Open Wound

 

Oh my heart. I think that there are so many things that need to be said, and yet I am struggling to find the words. There is still a certain disconnect between Spunky and me. I know more than I ever have, I feel closer to her in so many ways, and still, there are pieces that are missing. She is still sitting on a couch outside the room. This week, for the first time ever, I thought of Spunky as a mom. Just a kid, just a girl, and it broke my heart. To survive something so important in silence without a single soul to console her. I was asked about Amelia and if it made me think of Bella. I wanted to respond without even taking a breath, but I am sure it does sometimes. I know that it does, all the time, and it's heartbreaking. It brings back all the who's, what's, and Whys; all the could-have, should-have questions. All of the things that I still don't have answers to. The question was asked how much I think about her, and it kind of stopped me in my tracks. Honestly, I think about her all the time. When I hear the name, when I see it as a store, when there is any combination of those letters, B E L L A, I think of her. When I hear others open up about losing a baby.  At random times, when I think about how old she would be.  While in the car the other day, I heard a song and my first thought was, " Wow, she would be 38 years old this year." Yes, I still think of her after all this time in my everyday life. I even opened Facebook, and the name on a ring was Bella. 

 I am sure going to the Dr. Alan Wolfelt conference made me think about so many things, and opened up that so tender spot where Bella resides. The place where anything was possible, and Bella and Spunky were going to conquer the world together. So many hopes and dreams are held there. I was never allowed to mourn her; I just had to keep going.  I was never allowed to even speak about her or what she meant to me. I know that there were people in that room who knew what happened to me, what happened to Bella, and yet I was never spoken to. I never received any kind of care following the loss of her. So many thoughts and feelings that I don't allow myself to feel. A place that I generally avoid at all costs. It is one of those things that is there with every breath I take and a part of me through and through. It's a soul sad, the deepest kind of sad that there is, and I carry that.

It's more than difficult to think back to that time and imagine all the things that Spunky must have been thinking and feeling. She was terrified, and at the same time, she was going to be a mom and believed that somehow everything was going to work out, and things were going to magically get better. 

I am going to write for a moment as Spunky because if I don't, things get so confusing. For so long, she has been in a different place, and with all that I am, I know that she is a part of me, but sometimes that is just too completely overwhelming. She has survived an unimaginable hell that I often still struggle to wrap my head around. I find myself sitting here shaking my head. She was 13, just thirteen years old, she had the whole world in front of her and didn't even know it. It's more than hard to write because I am not sure that Spunky has ever been given a voice. Maybe today is a start. 

Wolfelt says that we must say:

 hello before goodbye, 

We must see the dark before the light, 

And we must go backwards before we can move forward.  

For Bella, for Spunky, for little Callahan, for the woman that I am today, that is my goal for all of us. 

