Oh, the Lessons We Learn

By Kristina Northrup

This is a story about the journey we call life. It takes you down the unknown paths and explores the unexpected twists and turns along the way. It teaches you how the path can seem so serene one minute but also how quickly you can be forced to veer off the beaten path in the next minute. It is the testimony of one who has been knocked down, tripped, and fallen, and who has been lost countless times along the way. One that provides that little glimmer of light at the end of those long dark tunnels of defeat and discouragement, as well as the encouragement for those who have traveled these or similar rugged and ruthless paths. It is a confirmation that there are no coincidences or mistakes in life and that everything happens for a reason. Life is essentially a never-ending lesson, and ultimately you choose how you proceed. Either you can choose to pay attention and learn the lesson so you can move forward, or you can continue to repeat the same lesson until you choose to get it. The choice is yours to make, and only you can decide where you go from here. I encourage you to take this journey with me and to allow me to shed a little light on the lessons that I learned along the way. You need to know that you can and you will rise again and also that it is never too late to begin again. Tie up those boots and let's get started on this journey, shall we?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662436161

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Oh, the Lessons We Learn

Kristina Northrup

Copyright © 2022 Kristina Northrup

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-3615-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-3616-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Author's Note

Resources

About the Author

I must first begin by giving all the glory to God! He's provided me with everything I've needed every step of the way, whether I knew I needed it or not. They say He never puts more on us than we can handle, but there were so many times when I questioned my ability to handle the magnitude of the challenges I was facing. Yet He made me a believer time and again.

I am dedicating this book to my soul sister, Pamela. It was her bright idea that planted the seed to write this book, and then her persistence and determination that watered the thought until she made it blossom into reality. I would still be carrying around the baggage from my past, and I might have never fully dealt with what has been weighing me down for so many years. I had no intentions of revisiting my past; I had made sure I shoved it down so deep that it would never resurface. But she eventually made me realize the importance of breaking the chains and getting some much-needed healing. I thank God for bringing Pamela into my life and for opening my eyes to this newfound freedom that I now feel. Words cannot express how much better I feel, nor can they express the gratitude that I have for her. My life has definitely been a much more interesting and exciting place with her in it. It has been such an amazing journey already, and I am so excited to see where this path takes us. Pam, I love you as if you were my blood, and there's no one I would rather take this journey with.

I am also dedicating this book to my kids, Preshyous, Ke'Antae, Myraqle, and Trezhure. We have definitely had our share of ups and downs over the years, and we have faced so many challenges along the way, but we managed to push through them and came out stronger and actually ended up learning so much along the way with all the trials and tribulations we encountered. I greatly appreciate your patience and understanding, as I only wanted the best for all of you. I apologize if I don't say it enough, but please know that you have made my world such an amazing place, and I am so grateful and so thankful for each and every one of you. I thank God for you guys because you have been my motivation from the moment I learned of your existence. You gave my life a whole new meaning almost instantly, and it was because of you that I never stopped fighting and I never gave up. I am so proud of all of you for the amazing individuals you have become, and I have such high hopes for your futures. I love you all more than words can ever say, and know that I am always here for you.

Chapter 1

I Never Saw That Coming

Have you ever noticed how life has a way of keeping things interesting? How something so simple becomes one of your biggest life lessons? Ever since, even before I could remember, life has given me a heaping helping of what one might interpret as misfortune, bad luck, or even some sort of punishment. You could have never convinced me that these occurrences were ultimately going to be for my own greater good. However, over time I have come to realize that these particular events were very essential in molding me into the woman I am today. When I reflect back over some of the events that have taken place in my life, I am now better able to see the lesson that came out of it, or at least what I took from it. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and as crazy as it may seem, I'm actually very grateful for the hand that was dealt to me. I can honestly say that I have no regrets when I reflect back on how these events have affected my life.

