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.  

August

August 1.  The fifth August.

The month I dread all year long.  Other months bother me as well - March and December are always hard.

But August is the month that life as we knew it completely fell apart.  And every August still brings some of those exact same feelings  as from "that August" flooding back to cripple me.

August was the last time I ever saw them --my very last visit two weeks prior.  The last time I would ever hug and kiss Kara and Paxton and the last lost opportunity to hug Brian.  He was never comfortable with open shows of affection and that one day, I opted to give him a break and let him off without a hug.  Of course having no idea it would have been my last opportunity ever.

August was when I gave Kara her last birthday present - early something I never, ever do.  But that day I did.  I didn't know why I did but I did.  It would have been her 30th, she never lived to see it.

August is the month of her mother's birthday.  The day before they all died.  The last time she ever got to hear her daughter's beautiful voice.  She would never have another good birthday because every birthday from then on would bring back horrific memories.

August is the month of Brian's oldest son's birthday.  The next day after they were found.  He will never forget that birthday. And he will never have another birthday with his dad which was always a big day around their house his entire life.  He will never have another birthday that isn't tainted remembering his birthday 2014.

August - the month that marked the worst days of my life.  The 23rd, the day I was awakened at 4:00 am and burst into tears for no known reason.  The 23rd the day they actually died.  The 24th the day that is on their death certificates incorrectly marking the days of their lives.  Also the day I tried all morning with a pit of dread and fear in my stomach to reach them to no avail.  The 24th the day they were all found shot to death in the home I helped them purchase and forever I will wonder if I hadn't done that - could the outcome have been different?  The house that once was a great source of pride for both of them - a testament to his unbelievable talents as well as her love, hard work and determination --now a horrific murder scene, a memorial to wasted lives and devastating loss, sold to the highest bidder on the courthouse steps.

The rest of August after that a blur of questions, anger, grief, devastation, learning new words as they applied to my child and grandchild like cremation, autopsy, memorial service, urns, toxicology report, death certificate and then calls to people and places that have never touched my life before that day like the County Sheriff Department's Homicide Investigator,  the County Coroner's office, The GBI, The State Crime Lab.

The last day of August - Kara's birthday.

August - three birthdays and one horrific death day

No, August is not my favorite month.  It is a month I tiptoe through just trying to survive it without further collateral damage and hoping and praying that I will get to the other side of it as quickly as possible.

This is my 100th post on a blog I started four weeks after that first August five years ago that changed every part of my life forever.

Five years has given me a perspective that I had not had before and has brought things to mind that time and distance have caused me to connect like the dream I had about the train trestle when I was maybe 9 or 10 years old.  And there are other things like that.

One day I thought about a word I used to describe accurately the person I am today --"Broken". Broken in every sense of the word.  My spirit is broken.  My family is broken.  My life as it relates to hopes, dreams, aspirations --broken.  My relationships --all --broken.  And one day I walked into a restaurant and a country music song was playing.  A song by Larry Gatlin and The Gatlin Brothers.  I laughed out loud and thought of Brian as a three year old.  It was his very favorite song.  Anytime we were in the car and it came on the radio he would get wide-eyed and squeal with delight and scream out:

"Mama!, Broken Lady song -- Broken Lady song!"

I used to laugh knowing how literal small children think and I could see that from his three year old perspective he was picturing an actual lady broken into a million pieces like a glass figurine.

That day as I thought of that it stopped me dead in my tracks as I remembered the many, many times I had made reference to myself as being a broken person and suddenly it seemed like an accurate prophetic depiction from a three-year old and realized that what he pictured wasn't really that far off.

I've been thinking...

And I'd like to know what you think.

And I've been reading again and for anyone going through a faith crisis this is the best resource I have found that addresses grief, loss, tragedy - as they relate to your faith. Lifelines for Tough Times by Mike Fabarez.

In the book it says that good comes from these tragedies although not always like you might expect; that sometimes other people's lives are positively affected or changed in some way.

So with that in mind, what I am wondering is could this tragedy have brought some to know God; or brought someone closer to God? Could it have given some a clearer appreciation of the life they have; or a deeper appreciation for the loved ones they have?   Could it have made some aware of issues in their own family that need addressing?  Could it have lead some to pay attention to what could be warning signs?  Could it have made someone change the way they relate to others; comfort others in their grief or judge others? Has this made anyone aware that everything they see on the news might not be true and that every story has another side?  Has it made anyone question their complete trust and faith in local law enforcement?  Has it made anyone in hearing a tragic story on the news now think about the alleged guilty party's family?  Has it made anyone think that this could happen to you?

Has my story, Brian's story or this blog in any way affected you?  If so, I would like to hear your story. Would you please let me know?

Four Weeks and One Year...

Saturday was one year ago since I started the blog with my post Four Weeks.  It has been one heck of a ride since that first post.

When it was mentioned to me that maybe I should start a blog, I had no idea why, since I had never even read a blog.  I had no idea what I would do with it, what I would write or how it could possibly help.  But as I’ve said before I latched onto anything and everything that anyone suggested. I: read everything I could get my hands on, attended Grief Share, called a counselor, contacted Stephen Ministries, tried to pray, took whatever time off from work that was appropriate, went back to work to get back engaged in life, clung to family, wrote in my journal (which I have always done.) Read the bible, listened to preaching and teaching and Christian music.  Anything and everything that I even heard of that might help me survive this with my sanity intact –I tried.  So when starting a blog was suggested and writing had always been my natural outlet and my way to cope –I started a blog.  And while I can’t say that any one thing was most instrumental in my survival the blog has certainly played a huge part.  And yes, there are still days when it is still up in the air whether I will make it all the way through it, but I have managed to survive it one day at a time, one step at a time, one “post” at a time for thirteen months today -- a feat I never believed possible thirteen months ago.

Here I have found peace, faith, friends, comfort and release.  I have been able to write out my feelings, my love, my hurts, my memories, my devastation, my disappointments, my insecurities, my life-lessons and my grief.

I have been able through this to express some of the isolating loneliness of this horror and find solace in the friends and family that I have here because I can say the things on my heart here that I would likely never say in person.   It has helped me to be able to recognize blessings and miracles and gifts as I have written through my day to day survival.  I have found friends that have been my support and I hope and pray that it has been some comfort for others; that perhaps something I may have said or acknowledged may have helped someone else along this grief road or if nothing else – let someone know they were not alone and give them hope in the fact that if I can survive “this” freight train – they too can survive theirs. 

Through writing here I have been able to lay things out in black and white, sort through them and organize them in my mind helping me at times to see things I would have otherwise missed.  I have rediscovered my love for music and found a new love in the hope and healing words of Praise and Worship because of a reader here that had actually been through a similar experience. I have been able to post sweet memories of my baby boy, funny pictures and honor all that he was as I relived my short time with him.  I have been able to honor the memory of my daughter-in-law and express some of what she meant to me and our entire family and I have been free to acknowledge my love for my son, relive the joy that he was to us and recount some of the reasons that I can never believe this horrific conclusion about what happened and I have been free to express my disappointment, my anger and resulting insecurities with the way the Sheriff’s Department handled the "investigation". 

A year ago there was no way I could have imagined all this blog would mean to me.  It has been all of the above and much more.  Thank you for being there with me as I struggled to survive this.

Many, many days, this has been my only safe place to fall.