Serious Writers Block

When I first began this blog I barely knew what a blog was.  To me, it started as an online journal.  Private at first and I had always intended for it to stay that way.  To me, it was a way to process all that had happened, all we had been told, all that we had lost, all that we couldn't talk about, all that I needed to get out of me.  I seemed to be "filled" to overflowing with emotions that I could not get out. Anger, confusion, deep, all-consuming sadness.  And there were so many questions hanging in midair that had nowhere to fall. 

I was also caring for my sister and sitting in the bone marrow clinic 5 days a week from 6 to 12 hours a day and trying to work my job in the evenings after things settled down.  I could not get a counselor to even answer my calls but if I had, there were not enough hours in the day to see one.  So this was "my" self-care my own answer to therapy.  This was my safe place to fall.  When the day was done with my sister and she was settled, when my work hours were logged, when everyone was fed and the kitchen straightened up - this was my time.  My time to cry, to talk about Brian, to express my confusion and scream out my anger, to question, to process - right here.  I looked forward to my time with my writing like a lifeline.  Nothing could make me skip it. It was key to my survival.  

I was so angry at the whole mess until I couldn't stand myself.  I was throwing terrible temper fits.  Screaming and throwing things and snapping at all the people I loved. All I could think about was how could anyone that really knew Brian ever, ever believe he did this.  It was all consuming.  And it was killing me that none of his accusers even knew him nor did they make the effort to even try.  After the official determination even those that had known him suddenly seemed to forget the person that he had always been, the dad he had always been. Never once in his entire life had he ever laid a hand on any woman not even the wife that tormented him for 18 years. 

All of his talents, his work ethic and abilities, his quick wit and keen sense of humor, all of his comical antics and practical jokes, his dedication to learning the bible prophecies, his love and dedication to his children for over 20 years --all of his previous life, any and all good he had ever done had been laid to waste. Erased in a moment even sadly, by some that knew him best. 

I decided I could not allow the general public to just believe what they were told about him without ever having known him or given him the chance to defend himself.  Although I had not wanted to make my pain, my anger and my devastation public and lay myself vulnerable to the biased scrutiny and wrath of the general public. And I knew from what people were saying on public forums I was opening myself up to the possibility of more pain and judgment - but I was Brian's mom.  Still - Brian's Mom. Now and forever and if I were his only ally and only defender then I would take it public and if I accomplished nothing else the general public would at least know a little of the Brian I knew.  I refused to let him be thought of only as a monster tried and found guilty in a court of public opinion without ever giving him a chance at a defense.  He may carry that title as I'm sure he will but some small part of me hoped and prayed that they would read enough of who he was to us before that god-awful August day erased all the good in his life.  Maybe if even, one would see him as a person with feelings, as an employee with goals, as a funny, talented, hard-working single dad trying to be both mom and dad to two children alone for 12 years, as my funny, goofy loving son, as a betrayed, devastated husband that lost his home, his wife, his children and his confidence in one fell swoop. If I could bring him to life for even one person and let them see him, know him before that day - then I had to try.

That one day erased his future.  I couldn't stand idly by and let it erase his past as well.  I couldn't stand knowing that all that he was up to that day counted for nothing.

I kept thinking of how it would feel if I were accused of some terrible, tragic crime that I did not commit and how awful it would be for everyone to believe I was guilty.  And I thought how I would at least be comforted in knowing that those people that loved me and knew me best would stand by me and would "know" without a shadow of a doubt that I was innocent.  I would know that no matter what the public thought the people closest to me, in my inner circle who knew who I had been up to that day -- to those people --I would not need to prove my innocence.  I would assume that my previous life, my history with them, all that I stood for and all that I had ever done right in my life --would be proof enough.  And I thought about who I was - Brian's mom - having to look him in the face someday and tell him I believed he was capable of something so horrific.  The person that knew him best; the one that knew all his faults, his fears, his weaknesses, his strengths, his beliefs, his good side, his moody side --all of him.  I just kept thinking about how he would feel to know I believed he was guilty.  I knew him.  The public didn't know him, but I knew him.  I had to stand up for him.  I had to be his voice.  I had to let others know a little of the person I knew then they could judge at least a little more fairly.  

At a bare minimum I hope I have done that.  

