They were gathered in the living room: Grandma, my Aunt Eleanora, a foster brother and the attorney who was my guardian. I was hiding on the stair steps on the upper landing. They were all discussing where I should go. Grandma couldn't care for me. She was in her seventies. The only Aunt I had, Eleanora, was not in good health.

The foster brother my mom had raised offered to take me in. He was married and had a son two years younger than I. As my mother had taken him in, he now wanted to return the kindness and take me in. Despite his generous offer, I didn't want to go with him because he seemed cold and distant, and I dreamed of a home filled with warmth and affection.

There was no consideration of my wishes. Aunt Eleanora, a devout Roman Catholic, was sure it was God's will that I go to the Convent. Her words made me so angry that I wanted to spring from my hiding place and tell them all how I felt. I was angry with God, and I was angry that no one wanted me. Instead, I just listened to more discussion.

After much talking and many tears from my Grandma, the decision was made. I was to go live in the home of the foster brother. My mother's life's calling had been to be a foster-mother. Our home had been a revolving door for many, many, children. As her only child, I had often wanted a sister or brother, but they just came and went. The man who was to take me in had lived in our home before I was born, so I had never even met him before the day of his offer. However, my new life was laid out for me, and I reluctantly went to live in his home.

I hated it. His wife did not want me. She did not like me and resented the fact he took me in. Their home seemed cold and unfeeling, and I learned to survive by staying in my room and writing in my diaries.

During these years, my feelings about God are hard to explain. The best way I can illustrate is to ask the reader to remember Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz". Dorothy was in awe of the wizard, but didn't understand him or have any relationship with him. In somewhat the same way, I believed in God and feared Him, but didn't understand at all why He had put me in such a cold, heartless home. Nor did I have any inkling at that time of the wonderful plan He had for me. It would take many years and much sorrow before I came to understand His plan for me, and to have a relationship with Him.

My foster brother/father seldom spoke. He was a businessman and often away from home. I know that he took me in to try to return a kindness done to him. However, his own childhood had left so many scars that he had trouble demonstrating any affection for his blood relatives, let alone for me. At a time in my life that I needed affection as much as food or shelter, there was none to be had in this place.

To make the best of it, I made friends playing CYO basketball. By the time I started my first year at Central Catholic High School, I had many friends, boys and girls. In that ninth grade year, I thought I had found a way to get attention and love. I got into boys at an early age. According to my foster mom, I was boy crazy. To me, it was the only way to stay sane. She didn't approve of my having so many friends. I was never allowed to have any girlfriends spend the night.

Feeling the need to rebel, I often stayed out past my curfew and stole out of the house silently to hang out at the corner where all the other kids were. She sent Gary, my foster brother, down to the corner often to tell me to come home immediately. My friends saw me through my terrible high school years. I always wanted to get out of that house as soon as I could.

I met my future husband Jack in my sophomore year of High School. I was walking home from school and saw two boys fighting. Jack was getting beat up badly. For some reason, I shouted to him, "Beat him up, kid...beat him up!" As he tried to fend off his attacker, he must have thought of me as a cheerleader and was attracted to me.

Jack found out my name and telephoned me. It was the beginning of a lasting relationship, the first of my life. He had an old beat up car and he'd pick me up for school. After school, we often bought a bag of apples and a bag of chips and went somewhere to talk. At last, I had someone to talk to and someone to listen to me. I was starved for that.

Jack took me home to meet his mother and she liked me. How I longed to have a mother! Jack's mom became a great friend to me, but never filled the role of mother. Ironically, even though his father, like my father, was an alcoholic, he was kind to me even when he was drunk. He had never had a daughter and I think I became the daughter he had yearned for in life. Still, he could be cruel to his wife and sons. Sometimes I thought Jack's mother was jealous of me because her husband took such a liking to me.

During my senior year in High School, I moved in with Jack and his family, because it was a way out of my foster home.