Seeing the Forest Through the Trees

Copyright © 2018 Sylvia Stone.

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This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Interior Graphics/Art Credit: Sylvia Stone

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-0396-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-0398-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-0397-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018905614

Balboa Press rev. date: 05/07/2018

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1 Little Sprout

Chapter 2 Growing Roots

Chapter 3 New Growth

Chapter 4 Lightning Strikes

Chapter 5 Branching Out

Chapter 6 Autumn Molt

Chapter 7 Enduring the Winter

Chapter 8 Spring Rain

Chapter 9 Reaching for the Sun

Chapter 10 In Full Bloom

To all who are in search of inner peace

Acknowledgments

T hank you to my family for passing down all the right tools with which to strengthen my attributes. You have made this book possible! And a special thanks to friends and extended family for their support throughout my writing process. You have blessed me with encouragement!

Introduction

B elieve it or not, what provokes us to cry makes us stronger. It has been hard for me to understand this. I’ve spent many years weeping over the unfortunate events in my journey through this life. Holding too tightly to the past without understanding its true value had prevented me from living a joyful life. This concept—this dream of being happy—was just a fleeting dream that I could not make true.

I had been stuck in this mind-set for so long and asking myself questions like, Why me? Why can’t I be happy? Don’t I deserve more? Am I paying some kind of karmic debt? Why have I been forsaken? Why am I here? What’s it all for? These thoughts brought on incredible bursts of self-pity. I sat quietly, asked for guidance, which had become quite a ritual, talked to the air and hoped that someone or something was listening and would help.

I didn’t wish to be a victim anymore of the poor-me syndrome that most of us seem to possess. I realized that we are all connected—no matter how different we seem to be—through our suffering. We share our stories with each other for various reasons. Sometimes, it’s to vent. Sometimes, it’s to project our baggage onto other people. Other times, we are just looking for support so that we may be comforted in the hopes of feeling better.

I started listening closely to the pains of other people and finally paid attention to the whispers I had been ignoring all my life. Write. Write it all down and share it! Use it to help someone! For a long time, I thought, But who gives a crap about me and my story? What makes me so interesting that someone would even care to read this? That sabotaged any motivation to follow through. Finally, I decided to rid the fear of the unknown and trust my gut. With that, I thought of an old saying: You can’t see the forest through the trees. I thought, You don’t get it! You’re not seeing what’s right in front of your face! This became the inspiration for the title of this book. What is life like when you do see the whole picture?

Every single one of us is so beautifully unique and special. We have tremendous value! I’m hoping that sharing my story will inspire and help others to see and live the awesome lives that we are all meant to have regardless of what we were and where we came from. As we look at our true selves, we learn from one another. Most of us are aware of that annoying voice in our heads that never seems to shut up. It conjures all sorts of distorted images and takes us on a daily journey through the realm of non-reality, leaving us feeling all kinds of negative emotions and ruining our moods, our days, our relationships, our motivations, and our lives! We are all personally responsible for the depth of our own suffering, and we don’t realize that we have the power to move mountains!

I have been on a path to higher awareness my entire life. There has always been something deep within me that craves mindfulness and elevated truth. I like to think of myself as a student of life who is hoping for good grades. When I don’t pay attention or do my homework, I find myself lost and falling behind. I find it necessary to seek out tutoring to get caught up. Sometimes it comes in the form of a book. Other times, it comes in the form of talking with a friend or to God/universe/source/all there is—whatever you wish to call it.

We have all received a lot of baggage from the conditioning of our parents, people in general, and the environment around us. That tends to lead us searching aimlessly for answers. As I look at things now, I see that I have the power to undo all that has been done to me. It’s extremely empowering to know that this strange being called me has been formed from all that has passed … good and bad. What makes us cry does make us stronger. By reflecting on these things in a neutral frame of mind, we undo the damage that others have created for us. We don’t need to be sad or angry on a regular basis. We can get rid of fear and anxiety. We can stop blaming others and take responsibility. Ultimately, we can identify our strengths by examining our roots, reclaiming them, and putting all the other crap to bed. Nothing has to be difficult anymore!

