I've been thinking of writing an autobiography or memoir but it just never comes together for me but I figured if I write one story at a time and post it on my blog maybe once a month, I can do that. Maybe one day I'll pull all the stories together and put them in a book but for now I'll just share some stories with you about my childhood. Some of the stories will be happy, some sad and some horrific because that was my childhood. But they will all be real, things that actually happened. If it seems like something that people enjoy reading maybe I'll keep it going. These stories will not be in any kind of order, I'll just write them as they come to me.
Living In West Virginia
When I was 17 years old, I moved from my dad's place to West Virginia to live with my mom. She was living with her mom and step father (Buster). My step grandfather Buster was a mean alcoholic and drank all the time. So I tried to stay out of the house a lot and in doing so I saw a lot of stuff and met a lot of interesting people.
The girl who lived next door with her mom and brothers was always so dirty. She was about 10 years old and always wanted to come over and hang out because our house was clean. When Buster went to rehab to sober up a little for a month, my mom asked if the girl could stay the night and her mother didn't care. My mom found out from the kid she's never had a bath or shower that she could remember because the bathtub was piled high with dirty dishes. So my mom filled the tub with bubble bath and showed her what to do and gave her soap and a washrag and she stayed in there a while and came out clean. She was so happy. That night her mother pulled several of her own teeth out because they were hurting her.
After I met a guy and moved out of Buster's house, I was living with this guy named Charles. He was working in a mechanics shop and I was still going to high school, 12th grade. We made extra money by running moonshine from West Virginia to Ohio. And the couple that made the moonshine paid us by giving us fresh eggs, milk and chickens.
We also collected aluminum cans and sold them at the recycling place. We would take Charles's dads truck and find wooden pallets behind businesses and steal them because there was a reseller that would sell them for quite a bit of money and we got quite a bit for finding them. I know it was wrong but they had been doing it for years before I ever came along.
We also went to the small neighborhood dump. It was small for some reason and grocery stores would bring all their old products there that were expired and they couldn't sell and dump them there. I once found a huge crate of Fig Newtons that were sealed in a wooden crate and were only 10 days past their expiration date. I opened that crate up and checked out the Fig Newtons and they were fresh and fine. We ate Fig Newtons for weeks. I told my family about this and they have never let me live it down. There was nothing wrong with those Fig Newtons and they were clean in the crate. lol You gotta do what you gotta do to survive.
We found brand new chairs, tables and other furniture that got dumped there by a department store and took it home to our place. We rented a 3 bedroom house for $235 a month. It was 1987 and things were really cheap in this town, Guyandotte, West Virginia. So we were able to live there pretty comfortably with all the weird things we were doing to make ends meet.
But things took a very dark turn when I found out I was pregnant and didn't realize it for a few months. Once I did realize it, I only told Charles and we kept it from his parents. I went to the doctor and started having all the testing done. When I was 6 months along they did an ultrasound and found that my son had anencephaly (meaning he had little to no brain and his skull didn't form properly) his brain had not developed. They had me got to the hospital to do more tests and a couple of weeks later they told me for sure that my son would not live more than a few hours if I chose to let the pregnancy go full term and have him.
The doctors who talked to me asked if my boyfriend would come in and I called him but he refused to come. I went home with an appointment to go back to the hospital 2 weeks later to induce labor early at 7 month along in my pregnancy. The doctor said that if my son was born alive I could hold him while he took his last breath or I could wait and go full term and have him then but either way they didn't expect him to live more than a few hours. I told Charles all of this and he acted like he didn't care either way, it was up to me. He refused to go to the hospital with me a couple of weeks later, a neighbor drove me and dropped me off.
Labor was induced, I had my son and held him for almost an hour before he passed. I thought for sure that Charles would change his mind and show up but he didn't. There was one nurse who stayed with me throughout that first day. I was in the hospital for 3 days and I didn't realize that Charles did come to the hospital on the second day but only to come and get our son with people from his family cemetery plot to take him to the family plot and bury him there. I didn't know about that until the next day when he came to pick me up. He took me there to show me the family plot and where our son was buried. I had heard of family plots when Buster had taken us all to his family plot when I lived with him. So I knew they existed but didn't know Charles's family had one. There were only 14 other plots there on this piece of land. This was how his mother found out about what I had done and that our son had died.
I named our son Charles Conroy Coy
My grandpa's name was Charles Conroy and so it seemed fitting to me. Since I was there alone when filling out the paperwork, I named him what I wanted. Coy was my boyfriends last name and I just decided to do that for him. Our son's name was on the temporary marker for his gravestone when he took me there to see it. So Charles must have seen the paperwork or signed some when he and the cemetary people came to get him. I was pretty out of it at the time so I have no idea.
His mother, Helen was crazy. She lived on the same street as us and came over all the time to tell me everything I was doing wrong. I didn't want her to know anything because I knew she was going to freak out and she did. She yelled at me and told me what a bad person I was for doing what I did. Then she didn't talk to me for a couple of weeks which was fine with me. A few weeks later she saw me walking down the road while she was driving by. She drove by screaming at me and then she turned around really fast and came right at me in her truck. I had to run and jump behind a tree (it was a dirt road) in order to stop her from hitting me with her truck. I told Charles what she did and he didn't believe me.
The next day I went to a payphone and called my mom who was living in Las Vegas with my little brother and asked her if I could come live with her. Of course she said yes, she sent me a Greyhound bus ticket, and left a few days later. I didn't tell my mom anything about what was going on just that we weren't getting along anymore. Helen tried to hit me with her truck two more times when she saw me walking down the road to get to the corner store before I was able to pack up my stuff and get a ride with the neighbor to the bus station.
Charles went through my hospital bag at some point and took all the paperwork and polaroid picture I had of my son and gave it all to his mother who I am guessing told him to get for whatever reason. She refused to give any of it back to me before I left.
Charles had been really distant since our son died and I found out right before I left that he had been shooting heroin and sniffing paint and that could be why he acted so different.
I was on the Greyhound bus for 6 days and 7 nights. I had bought to a small Styrofoam cooler and stuff to make sandwiches. I made a bunch of sandwiches, wrapped them in aluminum foil and baggies and stuck them in the cooler along with some sodas, ice and bottles of water. I never got off the bus, I just ate a sandwich when they stopped for meal breaks.
I've been in Vegas ever since.
I didn't tell my family anything about what had happened or about my son for a few years after I moved to Las Vegas to be with my family. I didn't want to talk about it and truthfully I felt guilty for having him early even knowing that he wouldn't have survived no matter what I did. The only person I ever told the entire story to was my mom and I don't know if she ever told my other family members. If she did they never said anything to me about it.
I wasn't sure if I was going to share this story because some people might think I did the wrong thing. But I didn't want to prolong his suffering knowing that even if I let the pregnancy go full term, he wasn't going to survive. Keep in mind that I was only 18 years old and pretty much alone through this entire ordeal. I did what I thought was the best thing and I still think what I did was the right thing to do.
I can only hope that anyone going through something similar can read my story and know they aren't alone.
Links to past stories
2023