I have always been more of a private person, usually pretty reserved, more observant than talkative, and fairly shy when I first meet someone. I am better able to converse casually with people these days; however, there are still some that I feel I must get to know a little better and kind of feel them out a little bit before I feel comfortable enough to engage them in conversation. I used to believe that it was most beneficial for me to act as though I didn't have any feelings—nothing visible on the outside, anyway. Meanwhile, I would hide my true emotions on the inside. I figured, there was no harm in leaving the element of mystery lingering and letting the imagination run wild; that way, no one would know how I was really feeling, based on my lack of response. I feel that sometimes no reaction is the best reaction, because typically people tend to feed off your reactions. If you don't give them anything to feed off, they're left wondering what's really going on, and oftentimes they're not sure how to proceed. I have to admit that there are times when my face doesn't cooperate with this illusion I am trying to present, and as we all know, a certain look can speak volumes over any words. I'm well aware that one would not consider these to be the most healthy behaviors, but I have found that it prevents me from reacting inappropriately before having had time to think about and then process things first. It seems that I have always been one to shove these feelings deep down, put my game face on, and maybe, just maybe, react to it and/or at least acknowledge these feelings a little more later, when I'm alone. Of course, there are those things that I simply just choose not to deal with at all, or at least I used to, anyways. I thought I could just move on and forget about it, but sadly, this belief has caused me even more problems over the years. I have been known to keep my guards up pretty high, and I have often been known to push people away rather than allow them the opportunity to hurt me. For many years, this was my best defense mechanism, but ultimately, it was almost like self-destruction.

I strongly believe that it is better to laugh than to cry; therefore, over the years humor has become one of my most beneficial coping mechanisms. I honestly believe that laughter is medicine for the soul, and I have benefited greatly from this belief over the years; however, it took some time to get to this place. For many years I just kept things to myself, until I would eventually let things build up enough to make me explode with emotions. I still struggle with the idea of sharing my feelings and emotions with people, because I try so hard to protect my heart from being hurt again. This is an area I am constantly pushing myself to do better in because I'm aware that I am only hurting myself. I have missed out on a lot of opportunities, pushed a lot of people away, and held myself back from moving forward with the healing process. I was very resistant to the idea of writing this book. The thoughts of sharing my personal life with everyone and being judged for the lessons that were required to get me to where I am today seemed like a bit much. The thought of having to rehash all the incidents and hardships I have encountered over the years didn't appeal to me much either. I once thought that I should leave these things where they lay, in my past, and just move forward, as I thought I had for many years. I have come to realize that in order to heal fully and to move forward in a healthy manner, I must finally deal with this baggage once and for all. After much persuasion and continued encouragement from my friend, I finally caved and agreed to take one for the team. It's not about the fear of being judged or being embarrassed by my choices; it's all about sharing my testimony with someone that might need to hear it, and moving forward with my healing process. It was suggested that my testimony could be someone else's survival guide. If I could touch or change even one person's life just a little bit and provide them with some hope and encouragement, then this would not be in vain. I actually entertained the idea of writing this book several months ago, but it seemed that every time I thought I was ready and I got started on it, I had created a diversion to get out of it. It has taken many rough drafts, countless tears, reliving the pain and the grief that I believed I had left behind me, and even second-guessing myself repeatedly to get me to this point where I am really finally ready and willing to finish what I have started so many times before. So here I am, giving you a little introduction to me as I prepare to take you on this journey through the events that led to my appreciation for the lessons that life has provided me with, whether I wanted them or not, and the significant growth it created in me. So let's get this party started, shall we?

