Changing Eyes: SCARRED YET UNBROKEN ❤️

By Leanne Antaya, Mekenzi L Blalock and Michael O'Connor

Trey's childhood was a sunlit tapestry of laughter, family picnics, and dreams. His parents, unwavering pillars of love and support, believed in him fiercely. But life has a way of introducing unexpected twists, and Trey's path took a dark turn when he met Nirvana and drugs, the s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leanne Antaya
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088036617

Leanne Antaya

I was on an unexpected journey that transcended the whimsical tales I usually penned. My son, Trey, had taken a dark turn, ensnared by the seductive muse of addiction. I grappled with despair as Trey's laughter turned hollow and his eyes lost their sparkle. I watched helplessly as my once-happy child spiraled into chaos. But I was no ordinary mother. I clung to hope like a lifeline, refusing to abandon my son to the ghostly specter of addiction.In the depths of Trey's struggle, I discovered my own resilience. I poured my heart into a memoir-a raw, unfiltered account of our shared battle. Through tear-soaked days and desperate prayers, I chronicled Changing Eyes. My words became a torch, illuminating the path for others. My memoir isn't just a story; it's a battle cry. I hope that no other mother will hear the same cries of anguish as I had. Instead, I offer a lifeline-a testament to the human spirit's unwavering strength. Through my words, I have become a beacon of hope for those navigating similar storms.Changing Eyes isn't just a book; it's a lifeline extended from one mother's heart to another's. ❤️

Book preview

Chapter 1

AN INTENSE SILENCE ENSURED BEFORE I’M awakened from my dreams by the ringing telephone near my bed. Damn it. It must be three in the morning! Who could be calling at this time? I sit up, confused in the darkness, as I reach for the telephone. I pick it up and put it to my ear. Lisa fights for her breath as she tries to formulate a thought. Her voice is scared and panicked as she stutters to find the right words. She is hysterical as she speaks. Oh, my God, Leigh, he’s not going to make it! She cries as she wipes her black mascara tears from her face. He’s not going to make it . . . I found him on the bathroom floor.

I remain stiffly seated as the unbelievable heartache consumes me as I silently pray to God that Trey will be okay. Please, God, let him be okay. Please. The paralyzing hurt runs through my body as I feel my hands tremble. My fearful thoughts surround me as I cling to the telephone, wishing it hadn’t rung. As time creeps by, I hold the phone to my ear, desperately trying to hear what is happening in the hotel’s bathroom. I knew this day would come, and now it’s here, and I don’t know how to react. I close my eyes and try to stay calm. All right, I need to go to the emergency room. Trey has overdosed. I repeat the words. I need to go. I drop the telephone and grab my head while my eyes bleed tears.

He’ll be alright. Marco reaches for me. I notice his hands are cold and clammy as he tries to hide his fear.

We climb into the family car for the indescribably sad and depressing ride to the hospital, remembering how many times we’ve grieved before. The drugs have taken him away, piece by piece, throughout the years while he fought with drug addiction and the demons surrounding him.

Chapter 2

IT WAS BACK IN 1977 WHEN MARCO, AGED sixteen, rushed down the street covered in broken concrete due to the overgrown maple trees. They lined the narrow roads in a small town near Boston where two-family homes were crammed together near the graveyards in the neighbourhood. A deep recession was evident in Marco’s home town as for-sale signs yelled out for buyers, and the old industrial building had to close its doors at the end of the street. Marco’s uncle, who once worked there, found himself unemployed along with many others.

Mangia! Mangia! A short, red-haired, big-bosomed Italian woman stood flat-footed as she stirred spaghetti sauce in a large cast-iron pot. Beatrice often spoke in her native tongue about her childhood in Italy and the family she left behind. She wore an old and worn-out apron with her favourite crucifix hanging between her breasts as she heated leftovers on her overly used stove. Pastries filled the large Italian bowl which sat on the rarely used dishwasher pushed up against the screened porch door. She preferred to wash her favourite dishes by hand. Statues of Saint Teresa and Padre Pio, whom Beatrice prayed to diligently, decorated her kitchen. When a coral-coloured rose presented itself in her garden, she claimed the Saints had answered her prayers. Overlapping prints of Van Gogh hanging by carpenter nails borrowed from Marco’s dad’s construction bags covered the walls. Her hands were tired yet strong as she ruled her family with solid morals and principles.

