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Chapter 50

July 1989

E
very day, I waited eagerly to see who had responded; at least one RSVP card would land in our mailbox. I laughed when I read the card from Aunt Marlene. She put down five for the number of people attending the wedding. Below, she scribbled: “P.S. Hope you don’t mind, Rachel is bringing her
friend
(BOY). Don’t say anything to Bill!!”

Grandma, who had lived next door all my life, even bothered to mail me the card. I was surprised when I saw the number she had put down – 100. I never knew she had a sense of humor. How much deeper our relationship, my life, would have been if we were able to communicate without paper and pencil.

The topic of our conversation at the table during supper was always whose card would arrive the next day. Many relatives were able to witness our wedding – several aunts and uncles from Mom’s side of the family, and all great-aunts and great-uncles from Dad’s side, not to mention cousins. Deaf people from Mom and Dad’s circle of friends with whom I had grown up wouldn’t miss the wedding – they were like a family. MSD coaches, teachers, and classmates were also invited. To cover up my lack of friends at Gallaudet, I had invited my basketball teammates.

Most of the regrets came from Peter’s family and friends. Maryland was so far away from Texas; to travel for the wedding would have been too costly. Some of those unable to attend had mailed us gifts.

Among the gifts we received, one stood out: a handmade picture from Peter’s church family. A 16 × 20 frame with blue matting was cut in the shape of a house. Inside the house, a calligrapher had skillfully adorned everyone’s written comments using different fonts and styles. There was a small cross at the top.

In one corner, along the edge of the house, was a letter from Rev. Robert Brown, Peter’s pastor: “Pete and Debbie, it was a pleasant surprise and a happy one to read about your upcoming marriage. Sorry it is so distant from us. We would be there otherwise. Marriage is such a rich and satisfying experience to those who are willing to sacrifice selfish ideas and patterns of action and work together, both to please each other and also, above all else, to please God in Christ.”

A member had advised: “Remember always to set aside time for each other, to share your feelings and thoughts both good and bad, to laugh and enjoy life along the way. Always keep the Lord first, and you’ll have a long and love-filled life.”

One had listed ten rules for a happy marriage:

1.
Never both be angry at once.

2.
Never yell at each other unless the house is on fire.

3.
If you must criticize, do it lovingly.

4.
Never bring up a mistake of the past.

5.
Neglect the whole world but not each other.

6.
Never let the day end without one compliment to each other.

7.
Never meet without an affectionate greeting.

8.
Never go to bed mad.

9.
When you’ve made a mistake, talk it out and ask for forgiveness.

10.
It always takes two to make an argument. The one doing the most of the talking is usually wrong.

One had written a verse from the Bible: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be united to his wife; and they shall become one flesh.” (Gen. 2:24).

Still another had written: “A husband and wife must always be willing to compromise. Though your life together will have joy, sorrow, and hardships, always take them to God in prayer. Also, read the Holy Bible regularly. The Bible has the answers for work, marriage, raising a family, and all the other things we experience in life. Again, congratulations and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you and your wife to be, for ever more.”

The theme was centered on God and Jesus Christ. Keeping the Lord first. Reading the Holy Bible. The Bible having the answers for marriage. And pleasing the Lord.

The fact that the church family had taken the time and effort to create such a masterpiece touched me. The significance of the words passed on to us was
nice,
but at the time, it meant nothing more. I hadn’t realized the significance God played in marriages – that marriage was His idea, intended to glorify Him. Had I known, Peter and I might have been saved a lot of frustration and struggle early in our life together.

Other than those instructions, no one had told me how marriage takes work – a lot of hard work. I had learned about my role as a wife from Mom, but she wasn’t the one to emulate. Grandma could have had been a role model, but Grandpa had died when I was three. I’d assumed Grandmother and Grandfather had a solid marriage; after all, they had been married for sixty-one years. But I really didn’t know them.

At last, our big day had arrived; Grandma’s pastor had proclaimed us husband and wife, one flesh in God’s sight. I stepped out of the church with a new name – Mrs. Myers.

And with no formal instructions or guidance on how to be a wife, I would be pretty much on my own for the first ten years of marriage.

Chapter 51

October 1989

P
eter and I walked into the apartment that would be our new home for the next ten months. We had been married two months when I was hired at MSD as a dormitory counselor working with middle school girls. On each floor of the dormitory were two apartments, one on each end of the wing, for counselors wishing to rent. In addition to a tiny bathroom, the apartment consisted of only two bare rooms of cinderblock painted a dull yellow color.

The rent was cheap compared to our first apartment – a little over a hundred dollars a month. Since it was connected to the dormitory building, our electricity and water were included. Living on campus would enable us to save a lot of money for our two upcoming trips – one to California, for Peter’s brother’s wedding, and the other our bicycle trip across America.