Once upon a time, in a far-off land, on a very hot, steamy day late in the month of August, a beautiful baby girl was born unto Janet and Chris. No, but seriously, it was me; I was born on this day, the firstborn to this young couple that was so in love. They met as teenagers, fell in love, and were married soon thereafter. Before long, I came into their lives and life as they knew it would change forever. I was born perfectly healthy, other than the fact that I was breech, which made things more complicated for my mom during delivery, and I also had some pretty unique feet. They were clubbed, so basically, the soles of my feet were facing up, and they actually touched my diaper at rest. I won't bore you with all the details, but I'll share some of the key points that stand out the most. I'll try to give you the short, sweet version that'll get us to the part where life as I knew it was over and everything changed drastically. I would have to say that I encountered my first obstacle in life starting at birth, which was having the clubbed feet. Of course, I didn't have any idea that this was a problem initially, but I became more aware later on as I got older. The solution was for me to wear casts on my legs for the first year of my life, in an effort to try to mold my legs to normalcy, while my bones were still soft enough to alter them in this way. I was told I could keep myself going in the baby swing for hours, and I didn't even have to pump my legs—the weight of the casts took care of that for me. I eventually graduated to walking shoes, which would get strapped to a bar across the bottom of my feet, mainly while I slept. Once I started walking, I had the privilege of wearing some not-so-cute, square-shaped orthopedic shoes with buckles, in which one side of the soles was thicker than the other. I hope that painted a pretty picture for you; however, reality is, they were very beneficial to improving the way I walked but were not so easy on the eyes. Thankfully, I had time to adjust to those lovely shoes before starting school, and even more fortunately, kids were not as cruel back then, so it really didn't become an issue until I got a little older and realized just exactly how hideous they really were compared to what the other kids were wearing. This taught me that it's not necessary to be like everybody else and that it's okay to be different.

Let me finish telling you a little more about the beginning so we can move on. I was the eldest of three girls born onto this couple. Many have said that every time my dad looked at my mom, she ended up pregnant. My sisters literally followed right behind me. Shannon was born before I turned one, and Carrie was born a month after Shannon turned one. We were stairsteps, and I can only imagine what a handful that must have been. Rumor has it, my parents were trying for a boy, and after they had three girls in three years, apparently, the phrase Three strikes and you're out was the most accurate way to sum that up. Just like with most young couples, things become more challenging when you add a few kids to the mix, and the struggle becomes even more real. Relationships are definitely tested when the going gets rough, and sometimes, even the strongest ones do not survive. I do not know the specifics; however, I do know that as time passed, it became more evident that it was time for them to throw in the towel and take a break from each other. The fighting and the drama had exceeded what was healthy and/or productive, and it was resulting in a toxic environment for all parties involved. I know that they were still very much in love with each other, but apparently, the most logical thing for them to do at that time was to take separate paths. We lived with my mom during the school year, and then with my dad in the summer. He had moved to Texas and started his new life with his family that lived down there. Again, I'm unsure of the specific details, but I can only assume that the financial burden of taking care of three kids on her own became too much to handle alone, resulting in my grandfather on my dad's side coming to live with us. He worked faithfully and helped to provide for the financial end of things, which allowed our mom to stay home so she could care for us. I would almost guarantee that we were more work than a full-time job, yet all I recall is how wonderful my mom was with us.