The blog began to take on a life of its own.  It was my way of processing.  It was my way of letting others know Brian.  It was my way of honoring and remembering all that Kara and Paxton were to me.  It was my first way of communicating with Kara's mom when I wanted desperately to contact her but was afraid to call.  I didn't know what was right and I wanted to be respectful and give her - her space always painfully aware of what she was going through and that in her eyes we, my family caused her pain.  I was also aware of the possibility of anger and even hatred at all of us. I so wanted to let her know how devastated I was for her and her family's loss.  When she asked my daughter if she could read the blog - it did what I never expected, it opened the door to a friendship.  And in some strange way she found comfort in what I wrote.  So, I wrote. And while I had spent my entire life writing suddenly that was all I could write. And now...well I can't even seem to write here either. Not sure if writing will ever come back to me.  I pray that it will.  In the meantime, I will just always be thankful that before it left me, I would be introduced to Praise and Worship music, I would find a dear friend in Kara's mom, she would find some comfort in my written word, and I could find peace and solace as I always have --in words right here.  

Kissing 2020 Goodbye

Well I should have known it couldn't leave without kicking and screaming its way out.  I am sick.

So for the first New Year's day in probably 15 years now I cannot spend New Year's with my best friend Kathie.  Doesn't feel like anything drastic but I don't dare expose her or her sister or her husband to anything because these days you just don't know.  So we will sit home alone - quarantined for the next 10 days I guess.  So now 2020 has officially hijacked New Year's Day 2021!

Today, for some unknown reason has been a very down day.  Its dismal outside but it was dismal inside as well.  Knowing I can't go to Kathie's like I have done for years has not helped but actually I think I'm okay with that.  Seems like we have had weeks of hoopla because Christmas was celebrated in several small gatherings so it kind of dragged on and I'm a little tired.

I've been reading a novel which is not usually my cup of tea.  Not much of a fiction lover but this is based on real events and I felt like I needed some down time reading.  It was a very good book but the subject matter was very sad and depressing and as it turns out I don't think that was what I needed right now.  The book was about a children's home in Tennessee that stole children and adopted them out to wealthy and powerful families, politicians, movie stars for a huge profit.  It was called "Before We Were Yours" By: Lisa Wingate.  The characters and details of their lives were fictitious but the premise of the story was true.  The Children's home was real.  The woman behind the baby brokering business was real.  The stories of cruelty, neglect, molestation and even murder were real.  It was a depressing, sad and horrific account and an eye opening realization of how cruel and horrible people can become for money.  It also cements the reality that as bad as the world is today - it has been just as bad in times past. People have committed inhumane atrocities for profit and power throughout the pages of history.  But it was not a light read by any stretch of the imagination and this was not a good time to read it. 

This has sure been a horrific year and I am glad to see it go however, the realist in me will not allow me to be overly enthusiastic about 2021 taking its place.  Too much lying in wait to believe that it is all going to magically get better.  Like we were going to wake up this morning and the virus will have disappeared overnight, all of our civil liberties and personal freedoms will have been restored, all of the businesses that have been bankrupted by this will have revived, people will want to work again and we will not be living with the threat of socialism and communism looming large on the horizon. We will be living once again in the land of the free in a United States that I recognize. And all will be sunshine and daisies.  

And as bad as this year has been and it has been like none other in history, I mentioned this morning to my husband that it is not the worst year we've ever seen.  And although I have always known that I would never get over losing a child - you say that without really knowing what that truly means.  And even after it happens you hope and pray that you were wrong.  That some day that pain would let up and you could live a normal life again.  All you have to compare it to is other, less horrific losses.  The grief was bad.  There was sadness and months and months of crying and guilt and sleepless night but then life began to slowly come back.  Days looked brighter.  You laughed.  Life continued.  You still missed the person you lost but you lived with the loss, remembered them with laughter and fond memories. And you picked back up and you lived again. So there is no way I could have imagined that 6 1/2 years would go by so quickly and that I would still be crying.  That I could still find it hard now to look at their pictures, that I would still be haunted by the unknowns of what happened and why.  Almost seven years.  That would have been far too much to live with had I known that in the beginning so I am glad I didn't know this then.  

However, today it no longer scares me because I realize with "acceptance" that it will always be.  Some days are better than others and I understand now that "some days" is the best I can hope for.  And I understand now that some days it will always hurt.  Some days it will be unbearable.  Some days I will cry.  Some days it will be like it is brand new again and some days it will be unbelievable.  And I know now that those days will always be with me.  This is not something I will ever, ever get over.  I will live with it and the pain will not be as sharp.  I will cry but alone and controlled and not as often.  I will wake up in total disbelief, but I will quickly recover and realize it has been like waking from a dream.  

I have finally come to the realization that this is life now and that's just how it is.  It will never go away.  How could it?  How naive of me to have ever believed that it could.  

