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July 30, 2005 Today started out like most days, slow and with me peering at my computer screen searching my mind for a topic to write about. The night before I had put the finishing touches on a comedic screenplay titled Genetic Manipulation and I wasn’t interested in delving into another five or six-day project. Then it dawned on me that it was my daughter’s birthday, so I decided to write about her. Jennifer Lynn Stelly is the second oldest of my seven children, born July 30, 1979, fourteen months after my son Timothy II. Jennifer was 2nd on my familial wishlist—meaning that I already had a son, so I wanted a daughter. She was but five pounds, thirteen ounces—almost a pound and a half heavier than her brother, whom she lovingly referred to as, "My Tim-Tim." As with all my children, she was spoiled and I read to her a lot. (To this day she is an avid reader, as are all of my children). As a toddler, she was pigeon-toed and her maternal grandmother nicknamed her "Crooked Toes", which I later shortened to "Toes". Jennifer grew up in an atmosphere filled with love and in turn was very giving of affection. I always knew that whoever won her heart would be a lucky man; and he who hurt her would eventually regret it deeply. What I admire most about my daughter Jennifer is her having an inner strength I could only wish to possess. She is the strongest young woman that I know; for despite her youth, she has faced an unfair amount of tragedy. Yet her ability triumph over her sadness is an something that amazes me. At seventeen she gave birth to a child sixteen weeks premature. The baby was delivered with the amniotic bag intact and was so small that from head to toe he stretched from my wrist to my fingertips. The baby lived a mere sixteen days and the memorial service was the saddest thing I ever witnessed. My first grandchild was laid to rest in a special-made coffin no bigger than a shoebox. A year later she lost a second child. Her body simply wasn’t ready for the rigors of motherhood. Then seven months hence, tragedy hit our family again. My brother Brian (the favorite uncle to all my children) died in a traffic accident. Seven months earlier, he and his twin Bruce, had celebrated their 30th birthday. Oddly enough, two weeks before Brian’s demise my brothers and I had discussed how lucky our mother had been to see her eight sons live into their thirties. Less than a year later, Jennifer’s twenty-one year old boyfriend died in her arms. The young man had been suffering flu-like symptoms for several days and began to experience a severe headache. Minutes after she rushed him to the hospital, he succumbed to complications from meningitis. By this time I was worried that Jennifer might be internalizing her pain and might suffer some sort of breakdown. But she proved me wrong and by the grace of God, two years later was married and gave birth to a healthy baby boy—Monté. Three years later she gave birth to a girl, Azaria. She and her husband Michael are doing well. This is why I marvel at her resiliency and her belief in prayer. She is happy and moreover, that gladdens me. Jennifer and I share a similar sense of humor and over the years she has given me a tremendous amount of joy—and there have been moments of heartache as well. It took me a while to realize that she is as headstrong as both of her parents, and as she moved into adulthood I was not always enamored with the choices she made. However, time has shown me that "Fer" is capable of doing what’s in the best interests of her family. There’s an old saying, "The ones you love can hurt you the most", and no one better illustrates this than a daughter. A simple phone call, or a hug from them can touch a father’s heart and send his heart soaring. But sometimes they grow up and we discover that no one can disappoint, or hurt us as deeply. We continue to love them, worry about them, and even get mad at them. But our hearts would be missing a large piece if we had to endure without them. Happy birthday, Jennifer. I love you more than words can ever describe. ------------ About the author: Timothy Stelly is the 46-year old author of "Tempest In The Stone" and the soon to be released, "The Malice of Cain". His third novel, "Darker Than Blue" is under consideration for publication. Mr. Stelly currently resides in Pittsburg, California with his three youngest children Dante, Kimberly and Lawrence. Excerpts from The first two books and the first two chapters of his anthology, "Frankenigga--And Other Urban Tales" can be viewed at: stellbread0.tripod.com Email: stellbread@sbcglobal.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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