De la Garza Dianna - Falling with Wings: A Mothers Story

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the authors copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children.
One of these is roots, the other, wings.

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

Mom

From my very first memory of you, Ive watched you take on every role, whether it was as a mother, a sister, a wife, a daughter, or a friend, with unmatched resilience, grace, and strength. As a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader and a country music singer, you were on your way to achieving great success, but you gave up your passions to see that my sisters and I realized ours. You provided a pathway for us to achieve our goals and dreams, simply because you loved us.

Youve been through hell and back many times over. Life has dealt you cards that would have had lasting impacts on anyone. But the one characteristic that Ive never seen in you is that of a victim . Through all the challenges youve facedmany of which I, surprisingly, didnt know about until I read this bookyou have always remained the hero in our lives. Youve been a true survivor in every sense of the word.

What an incredible and inspiring journey youve had! Im happy that the rest of the world will now get to see all the parts of you that my sisters and I love the most: your kindness, your loyalty, your strength, your charisma, your brilliance, and a heart that is constantly bursting with love and care for others.

Youre our inspiration and our forever hero. Thank you for telling your story, and our story, like no one else ever could.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29, 2010

T here are days when you get out of bed and instantly know that everything is going to slide downhill. This isnt one of them. My certainty rests in the fact that my mood is as bright as the sun thats streaming through the window of my Los Angeles home. For the first time in months, Im not rushing off to spend eight hours on another movie-studio lot or listening to my attorney go through the intricate details of one more contract. My only concern is getting to the airport to catch my flight back to Texas. Im going home!

A proper southern girl always looks her best, but I linger longer than usual in front of the mirror, checking every last detail. No mascara smudges, hair in place, just enough lip liner. Ive dreamed about this day for so long that I want everything to be perfect. Satisfied, I race outside, where the car service is waiting with a black, shiny sedan. Out of nowhere, a gusty breeze pushes past me, grabbing my long, red locks and pulling them in every direction. I laugh all the way to the street.

Good morning, sir, I chirp to the driver. LAX, please.

By afternoon, Ill finally be in my safe placeour familys house in Colleyville, Texas, a suburb of Dallas. A little over two years ago, my husband, Eddie, and I packed our bags and headed west to help our girlsDallas, Demi, and Madisonpursue acting and singing careers in Hollywood. We left filled with optimism, our dreams pinned to the stars, though many told us we were crazy. Today, I finally get to say, I told you so!

So many amazing things have happened recently that sometimes I fear that at the stroke of midnight, Ill wake up to discover its all a dream. My middle child and one of the two children from my first marriageDemetria Lovato, better known as Demiis on the cusp of becoming a legitimate star. Thanks to the Disney Channel and Hollywood Records, shes now a popular actress and promising new recording artist. The whirlwind of the past few yearsfilming Camp Rock , starring in her own television show, and opening concerts for the Jonas Brothershas catapulted her into the limelight of fame. At the thought, I clasp my hands together to steady the rush of nervousness leaping from my stomach to my chest. Sometimes all the changes are too much to comprehend.

Happy as I am to be returning to Texas, it seems odd to be leaving without my children. My life has revolved around my daughters needs for so long that I feel as though Ive forgotten to pack something essential. But I wont exactly be alone. My good friend Lorna will be joining me so we can escort each other to our thirtieth high school reunion, just a day away. I have so much to tell her that I suspect well be talking and laughing past midnight, just like we did as teenagers.

* * *

As I open the door to our former home, the past rushes back to greet me. Each step across the marble entryway echoes in eerie stillness as I smile at the familiar landmarks of the life we left behind. The same assortment of framed picturesmostly Monet look-alikes from Eddies bachelor daysstill clings to the walls. There are no pictures of my children anywhere in sight, an oddity that reflects my lack of zeal for home decorating, which ranks about number 257 on my priority list. Its sad to admit, but our home has changed little in its decor since the day my girls and I moved in back in 1996. A perfect example is off to my right, where the same eight wooden chairs stand like soldiers gathered around our table, guarding the Waterford crystal stored in a nearby hutch. The showcase area, I murmur to myself. But I have no desire to stop, no desire to touch any keepsakes. My feet know where theyre going. When I reach the formal living roomso often referred to as the junkyardI finally feel the pull of gravity. Within seconds, Im floating in an orbit of pleasant memories.

The oversize roomwith its threadbare sofa, two Kool-Aid-spotted wingback chairs, and a mahogany coffee table marred by mysterious carvings that no one ever admitted towas always the happiest, noisiest, most magical room in the house. For years, I joked that it was the boundary between where the serene and beautiful ended and the madness began, mostly because of a grand assortment of music equipment that is still squeezed into every available nook and cranny. There are two five-feet-tall Madison Tower Speakers, two massive floor monitors, a gigantic Marshall 4x12 stack, a sixteen-channel cabinet mixing board, and a P80 Yamaha performance keyboard, all purchased by Eddie off eBay soon after Demi and Dallas got accepted into Linda Septiens Vocal Productions Master Class, which now seems like eons ago.

I shake my head, trying to decide if the conglomeration of equipment makes it look more like a storage room or a prop lot at Universal Studios. For sure, its enough to make a bona fide hoarder anxious! Only the vaulted ceiling gives the room some spaciousness. But truthfully, the cramped conditions never bothered us because every inch was tailored to our dreams and every fiber quivered with our energy. I wistfully remember how a joyous confusion erupted every time the doorbell rang, causing each one of us to run and jump over obstacles like we were training to be Olympic hurdlers.

Now silent, its hard to imagine that this room was once the epicenter of our familys existence. By day, the room was full of laughter and chatter; by night, things always disintegrated. Thats when the cacophony of throbbing bass, screechy microphones, and high-pitched vocals always spiraled out of control. Negotiating peacefully wasnt exactly in our grab bag of strategies, so more often than not, we resorted to yelling at one another. I can still hear our passionate lines, like ghosts rising out of the darkness.

* * *

DALLAS! Demi screams while leaning over the banister from upstairs and peering into the living room. Tone it down! Im trying to write music.