She shouted from an open window to Marco, carrying a handful of books. Dinner’s getting cold! Where have you been? I’ve been praying all day for your safe return. Mangiamo! Beatrice was Marco’s mother and Trey’s grandmother.

Marco’s father, Ray, was a carpenter with a long heritage of the skills he learned from his forefathers in Canada. Penny pincher was the proper term for him. He wasn’t poor, but they sure lived like they were. Ray kept a small diary of every expenditure, no matter how insignificant it was. He built their modest two-story home in Massachusetts years before Marco was born, and he planned to stay there until his last day. Marco carried on the family trade with pride as he dreamed of a better life in California.

At twenty-three, Marco could no longer take the harsh New England winters. The biting cold chilled his fingers into frozen numbness. His hand was frostbitten as he reached for his hammer and realized how burned out he was. He glanced at his smashed finger and then remembered how it hadn’t bled due to the below-average temperatures. The cold seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his feet. His toes felt like they were on the icy snow rather than in his work boots. His lips turned a bluish hue, and his teeth chattered. The frigid wind wrapped itself around him. He knew nothing was friendly about the storm that blinded everyone who lived there.

With his friend Jack, they drove west after anticipating the cold winter that was already here. A drop of holy water wrapped in a scapular hung to the visor of his red Datsun pickup truck. The token of devotion was there to ensure a safe trip and as a small reminder that his mother awaited his return.

After a gruelling trip across the country, they eventually landed in California, the Golden State, a week later. A carpenter all his life, work came quickly to Marco in the booming construction fields in California. There, in the office of my father’s construction company was where I first heard about him.

*****

Have you met your dad’s new employee yet? In my mother’s voice, I could hear that she was excited and impatient for me to settle down and have a family as she continued. He’s a nice-looking guy, and with your good looks, you two would make a perfect couple. Be sure to stay in the office until he comes in today, so you don’t miss him. I can’t wait to hear what you think.

I know, I know. You’ve already told me about our new employee. I promise I will meet him today. I reached into my purse to find my Ombre Red-Orange lipstick. I knew he would come into the office to collect his paycheck in the afternoon, so I hiked up my skirt, exposing my long tan legs. The freckles that splattered across them were difficult to cover, so an extra handful of self-tanning lotion was added to my daily shower routine, making my skin glow in true California fashion.

He entered through the front door with his long curly black hair held back with a red bandana, perfectly shaped white teeth that flashed with every smile, and irresistible charm. My bright green eyes jumped out at him as I greeted him at my desk. I hadn’t forgotten about my hiked-up skirt as I watched his eyes go in search of it.

Hi, Marco. You must be the new guy I’ve heard about. My voice sounded nervous as I tried to hide my apparent interest.

Yes. I’m glad I finally got to meet you. You are as pretty as the other guys say you are! I tried not to blush.

How do you like California? I wanted desperately to change the subject.

It’s great here. I like the people, and the weather couldn’t be better. As he spoke, I admired his strong, muscular frame.

Do you have time to go out for a drink after you finish up here today? We can go over to the bar on the corner if you want. He naively pointed over to Mr Michael’s, a local gay bar.

Sure. I suppressed a giggle knowing of the neighbourhood secret. About an hour later, we walked across the street, and as we entered the bar, we found a table for two, snuggled into the corner of the dimly lit room. Smoky mirrors behind the bar reflected the gleaming colours of the extensive selections of alcohol, wine, and beer.

What would you like to drink? Marco asked politely. I glanced over to the bar then noticed the strong and handsome male bartender leaning over and kissing an older gentleman. I was reminded of a night in Hollywood several months ago.

It started as a fluke as my gay hairdresser talked about his West Hollywood fun and suggested we go together. Hey, we should go tonight! We would have so much fun! He giggled as he thought about how straight I was.

Don’t think I won’t go! I replied as I noticed how blonde my hair had become. My God, Ronnie, what have you done to my hair?