The apartment also came with doubts. How would we cook our meals? There was no kitchen – not even a stove or refrigerator. And we weren’t sure where we could find used appliances at good price. Not only that, there was no kitchen sink for us to wash our dirty dishes in – we would have to use the bathroom tub.

Several days after we moved in, I bumped into
him
on campus. I told him about our challenging living arrangement, and he said he had a used refrigerator that had been sitting in
his
garage waiting to find a home. He would sell it to us for $100. Perfect.

So Peter and I made a trip to his house.

When we walked into his kitchen, memories suddenly flooded my mind; though I tried, I couldn’t stop myself reliving them.

How I wished that I hadn’t made the trip to his house before I left for Texas. If only I had known then the depth of God’s love for me. If only I had known that God had bigger plans for me. If only I had known that I would meet Peter. If only I had waited until my wedding night. “If only’s” were worthless now. I had naively taken matters into my own hands, believing there was no hope in my future. And, in the end, I had given all of myself to him.

Peter took my hand, bringing me back to the present as we were led into
his
garage to see the refrigerator. We hauled it onto the back of a pick-up truck we had borrowed. Back on the road, Peter turned to me and asked: “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I said. But I really wasn’t. Seeing the house, replaying the lovemaking scene, and knowing he remained married had stirred feelings in me. Later, that week, I penned in my journal: “How my mood had changed when I was at his place to pick up the refrigerator. I wondered if he had really loved me? If he did, why didn’t he leave his wife? Did he use me? My gosh, I was only seventeen. I was a kid! He was so much an adult, and yet, he was with me. I was young and so naïve. I trusted him. I needed him. He was a father figure I looked up to, and I got myself mixed up with the need for affection and attention. Did he go with other ladies? Was I the only – the only lady? I thought my feelings were resolved. We’re friends. Working on the same campus is something I thought I could deal with. But, no, feelings are still there.”

As much as I had wanted to leave my past behind me, it followed me. After all, it was a part of me. It had shaped me. It had changed me.

Chapter 52

May 1990

I
thought I’d never step foot on the campus again – ever.

Unfortunately, whenever mentioned, Gallaudet triggered unpleasant thoughts and feelings in me. The fact that everyone else lionized the school and their experience there made it even more difficult.

The Deaf community is so small, there is always a connection somewhere, somehow. So for many years afterward, I had to endure all the questions Deaf people ask:

“You graduated from Gallaudet? What year?”

“1989.”

“1989? I was a member of Class of 1987. I should know you.” After trying to recognize me without much success, this person would then ask: “Who were your circle of friends?”

How I hated this question. As always, I was adept at deflecting. I had my well-rehearsed answer that worked every time.

“You know Tiffany? Bridgetta? David?” I would say, adding several other well-known classmates of mine from high school.

“Yes.”

“We grew up together.”

“Ah. Maryland School. Good group of people.” As soon as that connection was made, our conversation would proceed to other subjects; thankfully, the topic of Gallaudet would pass.

But, in fact, I did return to Gallaudet a year later.

As my therapy progressed, I couldn’t help thinking of all the people who could benefit from the same kind of care I received. I wanted to help others lead healthy, well-adjusted, and productive lives. When I learned that Gallaudet offered a master’s degree in mental health counseling, with Peter’s and my therapist’s encouragement, I applied.

My therapist wrote one of my letters of recommendation:

Deb is a woman of quiet power. Initially, she comes across as quiet and reserved but as one gets to know her, one sees the magnitude of her inner strength. She is extremely bright and insightful and works hard to achieve her goals. Interpersonally, she can be wonderfully engaging, direct, and powerful. Her self-insight and her keen sense of the needs of others allow her to connect with people at a deeper level of understanding. In such interactions, Deb manages to be both caring and direct. She is not afraid to speak out about her point of view and yet she maintains openness to the point of view of others.

Most importantly, she is highly motivated to learn about herself and to grow both personally and professionally. During the time I have worked with her, I have witnessed enormous personal growth as she has struggled with her inner issues and conflicts. She demonstrates the type of commitment to her therapy and personal growth that is so important for both graduate students and professionals in the field of mental health.

My basketball coach recommended me as well:

I have known Debbie for the past five years as her teacher, coach, and friend. Debbie is an honest, trustworthy, conscientious, responsible, and dependable person. She has the ability to adjust quickly to new situations and needs little or no direction or supervision. She is a thinking individual who can and does contribute ideas.

During her career as an undergraduate student at Gallaudet University, Debbie was faced with a variety of academic, social, and personal challenges which she faced head-on with composure and introspection. Throughout this time Debbie demonstrated a level of maturity indicative of a person many years older. Debbie’s leadership style and intuitive thinking set her apart from the rest.

I knew I was honest and trustworthy. I knew I was quiet and reserved. I knew I could be direct if given the opportunity to voice my thoughts and feelings. I knew I was mature beyond my age. But, a woman of quiet power? Extremely bright? A leadership style that set me apart from the rest?