I don't know how much the shame and secrecy contribute to that fact but I'm sure they don't help.  Perhaps if I could have grieved them openly, received love and support like normal people, if I could have been able to talk about them or hash out the confusion and anger and mystery or bounce my thoughts off someone, get feedback, miss them out loud, perhaps if I could speak of my children to people I meet like a normal person or perhaps if I had a socially acceptable answer to: "what happened?" instead of hiding my hurt and hiding the most horrific tragedy a mother could live through, hiding my children --all of them and the details of our life because I don't know how to answer: "How many children do you have?"  If I say three, they ask conversation starter questions - where do they live, what do they do?  Are they married do they have kids?  If I say two, I feel horrible.  If I say three and one has died, they ask what happened.  So, I avoid all talk of my children and feel as though I am living a lie at all times.  I feel guilty like I am rejecting or abandoning my living children like I am not claiming them, bragging on them, talking about their lives.  And keeping secrets will eat you alive.  How can I possibly make friends or get to know people when I have the worst tragedy in my life that has to remain untold.  They cannot ever "know" me, and I feel like I'm living a lie, not being true to myself, not even being myself.  Not at all living authentically and am not a "surface" person.  If I feel comfortable enough to tell them anything I begin to feel judged.  I start reading stuff into little slights and feeling as if they are treating me differently now.  It is changing me.  It is making me a loner.  Making me not want friends because it is too hard.  I can't be me so how real can a relationship with them be anyway.  I am sure that the nature of the situation has had a great deal to do with why I am still where I am.  And just like 2021 can't erase the tragedies of 2020 nothing can ever erase the tragedies of 2014

2020 - Christmas has been Hijacked! Along with pretty much everything else

In church this morning the preacher was talking about what an awful year this has been for everyone and how this Christmas is going to be the worst Christmas he personally has ever known and he assumed most people felt the same.  

We are in a second wave and huge surge in the first worldwide pandemic that has been seen since 1918.  At best it has hijacked our peace, our family time, our vacation plans, our holidays, our weddings, our honeymoons, our graduations, and birthday celebrations, our educations and the education of our children and grandchildren.  And at worst it has hijacked our health, our businesses our jobs and the ability to support our families, our sanity, our mental and emotional health and the ultimate -- precious members of our families and then the funerals to honor and pay respects to those precious members, 

We have seen our fair and equitable election process be made a total sham of leaving the country in a horribly divided embarrassing mess and the highest office in our once great land has been made a mockery of. The election process and in turn the presidency of the United States have literally been hijacked.

The president elect apparently has dementia and cannot even complete an intelligent  sentence.  And I'm not making fun.  It is sad that he has been put on display in this kind of condition for people to attack him for something he cannot help.  It is disgusting to see and I feel terribly sorry for him but all sympathy aside he is not fit for the office of President and it is my sincere believe that he will never be allowed to serve that in that capacity and I do not believe that it was ever intended that he would. Human decency, it seems, has been hijacked as well. 

Real Journalism has certainly been hijacked taken over by social media and tech moguls. We are now being spoon-fed political propaganda and everything that does not agree with their agenda - censored. The first amendment to our bill of rights - our Freedom of Speech - has been hijacked.

Truth has certainly been hijacked.  There is no truth not even in the face of a worldwide pandemic - we can't even trust what we are told about the health crisis affecting the entire world because the truth has become relative depending on which political party you hear it from.

We have racial unrest and violence in almost every major city that has been bought and paid for and carefully choreographed. They have killed, maimed and destroyed and it has all been sanctioned by the local Governments. 

Cities have been taken over.  Our Historical Statues and Monuments, pieces of our history, beautiful expressions of art, owned and paid for by the American Tax Payer have been destroyed; again fully sanctioned by the local Governments. 

Police have lost all power and are not allowed to even defend themselves from violent protesters.  Again sanctioned by the local Governments. Law and order and democracy gone.  Yep. Hijacked.

All culminating to be "globally" yes, the worst year I've ever known in my 67 years but "personally" well that's a different story.  2014 still has that prize and so far though this has been no picnic, Christmas 2014 still holds the record at my house.. 

The thing about this Christmas vs. 2014 Christmas is that 2014 kind of ruined every Christmas from now on.  Hoping to God that 2020 will not have that same power and effect.  

The world has looked upside down and wrong to all of us for six years and it just kind of feels like to me like the rest of world has just now caught up.

