Bittersweet

Bittersweet, a story of abuse and recovery, is an

autobiography that reads like a novel.
In it, Emma Avery tells of her journey through
childhood rejection, sexual abuse, and brutal physical
and emotional violence at the hands of adults who
should have known better. Through it all, Emma
maintains her composure, her determination, and
most of all, her peace.
In Bittersweet, she tells us how she survives and
thrives.
Emma Avery is a bilateral double leg amputee from
the age of 16 who has worked as a laborer, a nail
technician, a janitor, and a peer mentor. Community
Living Services, an agency that provides services to
people with life challenges and has been an important
support resource for Emma, has provided substantial
financial support for this project.
Emma Avery
Bittersweet is her first book.

Bittersweet
A Story of Abuse & Recovery
BITTERSWEET
A Story of Abuse & Recovery

Emma Avery
BITTERSWEET: A STORY OF ABUSE AND RECOVERY
BY EMMA L. AVERY
2016 Emma L. Avery

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009938347

Individuals wishing to quote from this book may do so freely as long as
attribution is given.

To order additional copies, please send check or money order to:

Sunshynes Emporium c/o Emma L. Avery, 19101 Evergreen Road, Suite
208, Detroit, MI 48219
313-204-7711

PayPal Orders: Use lbn7491@aol.com as the email address for payments.

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For discount on orders of five or more, Email: lbn7491@aol.com for details.

Book design by Shannon Crowley,

Treasure Image & Publishing - TreasureImagePublishing.com

Edited by Dr. Mary D. Edwards,

Leaves of Gold Consulting, LLC - LeavesOfGoldConsulting.com
 Dedication
This book is dedicated to the people who are
responsible for me being in this world: my mother
Annie L. McCullough-Milton, my biological dad
Luther Avery and my grandparents who raised me, Asa
Walker and Emma Walker, and Elijah Milton they are
the ones who taught me what they thought I needed to
know to be able to be a strong person and survive at my
best.

Papa Asa, I cant say enough about you and how

close we were. You spoiled me and I will never forget
the times you stood up for me when Grandma Emma
wanted to tan my behind and how you always pinched
my cheek because that was your way of saying, I love
you.

Grandma Emma, I can still taste the good food you

always cooked for me to eat: the tasty cakes and pies
and - oh my goodness! - those homemade hand-rolled
buttermilk biscuits and ham gravy. The many times
you sat by the fireplace at night for hours rocking and

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placing hot, hot taller turpentine soaked swatches of

wool to my chest rattled with pneumonia, all the time
praying to the Lord to heal and take care of this baby
girl. You did all of this because you loved me and if you
were still here today you would do the same.

I can still feel your spirit all around me. I know you
are still singing those Zion songs!

Mom, you did all that you could do. You made sure
that I had the clothes and other needs that you could
supply as a single mother. When you were able, you
came home to see and spend time with me and my
other siblings. You made sure that we had a good
Christmas with the big boxes of things you sent with
the big warning sign, Do Not Open till Christmas,
which kept our hearts and minds wondering and
rushing Christmas. One day you met and then married
a wonderful man that made life much easier and nicer
for you and all of us. Now I call him Dad.

I cant forget my dad Elijah Milton, the dad that was

always there when I needed a dad the most. Dad,
because of you I had a better life. You gave me
unconditional love and I gave you respect for choosing
to be my dad. When tragedy came into our family, you

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 Dedicati on

really stepped up to the plate and gave more and more.

You drove from Michigan alone to make sure that I
arrived safely to Detroit so that I could get better
medical care. Because of that, I am now a very
independent individual and living a wonderful life.

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 Acknowledgments
I want to give honor to my Heavenly Father and my
Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for healing my mind and
giving back to me all that I needed to make this writing
possible. There were some very dark and hard times in
putting this book together, but All things are possible
to those who believe.

As I put forth a valiant effort to tell my life story, I

want to say thank you to all the people who
consciously and unconsciously said a prayer for me.
There were times when you may have wanted to
telephone me just to chat but gave it a second thought
because you didnt want to interrupt. Others of you
prayed silently, or just sent kind thoughts. To all of you
who loved up close or from afar, thank you!

To the ever loving Rev. Barbara A. Woodson and

other praying members of my church, St. Stephens
A.M.E., my sisters and brothers Betty, James, Luther
and LaVern for being there to assist when I needed that
little boost to get me over the next rough spot.

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BI TTE RS WE ET

To my writing coach and editor Dr. Mary Edwards:

your prayers and writing knowledge helped me get
through my first tries at putting pen to paper and gave
me encouragement to freely speak from my heart. At
first I was afraid, but you were there with me in spirit,
prayer and emails! I cant thank you enough for all you
did.

