The Apple Tree Wish

A Sleepless Child

Many nights it was hard for me to go to sleep due to my feelings of utter loneliness and fear of dying from my “illness.” I questioned why I was ever born.

My older sister and I shared the same bed, my side of which was against the common wall of our mother’s bedroom. I would wedge myself in the space between the mattress and the wall and would quietly cry myself to sleep. Some days the feeling of being the cause of our family’s financial burden was so great I could not stop crying and go to sleep. On one such night, my mother came into our room and switched on the light.

“What is the matter with you? Why are you crying?”

“When I die no one will remember me,” I said.

“Well, then, you’ll just have to become famous and have a big tombstone so when you die, people will remember you. Now stop crying, and go to sleep.”

I was telling her in my childlike way that I was very lonely, felt worthless, and was afraid of dying. But she did not understand. So I bottled up these feelings inside me, as I had no one close I could talk to about them. No mother, father, sister, or brother.

My Grieving Place

When I was really sad, I would run away and hide. On the corner of our street was a large apple tree that I was brave enough to climb to the highest branch where no one could see me. I remember those branches very well because I spent a lot of time there. It was my grieving place, a place where I could be alone with my thoughts and to cry.

I thought if I tried really hard to be good in everything then maybe my father would want me. Maybe when he came to New Jersey again, he would hear about me and take me with him. I fantasized about doing something great and becoming famous so he would be proud and claim me as his daughter.

I knew my father lived out west in California and that the sun went down in the west. So from my perch in my grieving place, I would look in that direction and talk to God. I did not really know God then, so it was more like making a hopeful wish to God. I would say, “God, I wish I could know my father. God, if you are really real, could I please see my father? Please? Could I just see him and be with him?”

Those visits to the apple tree covered a period from first grade through probably fifth grade.

I succeeded at being good. I got straight A’s in school. I was very kind to people and was a model child at home. I would even do chores around the house that my brother and sisters did not want to do, as it was my way of making up for being a financial burden to the family.

Time passed, but things did not change. God did not do what I asked of Him, so I got angry with Him.

During those growing-up years, I built a strong, protective wall of independence around me as a fortress against my painful emotions and was determined to succeed in whatever I did. When I was in high school (the typical rebellious years), I told my mother I was going to run away to California and find my father. She was surprised to learn that I knew about Thomas Emmanuel. Believing I really would run away, she said, “No, you can’t go alone. I will take you.”