Strange

I had the weirdest exchange take place between me and a "friend" from church the other day. I mistakenly assumed a church friend might be one to call when you needed a little support.  So I texted and told her I almost called her the day before because I was so down and really needed someone to talk to. Her answer left me feeling far worse than before I contacted her.

This was how she responded:

I don't mind listening "but" I hesitate to give suggestions.  I have found that when someone talks, their perception is what is told.  Facts can only be learned by carefully worded questions.  I'm not smart enough for that besides, I'm too empathetic."

Huh?  

She offered no further explanation.  I concluded that she assumed I was going to talk about the kids.  She "supposedly" does not know what happened just that I lost them tragically.  I have never told her -  I'd also bet many thousands of dollars that she actually does know.

So what exactly do you say to this?  I assumed, A. She DID NOT want to talk to me about any problem, either physical, spiritual, emotional or otherwise.

So to just back out of any plea for help, and let her gracefully off the hook I said "Not that I really expected anyone could actually help.  I just needed a friend I guess."  

She said: "I understand." 

 

THAT ended the text exchange.

Not another word; not - Hey, I'm your friend.  I may not have all the answers and I may not can help at all but I can listen and be there for you.  

Nope.  Just "I understand."  No. It is I that understands.  Completely.

It absolutely devastated me.  I felt like she had just slapped me cold in the face.  I really did.  I cried and  have been upset by it for days.  And my first instinct was to quit the church as crazy as that sounds.   

Six years later - Really?  Again, I might as well have called the suicide prevention hotline and been put on hold!

Still

 

I was just telling my sister that grief just keeps coming at you because if you loved someone you will never stop missing them.  It takes turns.  Some days I think about my Mama all day long and it has been over twenty one years since I lost her and some days it still seems so fresh it is impossible to believe it has been so long. I still relive that evening on the hospital helipad helpless and alone as I watched from the ground and an overwhelming sadness overtook me - as they lifted off and she flew away in the helicopter as they “life-flighted” her to Emory – She may as well have been carried off by a band of Angels because I knew in my heart she was flying away for the very last time.

Some days I just think about Shirley and how after Mama and Daddy divorced she literally moved in and rescued all of us.  She gave us the only real stability we had ever known.  I think about how selfless she was giving her all to be there for all of us.  We were strangers to her.  She had never been around kids and she gave up her quiet, peaceful life of never having to struggle to rescue a bunch of needy “strays” and stayed loyal to us for over 20 years until she died.

Some days I think about my brother in law Keith Day, lost way too young to a heart attack at 50 years old.  I think about how funny he was and about how he went against everyone’s advice to start that street ministry that has now morphed into the “Blessings Bus Ministry” that feeds and clothes the homeless on the streets of Atlanta for over 15 years!  I think about how proud I was of him then and how thankful I am to get to be even a tiny part of it now.  

Some days I go way back, and I miss my uncle - Bobby Holland killed in a tragic car accident at 26 years old.  He left a young wife and 8-month-old child that never knew her daddy.  I think about what he was to me.  I think about what a good daddy he would have been to her.  He was the first man that I ever really trusted.  He was kind and gentle and so different from all the men in my life that either, grabbed at me and made me feel gross, or beat the hell out of me for little or no reason.  I had a pretty dim view of men in general most of my life.  He was the exception.  He was also the first person in my life that I loved and lost; at 10 years old he was my introduction to grief. I cried over him for a solid year.

There are days when I think about my aunts and uncles that I’ve loved and lost; my grandparents and as of two years ago, my dear friend Durinda – the first of my childhood friends to die.  My friend and neighbor most recently - Linda Sayre a testament to the way a Christian both lives and dies.  She lived loving the Lord and she died trusting Him.

And of course, leading the pack are the days that I think of Brian and Paxton and Kara.  Those days are still after 6 years - devastating and still that grief surrounds and nearly consumes me almost daily.  I don’t cry everyday anymore but I do still cry.  And while it seems good that I no longer cry everyday I’m really not sure it is because I think holding it in could make you explode.  Because replacing that is a deep, aching sadness that permeates my entire being.  I can laugh but not without guilt.  I have small joys, but they are colored by a layer of sadness and intense sense of loss.  Each takes their turn at me.  Each has their day and of course there are still the ever-lingering peripheral losses that continue to pile up --six long years of losses.  Like after all this time I still do not know what happened.  Not a day so far goes by that I do not think of that.  After six years I still cannot talk openly about them.  I still cannot acknowledge that I ever had them, loved them or lost them because of the questions sure to follow that I still do not know how to answer.  I feel cheated and that feels like a loss unto itself.  I still feel judged, and I still feel guilt where Kara’s family is concerned.  My faith has suffered immensely.  I fight it – daily - with everything I have but there’s no use lying – it is not the same and it has suffered irreparable damage as has my relationship with literally every other person in my life.  Some lost never to return; some have returned but what we have left is so different the relationship is virtually unrecognizable.  I’d venture to say not one part of my entire life has not been seriously affected.  I still don’t sleep well waking up most mornings before 4:00.  I still cringe and get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach on the 23^rd of the month – not just August but every month – for six years.  I do not seem to be getting “better” as I’d hoped and prayed and each successive year, I find myself getting closer to "bitter” than I’ve been for six years. 