To my best friend Mary Taylor, you have been

there from day one! Thank you for helping me to see
the up side of the downs of this crazy world. You were
there with me through the yen and yang of it all (you
know what I mean)!

I thank my God upon every remembrance of you

all!

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 Table of Contents
DEDICATION.......................................................... 3
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS .............................................. 7

PART ONE: IN THE BEGINNING ............................... 11

CHAPTER 1 .......................................................... 13
Virginity Lost
CHAPTER 2 .......................................................... 51
You Can't Tell
CHAPTER 3 .......................................................... 81
I Didnt Come Here Right
CHAPTER 4 .......................................................... 99
Last Days
CHAPTER 5 ........................................................ 111
Back in the Day
CHAPTER 6 ........................................................ 139
I Thought It Was Over
CHAPTER 7 ........................................................ 161
Why Me?

PART TWO: A JOURNEY TO REMEMBER ................. 183

CHAPTER 8 ........................................................ 185

Fateful Day
CHAPTER 9 ........................................................ 189
Awakening
CHAPTER 10 ...................................................... 215
Signs of Life
CHAPTER 11 ...................................................... 221
Goodbye Worries

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BI TTE RS WE ET

CHAPTER 12 ...................................................... 239

The First Christmas
CHAPTER 13 ...................................................... 265
Needing Some Answers

PART THREE: COMING TO MICHIGAN .................271

CHAPTER 14 ...................................................... 273

Moving On
CHAPTER 15 ...................................................... 289
...I Looked At My Feet And My Feet Looked New...
CHAPTER 16 ...................................................... 297
Can Anybody Hear My Screams?
CHAPTER 17 ...................................................... 311
Living on My Own
CHAPTER 18 ...................................................... 317
Transitions
CHAPTER 19 ...................................................... 323
Out of Darkness
CHAPTER 20 ...................................................... 339
Peace
CHAPTER 21 ...................................................... 347
The Next Chapter
CHAPTER 22 ...................................................... 357
I Wont Complain

A DD EN DUM
The Things I Dont Remember ................................................... 369
The First Time I Cried ................................................................. 387

ABOUT THE AUTHOR .......................................... 391

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PART ONE:
In the Beginning

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BI TTE RS WE ET

12
 CHAPTER 1

Virginity Lost
Let me tell you, I was as green as the grass that the
cows grazed in the pasture

Emma, get up! The familiar voice was my

grandmothers, a determined, blunt and exacting
woman who lived with my grandfather, my sister and
me in Wrens, Georgia. Like so many African American
families of the early 60s, my grandparents were raising
us while my mother and father, by then separated, lived
their lives up north in a booming city called Detroit,
where Southern blacks migrated for well-paying factory
jobs and lived in well-appointed brick homes. We
werent sure exactly what those Detroit people did, but
we knew it had to be exciting.

It was 1963 and our days in Wrens, Georgia started

as always: getting fresh water for washing up, brushing
teeth, making breakfast, getting farm animals fed and

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BITTERSWEET

watered. After that, it was milk the cow and feed the
chickens. Grandma Emma would be up fixing
breakfast, while my sister Eunice and I did all the
chores before going off to school. Eunices job was to
make sure all the beds were made up, the night pots
taken out, cleaned, and put up until evening. We were
always rushing, because we wanted to make sure that
Grandma Emma didnt find anything undone before
the bus arrived to take us to school. If she did, I mean
even the smallest little thing, she will make both of us
stay home and get it done. It didnt matter to her if we
got on the bus or not. She had this little line she always
repeated to us: As long as you know how to write your
name and count to ten, you can make it in this world; so
aint no need for yall to go to school every day.

There were times when Grandma Emma would

make us stay home to finish our chores. We would
finish what she told us to do, which often meant
missing the bus. After she was satisfied that we were
finished, we would make that long trek up the dirt road
to the cross road, running to beat the bus, which had to
stop to pick up other students. We didnt always make
it, but we would run as fast as we could, then walk, then
run some more, sweating as we went, because we didnt
want to go back home. We would sit down on the side
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 Chapte r One

of the road on top of our books to keep our clothes

from getting dirty. That was a no-no in Grandma
Emmas house.

I know shes gonna yell at us, my sister would say.

Yeah, I would say back. Shell find plenty for us to do,
plenty of stuff we missed. She always fusses at us; telling
us were no good.

You were a breech baby, my grandma told me.

That wasnt my only secret. I had other secrets, too -
secrets that were kept from me and painful, painful
secrets I have kept from others. Until now.

