(originally posted March 8, 2013) 

My Story

I am completely overwhelmed by the support and comments that I have read. But at the same time I am a little terrified because I do not want to disappoint anyone.

I want each and every one of you to consider this as a personal thank you for your support and interest in my story and in many cases your comments brought me to tears as I read them. I am so touched that so many of you feel that my story is inspirational and in some small way helps you handle the issues in your lives. That in itself is all I need to continue this story. 

I never felt that the issues I have had to deal with would help others. I guess I never looked past my own torment and self pity. Thank you for making me see that in my own tragedy there is inspiration for others.

My heart belongs to all of you.

My thoughts are with all of you.

I feel a bond to each and every one of you.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Zara

So my story begins.

I was born just after midnight August 6, 1967. My mom told me, years later, that it was one of the worst summer storms that she had ever seen. All the electricity was out in Crow Head and the house was lit up by candles only. 

Dad was out of town that night, so Mom never made it to the hospital in Twillingate. My Mom never had her driver's license. Matter of fact, both her and Nanny Olive never did drive. I was born in my parent's bedroom. Mom told me it was like a gathering of the masses.

At that time the only phone lines were party lines, so when my Nanny Olive made the call to the community nurse, every woman in our little community seemed to show up at our door. They brought food and tea and candles and even wood, so that the old wood stove would be heated up for hot water.

At that time, in Newfoundland, most small communities had midwives or in our case, a community nurse. Crow Head, where I was born, was a very tiny community. At the time there were maybe 300 people all told. 

The doctors were usually in the larger centres, like Twillingate and in the case of emergencies, you had to go to Gander.

 So with my Nanny Olive's help, and the encouragement of a room full of women, Nurse Cavelle delivered me. 

I was a tiny baby. I weighed just under 6 pounds. Nanny Olive said I was so light skinned that light used to reflect off me.

I had a little tuft of red hair and was covered in freckles.

The most dominate feature on me was my huge, emerald green eyes.

Nanny Olive always said my eyes were too big for my head. 

My earliest memories were of my Nanny Olive, telling me bedtime stories. She would tell me stories of her childhood and the people she grew up with. Those stories still live with me to this day.

We lived with her and she tucked me in almost every night. Poppy Travis passed away before I was born.

I know I'm jumping all over the place here and I apologize, but as I have said before, I am not a writer and Bill insisted that I do this part on my own, so bear with me, please.

I was a late bloomer, in pretty much everything. 

I didn't start walking until I was almost two years old. Mom used to tell me that I was the fastest crawler in the world. I could stand and I often stood on my own, but no one could coax me to take that first step. I would simply flop back down on the floor and crawl.

Mom told me years later that no one even saw my first step. She just turned around one day and I was standing behind her. Of course, after that, I was always following her around, often more in the way than anything.

My first word. Well that was another story. I never spoke anything beyond baby goo-goo until I was almost two and a half. Mom and Dad were so worried that there was something wrong with me, but Nanny Olive kept assuring them that I would talk when I had something to say. They even talked about bringing me to a specialist in Gander, but Nanny Olive would have none of it.

"She will talk when she is damn good and ready," she used to tell Mom and Dad, according to Mom.

Damn was the closest to swearing that Nanny Olive ever said. She would then say a little prayer.

As for me talking, I guess I had nothing to say until I was two and a half.

My first word was "Nanny". 

After that, apparently, it was difficult to get me to be quiet. I would repeat every word that I heard which was not always a good thing. Especially since my Dad could swear like a truck driver, which was what he was. So little me had a potty mouth virtually before I was potty trained, which I was also late at doing.

When I did start talking, another problem arose. Apparently I talked so fast that people had a hard time understanding what I was saying. That was how I ended up being called Zara.

I was not christened Zara. There is no need to tell you my real name, as Zara did become the name I became known by.

It happened on my first day of school. 

When my teacher, Miss Dove, asked each of us what our names were, I could not properly pronounce my real name and it kept coming out as Zara. Now you have to remember that this was a small one room school, in a small community, so my teacher just felt that a mistake had been made on my registration form. So she crossed out my birth name and wrote in Zara. My parents tried to correct this error, but every time I said my name it came out the same. By the time I was in first grade, everyone was calling me Zara, so it stuck.

Even Mom and Dad called me Zara.

All my official documents have my real birth name on it, but I have always gone by Zara. 

The only person who continued to call me by my proper name was my Nanny Olive.

My childhood was pretty much the same as anyone growing up in coastal Newfoundland, at the time. We lived outdoors. Television was a special occasion thing that was only watched on Saturday night when we all got to watch Tarzan and if I was lucky, Dad would let me watch some of Hockey Night in Canada. I am still a huge hockey fan. Sunday I got to watch a few cartoons and I remember Mom, Dad and Nanny Olive watching Coronation Street. I couldn't understand what they were saying half the time. Dad used to joke that I sounded like them, so I should be able to translate what they were saying.

Summers consisted of playing in the huge fields that surrounded our homes. 

We had beaches to play on though we did not swim much. The water was too cold and the currents were too strong, so we were discouraged from playing in the water. There were a few pools in some of the coves. I guess you would call them tidal pools, because when the tide went out, these sheltered little pools would be left around. The water was usually pretty warm and they were not that deep, so we could splash around in them. Still, few of us could swim. 

We got to pick berries and some of my favourite times were helping my Mom and Nanny Olive and the other women make fresh jams and other preserves. They were so good on fresh, homemade, bread.

Just a little note here. I still make my own fresh bread and preserves. I love it in the kitchen.

Winters were full of snow forts and sliding on the old steel glider sleds. We had a community outdoor rink and I loved skating. I still do.

The biggest special occasions were Christmas and of course my Birthday.

Christmas was always a great time. I remember it as such a huge family and friends gathering. Lots of food, parties and of course, music. Everyone in my family could play some instrument. Dad played guitar, fiddle and mandolin. My Mom played autoharp. Nanny Olive played piano. We had one of those upright pianos. Mom could play too and they both taught me. I loved the nighttime sing songs. There was so much happiness. So much laughter.

It was on my seventh birthday that several events happened that would change my life forever.

I hope this is not too confusing. Thank you all for reading.