Let me begin with a Hello. Her Name was Bella 

B.E.L.L.A

Bella was everything. She was hope, she was purpose, she was everything true and innocent. She was everything good in this world. I am not sure that there was a realization that I was pregnant for some time. I don't remember the moment I knew or how I found out. Somewhere in my mind, it's almost like she was always there. She and I lived in this world that, because of her, everything was going to be better. She was my reason to keep breathing when all I wanted to do was die. I can remember thinking that I hoped Andy was her dad. He was not like the others; he didn't hurt me like they did. He tried to help, and at times he made them stop.  I believe he is the reason that we even made it out of that day alive, and that kindness was what I needed to believe was a part of Bella. There was never a time when she wasn't Bella, never a time when I called her anything else; that is who she always was, and was always meant to be. I was so happy being pregnant with her. I think I knew fairly fast and can remember feeling my belly, and talking to her all the time. Nothing else mattered in the world; it was her and me in everything. We held this belief that somehow, because of her, everything was going to be ok. There was a happiness like nothing I had ever known. There was a peace; I felt like I was keeping her safe and sound. I was sure that I was going to give her all the things that I never had. I was with Calvin the first time that I felt her move, and I grabbed his hand. I wanted him to feel her and be as excited as I was. I can remember his smile.  I am not sure what was said, if anything at all, it was confirmation and hope that things were going to be ok for me. Losing her was so very painful. Physically, there was so much pain. I was always able to endure anything, but this was something different. I was in so much pain, and the longer that I waited, hoping that it would just go away, the more that I started bleeding. I was more than afraid and just wanted everything to feel better. When it got to the point that the pain was unbearable, I called Calvin. I was so grateful to see him; he always watched out for me. I knew that he would know what to do. I so looked up to him. I just melted in his arms, and he scooped me up and carried me to his car. I knew that something was very wrong, and I was terrified. The next thing that I remember was the bright lights of what I assume was the emergency room. The pain was excruciating, and the tears just flowed. I was so alone and terrified of being touched, and I wanted someone to just hold me and make everything better.  I didn't understand what was happening or why.  There wasn't a thought about anyone finding out, because I was sure that, because of her, everything was going to be better. I still do not know who was around the bed; people were around, but I was so alone. My heart was breaking. And he said the words; I am sorry you have lost her. I think those words were bouncing around my heard unable to find a place to land that made any sense. But I loved her, we were going to make things better, I was going to keep her safe. I begged him for it not to be true, I thought if I were just better, if I were just this or that, then everything would be ok. Even now, I feel his hand on my leg, the only comfort I received, as I lost my daughter. My everything, my reason for living, my sweet Bella. I had lost Bella, and I had my hope in everything. I still feel that pain at times, and I am not crazy, just grieving. I still miss her all the time. Spunky was a bereaved girl before her time, experiencing a sorrow of her very soul. From that moment on, nothing would ever be the same, and I am still so sad. It was all so confusing. I thought I was doing all the right things, then I believed that I must have been some kind of awful person to have lost her. That moment in the hospital is the last moment that I remember and the only time that she was acknowledged. She was not celebrated, she was not remembered, and I was left alone.  And still I sit alone, terrified of moving, breathing, or living again. In a single second, everything can be gone that matters the most in this world can be gone. 

So my Bella, my sweet girl, who brought me so much light. Here is your Hello to this world, you matter, and you are so important, and wherever you are, you are still making a difference. 

I heart your heart. Love Mom

Plumb: Damaged 

Poverty

 

Such a small word with such huge ramifications for so many. I don't think that many people have a clue about the extent or what it is that people experience when they live in poverty. Maybe that is why working at the Samaritan Inn means so much to me; I can absolutely relate to what they are experiencing. I walk into my house today and think, I am so, forever, beyond grateful to be where I am today. I am standing in a place that doesn't happen for everyone.  I have had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. I have been so mistreated, and today I stand in a place where all my bills are paid, and I even have a small amount of money in the bank.  No one understands who hasn't truly lived there. I have, and I have been ashamed. I have not had a place to live, and I have been made to feel like a burden when I did. Everyone is always willing to judge, yet no one takes the time to listen and to understand. I have been on food stamps, and I have received TANF. I have had to walk out of stores because there was no money on my card. I have been there in those offices, speaking to people who were making big life decisions for me, and yet didn't hear a word I said. 

I can remember Vincent and Mariska not even being a week old, I was so happy being their mom they were everything perfect. The worker who did the interview threw a pen at me from across the table because I couldn't give her the father's name.  I remember sitting in the waiting room and my mother making comments about the dirty chairs and telling me not to put my children on them. I still distinctly remember them arguing with me about the formula because they were twins. I vividly remember everything about that day and don't believe that I could have felt any smaller. After that appointment, I went to the car, and the tears started flowing as I tried to nurse my sweet baby.  Not one person acknowledged my beautiful babies or me. I always dreaded that call every three months, same questions same answers and still treated like a piece of trash. 

