The Sordid Story of My Book

I’m so glad I have a photocopy of Abigail’s story. Mom sent it to me a couple of years ago, when my co-worker Teresa became excited about Abigail after I shared her story.

Over the last 20 years I created the false memory in which her husband was killed by an anti-Mormon mob, ha! Now, I research my facts and tell the unexaggerated truth. And Mom still flatly refuses to give me the family history in which I found Abigail’s story. I “met” her face first, in a photo-lineage of my people on that side. It was amazing!

Azalia, my paternal grandmother, did the work, compiling the stories, photos, and genealogies, creating a fat book of my family through hers. I’m in it! On my beautiful mother’s lap. My dad’s in his uniform. My sister and brother are the cutest toddler and Kindergartner!

My mom divorced that clan, but she paid $20 for that book, by damn. It’s hers, not the property of Abigail’s rightful heir – ME – her “latest generation,” which holds her “in honorable remembrance,” just as she wished.

She’s mine. I want my book! It’s a button. I pushed it in my last battle of the War with Mother, in November 2011. I hadn’t pushed THE button for 15 years. It went that far. It was the punch in her face from 19-year-old me, and, just like then, I’m out. They’re not speaking to me, for the umpteenth time.

I’m secretly terrifed she’s destroyed the book since then, but I just can’t see Mom doing that. She’s such a good person. That’s something I might do. Instead, I proceed with gratitude that she has my book in her safe keeping. It exists because she holds it for me. It would not have survived my suicidal years, which claimed my scrapbooks and journals. I have that blessed xerox of Abigail’s story, and my book will come, eventually.

I am grateful. My aunt says she might be able to find an extra in the family clutter. It won’t be necessary. Mom’s still caring for mine. She’s a worthy woman, too. She’s holding it ’til I’m ready. It has blessed her life, helping her tell stories of faith and endurance in church, where she feels connected to her personal truth, which I love and celebrate. So I’m glad she continues to enjoy my book. I’ll read it cover to cover, someday.

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