Oh, you know you love it! he said with a sarcastic smile.

We left later that evening and arrived at the popular Robertshaw just in time for their spotlight dance. It started at 10:30 p.m. as the lights began to dim and the Love Machine began. In the club’s dark, all I could see was Ronnie’s high cheekbones and mischievous eyes. The music excited him as he jumped onto the dance floor. He jived and boogied like no one was watching, but of course, they all were. He just didn’t care. He knew he could do anything as he wiggled and shook. The other men on the floor kept a close eye on the single dancer as they moved in closer. Being the only female in the club, I sat and watched and knew there was no chance of anyone being interested in me. I finally motioned it was time to go after noticing Ronnie locked eyes with someone sitting in a dark corner.

I told Marco white wine might taste good. He ordered our drinks, I’ll have a Jack and Coke, the lady a glass of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. Wow, this bandana-wearing hic sure knows his wine.

The small talk ended when he politely said he needed to use the men’s room. There I sat waiting, with my blood boiling, over fifteen minutes for his return. Something finally clicked. That jerk wasn’t coming back. I picked up the check, stormed out, and couldn’t wait to call my dad.

You’ve got to fire that asshole! I hate him! I screeched at my dad over the phone while he continued to refuse my request.

Leigh, calm down, he’s one of the best carpenters I have, and I don’t want to lose him.

I don’t give a goddamn about him! You have to get rid of him, or you will be sorry!

I was furious.

Your mother is smiling, Leigh. She says you have finally met your match. He chuckled as I slammed down the phone. I will show them! I will quit in the morning, so I never have to see that bastard again.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the office the next day, where I saw Marco waiting in his truck. Oh shit! I tried to look away, but he caught my eye as he approached my car. I’m sorry, Leigh. Some gay man tried to hit on me, and it pissed me off. I wanted to bash his head in, so I decided it best to leave. I’m sorry. As I gazed into Marco’s eyes, he seemed sincere as he apologized, and I must say boy, did he look sexy. I forgave him, not that I had a choice, and made a date for the following Friday night.

As the days passed, I found myself waiting later in the day to close the office. I’d hoped Marco would drop in unexpectedly, so I waited, hoping not to miss him. I hadn’t seen or heard from him as our date was drawing near and wondered if he’d forgotten. Should I call him? I waited until he finally showed up at the office Friday afternoon after work.

Hey, I’ve got tickets to see the Rolling Stones at the Forum tonight. Mike can’t go. You want to? Are you kidding? Tonight? What happened to our date? Mike?Me?

Okay, I’d love to go. What time will you be by to pick me up? I was annoyed, and it was evident in my voice.

Everyone is meeting at my apartment, so I thought maybe you could meet me there. He glanced at his watch. I seethed inside. He wants me to drive twenty minutes over to his apartment? Who does he think he is? What an asshole!

Okay, what time? I bit my lip.

I drove over to the apartment to find five guys waiting to go. Marco was in the shower as I arrived. I wore my skin-tight, bell-bottom blue jeans and a black velvet bustier with eighteen tiny clasps holding it together in the front. My boobs pushed up, front and centre. The slim spaghetti straps in the back added so much sex appeal that it was, by far, my most favourite top to wear on a first date. My feet ached in the black high heels that squeezed my toes together as I thought about the parking lot at the Los Angeles Forum, which I knew was quite a hike from the grand stage.

I began to feel cosy with the other guys as I waited for Marco. Their laughter and jokes made me feel comfortable and welcomed as Marco walked out of his bedroom wearing that same red bandana he wore the last time I saw him. I wonder if he sleeps in the silly thing. He looked pleased as he studied my appearance then handed me my concert ticket. Three rows from the centre stage. Wow!

As we arrived at the concert and took our seats, the energy filled the stadium. There were hordes of concertgoers looking for their places to sit as Marco excused himself and left for some libation. I patiently waited for his return. The concert began with Mick Jagger’s lips hugging the microphone as people left their seats and rushed the stage. Hundreds of people pushing and shoving their way closer to the grandstand surrounded Marco and me as he returned with our drinks. I suddenly felt his arm around my waist as he leaned over.

Let’s get out of here!