Some days I can see their pictures and feel love and warmth and remember sweet memories.  Other days I can see their picture and it is like a knife to my heart.  Three knives actually.   

Still surprisingly, Paxton has been the hardest.  Maybe because he was totally innocent and maybe just because he was a baby and there is something so awful and so tragic about the loss of a child.  And most especially under such traumatic and horrific circumstances.  That said, they have all been hard.  Very hard.

Still, I feel guilty because I never saw any of them and that feels so wrong and yet I know if I had it to do over, I would choose to do the exact same thing again.  I am a coward.  I could not see them and live and the survivor in me always, always knew that.  I am an incredibly strong person, but strength only goes so far, and I simply could not face that.

The conclusion I’ve come to is if people have had a place in your life; have impacted your life, you have loved them, or they have loved you –you will always miss them.  Always think of them from time to time and yes, even always grieve the loss of them – still - and always.

Six Years Ago...

I find it so hard to believe that exactly six years ago I spoke to my son for the very last time.  Hard to believe all of those words.  Six years. My son. Last time.  Still today those words defy reality.

I have of course played back in my head that conversation hundreds of times over the past six years.  Looking for clues.  Looking for evidence that proves my cause for disputing these findings.  Treasuring the normalcy and lightness of it.  Replaying his voice; the tone, his inflections, his laugh, his concern. Clinging to every word.  Hanging onto to every memory of it.  Today six years later when I can barely remember what I did an hour ago - I can recite that conversation almost word for word.

As I write this one hour and a half ago I stopped what I was doing and looked at the clock at the exact time I made that final call.  Like some force pulling me.  Just like still waking in the middle of the night like I did at exactly 4:00 A.M. Saturday morning the 23rd of August 2014 in a fit of tears without knowing why.  To this day I still periodically wake at precisely 4:00 A.M. sometimes I just look at the clock and realize why I awoke I make a mental note of it and go right back to sleep.  Other times I lay awake with them on my heart and do not - can not go back to sleep.  It isn't everyday anymore but it is still more often than not.  

Still six years later they all have their days with me.  Some days I will just sit and look at pictures of Paxton all day and cry on and off.  Think of the funny little things he did or said and laugh as if he were in the other room.  Other days are Kara's days.  I think about her all day long.  I spend time appreciating what she was to me.  How because of her I was able to have the relationship I did with him.  She was so unselfish with him.  She allowed me to have the sweetest relationship and the gift of loving him.  I think of what a great mom she was and how calm and easy she taught him.  I watch videos to hear her voice.  Then there are "Brian days" and if I'm honest there are more of them.  He was after all my child and I had a 41 year history with him.  I find that on his days I pick certain era's in his life and just relive those days.  Like thinking about different things he did or said say when he was three.  On another such day I will have a reminder of something he did at maybe 14 and then I will start thinking of all the things I can remember about the time he was 14. His first school dance with his first real crush.  He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, red tie.  I remember thinking what a grown up outfit for such a little boy.  A very small 14 year old that looked all of 10.   

Ahh Celeste. His crush.  How he carried a torch for that little girl.  He was like that though.  Very like me in that.  He too, was one to hang on to those that mattered to him.  He was very sentimental and did not easily let go of a relationship. And he was about 13 when he met Celeste and was still secretly in love with her until the day he married though he never saw her but once after we moved.  

But once he married all of his love and attention went to his wife and children.  Though he was way too young he handled it like a trooper.  He loved being married and loved being a dad better than anything in the world.  Even when she was clearly running around on him, he never mentioned it to any of us.  I knew he was upset about something but his loyalty to her would never let him say a word against her.