When I think back to my childhood, it seems that I can mainly remember the really good things or the really bad things. There are casual, everyday events that I recall; however, they just don't really seem that significant in the grand scheme of things. On that note, I can recall a time when I was so happy and didn't have a care in the world, and of course, I will never forget when things took a toll for the worst and then happiness seemed like a thing of the past. Some of my favorite memories include my first friendships with someone I wasn't related to, which led to my first sleepover at that friend's house. She lived in the same apartment complex as we did, and we played together quite frequently. Not only did we have a great time, but it was also a new experience for me. Then there was this one particular day. I can still picture it like it was yesterday. My grandpa had come home from work, and he was walking down the hill toward us, where we were playing with our mom. He had the most beautiful purple bike I had ever seen. It had a glittery seat that was just glistening in the sunlight, there were pretty, sparkly purple-and-silver streamers hanging off the handlebars, and they were blowing in the wind. And then on top of all that, the excitement that came over me due to getting my first big girl bike was so amazing. He immediately helped me on it and started teaching me how to ride it. I can recall having to get up when it was still dark outside to catch the city bus to my aunt's house. I would go to school from there for some reason, but apparently, this became a fun experience for us, and we looked forward to it each day. I think the hardest part about our parents being separated was missing my mom when we were staying with our dad, and, likewise, missing my dad when we were staying with our mom. I found it difficult to adjust to my parents living separately due to having to be away from one or the other for months at a time. Some of the significant things that come to mind when I think of the other unpleasant situations around this time in my life are a very traumatic tricycle accident. I recall having one foot on the back of the bike while using my other foot to push me forward, almost like you would do with a scooter—except that I was bent over the bike, holding on to the handlebars. There was a rock wedged between the boards of the patio floor that caused me to flip over the bike and land on the handlebars. Who knew something so minor could cause so much harm, as it ended up doing some pretty extensive damage to my lady parts. I recall lying on the couch for days with ice packs, trying to recover from that accident. I can also recall being sexually abused by a friend of the family while being babysat. I had no idea that my innocence was essentially being taken from me; I just did what I was told and didn't really question it or know to report it. All these things occurred before I had reached the age of five.

These things, however, were nothing compared to what came next. This is the part where my life would change forever. It started off as any normal day. We were at home, and my sisters and I were playing in our room. I went looking for my mom and ended up finding her lying in her bed. She appeared to be sleeping, and I just assumed that she was taking a nap. I don't recall the reason we needed to talk to her, but apparently, it was important enough to us, at that time, that we decided to try to wake her up. I remember trying to awaken her by patting her and calling out to her, and I also recall that she would not answer me and she wasn't responding to being awakened at all. We continued to try to wake her up repeatedly, but she just would not wake up, no matter what we did. This was definitely not like her, as I don't ever recall her taking naps any other day, and she was always there for us when we needed her. We were very young, and please keep in mind that this was back before 911 was popular with the kids, if it even existed at all at that time. We didn't really know what to do, but eventually my grandpa came home from work and we told him that our mom was taking a nap. I also explained that we had been trying to wake her up all day and she wouldn't get up. He instantly took off for the bedroom to go check on her. His reaction led me to believe that there was something very wrong. He demanded that we go to our room right away and instantly got on the phone to call someone. I still wasn't sure what was going on, but I recall hearing the sirens shortly thereafter. Normally, I wouldn't think much about the sirens, because we stayed near the hospital, but this time they were getting louder and louder and they appeared to be coming closer and closer. Within minutes, we could see the lights flashing in our window, because they had pulled in the parking lot outside our apartment. Then there was a loud knock at the door, and men in uniform were carrying bags of stuff and pulling a bed behind them. There were quite a few paramedics that filed into the apartment and began asking my grandpa questions. We were told to remain in our room, but I made sure the door was cracked so I was able to see out and could see what was going on. I watched everything as closely as I could, as I needed to know what was wrong with my mom. The men went into my mom's room, which was across the hall from ours. They were talking to her and calling out her name repeatedly, each time getting louder. She didn't appear to be answering them either, because the men had to carry her out of the room. They laid my mom on the floor out in the hallway and began doing all these things to her. This was very scary, because I could see them poking her with needles, and they were still talking to her very loudly. I saw the one guy trying to make her drink juice, and the others were doing other things as well. There was just so much going on all at once. Before long, they were putting her on their bed and were getting her ready to leave with them. I was horrified by everything going on, watching my mom leaving on the stretcher, seeing all the blood smeared on the floor in the hallway, and still not knowing what was going on with my mom. I was five at this time, and I needed to know where they were taking my mom and what was wrong with her. I needed to know if she was going to be okay and when she would be coming back. My grandpa didn't have these answers, but he tried his best to comfort us now that she was being taken care of. I can't say for sure how long she ended up being gone, but my best guess is that she was only gone for a few days.