We downed our drinks, then pushed through the crowd and found peace in the nosebleed section of the massive stadium. There I felt safe as Marco placed his arm over my shoulder, and we enjoyed the concert together. As I sat there surrounded by this gorgeous man, I felt a rush of satisfaction and warmth. I might have fallen in love with him right then and there.

I didn’t hear from him after that for two weeks, as I fought myself not to call. I can’t believe that I fell for that asshole! I heard from a few of the other employees that his only interest was sleeping with the boss’s daughter and nothing else. He was working to earn enough money to pay for a one-way ticket home. The weeks flew by as I tried to get him out of my mind and date other guys. I tried not to think about him, but I slipped many times. The pain of not hearing from him was getting more manageable, but I was starting to feel numb. The wise thing would be to run away from this potentially destructive and certainly mentally unstable man, but I knew I couldn’t. Seconds passed while I tried to sort things out, and then a voice in my head answered. MAKE UP YOUR MIND! CALL HIM! I obeyed and picked up the phone.

Why haven’t you called me?

I’ve been busy. I’m heading down to Ocean Pier tonight with a few buddies. Do you want to go? He sounded distracted as his voice faded. I wondered if he wanted me to go as I clung to the phone.

What time are you going? I was distracted by my thoughts of being too aggressive.

We’re going down at eight. Maybe you can meet me there? He seemed distant and arrogant. I mean, who does he think he is?

Okay. I might make it, but don’t count on it. I had to play hard to get, so I put the phone down while I struggled with the idea and fought the strings that pulled at my heart. Our conversation rang in my head for the next few minutes while I tried to figure this guy out. Should I go? I ask myself over and over. Should I give in and call my girlfriend to see if she had plans for the night? I gave in.

There’s a bunch of guys going down to the pier tonight. I know a few of them, and some of them are cute! I found myself wanting to go. Bad!

She was free, so we decided to meet him there. The hour drive to the pier flew by as I found myself bitching and complaining about him to this unsuspecting girlfriend.

He’s a real asshole, but for some reason, I like him. I can’t be with someone who plays so many games. If he truly wanted me to go, he would have picked me up! I don’t like it this way, so I’m going to stop dating him! It’s over after tonight, but I’m so attracted to him. I’ll give him one more chance. It is time for me to walk away. My one-sided conversation lasted until we got there.

Once there, I noticed he was nowhere. I waited until I spotted his roommate casting a fishing line over the side of the pier. I fluffed my hair, reapplied my lipstick, and walked over to him. Catching anything? I winked at him and noticed that his fishing line was dangling in the air too short of hitting the water. Fishing for flying fish? I smiled as he looked at me, then at his line, and broke out laughing. I noticed Marco watched from afar, so I poured it on while cosying up to his buddy. He finally made his way over, intentionally breaking up the fun and taking my hand.

Let’s go for a walk. We walked down the pier as he opened up to me. I’ve tried to forget you. I’ve tried to get you off my mind, but I can’t. I’m supposed to head home next week, but something keeps stopping me. I think it’s you. He stopped and kissed me as my heart stopped beating for a moment. It was fate.

Whatever it was that had happened that night, and whether it was the adrenaline or the attraction to this guy that was responsible, it had woken me up. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to expect next.

*****

The following year, many power struggles followed as Marco and I fought to get to know one another. Our strong desire to control each other led to many fights, followed by hot and passionate sex. Between the arguments and lovemaking, I found myself living with Marco and his friends, which made things even more difficult. We differed in many areas, especially where we saw our relationship heading. I wanted to marry; he remained non-committal. I couldn’t understand and didn’t want to waste my time on someone who might never take the next step, so I packed an overnight bag and headed over to my mom’s house.

What’s wrong? My mom opened the door, surprised to see me.

Everything is wrong. I’m tired of waiting for a commitment from Marco. We’ve been together nonstop and haven’t made any progress towards marriage. I’m living with him and his buddies, and he seems happy with that kind of relationship. I can’t wait any longer. I want to get married and have a family, so I’m going to break up with him. I wept and went to the back bedroom. Sad and alone, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, I overheard whispers coming from the kitchen. It was Marco and my mom. I’m not sure what she wants. We spend all of our spare time together. I take her wherever she wants to go. I’m constantly spending money on her. I’m faithful to her, and I always tell her how much I love her. I don’t think I could treat her any better. Marco sounded confused.