He spent a lot of time with us and I was shocked when after she was openly seeing someone else, had filed for divorce and asked him to leave - he finally told us all she had been doing for over a year.  How she had been leaving every night when he came home from work and not returning until 4 or 5 in the morning --totally wasted.  How he had been working all day to come in to a filthy house, no dinner and out the door she would go leaving him to bathe the kids and get them to bed and then sit all night and wonder where his wife was.  How their four year old son told him about her friend "D" that had come to spend the night every night while he was away on a business trip to N.J. for a week.  

She had actually once left two years before, we learned later she was having an affair with her boss.  She came back claiming she wanted to work things out.  She insisted he buy her a new car and put it in her name.  She put in to buy a new house and then she turned up pregnant with their daughter all within a few months of agreeing to come back.  Their daughter was just nine months old when he found out about "D".  Shortly thereafter he found out she was pregnant again but this time he knew the baby was not his.  He was hurt.  Devastated.  I begged him to get a lawyer and fight for custody of his children.  He absolutely refused.  Saying "Mom, how could I do that to my wife! I cannot take her children away from her and I cannot take them away from their mother."  He loved her still.  He wanted her back regardless and he fell into a deep depression for over two years.  

She married D. just a few weeks after their divorce was final and she and D. spent the next several years until they divorced - tormenting his life away.  Controlling him with threats to keep his children from him or saying she'd turn them against him.  On his weekend to have them she called constantly and tried to control every moment of his visitation.  She bossed him and told him what he could and could not do with his children with threats that it would be the last time he saw them if he didn't comply.  She extorted about $80,000 from him on top of his already generous child support by beating him down and telling him what a horrible father he was because he wouldn't pay for them all to take trips to Disney or California or help pay for them a new van.  He ended up in bankruptcy, he couldn't even live on what she left him.  He never got a vacation.  He never got to take his kids anywhere but he faithfully paid for "their" trips all over.  He financed hers, D's and five children's vacations for several years.  He found out years later he'd been financing their drug habit as well.  They were both heavily on drugs and D. had even sent his 11 year old son into a crack-house to buy drugs for them. She gave her 16 year old son Xanax and then when he got caught with it at school she acted as if she was mother of the year and sent him to a drug rehab.  

After the kids got old enough to tell him some of what had gone on he lived consumed with guilt for not trying to take custody of the kids and sparing them the hell they lived in that set the tone for the near ruination of their lives when they hit their teen years.  They had been exposed to everything.

She left D. but not before she gave birth to two more children - one mixed race - after her husband had had a vasectomy claiming at five months pregnant that she'd been raped in the parking lot of a Publix by a black man. And when she left she was pregnant again with husband number three's baby.  He came from a well off family and she took them for all she could before she left him.  And shortly thereafter came baby number seven and husband number four and as I understand it - she now has husband number five.  

She is a textbook psychopath and the nicest person you'd ever meet.

And no one was happier than I was when Brian married Kara because I knew Kara was not the kind of person to sit back and let her run their life or allow her to continue to extort money from them.  And she did exactly as I expected.  She put a stop to it first thing.  For the first time in over twelve years he was somewhat free from that psychopath.  The only thing that scared me was that Kara believed that she was her friend. And she is the most manipulative person I've ever known and I was so afraid of what trouble she might cause her because Kara had stopped her gravy train. 

And weirdly after all the years of torment and bad blood between them and after being divorced for eighteen years, she was johnny on the spot at the scene of the crime from her home over 60 miles away just a short time after the kids were notified.  Chatting up the police; there for the TV cameras; there to talk with the neighbors.  She would not miss an opportunity to be in the middle of the drama.  weeks later I was told by the investigating officers that she had been calling their office regularly asking for updates about the investigation.  He asked me who she was.  I was livid.  Then she was the first one at the Memorial Service and the last one to leave.  They couldn't even close the church long after the service was over because she would not leave.

Afterward I remember the most intense anger I've ever known.  Screaming to the top of my lungs and throwing things and being in an uncontrollable rage --at her.  All the years of her torment of him culminated in the worst rage I've ever experienced.  I wasn't mad at God.  I wasn't mad at him even though they claimed he was responsible.  I was mad at his biological father and her --for all the hurt they had caused him in his life.

I have no anger now I will wait on the Lord and let Him sort out the truth and get justice for us.  I hold no grudges. 

And all of this makes the scenario the police built even more ridiculous.  After all she put him through for all those years and growing to hate her as he did - he didn't kill her.  So why on earth would he have killed the beautiful wife that he loved and the child he adored?

I'm better but there is still a hole in my heart the size of Texas that will never ever fill.  I miss them all every single day but I find peace in the fact that the days of seeing them again are getting close.  Very close. And I rest in that knowledge.

