Enough

This is a picture taken from my driveway.

This is a snowman in my neighborhood

I love the snow and don't mind the cold.  I ski and snowshoe and love to be outside in it.  But really, this is enough.

More snow predicted for tonight.

The Notebook

A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from Daphne’s mother. I was almost too scared to open it. Inside was a handwritten note. Short, but certainly much more cordial than her last curt response to me - she simply and politely said there were some things she would like to discuss with me if I would be so kind as to call her, then listed her number. So kind? This woman who was so inhuman to her daughter and so rude to me was asking for my kindness?

It took me two days to summon the courage to call her. Two days and two sleepless nights wondering what this woman wanted from me and wondering if I would be able to get past my hurt feelings and pride to even talk to her. My hands were shaking and my voice trembling when I finally called.

She was polite but reserved and requested if we might be able to meet in person. Why? I asked. Again she said that there were things we should discuss and she had something she thought was mine. Something? They stole everything I owned. Every personal memento, every piece of clothing, every thing Daphne and I owned together. I could feel my anger rising.

I asked if Daphne’s father would also be there. She told me that he had passed away last fall. Last fall? My mind started to calculate, that would have been right around the time I sent that first letter to them asking for forgiveness. Yet Daph and her father are not buried together. As my brain was going through the endless things that could mean, I heard my voice saying, “I am so sorry for your loss and yes of course I will meet with you.” What?

I had to be in NYC and so we made arrangements to meet at a restaurant there. I knew her as soon as she walked in - I was looking right into Daphne’s eyes. She was cordial in her introduction. I was stammering. What the hell did this woman want from me?

She began to talk but I really didn’t hear a word. What kind of a mother disowns her own and only child? I couldn’t get past my disdain. I couldn’t get past her eyes. Something about mistakes. Something about the pain. Was she looking to me for forgiveness? Something about her being sorry it took her so long to do this. Do what?

And then she asked me a few questions. Mostly about the work Daphne was doing, something about a friend of hers. Nothing about our relationship. And then about how Daph felt about their separation. Separation? You threw her out of her home when she was 17. How do you think she felt? I think I may have been cruel in my responses. Worse, I think I wanted to be.

And then she reached into her bag and handed me a notebook. A simple, spiral notebook. What is it? I asked. "A diary," she said. "It was obviously written to you." Holy fuck. I opened it and flipped through the pages looking at her handwritten words, tears welling up and quickly spilling over. And then without further words, she said thank you, stood up and walked out, leaving me sitting there with this little piece of Daph.

I read the first entry. It was a note asking me to get in touch with her academic advisor and give him her research notes. Very hopeful. Very much looking toward the future.

I read the rest of it when I got home and could read it privately. The book is not filled. Only 15 pages. Eight weeks from the time she left the hospital until the end. A journal, filled with so much love, yet documenting an unmistakable descent into depression.

I now have many of the answers to questions that have haunted me for so long. Some answers that have lifted a measure of the debilitating weight of guilt. (Yes, she knew I tried to see her) But also some very painful realities. So hard to read how much pain she was in and know she was all alone in it. Unbearable for me to think about really.

I’m sure it will take me a very long time to digest. But I can forever hold in my hand a very real piece of her. The joy and the pain. It is both eerie and comforting at the same time. I am bursting with too many feelings.

Freeping the Church

A few weeks ago I talked to a resident, Sandra, looking for some affordable housing. Our conversation extended over a couple of days and revealed that she, and her son, were victims of some very serious domestic abuse - her ex serving 5 years for felony assault.    I invited her to lunch in the hopes of getting to know her better.

When I picked her up she invited me into her house. The outside was lovely, but inside the entire home was gutted: no stove, no real furniture, plywood floors, sheets hanging instead of curtains, etc. She lives entirely from meals she can make in an old microwave and sleeps on a pad on the floor. Obviously the financial need is great.

