Diaries and Journals

This is my mom's bathroom. The pictures are of my daughter in varying ages throughout the time that my mother was alive. My mom died when she was about 2.5 years old.
These pictures are relevant to what I want to say, but first some back story.

I am an only child. I was a preemie; 9.5 weeks early,  I weighed 3lbs and was born in a run down hospital in Syracuse, NY to Carol Sue and Earl Charles Endsor. Their names sound innocent enough as if they hailed from some small American town. My dad was from Watertown, NY and my mom grew up in Kansas City. So, she was drug to the east coast kicking and screaming, but probably had no choice because she suddenly found herself married and pregnant. They lived there for two miserable years (or so I am told) and then moved back to Kansas City. Soon enough, my mom was trying to leave my dad. This process took two years and at some point when I was 4 or so, he was out of town on a business trip. She moved all of his things to an apartment, changed the locks on our doors and left him a note with his new address. Hmph, I don't remember any of this. He remarried shortly thereafter and well, that is a story for another day.

My mom, worried that I would be forever scarred from this, put me in therapy almost immediately. She also felt a private school would serve me better, so we moved from KS to MO and I started Sunset Hill school for girls in the 1st grade. I have wonderful memories of this place. I also have the best friends in the world from this place. They became the sisters I never had.

WOW, this is getting to be more than I anticipated. All I really wanted to write about was a diary entry of my mom's from 1991, but this back story stuff, like the "river" I presented in class a few weeks back has meandered from trickling stream to class 5 rapids. I think for the sake of my sanity and my need of at least 8 hours of sleep, I will continue this another day.