A Scripted Maze

perils with writing and whatnot

Sunday’s Child, Full of Grace

I know that the best way to learn how to write is to write what you know and write, write, write. I think what is going to save me here is to go the easiest route I can come up with. That would be to write about myself. Am I being narcissistic? I’m positive that it seems that way to you. I hope you’ll be curious enough to keep on reading future posts to find out if this is really true about me.

I was born on a Sunday morning two minutes before nine o’clock. I make special note of this because of what happened to my mom. Her pregnancy with me was uneventful. During the last months, she did a daily route of cleaning the house, doing laundry if she had a full load of clothes waiting, and talking to neighbors across the fences of the yards. She pulled weeds in the garden, went to the lady’s circle at the church, and cooked dinners for my dad. She was the typical pregnant housewife.

When her water broke, a neighbor had to take her to the hospital because my dad, being a fireman, had been detained by a lit cigarette. Her labor was unbearably hard. She didn’t know it though because back in those days, mothers were put under for even normal deliveries. My mom’s wasn’t normal. Her RH negative blood almost killed her during the delivery.

I was born healthy. So healthy that I weighed just two ounces less than nine pounds. Yes, I was a big baby.

Why is being born on Sunday something I make a big deal about?

When my mom woke up, it was just a little after nine. She was having some trouble waking up completely. She heard church bells, many church bells in fact. She actually thought that maybe she had died and was on her way or was already in heaven. As the sleepiness wore off, she heard more church bells. At that point she was almost positive that she had died.

What brought on all the bells? I was born at St Luke’s Hospital. This hospital is in the downtown area where there are several old churches. Yes, the bells chiming as my mom awoke were the ones for Sunday morning worship.

Just in case you’re wondering, my mom’s brush with death due to the RH negative factor was short-lived. She did have a little trouble bouncing back, so taking care of me was exhausting at first. Of course, I didn’t help any. I was battling problems of my own.


One comment on “Sunday’s Child, Full of Grace

  1. Pingback: They Say I Shouldn’t be Alive | A Scripted Maze

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This entry was posted on 2013/05/31 by in other story parts and tagged , , , .



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