 

The Fallout

Until you have been here there is no way to ever believe what a determination of murder/suicide can do to a family.

Like with any tragedy of course - it sends you reeling.  I had not even absorbed the fact that my child was gone when I was hit like lightening with my grand baby is also gone. Then there is yet more --my daughter-in-law is also gone.  Three members of my family at one time in one split second - my life has been decimated.  Then before I could even wrap my head around this god-awful truth someone somewhere tells me they think it looks like suicide.  Suicide? That doesn't make sense.  I don't remember much from that day.  Bits and pieces really.  But I clearly remember my first thoughts when I hear the word "suicide" I thought "well that doesn't make sense there were three of them and then --and I may even have said it out loud -  what difference does that make anyway? They are gone"

Then as if that freight train was hit by a blinding violent tornado they quietly add --murder --suicide.  I could not comprehend in the least the meaning of that phrase.  And let me tell you had I been able to fully comprehend the meaning I could have never been prepared for the implications of that phrase.

It is sooo much to take in; so many questions left forever unanswered.

One day we were a normal family happily attending the church we'd been in for over twenty years.  We went out to lunch afterward for a burger with friends from church and before that normal afternoon lunch was over --life as we knew it - was also over.  Every part of it.

We were not perfect but we were an average, somewhat good family.  We had normal jobs. I'd worked in the insurance industry for thirty years.  I did nothing beyond go to my job, sit in traffic, keep up our home, go to church and spend time with family. We had been in our home for over twenty years.  My husband had been on his job 34 years.

We didn't "winter" in Aspen or vacation in the South of France.  We spent every holiday at home with family.  We played cards with our kids occasionally on Friday nights.  We went out to lunch with friends from church about every other Sunday.  I kept my two-year old grand baby every other weekend.  We didn't drink.  We didn't smoke.  I liked to cook so we seldom ever even ate out.  We weren't even adventurous enough to go to a larger church even ten miles away.  Instead we attended the tiny 100-year old Baptist church at the end of our street.  With so few people, everyone had several jobs so out of necessity I was on the building and grounds committee, the Communion Service committee and the church bulletin committee.

We were stable, predictable and painfully average.

My daughter, was a stay at home mother of three.  She volunteered at church; lead a crafting class in Bible School and she and my son in law had once been youth ministers and my son-in- law taught Sunday School and filled in as interim pastor at times.

My oldest son lived in NC.  He's married with two grown daughters.  He owns his own business, lives in a small house they had built on their land in rural northern NC.  He raises German Shepherds and she is a postal worker and has been on her job over twenty five years.

My youngest son had been a single dad of two children for twelve years after his wife left him for another man.  He worked hard on his job. He worked in his yard. He attended church although not regularly.  He didn't go out much and I used to tell him he would never find a girlfriend if the only place he ever went was work and to his mom's house.  He loved woodworking and built the beautiful five foot tall polished cross that hangs over the pulpit of our church.  Finally after twelve years single he met the girl of his dreams and married her after just four months.  They had the baby she had been told she could never have.  They had a new house that would have been totally paid for in five years.  They had just celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary.  And they had almost completed the total renovation of their new home after almost three years and they were now almost debt-free.

We were average, okay people --all of us.  Until we weren't.

In the span of an hour and a half we were a shell of family decimated by multiple loss.  All of us destroyed.  Tossed into a media circus and suddenly we went from being a boring, average, normal family to being "those people".  The determination made by the police in a very short few minutes altered our lives forever.  Not only did we all lose three members of our family but we went from having friends that loved us --to abandoned and avoided.  We went from being pillars of the community to --being stared at and pointed at when we went out anywhere in our quiet, familiar town where we had lived for over twenty years.  Family members did not know what to say to us so they avoided us altogether. We went from boring and average to being the subjects of a media circus that was literally worldwide.

We had to strategically postpone the publishing of the obituary until after the service.  We had to keep the service secret and by invitation only and we had to have the police in attendance to keep the angry crowds, media and TV cameras out.

We were disregarded, disrespected and talked down to and lied to by the investigators, the Sergeant in charge, the police Major and the coroner.  We had done nothing wrong.  We had had an unbelievable triple tragedy hit our family.  And instead of sympathy, support and understanding we were ostracized and treated like we were public enemy number one.

I was a mother that had lost my son and my grandchild and yet when I asked what the autopsy had revealed.  The coroner barked back at me "He died of a gunshot wound to the head but I expect you already knew that!"