I know Marco, but you better be careful. Once Leigh puts her mind to something, she won’t change it. I fear if you don’t ask her to marry you, you will lose her. My mother was persuasive.

Marco surprised me with an engagement ring, it was small, but I adored it.

*****

Two quick years passed when I found myself dressed in a white lace-covered gown with long sleeves and a neckline that made me choke as I stood in front of the floor-length mirror. My mother smiled and watched. I am so proud of you! This day is so special! I glanced into my memory a few years ago.

My younger sister found herself pregnant as a junior during high school, so my parents were forced to throw together a shotgun wedding. Many doubts formed as the bride and groom-to-be made it known they didn’t want to marry but knew there were no other choices. As her maid-of-honour, I stood beside my pregnant sister at the altar and watched my mother disguise her hidden shame in the small Catholic parish. She was a proud woman with strict morals, and pregnancy before marriage was unforgivable. She felt it pointed directly at her for poor parenting. I knew it was my responsibility to do it the right way. A large wedding for me would satisfy my mother’s dreams and wishes.

It could have been one hundred and six degrees in the small Catholic church as beads of sweat formed on my face forcing my near-perfect makeup to run. Wearing a gown that wasn’t my first choice, I stood in the small room with my bridesmaids surrounding me. My budget was ninety-nine dollars due to my dad’s sloppy bookkeeping and a craving for spending money. I enjoyed many years of my dad’s self-gratification, as he spent every penny he earned on boats, vacations, and motorhomes. Those memories of my high school days seem like yesterday.

In those days, my high school class revered me as a spoiled rich kid because of my extravagant house. My dad’s plans to impress his bride had worked when he bought her the house of her dreams. My mom loved everything about our grand home, but as the years passed and the money began to disappear, it all ended in bankruptcy, and the house was for sale. We were heartbroken and embarrassed.

My dad scrambled, knowing a plan was never put into place for his retirement or any other future expenses, as he struggled to find a way to pay for my wedding and reception. Marco and I finally exchanged our vows in August of 1980 in a small Catholic church. An intimate wedding reception immediately followed in a rented flower store where a room in the back was large enough to accommodate a minuscule number of guests. As Marco led me through the front door to the reception area, the store came alive with flower arrangements made for other patrons. Exotic fragrances danced through the air, and the flowers somehow expressed our love for each other. There was something about their beauty that brought the party together. We loved it.

Chapter 3

IN THE LATE SPRING AND AFTER A NATURAL labor and easy delivery, we welcomed a baby boy, Russell. The early days of caring for my first baby were easy, while Marco worked hard to provide us with our needed things. Life was simple as we dreamed of having a large family and were grateful that we’d started it.

My breath caught for just a moment in my throat as my OB told me the news that I was pregnant again as Russell approached nine months. Our next child was due in the autumn of 1983, the season of Pink Floyd, the Moody Blues, and David Bowie.

For nine months, I anticipated another calm birth as we’d had with Russell due to no morning sickness or other craziness during that timeframe but found myself dead wrong.

On a warm evening in October, I lay in bed and felt my first hard contraction begin. I choked back the building scream. I had to keep things under control, but the pain was unbearable.

And then a familiar, husky voice called from the dark. Leigh! it sounded worried. What is happening?

I needed two seconds to shake off the pain before I could move. The pain, I’m in labour! Marco was clinging precariously to my already-packed suitcase as I awkwardly climbed into the car. My hands pressed deep into the headliner of the roof of the vehicle as I let out another blood-curdling scream. A popping sound and the cramping sensation grasped me from inside as my water broke and gushed all over the car seat.

My water just broke; this is going too fast. I panted in excitement as I looked over at Marco.

Your water just broke all over our new sheepskin seat covers?

He barked as he rushed back into the house to fetch a towel. Are you kidding? I’m in excruciating pain, and you’re worried about the damn sheepskin covers? My next contraction came hard, and as Marco was climbing into the car, I was in hard labour and pushing uncontrollably to get the baby out.

