severely sad and misunderstood. Knowing love now from a parent’s view, and sprinkling in some grace for our imperfect humanity, I can see sincerity where I once only saw selfishness and loss. And, I can find forgiveness for the hurts of the past and love for the people I shared it with. Even if those people remain sad and angry today over what they lost in their yesterdays. My hope is that their anger doesn’t continue to cloud out what life could be for you and me. Now, finally with your willing inquiry, you and I have a chance for relationship. We have a chance to try our hand at forgiveness for the sake of our tomorrows.

I will caution you this, my memories may not mesh with the stories you have come to know. The details may be cloudy or we may stumble across some deceptions left unanswered by time. This could have happened honestly as adults attempt to sugar coat the sadness or awkward consequences of their choices. The respect I have for our parents may prohibit me from making challenges to the explanations we each have been given. But, know that I share a desire for some of the same answers you seek. Even today, even in my heart, there are still many unanswered questions. I’m guessing that the truth may lie somewhere in these unspoken words, the ones that cause a difference in perspective between your mother and me. Or maybe it isn’t even truth that is missing; maybe it is just the lack of having a full story on all our parts.

I hope all this makes sense. For now, know that I love you and have deeply missed you in all these years that have passed. Live well until we catch up again and I will try to put some memories to words in my attempt to help you connect the dots. I do pray that you approach these chapters with humility, respect, understanding, grace, and acceptance for all concerned. It is only through these lenses that you will be empowered to truly find the peace that you seek.

Love, your sister,

Katherine

XOXOXOO

Figure 2.1, Mafia’2009

Figure21Mafia2009.jpg

Reflection:

Is there someone in your life that is missing, or a mystery? Maybe they aren’t really gone, maybe they are just distant. Is it a parent, a child, a sibling, or a step relationship? We lose a part of our selves when we reject real family connections. Even step relationships can introduce us to attitudes and values we may not have known we had.

Think on this … what might you learn from the missing or rejected person? What effect does this dynamic have on other family connections? How many years have already been lost and what might you recover by making a connection? Maybe you could begin a journey like the two sisters have in this story.

Challenge:

Uncover a mystery, make the connection.

A Glimpse in to the Past

Christmas, 1966

People are born and die, but a family’s past lives in the present

- The Bowen Center for the Study of the Family

Figure 3.1, Mafia, 1966

Figure31Mafia1966CORRECTED.jpg

The evening began at a house that, from a little girl’s perspective, once seemed a lot larger. It was a little brick house on 175th street in Hazel Crest Illinois. The date was December 25th 1966. The small brick house is surrounded by large evergreens. The drive is to the left edge of the property and it slopes upward greeting a large and looming two-car-overhead garage door at the top of the hill. To the right, about half way up the driveway is the gate to the patio. The patio is a small sanctuary surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The fence is 5 feet tall with a grand ornate gate, the type you would find enclosing an estate garden in England.

The car stops, the gearshift is lifted into the Park position and no one moves. The emergency brake is pulled locking the car safely in place on the slope. A man looks over and studies his young bride and smiles. He kisses her on the cheek. It’s going to be fine you know, he reassures her. She blushes and looks down at the bundle she holds in her arms and they both take a deep breath. The man leans to the opposite direction and grasps the car door handle. He looks over at her again and with an exaggerated expression he attempts to quietly open the car door. Success. But as he gets out of the car he forgets the reason for silence and closes the door. A Slam! rings out as he walks around to the passenger side to open the door for her and the baby’s cry rings out announcing their arrival.

Inside the grand gate, the patio too is surrounded by tall evergreens. All except for one side that exposes the living room of the home through tall picture windows. It is kind of like looking into an aquarium to see dolphins and sharks playing in their natural habitat. Their nature can be unpredictable depending on the other marine life around or between them and how much space there is to separate them. Dolphins may seem the more docile of the two but they have been known to gang up and bludgeon a lonely shark to death or to drive him out. Sharks on the other hand may tolerate the presence of Dolphins for a while, only to strike without warnings leaving them with scars that last a lifetime.

Teddy’s here! Mummy, he is here! And they’ve brought the baby! Charlene screams as she jumps from the couch and runs to the door. At nine years old the idea of a baby coming for Christmas is simply too much for her to contain. It is very exciting! Her brother, nick-named Bogarty, grabs an ankle and she falls on her chin. Her dress is now in a rumple, and a carpet burn drives a loose threaded hole in her tights near the knee. There is about an eight-year difference in age between Char and her brothers, she is the only girl and quite the princess by her mother’s view.

Bogarty is a ‘little-big brother," and quite the jester. With only a hint of underlying malice he takes great pleasure in un-dignifying the princess. He never takes things