As I sit here listening to the sleet/freezing rain hit against the bedroom window and after looking out that same bedroom window to view the predawn snow covered streets, I am reminded of a story my mother had shared with me numerous and I mean numerous times ever since I was old enough to understand.
It was the night I decided to make my appearance in the world. The same night the city was hit with a major snow storm with blizzard-like conditions. The same night my mother had to find a way to the hospital because her husband, my father was away in the military and after an attempt to place chains on his truck, my grandfather's truck was hit by a vehicle that lost control on the slippery road.
I cannot imagine having a baby alone but even if my father were home, the times were such that the husband was not allowed in the labor room let alone delivery room. As a matter of fact, the delivering physician suggested to the father-in-waiting that he should go home and someone would call him once the baby was born. Better yet, the husband should just go to work because god knew how long the birth would take.
My mother had a difficult time with my delivery because I was breech and needed to be turned while still in utero before I was delivered. Turning a baby while in utero and in labor is a painful proposition and my mother did suffer in the process. Then came the loneliness and feelings of abandonment because while the other new mothers in her room experienced the joy of family company and flowers, my mother received none. Whether it was due to the weather and/or road conditions (my mother's family lived at the bottom of the hill in East Falls while the hospital was located at the top of the hill in Roxborough) or it was because they were too busy to visit will never be fully understood.
It was also at this time that my mother decided then seeked out to divorce my father. I will never understand the circumstances surrounding this life-altering decision but it would be nearly five years and a new husband later that I would meet this man who had fathered me.
It was something I would never forget.
When he came to pick up my older brother Michael and I, I only knew him as some strange man called Ronnie. Ronnie took us for a ride in his car and I remember that when I called him by his name Ronnie, he became agitated and told me he was my father and he was to be called "Dad". This was confusing to my little five year old mind because the person who currently held that title was the man who lived in my house with my mother, older brother Michael (7) and two baby siblings Maryanne (1) and Artie (infant).
It was also the beginning of what was a rocky relationship between my biological father and I because over the next 11 years he would be in and out of my life. There were times when a few years would go by before I saw him. I would not understand his absences in my life until I became an adult myself and learned he served one tour during the Korean War before serving two tours during the Vietnam War. He was a military man through and through, something I should be proud of, something that those ancestors before him did as well but to what price?
His wife divorced him and his two children grew up without him and when a child grows up without a parent they never get the chance to bond and the chance for a close relationship can be lost forever. Though it was not the case for my brother, it was the case for me.
I was 16 years old when he finally retired from the Navy. But instead of sticking around, he made the decision to move to South Jersey where he met a woman who was in the process of divorce herself. She had three sons who still lived at home. Then one day he called me on the phone and told me he was moving down to South Carolina where he and his girlfriend would get married once her divorce was final. Off they went and here I stayed more confused than ever. I just could not understand why after all those years away in the military could he make a conscious decision to move yet again so far away from me let alone with a girlfriend and
her three kids.
Carol was a nice enough woman. But she rather not have me around as it was evident when he took Carol and
her kids on vacation but not me. For a short time they returned to South Jersey where they had a daughter. That daughter was one year younger then my eldest son.
I will never forget Barbara's 4th birthday party when a coworker of my father asked me who I was. When I told him I was the older daughter, he appeared shocked and somewhat taken aback. His only response to me was
he did not know Ronnie had another daughter. This was a man who worked beside Ronnie everyday. How sad. How pathetic. It was not long after that Ronnie would retire to South Carolina with his wife and daughter but this time he just left. There was no phone call but I guess I should be grateful that Carol did send me a letter with their new address.
The years that followed were full of emotions over his history of abandonment and lack of love towards me not to mention he never saw my sons, his grandsons grow up and it would be several years before I saw him again. (as in approx 10)
I tried to stay in touch "via" mail with him but he left it to his wife to correspond with me. When his sister died a few years ago, he returned to the area for her funeral and I made the effort to attend the viewing where I sat with my hand in his the entire time. I wanted to show him support. After all, I was his daughter though I say that with tongue in cheek. When his wife suffered a small stroke then subsequence dementia, the letters stopped too.
I do not believe Ronnie ever felt that father-daughter connection with me. Prehaps his wife just wanted to pretend I was just another relative and not his daughter because
not once and I mean
not even once did I receive a birthday card for "daughter". Oh, I received birthday cards but they were always the generic kind, you know the type you send to a friend.
Just once I would have loved to have received a card for a daughter that stated he loved me.
But what he lacked I gained with the man who did raise me and who did love me and who has always sent me that card. The man who bought me heart shaped birthday cakes because I had a Valentine birthday. The man who has been there for me my entire life and for this I am not only thankful but so lucky.
Dr. Schumann founded the Ob/Gyn department in 1928 at Roxborough Hospital. My grandmother had her first child here in 1931. I wonder if all babies were born at home prior to the opening of this ward since it is the only hospital in the neighborhood's immediate area.
Yeah, that's me walking down the hospital hallway with IV poll in my lovely hospital gown and why is Bill taking a picture of me in the hospital you may be wondering. (because we are freaks) Well, it is because I discovered if I walked down this hall it would take me over to the "old" hospital building and you know how we love to investigate stuff like that.
I was born here at Roxborough Hospital along with all my other siblings. My three uncles, Billy, Jack and Gene were also born here but Roxborough stopped delivering babies about 8 years ago and today the old labor/delivery/nursery/maternity ward are used for storage. Of course, we just had to walk through here and do a little research in the process. Hey, why waste a hospital admission when you can do a little research. This is a photograph of the very small nursing station and the nursery window across the hall.
Again it is I who is walking through the "old" maternity ward. I wonder which room my mother was in?
During my walk through this hidden part of the hospital, I asked Bill to photograph these because they are the names of some of the OB/GYN doctors that once worked here.
Back here (yes, we opened the door) are the "old" labor/delivery rooms. As you can see, the area is now used for storage.
