The Naked Truth: The Real Story Behind the Real Housewife of New Jersey--In Her Own Words Read Free Page B

it, but it’s a pretty tough illness to live with.
    I was told that as sick as he was, when Ronnie first saw me, he couldn’t take his eyes off me. He would say, “Mommy, she has the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen,” and he seemed fascinated that he now had a baby sister. I was adopted when Ronnie was seven, and I spent approximately two years with him before he died. I know that he adored me; just having me around seemed to generate a great deal of happiness for him. I don’t think Ronnie realized how sick he really was because he always seemed so full of life. He had a zest for life undaunted by his disease, and it certainly did not affect his quality of life except temporarily when he was taken for his treatments to the Philadelphia hospital twice a week. I am not quite sure ifit was more for Ronnie’s sake or my parents’ sake that I was adopted, but after Ronnie was born and diagnosed the doctor had advised my mother and father to stop having children because their genetics didn’t properly mesh.
    I’ve been told that at the time my father seemed to be happy on the surface, but a distinct sadness was behind his eyes. He’d lost five sons and knew that Ronnie was soon going to die. I think I was a breath of fresh air for my mother, amid all of the pain of loss and dealing with Ronnie’s illness. Compared to Ronnie, I was easy to take care of. She didn’t have to drive me to the hospital for oxygen or put me on medication. I was never sick. I know my mother loves me to this day, but I was always aware that I had to be independent and cause minimal trouble for her because as a mom she was already stretched too thin.
    One day, I tried to wake Ronnie from his nap, the way I normally did, by climbing up on the couch and giving him a big hug. I would never lie on his chest though—I would carefully put my head next to his, put my nose gently in his neck, and nuzzle him to wake him up. He didn’t move. I was young and confused, and at first I thought he was playing a game, but I didn’t find it funny. I was scared. Ronnie never woke up that afternoon.
    That was the first time someone I loved had died, and I was just two years old. Ronnie had lived to be nine, then the darkness set in and the dynamic completely changed at my parents’ house soon after he passed away.

    After Ronnie’s death, my family attempted to have a normal life. We lived in the small town of Athens, Pennsylvania, which was about three hours from Philadelphia and had one stoplight. Our house was close to the school where I attended kindergarten, and I spent a great deal of time alone, but didn’t mind. I would come home from kindergarten to an empty house because both my parents were working. I actually liked being alone when I came home. It was the nicest house we had ever lived in, with hardwood floors, cathedral ceilings, gorgeous moldings, and spacious bay windows. The kitchen was huge, with almost pantry-size cabinets. After school I would climb up on the countertops and get treats such as Suzy (Qs, Yodels, and Twinkies from the oversize cabinets. At the time, my mother was an insurance broker and my father was a minister and also sold real estate. We were doing pretty well, but this period of success lasted only a short time.
    Since my father was a minister, people frequently came to our home for counseling. It seemed that the bulk of them were women. Rumor had it that he was having affairs with several of them. My father was lost after Ronnie died. I think he needed to feel a new kind of love and wasn’t sure what it was supposed to consist of. The women were seeking guidance, and maybe my father took a little advantage of that. My mom told me years later that this is why he was asked to leave the ministry, and we had to move out of the town we lived in.
    From then on, it seemed that our family was always really poor. Everything I owned was a hand-me-down. When I wasquite young, I would go to the local supermarket alone and thumb