They were still newborn and there was a crisis pregnancy center. I could not bring myself to go after what happened at Health and Human Services so my mother went. Once again, I was made to feel small and so very insignificant. They gave her clothes that were beyond old and more than stained. I was sitting on my bed, trying more than hard to be grateful.  Soon, the sobbing started, and I asked how I was supposed to put my precious babies in those clothes. I cried because I was grateful for what I was given, yet heartbroken because they deserved better. And of course, they put a bible in with everything, like someone who thought that was going to make everything better. I think my mother went back once or twice. Once they argued about diapers for twins, and then the last time.  They gave us a highchair with mold on it and said that we just needed to wipe it down.  That chair was thrown in the trash and we never went back. 

I was more than grateful, but people don't understand what it is like being in that situation. I didn't deserve less or any better than any other single mom, yet I was looked down on and treated so unkindly by so many. There were a few people who said I should just be grateful, and they had no idea just how grateful I was. I did everything. I was grateful that my mother let us live with her. I was grateful for it all, and I always felt less than and so unimportant. 

This week, there were many moments that reminded me of just how far I have come. I often think back to when they were babies and toddlers, and my heart smiles. I loved every second, and I never missed a single moment or a first with them.   Goodness, I didn't have two cents to rub together, yet they always had everything that they needed. I look back at some of the pictures and wonder how I managed to make it all work. There were many reminders, given that it was Amelia's Birthday week.  She was able to be so celebrated; there are so many people who love her so. I was able to buy everyone lunch on her actual birthday after our trip to the park, and doing that brought me such joy.  I may have to cut something somewhere, but I wanted to do that.  I brought balloons and necklaces, and all the things to the park.  It's the best feeling when they notice you from across the park.  She has a life so different from her dad.  Even coming to my house she has all the things that she needs and more, she can never wear all the clothes in her closet, or play with all the toys but they are all here for her always. She is growing up so very different than how my Vincent grew up.  That family that supports that kind of love that I didn't have when the kids were small. All of us celebrate all of her milestones and accomplishments and cool outfits. For my children, there was just me. Sometimes my mom, every now and then my brother, but I was the constant. Always grateful to be their mom and make sure they knew just how special and important they were.   

Finishing school and beginning my career as a teacher was a struggle, but they always had everything, and I see where I am today, getting to be a poppy and do the things that I have only imagined for my granddaughter. 

Once again, I have an understanding and a perspective that few have.  I have crawled my way out of a place that few do.  The determination that I never lost wanting so much better for my children than I ever had. I apologize that this post is everywhere all at once, but this week was very emotional.  I think there was a longing for things that I never had. I wish there were celebrations and acknowledgments for my children by someone other than me.  I am ever so grateful that Amelia is so loved and supported in all that she does. In so many ways, the things I can share with Vincent and his little family bring the circle back to where it began.  Those full circle moments when pieces all come together, and good things happen. I feel truly, truly grateful that I was able to climb out of that poverty and into a place where I am continuing to make a difference and do things better.  I also understand what it takes to do that; I have a true understanding of that struggle, and sometimes my heart breaks.  

I wish that I had been treated differently when I was struggling. So I treat others the way that I wish to be treated. We are all on this journey, living life, and we all have a story that has gotten us where we are and will lead us in the present and maybe even push us further.  We can't ignore these things; we have to do better. We have to do better and treat people better. We have to acknowledge that we are all just people doing the best that we can. I will never forget all I have experienced and where I have come from. I will always always care from the bottom of my heart about you exactly where you are in this moment. We have to talk about and acknowledge the hard things so together we can make a difference that is so needed by so many. 

I heart your heart.

Touch

 Touch is a strange thing. Lately, my reactions seem extreme for a situation. Even with my students, when they do things that I am not expecting, it's like this jolt of electricity goes through my body, and my insides feel like the insides of a pincushion; each movement sends stings to each and every cell. But it lasts and takes hours to go away. It's been happening more lately, and it's exhausting. Sometimes I find that the closer that Spunky gets, the more sensitive I become to any and all touch.  I wonder if that will go away or if that is something that will always be.  It is something different. Generally, I am not one who doesn't like touch, but lately, every touch feels more intense. I was thinking back, and maybe there was a time, when I was working on little Callahan, that the same thing happened.  Maybe we just went through so much that the thoughts, the memories, are still living in our bodies. It's strange to think that in so many ways and have so few words.  Many of the things that happened, I just left. Left my skin, my bones, my body. There were those single seconds that I knew what was going to happen, or things became too intense, and I knew to go away until things were safe again. 

