Nicole Spence - Somewhere North of Where I Was

Text 2018 by Nicole Spence

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency.

P.O. Box 22024
Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island
C1A 9J2
acornpresscanada.com

Edited by Lee Ellen Pottie
Cover design by Matt Reid
eBook design by Joseph Muise

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Spence, Nicole, 1972-, author

Somewhere north of where I was / Nicole Spence.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-77366-009-7 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77366-010-3 (HTML)

1. Spence, Nicole, 1972- --Childhood and youth. 2. Adult child abuse victims--Canada--Biography. 3. Adult children of alcoholics--Canada--Biography. 4. Foster children--Canada--Biography. 5. Autobiographies. I. Title.

HV6626.54.C3S64 2018 362.76092 C2018-901110-6
C2018-901111-4

The publisher acknowledges the support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund of the Department of Canadian Heritage for our publishing activities. We also acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program.

For Aletta

Foreword

By Debi Lewis

I met Nicole approximately three years after this story ends, when I was twelve and she was fourteen. It was my first day of school in Grade 8 at Parrsboro Regional High. I was new to the school. I knew no one in a town where everyone knows everyone. I was terrified. Nicole was the first person I met. She came right up to me and introduced herself. She showed me where I was supposed to go and basically was my buddy right from the start. She was the friendliest and most outgoing person I had ever met. She still is.

I knew nothing about her background. I didnt know she had a social worker. I didnt understand her family arrangement. It didnt matter. She was energetic and happy and sociable. I felt she didnt care about my family status or whether I had the trendiest clothing. I liked her straight away.

Nicoles story is one of both deprivation and survival. It is a story about the good and bad elements of her experience with Social Services. It is a story about a complicated family arrangement and two Mothers who truly wanted the best for their children lost in the system. It is a tale about the strongest woman I have ever known having her innocence ripped from her and still managing to keep her Self intact. She was traumatised. She was dealt a difficult hand. She has had to break through glass ceiling upon glass ceiling, simply by her bad luck in having been born to a certain set of circumstances. She has smashed through them all. She has defied societal expectation. She has not bowed down in poverty and meekly accepted her lot in life. She has strived. She has struggled. She has royally messed up and failed numerous times. She has succeeded.

There are parts of this book that are particularly difficult to read. Nicole has somehow managed to write graphic scenes in a very self-respectful way, honouring the experience of her child self. She separates from the experience in that she does not offer an opinion about it; yet she is respectful to what she saw her perpetrator go through his own battle with internal devils. To be honest I was surprised at this because I had known about it for a long time. I knew what happened. I think my foreknowledge of what happened and when, probably made it harder for me to read certain parts of the book, but the way she tackles the subject matter is far more professional than I could have.

This is not a story about sexual abuse. This is a story about Nicoles childhood. But even more than that, it is a story of a family who endured a childhood of neglect, poverty, and addiction. This is also a story about two of the sisters in this family who endured all of this and sexual abuse as well, written by the only sister to survive. This is a story about the resilience of one little girl and the things that happened to her. It is a story of hope.

When Nicole asked me to write the foreward I was surprised and deeply honoured. We have been kindred spirits for a very long time. She is the sister I never had, the kind of friend you can say, WTF were you thinking? when she does something remarkably stupid; the kind of friend who is there for you when its your turn to be remarkably stupid.

Did you know Nicole broke the rules by asking me to write this foreward? According to my internet research, it is supposed to be written by someone famous and easily recognisable to the public. I am neither. My most famous name-dropping moment is that I was recently published on the CBC website, two days before the famous Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield, for the Canada 150 celebration pages. That was an incredible honour but I suspect hes still more famous than me.

This book made me cry. This book made me laugh and cry at the same time. Books never make me cry. Except Wild by Cheryl Strayed. Nicoles book is like Strayeds in that it too is a Heros Journey, with the ultimate quest being to grow up and teach others how to be resilient like her. This book made me want to rally the troops and go into battle on Nicoles behalf. I have never been more proud of a friend and I know when you read her story, you will be too.

The day my sister died was the day my life began. Through a time when I thought the pain of my breaking heart would tear me into a thousand pieces, I began to heal. As I held her lifeless hand and begged her to please, please come back to me, I knew the days of our childhood were lost. I knew the secrets she carried would never pass through her lips. Her truth would never be told. Her pain died with her. Only a few slabs of concrete separated me from her husband, the monster who was responsible for putting her here, and I knew he would never pay for what he had done.

Hearing those goddamned beeping machines that kept the shell of her body rising and falling; seeing the lifeless black of her eyes and knowing that behind those slits she was legally brain dead, I felt like my life was ending. The pain was unbearable. But, unlike my sister, my lungs kept breathing, my heart still beat, and, after time and healing, I came to realize that she is a free bird.

During the months surrounding her death and my senior year of university, I began the transition from victim to survivor. My sisters death awakened a passion to live my life and start telling my story. Her death was the catalyst, the platform from which I chose to jump. In jumping, I began to fly.

My sisters death, seeing all that had been buried with her, awakened in me a driving passion to live my life. I have spent decades since then living my life, devoting my time and love to my family. Now is the time to tell my story.

Every family has skeletons in their closet. In our family, there are armies. We are, however, the exception to the rule. In my family, our skeletons are out dancing for everyone to see.

Memories

My first memory is of our house burning down. I was two-and-a-half. Mommy had me by the arm and was dragging my butt down the stairs. My baby sister, June, was cradled over her other shoulder. Wed been ripped from our beds, groggy from sleep, not comprehending what was going on. My head jerked around as Mommy shook me with every step, kicking at my legs trying to get my feet to stay underneath me. I couldnt understand why Mommy was being so mean to me. My throat stung from the smoke, and the baby was screaming louder than Mommy. Eddie was playing outside. Aletta and Edwin had been watching TV in the living room and ran outside. Mommy was angry and panicked, but she got us all out.