The first thing I noticed was that she lived across the street from one of the founding women of my former church, JD. My first thought was that I should call JD and try to get the church folk involved in some fund raising/furniture collecting venture. And so I asked Sandra she knew JD? She looked at me and asked “Do you like her?” And my honest answer was ‘I do not trust her. Although she was always nice to me, I know she did a lot of crap to other folk she did not like.’ Sandra then went on to tell me that JD had told her that “the police coming to her house so often looked bad for the neighborhood; why couldn’t she replace the window sheet with some drapes as it was bringing down the property values; and if she couldn’t live with her husband, why didn’t she just pitch a tent in the back yard?”

Okay, maybe the fund-raising thing was out. Gotta love those christian folk.

We continued onto lunch, chatting and getting to know each other.

One story she has telling me was how she had befriended an elderly woman (also a member of my church) years ago, who had once gotten stuck in a snow bank near her house. Sandra made her some tea and drove her home. They became friends. The elderly woman is now in a nursing home, and Sandra continues to call and visit her. At one point, the elderly woman had invited Sandra to attend the church and Sandra mentioned this to her neighbor, JD. And JD responded to Sandra, “why would you go to our church? You are not our kind.”

I asked “what’s not our kind?” And Sandra responded that she wasn’t sure. “Being a victim of domestic abuse or being Jewish.” Which made my eyes water. And then I told her my story with that church and how one interim pastor imagined I was obsessed with her, she complained to the elders, who wrote me a letter stating they would expel me from the church, never told me the reasons why, and refused to ever meet with me to discuss it.

Sandra shook her head through this whole story - with equal parts of belief and disbelief. And then she said “let’s go to the church and sit together. Right up front.” Again I laughed and said that I would never walk into that church again. When I dropped her back home she again asked me if I wanted to go to the church. When I said no thanks, she laughed and said “chicken.”

But I have been thinking about all the stories I have heard about people who have been rejected by this church. A woman I work with told me she attended once and was told she was not properly dressed. A gay person left when the interim pastor circulated a flyer about a discussion whether gay folks should have a role in the church. Another friend left just in disgust with what happened to me. The secretary who is a single mother was fired just weeks before xmas because apparently after years of doing her job, she was no longer qualified.

5 years ago the average weekly attendance at this church was almost 200 people. Last year it was barely over 100. Obviously there are a lot of stories out there.

How cool would it be to gather these folks and freep the church? Just assemble all the misfits who didn’t quite make the grade, who were made to feel unwanted and less than. We could walk in together, spread ourselves across the pews and just take back the church.




.

Still Standing

I realize that I have not written here in quite awhile. I am doing what I need to do, moving through my days, just trying to avoid the mine fields. January in a nutshell -


I have returned to therapy to face my final darkness. It is hard and scary work and difficult to write about here.

Work has become a nightmare with a major project about to die because they can no longer get financing for all the bullshit conditions that were imposed of them by the politicians. It has now become my job to go to all the people/groups who had their hands out and ask them for concessions. Some of these people are the scum of the earth, know they have the upper hand, and are just jerking me around. It is my responsibility to negotiate this project back on track but I’m really tired of falling on the sword for it.

Hormones have once again taken over my house. I never know if I’m coming home to my best friend or her evil twin. Every day is an adventure there.

To date Peachie has been accepted into the highly competitive physical therapy programs at 10 colleges, including her top two choices. With those acceptances began the calls from hockey coaches doing their recruiting thing. Unfortunately these are mostly Division III schools so no athletic scholarship money and her grades were not quite good enough for those impressive presidential scholarships her sister got. Average yearly tuition: $45 - $50 grand. With every acceptance my head is spinning.


So January passed, one shell shocked day after the other. But I’m still standing. I’ll consider that a win.

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Goodbye to 2010

2010 was not my best year. Not my worst either. I have come to think of it as a year of challenges. Here are some:

Beanie - my first born graduated High School with amazing academic and athletic honors (she definitely didn’t get that from me) and went off to college. She is loving it, so that has made the separation easier. That, and she manages to come home at least once a month. With her laundry.


Peachie - survived her junior year and started her college application process. That we survived that is a miracle in and of itself. She has been accepted at her first choice, which only accepts 20 freshman into her chosen program, so she is very happy. Unfortunately she is not eligible for the kind of academic scholarships Beanie received and we have yet to even talk about the financials. It will continue to be a challenge.