For the next several days, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my therapist and coach had written. To finally believe in myself was a process that had taken so many years. But I was finally beginning to see the woman that God had created me to be. Through the help of my therapist and Peter’s reassuring love, God was laying the foundation for a transformed life.

Chapter 53

March 1991

I
sighed as I read the letter from the vice principal at Williamsport High School asking if we could meet. My brother, David, was failing his senior year.

“He must graduate,” I told Peter. “I won’t let him fail.”

“I know, but he must have the desire to graduate,” Peter said.

“Right. But if he has the desire, who will help him?” I was frustrated. I wanted to help and it was hard being an hour and half away. I was twenty-three, into my first year of graduate school. Being the oldest, all of this fell on my shoulders.

And, now a letter from Connie had just arrived in the mail. I pondered our upbringing:

Debbie. Connie.

Deaf. Hearing.

Oldest. Middle child.

ASL. English.

Lived in the dorm. Lived at home.

No church. Grew up in church.

Despite our differences, we were affected just the same.

I remembered how Connie had slipped a note to me when she was fifteen. I was seventeen:

Hey Sis, I need to talk to someone, and I guess it is going to be you. I have a problem. I can’t get along with Mom and Dad anymore . . . All my life I guess I never really felt like I was a part of the family. Do you know in my entire life I have only been hugged about five times, and none of them by our parents? Do you know how jealous I am of Debbie [her best friend] because almost every day her parents tell her they love her? I have never been told that by them . . . Lately, I read about teenage suicides. Don’t get worried ’cause I’m not going to kill myself; I think it’s dumb, but I just can’t stop thinking about this . . .

Then, when she was twenty, Connie had written me a letter. I had just gotten married:

Well, hello stranger! I just got your letter today, which was something I really needed . . . Out of all my semesters here, I don’t think I have ever felt so alone than this one. No one is willing to be there except for themselves and that is so hard for me to accept or see . . . sometimes I just wish I could start over because I feel like I am just surrounded by walls and no way out . . . A lot of times it seems like you are the only one in the whole family that cares about me at all . . . I’m doing a project in one of my classes that requires me to be more positive toward myself. I am learning how to accept compliments but I don’t think it is working too well. For a while I was doing great but then it just seemed like everything just died . . .

A year later, Connie had written again. I had just started my graduate studies at Gallaudet.

I am sorry I haven’t written but I really needed time to just sit and think about everything that has happened . . . When I was growing up, you weren’t around to see how hard David and I had it. At least you could leave and go back to school. We had to stay and live through it . . . It always seemed as if I were there to do things for everyone else. What I did didn’t matter at all! When I noticed how you and David got attention with injuries, I took a brick and smashed it on my ankles for weeks, hoping it would break or something so that someone would notice me! I have never been able to express what I feel without someone saying, “Oh come on.” Or better yet, they just ignore me.

When I got into high school and met Charlie, I thought he was a godsend. He got me so involved in school activities that I was away constantly. He treated me like dirt a lot, but I was willing to take his abuse over the pain I always felt at home. I wanted to leave Charlie a long time ago, but no one would have ever known that. My reasoning was quite simple, he was the one escape from everything that I had . . . Finally, I got the courage to do it and stopped seeing him. Even though I knew I would be totally alone except for God . . .

. . . The one thing I don’t understand is how you can say you don’t like what I have become. I love what I am now and am very happy . . . The one major factor that has influenced my change is that I am actually thinking of myself for a change . . . I am growing to love myself and now the one person I thought would be happy for me doesn’t like it. Well, I am sorry, but I like the person I am and I have adapted myself for everyone all of my life so this is the person I want to be. There are so many things that you don’t know about me and I know I could never tell you ‘cause you just wouldn’t understand my reasoning at all. No one ever will!

Several months later, another letter came:

Hello Sis! My classes are going pretty good . . . David seems to be doing okay. He really wants to go to the prom but feels that he is too stupid for a girl to go out with. His self-esteem is really low when it comes to certain things. I tried to help him as much as I could but I’m not really the one to talk either . . . I did want to thank you for talking to me last week on the phone. I have wanted to talk about this for a while and I guessed that you would be the best person. Working it out myself really hasn’t helped that much. Whenever it is okay with you I would really like to talk to you. Maybe you can straighten me out. Ha!

Debbie. Connie. David.

Girl. Girl. Boy.

Oldest. Middle. Last.

ASL. English. English.

Sports. Drama. Sports.

Despite our differences, we had the same need – to be loved. There was no question we were affected by our upbringing, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Mom and Dad didn’t love us. I had written in my journal: “After going through therapy, even though I talked negatively about my parents’ method of raising me, I love them more. I, now, can accept the past and draw the line between my love and respect for them and the ‘hatred’ I felt for being screwed up.”

I made a choice – to forgive them and to move on with my life.