Things seemed to be back to normal upon her return, and life went on as usual for several more months. Then this one particular day, I recall seeing my mom in the bathroom. The door was open, and she appeared as though she was almost sleeping while she was standing up. She had her back against the wall between the toilet and sink, and then she started sliding down the wall really slowly. She was making weird noises, almost like she was moaning or something. I called out to her repeatedly to see if she was okay, and I even tried doing it loudly like the paramedics did. She continued to make noises and to slide down the wall very slowly, until she landed in a seated position on the floor. The noises stopped and my mom appeared to be fully asleep now, as her head fell over to the side. I knew my grandpa called the paramedics last time, but I didn't know the number to call, so all I could do was keep checking on her. My grandpa wasn't home again this time, so he couldn't call them for her either. My mom had an accident while she was sitting there, so I worked on trying to change her clothes. I couldn't leave her like that while we were waiting for him to get home. I'm not sure how long we had to wait for him to get there, but it seemed like a long time. I was so worried because I remembered what happened last time and I didn't want her to have to leave us again.

I continued to check on her; I continued to yell her name and to try to wake her up while we were waiting. When he finally got home, his reaction was very similar to the last time as well. We were sent to our room while he went to call the ambulance again. This time was a little more extreme in regards to his reaction, as he was yelling at us to go to our room this time, and I could tell he was upset. I could tell that he was scared, too, because it was very much like the last time. Things transpired very similarly to the way they did last time. The paramedics came; they were yelling her name repeatedly, and began working on her in the hallway again this time, and she had to go with them again as well. I thought they would stabilize her and let her come back home again like last time, but that part was different this time. After a few days, she still wasn't able to come back home yet, and this time we were even allowed to go see her at the hospital. I remember being told that our mom was sleeping. But you can still talk to her. She will hear you. It was very scary to see her hooked up to so many machines. There were wires and stuff everywhere, and it made me scared to touch her because I didn't want to hurt her. There were other family members up at the hospital to see her too. They were all trying to comfort us, and I just think back to how oblivious we were as to what was really taking place here.

That was the last time I saw my mom until her funeral. She was not just sleeping; she was, in fact, in a diabetic coma and fighting for her life. Apparently, her unregulated diabetes had caused her to have a heart attack at the age of twenty-five, which I didn't find out until many years later. So while we were all of three, four, and five and visiting our sleeping mom, we should have actually been saying our goodbyes. I realize now that it's not very practical to tell such young kids the brutal truth; however, we had no clue that we would never see her alive again. Can you imagine how horrifying it was to see my mom hooked up to all those machines at the hospital one day, and then the next time I saw her, she was in a casket? She looked so pretty but was so cold when I touched her, and she was lying so still. I heard what everyone was telling us, that my mom was in heaven with Jesus now, but she just looked like she was sleeping again—how could this be? She recovered and came back home last time; why wasn't she coming home this time too? This was very scary for me because it was my first time seeing a dead person, and to make matters even worse, this person was my mom, my whole world. There were so many people there, many of whom I had never seen before. They were all there to see her and to say their goodbyes. Everyone was crying and telling us how sorry they were. It was all so very sad. Despite all this, I still had a hard time believing that I would never see my mom again. I didn't know what to make of this situation; I was very confused because I didn't know anything about death before this. I didn't know what to think, and I would have never imagined that I would be attending my mom's funeral at the age of five. How do you prepare such young kids for something of this magnitude? I honestly don't think you can, as I don't know that there's a right way to tell anyone they have lost the most important person in their life.

My mom passed away in April; therefore, my dad was not around, because it was during the school year. We were not due to see him again until summer; therefore, it would have still been another couple of months before he would have had to come get us. I'm not sure if or when he got the news about our mom, as I don't recall seeing or hearing from him again for many years after that. So now we had not only lost our mom, but in a sense, our dad was gone too. To be honest, I'm not even really sure what happened to our grandpa after