It's strange I can remember some of the most brutal moments and yet other things, it's just a feeling or a sense that I knew and was far away from where I was physically.  The nature of the beast TRAUMA. The things that it does to a person.  The lasting impacts and ways it continues to show itself.  I know that I have come such a long way, but when I have a reaction so intense, it reminds me I have a ways to go. 

I heart your heart. 

The most unimportant thing in the world

 

I have been terrified of this moment for as long as I can remember. The thought that I might break his heart is devastating. I fear how he will view himself, and I worry how he will see me. I am scared that he won't have questions, and I will just have to fill in the pieces. The thoughts of the last few days have spun around and around, and it would be so much better just to say I was a slut. I do not know how to even get the words out of my mouth and into the air. I don't know how to do it.  

When Shelbi came over on Sunday, it was so awesome.  I took her upstairs and showed her Amelia's Room.  We were just there present with each other. We were laughing, talking about everything. And the conversation turned to Father's Day, early in her relationship with Vincent. She said she asked him if he was going to do anything for Father's Day, and he said no, that he didn't have a dad. She said, but he was upset, and she said that she was sorry that she didn't know.  She said that he didn't even want to celebrate this past Father's Day as a first-time dad; he just wanted the day to go away. 

Listening to her talk broke my heart. I think that not having a dad has greatly impacted him, and he doesn't talk about his feelings. The ache in my heart hearing her talk made me more than sad; it broke my heart, and that is the last thing that I ever want for Vincent. I think that not having a dad has had a greater impact on him than he realizes, than even I have realized.  I don't have a clue what to do about that. I would do anything to take this pain away from him, and yet I can't. 

For a moment, while talking to Shelbi, I wanted to tell her, to explain.  I want her to have a deeper understanding of who Vincent is as a person and of all the things he has had to deal with in his life.  Is that my place to tell Shelbi?  Is that a conversation that I should open with Vincent first? I feel like he doesn't have a support system to even process that information, and that is not something he needs to keep to himself.  So I am left not knowing what to do. 

Should I bring it up to him, or wait until he asks?  Do I keep the silence, knowing that it stands like a huge weight between us? How do I say those words to my son, one of the best things that has ever happened to me? I would do it all again to get to be his mom. I want to have that conversation to ease his heart and mind, help him understand that I love him more than the last breath in my lungs. I want to find other moms who have been through similar things and learn what worked for them and what their children needed or longed for.  I have so many questions and not a single person to ask. 

What happened to me is the most unimportant thing in the world because I got to be his mom. I got to feel both of them move and grow and turn into the most amazing humans.  Being their mom has given more than I could have ever imagined, and that is something that I want him to understand.   

The fact is, something terrible happened to me. A man put a pillow over my face and took what he wanted.  Was I devastated, yes, yet another man using me, and I was almost accustomed to it, just go far away, pretend that you are somewhere else. The fact is that I get to be your mom.  The fact is, I would do it all over again to be your mom. I love you more than words and more than you could ever imagine. 

I heart your heart 

I will tell you everything

Sometimes there are moments when things become so clear. Last week was one of those moments for me. I felt closer to spunky than I ever have, and honestly, the feeling hasn't really left. I feel like we are on each side of the wall, extending our hands and holding on for dear life. Who knows what the journey ahead of us is, but together, there is a knowing that we can accomplish anything. I have this picture in my head of what it looks like, this old, broken, crumbling wall, one of us on each side, but we are both reaching for each other. We can't look each other in the eye not yet but there is a connection that is strong and undeniable that has never been there before. 

