Fearfully and Wonderfully made: A Memoir by Dorothy Colleen Bellion

Author’s note. I have changed the names of the people in this story on the grounds that this is my story, not theirs, but they are based on real people. To the best of my ability to remember and reproduce it, what you are about to read is the truth. The title of this autobiography comes from Psalm 139:14 - “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

Prologue: Once upon a time, a young working mother came home to find three giggling girls playing Barbies in her child’s bedroom. There was only one problem - one of the “girls” was supposed to be her son ...

This is the story of that child, and the long strange trip she went on ...

Chapter 1. “Are you sitting comfortably?”

Why would I write an autobiography? And why would you care to read it?

I’m not famous - outside of a handful of people that have read something I’ve written, nobody has heard of me.

So why do it?

I do it because I think its an interesting story, a story of transition and hope. Its the story of a very ordinary person who has dealt with some tough issues, like gender confusion and rape.

Only time will tell if you will give me a chance to prove I’m right...

I could start this with a quote from Platinum Blonde - “Are you sitting comfortably? Then let’s begin”. Or I could quote a prologue of the poem “Under Milk Wood” - “To begin at the beginning”

But where do things begin?

You could trace events back through history, and you could see how each domino was affected by the one before, and never really get to the beginning. So we must pick a moment, and begin with that.

So let’s start with a bit of my family tree.

My maternal grandparents were farm people, but by the time I came into the picture the farm was more a hobby than an enterprise. My grandfather was a solid Alberta cowboy through and through who loved his horses, his wife, and his children’s children, and probably in that order.

I know very little about my father’s family except that he had an adopted sister who was the jewel of the house. He often apparently felt like he was less than her in his father’s eyes. This fundamental sense of unworthiness would eventually be my father’s downfall.
He went into the Air Force, and as was the tradition of the services, was forced to move often to new posts. So it came to pass while he was stationed in Chatham, New Brunswick, he became a father, three times over.

The first child didn’t last more than a couple of days, and the sense of loss and grief that caused never really left the house, even as first my brother, and then I, was born and began to try and fill the void.

My brother was first, a bundle of energy and always in motion.

And then, one summer day in 1966, I showed up and was given the name Todd.

Since my father was in the Royal Canadian Air Force, it was not long after my arrival that my family moved. I spent most of my first five years shifting from place to place.

I wish I remembered this time better, because in some ways, compared to what was to come, these were the calm years...

The one memory I have of my dad was being in a sled with me in front, my brother behind me, and my father in the back. Sadly, that outing had a bit of bumpy ending, as we sledded into a chain-link fence, and I went head-first into it.

I sometimes wonder if that caused some of the problems I would have later ...

We were in what was then West Germany when the next tragedy struck our family. Most of what happened I didn’t know at the time, but this is what I pieced together...

As I said, my father had struggled with his sense of self-worth his whole life, and his choice of careers didn’t make things any easier. He worked as an air traffic controller for the Air Force, which is one of the most stressful jobs there is. And although he was highly regarded enough to be made one of the youngest Captains in Canadian history, that didn’t prevent his struggles with his self-worth.

Eventually, the strain was more than he could cope with, and he attempted suicide.

The first attempt failed and he was put on antidepressants to prevent a second attempt.

Unfortunately, they failed and while on “medical leave” he walked into a hardware store, used his military I.D. to buy a small pistol with ammo and went outside, sat on the stoop of the store and ... ended his life.

What happened next was odd, and I can only guess as to why it happened.The Air Force psychologist who had been working with my dad apparently stopped by the house the day he died, and upon finding us not at home, he hung around a bit and then left, according to our landlady, who lived in the apartment below us.

When we came home, my mom said the medication my father had been on was missing.

And the oddness didn’t stop there. Normally in those days, committing suicide would result in a dishonorable discharge from the military, but instead they gave my father a full military funeral, my mother his pension, and us kids orphan benefits until we turned 18.

But I am getting ahead of myself a little.

We were flown back to Canada, and that flight was one of my earliest clear memories - of sitting in the plane, and thinking that my dad’s body was in the cargo hold. Thinking of me looking out the window at the clouds, and him not being able to see anything.

Because he was gone.

I was five years old.

My brother and I were not allowed to attend the funeral, but I heard after that it was very moving - so much so that an officer who had been assigned as part of the escort of the coffin to the gravesite actually broke down in tears.

I never learned his name or why he cried.

My mother used part of my dad’s pension to buy a small house in the south side of Calgary, a few minute’s drive from one of her sisters who had tried to be there for her in the aftermath of my father’s death.

Unfortunately, things were about to get worse ...

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