Chapter 1

L ittle Sprout

I t was the summer of love in 1969 when Sharon lay alone in a delivery room far from home in Wisconsin. She was well overdue, and the induced labor was long, intense, and frightening. The joke was that I didn’t want to be born as the nurse cleaned me up and put me in my mother’s arms. A mistake? We’d have to see.

A deal was made, and the baby was to be given up for adoption. Leif, the father, refused to accept any responsibility for a child. Sharon’s mother, Zofie, was afraid for her nineteen-year-old daughter and voiced that a single mother wouldn’t have a chance at a good life. The mind-set in those days was very different and full of shame. What man would want you—already equipped with a kid?

The attempted abortion earlier in the pregnancy hadn’t worked. A hot bath had been drawn for Sharon, and she was fed dangerous amounts of quinine before being led to a plastic-covered mattress that was prepped and ready to receive the aborted fetus. She became violently ill, but something watched over me. I did not die—so it was probably the right decision for her to consider adoption. She was a high school dropout who foolishly chased her first love, Leif, around while she searched for her identity. As he was breaking her heart, she was running from her dysfunctional family. It seemed that all strikes were against her. Taking on a baby would be ludicrous.

The women from the adoption agency walked down the hospital hall and headed to Sharon’s room to get her signature and finalize the surrender. As they entered the threshold, they were surprised to find that I had not been taken to the nursery immediately. I had been placed in my mother’s arms, which was against procedure.

Doesn’t the nurse know? The baby should not have been given to her, they said as they reached for me.

Sharon didn’t let go and informed the staff that she had changed her mind.

My mother later told me that I looked at her as she held me in that room—and she fell in love. She said, I didn’t know what kind of a mother I’d be, but I would try to be the best I could! She wrote letters to her parents, Loosha and Zofie. She wrote to Leif’s parents, Rita and Teddy, and informed everyone of her decision. She still loved my father and chose to lie to social services, claiming she didn’t know who the father was to absolve him from any responsibility.

What now? Even the doctor who delivered me knew that Sharon had absolutely nothing. The day she brought me home to her shabby little apartment, she was greeted by a roomful of flowers and a crib that had been sent by her doctor. Mom was pretty much alone and knew it was best if she made it back home to Ohio soon.

Dad had his own place in Wisconsin, attending college, and he found a little time to meet me and gave me my name. He wrote a letter to his mother: I’m getting to know her. She’s really a happy kid and fun to be around! I’ll be coming home soon to visit.

When the time came to leave Wisconsin, the angels watched over me again when a last-minute change of plans postponed my leaving with Dad and his sister in his van. For some reason, my mother and I stayed behind for a few days while the van took a roll and tumble on the highway. I would have surely perished in the crash, taking the title of baby projectile. When I finally arrived in Ohio, my invisible protectors followed me and oversaw my battle with scarlet fever. Shortly thereafter, Mom got a good scare when a bottle of baby powder I was holding, as she changed my diaper, dumped onto my face and nearly choked me to death. I was definitely meant to be here!

Many details of the next few years are vague. Mom and Dad had somewhat of a relationship. I’m not sure what to call it. Mom was trying to be independent, and Dad stayed with his parents on and off. He kept himself busy with things like photography and building motorcycles, and he put a lot of importance on personal transcendence and meditation. And then there were other hobbies that were not as constructive. My father was an extremely handsome young man with beautifully long, silky, and flowing brown hair with deep blue eyes that attracted a lot of ladies. Though his mother urged him to settle down with Sharon and his newborn, the free spirit in him prevented that. Rather than sticking it out in law school, he decided to take on the lucrative business of drug dealing, started carrying a gun, and made friends in all the wrong places.

Dad never got much support, especially from his mother, on a financial or emotional level, and this led him to act out in a way that any rebellious kid would do. Of course, one can’t blame their parents for everything. Some of it was the era. The 1960s were drastically changing times filled with a new generation trying to break away from the old ways of thinking. Dirty politics, murder, scandal, and the Vietnam war were raging in the midst of flower power and the age of Woodstock. The in thing was to transcend your mind and share love freely. It all sounded good until drugs were added to the mix. How unfortunate! It would’ve been interesting to see how far this great movement would have gone. My parents were caught up in all of this, and they played games with one another, not realizing that this baggage was being passed down to their child.