The sergeant in charge of the investigation openly lied to us on multiple occasions and when I asked for --begged for proof, for a fair, full and complete investigation to at least prove what they were condemning my son for - I was told: "Giving you closure is not my job.  Finding the cause and manner of death is my job and I have that.  The investigation is closed."

This part was just the first year yet there is so much more that is not over and will never be over.

The general public acted like we somehow "deserved" this.  And certainly like they were glad that Brian was dead.  According to them he deserved to die and was a monster and we by association must also be monsters and it was unfathomable that we would love and miss our child.  He did not deserve the fairness of proving that determination and we did not deserve the truth or even what they would give to anyone - absolutely anyone else - a full and thorough investigation. Their minds were made up and they were so prejudiced against him until they had immediately been his accuser, his judge and his jury - Guilty was their verdict and since he was already executed their work was done.

Their verdict did not condemn him. Their verdict condemned all of us. His family.

We were shunned by many in our community.  My grandchildren were tormented on social media as if they had not had a huge and horrific loss.  They acted as if they deserved this.  We had no choice but to leave the home we had loved for so many years and move 100 miles away where we could be anonymous just so we could attempt to survive this.

In moving, I left my daughter --my only local child.  We had lived 4 miles apart for the past 20 years.  My three grandsons also lived within 10 miles of us and now I never see them.  My church that had been my solace and my comfort and my home for over twenty years - now gone.  I left my close knit community the people that had been my friends, my church family and my neighbors for twenty three years.

It was Home.  Home where all the memories of life with my family were.  That is where we had watched our grandchildren grow up, where I had taken thousands of family photos - birthday parties, prom pictures, wedding pictures; where we'd had twenty years of holidays and Sunday dinners, and family cookouts.  That was where all of my grandchildren learned to swim and canoe and ride four wheelers.    It was where we had buried twenty years of family pets.  It was where me and my three grandsons camped out in the backyard (for about an hour) when they were six and seven years old.  It was where my husband and my two sons spent four months building my mother an apartment over our detached garage and where she lived happily until she died.  It was where my husband, myself, and my sons hand built a two story barn from lumber cut from a 100-year old oak tree that fell on our property. It was where I watched over 100 young couples begin their life together as husband and wife including my brother, my sister, my son and my grandson.  It was where our church held 12 old fashioned baptisms in our lake with the entire church standing on the banks with tears in their eyes singing "Shall We Gather At The River" to the top of their lungs as another child was baptized into the family of God.

It was not just a house.  It was the best part of our lives - all of our lives for twenty three years.  It was heart-wrenching to leave my children, my church, my memories and my home.  It was another huge loss when I'd already lost so much.

It has been proven that secrets psychologically destroy people.  And yet we have no choice but to keep this god-awful secret.  The biggest and most devastating thing that has ever happened in our lives and we can't even acknowledge it.  It is like living in the Twilight Zone.  And keeping this secret is destroying all of us.  And still five years later we cannot openly grieve our children.  We can't talk about our loss or even acknowledge our grief for fear it will bring up questions we still do not know how to answer.

And now we live in the secret world of that anonymity.  I have neighbors I cannot tell.  I make friends that I cannot tell.  I go to church with a church family that I love and I live in guilt because I cannot be honest and I have to hide the biggest part of myself from them and feel like I am living a lie.

I know my child.  A mother knows what her child is and is not capable of.  He did not do what he was accused of.

I have researched personality traits of people that commit murder/suicide where an entire family has died.  And there are 10 common traits:

It is most always a man
There is always isolation - They isolate the family from other family and friends
They are consumed with hatred
They are extremely violent people
They block all escape routes
They all have previous and multiple occurrences of domestic violence
They are intolerant of retaliation (leaving, calling the police, filing for divorce etc.)
They try to prepare a history of their own that leaves them in a favorable light

The only one of these traits that apply here was that he was a man.

Supposedly the first thing the police look at is prior record for violence or previous reports of domestic violence.  There were none.  He had never been in any kind of trouble even as a teen.  He had never laid a hand on any woman ever including the ex-wife that left him pregnant with another man's child. He even in later years when they would allow it, brought that child to his house for a weekend visit with his own two children because she cried and felt left out and his daughter wanted her sister to come.  

Vengeful and violent - he was not.

There was no record ever of a domestic call to his home and he had lived in that same county for eighteen years.  Even the police admitted to me that that was unusual.

I truly believe that the police should be better trained to fully investigate a situation before they make a determination that is going to totally decimate every life connected with it.  There is no getting over such a mistake.



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