The Broken Strand of Innocence By Deborah Livingston
The following is an excerpt from Deborah Livingston’s memoir, Strand of Pearls: One Woman’s Journey to Light and Peace, where Deborah recounts her journey from childhood abuse, fre- quent tragedy, and adult addiction to a spiritual transformation that brought her an inner peace and joy available to us all.
I hopped off horsy to look at my mother’s pearl necklace on the coffee table. That necklace was so inviting. When I picked it up to play with it, the pearls felt cold and smooth. The strand was hard to hang onto, and it kept slipping from my tiny hands.
I dropped it several times as I made my way to the other side of the liv- ing room to sit on the floor and stare at my pretty new toy. I loved the way the strand of pearls looked as it draped over my little fingers. I adored the noise the pearls made when I shifted them from palm to palm like a slinky. Each time I dropped the necklace on the vinyl floor, the pearls made a noise like the rain made on our tin roof.
With the light from the window reflecting off the pearls, they looked like little pieces of candy. I put them into my mouth…and gagged. They tasted the way my mother’s hairspray smelled. It was icky.
I decided it would be better to wear them the way Mommy did. I’d seen her put them around her neck, so I knew the necklace came apart. I pulled, but nothing happened. So I tugged harder. When I remember what happened next, it’s like watch- ing a movie in slow motion.
Suddenly, the string broke. Pearls flew in every direction, and I heard them bounce off every surface. Sev- eral pearls bounced on the floor right in front of me. Slowly, they stopped bouncing and rolled in different
August/September 2012
directions until they came to a stop. Throughout my life, those pearls have represented the sparkling stars that I would reach for after I had repaired the strand of my soul. My open heart keeps them on my strand today.
As I looked around, I saw my pretty, shiny pieces of fake candy scattered everywhere. Only a couple of them remained on the strand, which was weak and broken. Thoughts of the broken strand of pearls left my child’s mind within seconds. Off I went to find another bright, shiny toy. I hugged my doll house, which was as tall as I was, and began to move the furniture around. I heard voices in the other room and ran to greet my mother as she came down the hallway in her nightgown.
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