While Mom’s time was consumed with a baby, Dad had plans to go to Woodstock with a date and a couple of buddies, driving in his Cadillac hearse. They were on their way to attend a three-day concert that would go down in history. There were thousands of people, and the roads were completely jammed. It seemed impossible to get his vehicle even remotely close to the site, and then Dad’s buddy, Eddie, got a bright idea. Driving around in a hearse was obviously unusual, though morbidly funny and a bit rock star-ish. As they approached a standstill, Eddie put on his top hat, hung himself out the window, and exclaimed, Make way! Jefferson Airplane is here! Make way! And like Moses parting the Red Sea, an opening was made. Dad got front-row parking. They rolled out of the smoke-filled hearse and were laughing their asses off. The entire experience was extraordinary for those free spirits, and it would set the benchmark for future generations.

Sharon was at home, learning to be a mother and doing a lot of soul searching. She was a beautiful, petite young girl with long brown hair, hazel eyes, and a smile that lit up a room. Even with a baby, guys were paying attention to her. Her mother, Zofie, had been wrong after all! Sharon loved music and enjoyed singing. She was sweet, sensitive, and expressed herself most effectively on paper through letters and poetry. Mom always seemed her best when she was in love. But during that time, she was heartbroken, confused, and extremely pissed at Leif. Zofie had her back.

Grandma didn’t like my long-haired hippie dad or his mother, for that matter. In fact, she couldn’t stand either of them. On one occasion, Dad went to her house and sat with his legs spread, sporting holes in his blue jeans, including his crotch. Grandma Zofie, with her wonderfully distinctive Polish accent, said to Sharon, Tell dat Sanny Claus to shut his legs! She couldn’t help but think that Leif was bad news, and she gave her daughter tons of support. Mom decided to play the field and shop for a man. Why should she sit around while Leif was out with God knows who? Well, she found one all right. His name was Lenny.

In the meantime, Rita continued to hound her son to do the right thing and ask Sharon to marry him. He caved and finally agreed, but by then, the damage was done. The game playing went into overtime. Sharon didn’t believe he was sincere, partly because of Rita’s strong efforts to get them together. She thought, Why would he need his mother to talk him into committing? I’ll show him! Driven by ego, she would marry Lenny because he seemed to care and pay attention to her and her daughter.

Leif responded by marrying another woman he’d been hanging around with for a while. Mom wasn’t surprised. She was a cute brunette with puppy-dog eyes that gave her a sexy, sleepy look. It wasn’t a wonder that he was totally enamored with her.

Here I was, in the middle of it all, the little thing that tied my parents together. Somehow there remained a love between the two of them that kept their friendship afloat. I went back and forth with visitation, and my stepmom didn’t seem to mind my mother’s presence. Lenny, on the other hand, turned out to be an extremely jealous man and became quite possessive and controlling with my mother. Consumed with fits of rage, his tantrums were so childish that he felt the need to scribble out my father’s name on anything he saw. Once, as my father stood outside waiting to see me and speak with Mom, Lenny picked me up and held me out the second-story window, threatening to drop me as he argued with my mother. Now his true colors were coming to light, and she lived in fear. To spend time together as a family, my parents would secretly plan to meet at the park to talk and go for long strolls. What had she gotten herself into? Lenny was a nightmare! She adored Leif and felt like she had made a critical mistake.

It’s times like those when our faith must be at its strongest when searching for solutions. Sometimes problems take care of themselves. Lenny decided to rob a number of banks and talked one of Mom’s friends into joining him. When they were caught, Sharon found herself visiting her friend in federal prison. Lenny escaped and fled to Hawaii where he murdered someone before being apprehended and sentenced to twenty years. Mom was granted a divorce and was finally free of him.

Enjoying her freedom, Mom took me to Chicago, made some friends, and got the bug to travel around the country with a band. One of the guys expressed interest in my mother’s singing