Leigh, please don’t push! I can’t do this by myself. Marco’s screams were louder than mine as he pressed the gas pedal harder. I couldn’t control the urge to push as I felt the tiny head crowning between my legs. Beads of sweat dripped from my brow as I glanced over to see the speedometer reaching eighty miles per hour. We sped to the hospital as if no one else were on the road until a black-and-white cruiser came from behind and pulled us over. An obvious ticket was due and expected as Marco peered into his rearview mirror. Upon hearing screams from the car and seeing the terrified look on Marco’s face, the police went in the opposite direction as we slowly pulled back out onto the dark highway.

We parked at the hospital. Marco lifted me into his arms and grunted into the medical centre and onto the elevator. I’m trying to keep, he huffed, shifting his weight onto his other leg, my promise to stay calm! I blinked my wet blurry eyes, suddenly sure that I was dreaming.

When did you ever promise to stay calm? I yelled. He snorted, unamused and terrified, as I stooped frozen in the elevator corner, trying not to give birth to our second baby.

Leigh, please get up so we can get you into the delivery room. I don’t know what I am going to do if you don’t! Marco hysterically cried as the elevator doors flung open.

Anyone, please, someone must help me! He lifted and placed me onto a sheet-draped gurney just outside the elevator door, then yanked my jogging pants down as an off-duty nurse came running around the corner. He could see the tiny babies head crowning as he screamed one more time for help.

Oh, my God, what is happening? The terrified nurse froze as I gave my final push.

Marco looked at her then held the ever-so-small baby between his hands.

What do I do? He quivered as he looked at me and then again at the wet slippery child.

Hand the baby to me. I softly whispered as he laid our newborn on my chest. Marco’s eyes were glistening, and in a broken voice, he told me that we had a new son. We both burst into tears of joy and relief while the young baby’s cries filled the maternity ward. I smiled but hardly hid the trauma as my body bounced on the gurney in shock.

From the time her water broke, he was born in eighteen minutes, Marco proudly told the nurse as he checked his watch.

*****

I can’t take his screaming and crying anymore. I failed as a mother at age thirty. Trey was a problematic infant from the moment he was born. He cries all day, and I just can’t do this any longer. Tears poured down my face. Marco had a long day at work and was tired of being greeted with tears.

After a frustrating pause, he impatiently asked, Did you call the doctor yet?

Prolonged bouts of colic made Trey cry as I watched his poor little body fold with stomach cramps. I held him close as I watched his tiny hands clutch my shirt. I sat in silence, struggling with what to do next as his howls of misery worsened. The pain he experienced came in waves, one of calm followed by the next in pure torture. At my wit’s end, I decided to take Trey to the doctors who diagnosed a food allergy. I should have nursed him. I cried inside from guilt, my hands soaked with tears streaming down my face.

I fed him every type of baby formula, trying to find something that agreed with him, but nothing helped. Vivonex to stem the oncoming pain was the last resort. The yellowish, watery substance smelled like vomit and was gross, but he tolerated it, and that was all that mattered to me. Spit-up stains on his newborn onesies finally decreased as he adjusted to his newfound diet, and my life miraculously became easier.

I remained quiet, knowing Russell was safe in the bedroom next door as I rocked Trey in an old wooden chair and comforted him as he snuggled in a warm blanket. It seemed like a waste of time as his eyes remained open and alert. Damn it! Go to sleep! I rubbed his back while he lay in his crib until his eyes slowly started to close. I backed away, one small step at a time, only one step at a time, only to hear screams before I could shut the door.

Make him cry it out. Dr Bake lectured me as if he believed listening to a crying baby was an easy thing to do. I couldn’t. I never wanted him to feel alone and abandoned, so I sat night after night, rocking him to sleep while Marco breathed deeply to the rhythmic sound of the chair. I rocked back and forth through endless nights as I thought about the family that Marco and I created, and of the tiny baby I held in my arms.

As I sat in the darkness of the night clutching my baby tightly, I noticed a reflection on the wall. As I glanced over, above the night-light, I saw a beautiful picture, painted by my mother, of a woman holding an infant. It was saintly,