Martha - we came through another year together, intact, and that is saying something. We had a lot of laughs, quite a few arguments, and continued to sweep under the rug problems we should be tackling. But when all is said and done, we kiss each other good morning and good night and know that we are loved. Sometimes that is not enough. But mostly it is.

Daphne - after years of not knowing when she died or where, or if, she was buried, I now know. Going to her grave site was the most emotionally wrenching thing I have ever done in my life. It answered some haunting questions, but in the end, nothing really changed. Still, I am grateful to her mother for giving me that gift.

Toni - killed by a drunk driver. The hole in my heart is huge.

Triggers - Therapy eventually became overwhelming for me this year, and I stopped. (Although I am returning this week.) But I did finally learn the source of a couple of serious triggers. This is a relief to me as there is nothing worse than being hit by a ton of bricks when you have no idea why or where it came from. Now I can still get hit, but at least I understand it. It was a major step for me.

Bets - I made 17 bets on sporting events this year. I lost 15 of them. Still, mostly I bet lunches so even though I picked up a lot of tabs this year, I also got to share many meals with friends. My best loss was to Haizey in the women’s rugby world championship. America lost to England. I paid up. And then she sent me this amazing rugby shirt. So I really was the winner on that one.




Faith - I finally made the decision not to return to a formal church setting and rethought my faith in a much more personal way. After being kicked out of a church, I came to a point where I didn't know what I believed in anymore. So I decided to unlearn everything I've ever been taught and start from scratch. Turns out I like the simplicity of the basic gospel lessons of love. I think I will stick with that.

Thanks to all of you who have encouraged and supported me through these challenges. Your words, hugs, prayers, (and one rugby shirt that arrived on one of my worst days) have brought me much strength and comfort.

Wishing you a loving and healthy new year.

The Good Ol' Boys Club

On Christmas eve, Martha’s niece J. had something slipped into her drink, didn’t feel well and went up to her apartment over the bar. She woke hours later to find herself naked, her sheets wet with semen, and all her money and jewelry stolen. She called Martha who is a retired cop. Martha told her to call the police and she would meet her.

The male State Trooper who met them took down the basic information and then started with questions like “what were you doing in the bar?” “How much did you have to drink?” “What were you wearing?” etc. Martha went ballistic. The trooper said he would go down to the bar and ask some questions, but he was obviously annoyed that his Christmas was about to be interrupted. Martha left to take J. to the hospital for a rape test. That came back negative although a sexual assault had obviously taken place.

The trooper got the security camera tape which showed J. going upstairs. Then a man going up. And shortly after, that man comes down and asks his buddies to go up. From this, the trooper found the man and questioned him. The guy didn’t deny he went up to J’s apartment but said the sex was consensual. On Christmas night the trooper calls J. and says there is nothing he can do - it is just her word against the guy. And Martha once again went ballistic, made a few calls and had this guy removed from the case.

Meanwhile the bar guy calls J. and mocks her saying that he knows all the troopers and no one is going to believe her, and she should just let it drop because, after all, didn’t they just have a good time. Martha immediately called the new investigator and asked him to get an order of protection. He called back to say the judge would not issue one. Martha then called a female judge she knows and got the order. Although, as she says, a piece of paper is no protection at all if someone wants to hurt you. But she is hoping that it will stop the guy from calling J and further harassing her. She has also arranged for DNA testing and insured that J’s blood sample will be tested for evidence of whatever drug has given to her.


At the beginning of this, Martha was not telling me much because she knew how much it would upset me. But it has been tough not to overhear her conversations with the police, the investigator, and J. What amazes me is how little things have changed. It is just so wrong that a young woman would be questioned as to what she was wearing at the bar, as if she provoked a sexual assault. Or that a police officer would just write off the case as “the guy said it was consensual so there’s nothing else I can do.” Or a judge wouldn’t issue an order of protection.

I don’t remember much of the immediate aftermath of my attack, but I do remember some officer who was questioning me saying “well what did you expect?”

What did I expect? I think I expected that things would be better by now.