I am fifteen and in the 9th grade, playing with a

baseball outside just before the school bell rang for the
start of classes. I am playing with my best friends
Gwendolyn and Mary-Jo, and a few boys: Robert,
Stanley, George, and some others. One of the boys
threw the baseball very high up in the air and I called
for the catch. It didnt turn out well. Not only did I not
catch the ball, but it hit the tip of my pinkie finger on
my right hand. A pain sharp as lightning radiated
through my hand, and then up through my arm,
putting my entire body into a shaking frenzy. I saw
stars as the pain radiated to my bladder. I found myself

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BITTERSWEET

unable to move and was now in the embarrassing

position of involuntarily emptying my bladder. I am
neither popular nor pretty, nor do I have long hair.
And all of those facts are running through my mind as
I find myself losing control of my entire body. And I
think: I must look like King Kongs sister.

I had never in my fifteen years of life experienced

any pain this bad, not since I suffered a large broken
rusty nail piercing through the top of my head, almost
as if a hammer had hit it. Now my hand is feeling like
that; a little jackhammer pounding on the stress area,
the pain is radiating through my entire hand. I feel the
pain now going up my arm with the pressure of a
construction workers jack- hammer.

It feels as if my entire body is going to crack and

crumble like a fine piece of broken crystal glass. I held
on for dear life. I refused to cry. Crying was not in the
cards. After all, I am on the basketball team, a shooting
forward - a big honor for such a small town country
girl that didnt get out much. Not being pretty, or
especially popular, being on the team made me feel that
I measured up. I dared not let anyone see me crying,
because I am supposed to be strong and tears would
reveal otherwise. I am able to participate in the girls

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 Chapte r One

basketball program; because the games are held during

the school hours and my grades are good enough.

Papa Asa and Grandma Emma didnt allow me to

go to games, dances or anything at night unless they
were in attendance. And they would never, ever come
to dances or any sporting events, especially if a girl is in
them - even if the girl was me. Occasionally, they would
let me go if some of the neighbors were going. But they
never came out to see me play basketball, not even
when the games are played here at my school.

Basketball is a boys game, and girls should never be

allowed to play, theyd say.

There were times when I would play and had a

major role in my teams win. I would come home all
excited to tell Grandma Emma and Papa Asa about the
game, but I knew I couldnt; at least not when the two
of them were together. But I know I will be able to tell
Papa later when he and I are alone. I know he will be
happy for me, and he was. I remember the time when
he said, Thats good; you played good and your team
ended up being the winner, but you be careful when and
how you let your grandma know about this. Go now and

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BITTERSWEET

get your work done before she comes out here fussing at
you.

That was then and this is now. Now, everyone came

running to my aid to see what they could do to help
ease the pain. I am unable to speak for I know if I
opened my tiny little mouth I probably would have
roared like a herd of lions and my eyes would have
rained rivers of tears like the fall of the mighty Niagara.
All I can do is jump up and down gingerly and gently
hold on to my right hand moving around in very slow
short circles, like a little drunk Chihuahua chasing his
tail. I am trying to shake my head Yes or No in my
feeble attempts to give answers to the questions that I
am hearing one after the other. I continue to walk
around in little circles in order to stay on my feet,
scared to death to fall because that will mean getting
my clothes all dirty. I am also thinking if I fall my dress
might fly up. All I really wanted to do was drop to my
knees and die; let it all be over with right now. The pain
was that unbearable.

Finally, the school bell rings and Gwendolyn and

Mary-Jo gather my things and hold my left arm to help
me to our homeroom classes. I tell myself, Hang in
here girl; you can do it. You got to do it. I held my right

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 Chapte r One

hand up ever so gently; by now it was swelling

something fierce.

The bell rings again and I gather my things to go to

my first class. My hand and arm are throbbing,
swelling, aching and burning like crazy. I am barely
able to hold onto my things but somehow I am
successful at keeping them together under my left arm.
I am still struggling to keep my balance and not crash
to the floor. I finally make it to my first class of the day.
Whew! I slide into my seat, and my things slide from
under my left arm on to the top of my desk. I am
holding on to my right wrist as if it is the finest piece of
crystal ever existed, because even the air blowing
against my skin is causing me pain. I am holding and
looking at my hand as if any minute now it as going to
just break off. At this point, I wish my hand didnt
exist.

The swelling in my hand can be seen from across

the room. For some reason, everyone wants to touch
my hand, which is completely out of the question. I can
see that this is not going to be a good day at all. I am
disappointed; for I know I will not be able to practice or
play at a time when the team is counting on me.

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