Love, Loss, Adventure & Triumph

By Kelley Julz

The "good girl" ran from the dysfunctional family as soon as she was old enough and for thirty years climbed the corporate ladder and shied away from commitment. One day, she began to look out her Houston high-rise office window dreaming of an adventure. She stepped off the ledge and gave her two-week's notice and then ran off to Europe with her sister to hike five hundred miles across Spain with a heavy backpack. On the trail, she connects with her anger and stands up for herself for the first time and also finally comes to terms with not ever having a child of her own. After one week of being on the trail, she meets the love her life, and he later woos her into selling it all and joining him in Norway. His steel blue eyes and larger-than-life personality would take her on an extraordinary journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646700738

Book preview

Book 1: Childhood and the Camino

Book 2: Moving to Norway (to be with Finn)

Book 3: Love in the Last Frontier

Book 1

Childhood and the Camino

Two Sisters find love, healing, and a new perspective on life during and after hiking the Camino de Santiago. The Camino is a catalyst.

December 2014

And then God told me: Just write your story and I will worry about the rest. Just like the Pelican you see flying over the water that finds a fish every time he needs one, I will provide what you need.

Hello, dear reader.

Thank you so much for your interest in my book.

I began putting these memoirs together in December 2014 after we returned from Spain. It’s been a constant burn in my gut to finish it. It has also helped that many friends have encouraged me to complete it, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart now and always. You know who you are.

I want others to take that leap; whatever it is that beckons you. Go. Experience new things that lead you, sometimes, to a new life. You will not be disappointed.

Introduction

The following stories are true. Well, at least the way I remember them. We all seem to remember experiences differently. I’ve had to change some of the names and faces to protect the innocent and not so innocent. Your story may be even more exciting, and if it is, I pray you also tell it to the world because we can all learn from each other’s experiences. I’m sure there are many women (and men) out there who take risks and many who don’t or won’t but wanted to, or maybe you still want to. Do it, do whatever it is that stirs your soul! Live with no regrets—if you can. Go ahead, drum up that courage. You just don’t know where you will go or where you will end up. Sometimes even the bad can turn out good.

Chapter 1

Early Life and Beyond

Just a little about me. Since we usually live our lives based upon our early years, we sometimes become or (purposely) don’t become certain people and, therefore, live a certain way—or not a certain way.

Corpus Christi, Texas

1962 to 1981

I really don’t remember much of my childhood until junior high school. I mean, I’ve seen the classroom pictures with my friends and remember their personalities but not much more than that. I do remember there was always chaos at our house. Dad would often be upset and angry. He was either working on an oil rig, making the big bucks, but then he would come home and draw unemployment as long as he could. Then he would eventually have to go back to work, and the pattern would start all over.

He was often physically abusive to Mom. I remember one time when I was probably about twelve years old, Mom and Dad were in the middle of an argument, that I could sense, was about to turn physical. I stepped in between them trying to shield Mom before she got hit. My Dad ripped the heavy old yellow desk phone out of the wall in the narrow hallway that we all three stood in and shook it close to my face and said, You want some of this? I immediately nodded. No, and quietly went to my room and tried to shut out the noises that continued.

When I was in my twenties, we learned my Dad did some pretty bad things to my little sister, so we immediately went to rescue her from him and reported him to the authorities. He was sent to prison two or three times for his actions against my poor sister and another young girl.

When he was about to get out once, my mother and I knew he should continue to stay locked up so that the children in his neighborhood would remain safe. While sitting on one of the benches at the courthouse before one of his hearings to tell the judge we objected to his release, the case manager stepped away and Mom nosily flipped open the file. We glanced at the page that was visible and saw an entry that stated his own mother and aunt had molested him at a very young age. We were shocked.

Often, the molested later become molesters. At that moment, I felt sorry for my Dad, but I still didn’t want him to be released. Deep down, he didn’t seem to have a lot of respect for women, and maybe this was the reason why. He thought it was impossible for any woman to be faithful, and I guess that’s why he was always suspicious of my mother, who wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with a man or ever wear a bathing suit.

When we were young, my dad let us ride minibikes around our block, and he also built us a dune buggy. He was musically talented and would play the tall wooden saloon-like piano in our house and would sing like Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley. Somehow, he could play any instrument there was without ever having taken any music lessons. We would sit way up on the top of that piano and sing loudly with him. Dad was a very handsome man, and my mom said that she got him. Everyone at their high school wanted him, but he chose her. Dad often left for a few days and spent time with one of his many girlfriends that he had on the side, and of course, Mom would be depressed. She was depressed whether he was at home or gone. If she got mad at Dad or us, we would get the silent treatment. Sometimes, it lasted for days. I often watched over and cared for my siblings and did a lot of the cooking and cleaning. I often tried to cheer up my mom and would always tell her it won’t always be this way. Someday, it will be better. Every now and then, my dad and mom went out together for a date or a drink when Dad was home and in a good mood, which was rare.

It was normal to come home from junior high school and find my dad smogging out with my uncle David. I would come in the smoke-filled house and slam the front door in disgust. Even though there was a lot of loose behavior around me, I was taught that good girls don’t (have sex). When it was time for the birds and the bees talk, my shy mom said, Go ask your Dad. Regarding dating, my dad told me that I didn’t need to have sex, but that I should give a man a blowjob because he would probably be in a bad way, and he would need one. I was kind of shocked and immediately told my mom. She looked at me all wide-eyed and said, Don’t ask him anything else! So, Mom went and bought me a book from the Christian bookstore. I was so green. I took the book and read it in my bedroom for hours with the door shut. This book talked about everything, including gay men doing it, and exactly how they did it. After reading that and imagining it, I went and showed my mom and asked if people really did that. She yanked the book out of my hands and said, Forget it!

I also remember starting my period. I have no idea how old I was, but I do remember making myself some homemade Kotex out of some paper towels and tape. I also thought at that time that I had done a pretty good job. We had six people in our family and one bathroom. Sometimes, when I couldn’t hold it any longer because I didn’t dare disturb the parent inside, I would resort to one of those large brown paper grocery bags. I’d go out to the garage in a safe hidden spot, quickly do my business with a paper towel in hand and then run the bag outside to the garbage can on the curb before anyone saw me.

I have two brothers. For some reason, my dad didn’t treat them fairly and was very hard on the younger one, Michael. Poor Michael was often whipped, and you could hear the bloody screams from the garage and the metal trashcans rolling around while Michael was trying to get away from our father. It was gut wrenching, and I wanted it to stop, but I was too scared to tell him to stop. My poor brother has anxiety to this day. I got hit just once with the car fan belt wrapped in black electrical tape. It hurt so bad that I don’t remember anything after that one strike against my legs and butt. I cannot imagine my brother’s pain back then, but I still see it in his face today. Recently, my older brother told