She is scared of me, and I am scared of her yet we both know that we need each other on this journey. I know that there are things she holds and there are things that I hold. I do think that there are times, we wonder if we will make it. I know that that there are things that she doesn't have words for and that is ok.  Piece by piece little by little I am sure that she will tell me everything, and I will do the same. The parts she remembers are horrific and the things I remember are just as bad but together, with all that I am we can tell each other everything and still be ok.

There are pieces of us that have been hiding in the dark our entire lives, and I know that we are both incredibly tired of hiding, of becoming small of shrinking because our story is different. We have pieces that have never been seen for fear of being hated, being seen as something other than, as something that doesn't really belong. 

In a sense we don't belong, the lives that we have lived few can imagine and yet here we are. We have built our own way. We have suffered, we have lived, I have even found joy in the unimaginable, and it's time that she do the same. So here we are.  At a space of great change that feels more right than it ever has. So for this time, this place this moment. This just this. 

The Wall Between Us

There was a wall — not built, but born from all the words we have never said. It cracked with silence, crumbled with time, but still it stood.

I reached for you through every jagged breath of broken stone and memory. Your fingers, just a breath away, trembled like mine.

We touched — not skin, but sorrow sadness and immense pain. Not warmth, but the echo of it.

The wall did not fall. It watched. It remembered. It holds all that we can't say. It held the shape of our longing like a wound that never heals.

And though we are finding our way, we are moving on, though the seasons changed, people left that wall still remains — a monument to almost, to what could not be, to the ache that still reaches in all that we do.

But we have each other, closer than ever

I promise to tell you everything, even if it keeps you awake

                                               Mumford and Sons: I will tell you Everything. 

Ghosts don't apologize

 

I heard these words today, and they kept repeating in my head. Ghosts don't apologize.  One of the worst things I have ever read was my mother's words. That long letter my mother wrote, in a sense, told me everything I did wrong and everything that was wrong with me. All the ways that I did things wrong, and I was blamed for my reactions to what happened to me. I was supposed to be quiet and keep smiling. All the ways that I was holding on to the past, and just needed to get over it. Her words were cruel and uncalled for, and broke my heart in ways that I never imagined. 

 She said, " All of my ghosts haunt me. I lived in a haunted house that she refuses to visit. " Oh, those words. She didn't want to visit the house that she created for me. 

Yes, all the things that have happened to me haunt me sometimes. I was hurt so deeply by the people who were supposed to love me.  I could say that the house I grew up in was haunted by a man who used his own daughter as his wife. I could say that my mother chose to look out for herself rather than protect her daughter. I could say I lived in a house full of secrets that everyone was comfortable keeping. I could say that she made me that way, and yet I was blamed for being so hurt. 

Today, when I heard the words "ghosts don't apologize," I immediately thought of the letter she wrote and thought, "She is the ghost that will never apologize." I will never hear an "I am sorry" for the things I didn't know. I am sorry for the ways that I didn't protect you. I am sorry for not being there and letting your father hurt you. I am sorry you went on that weekend. I am sorry you were brutalized. I am sorry you suffered the loss of your girl alone. I will never hear any of those things, in any form.  She is a ghost that will never apologize. She is a ghost who never saw me for who I truly am. She was a ghost when I needed her and a ghost when I stood up for what was right. She was a ghost when I was left alone, trembling in my own bed. She was a ghost when I found my voice. She was a host when I took the stand to testify and save another little girl.  She was a ghost that refused to see the damage she had done and blamed me for her shortcomings. She was the ghost who chose to look the other way as her daughter suffered. 

There was a different realization today that I will never get the love that I longed for. I will never get that I am so sorry for all the things that have happened to you. I will never get that I am sorry that I didn't protect you. I will never get the experiences that a daughter is supposed to have. She could never acknowledge what happened to me or the damage it caused. At this point, I truly believe that she was not capable, and that feels like a million thorns on all the hurt places. I truly don't believe that she was sorry. I was someone who refused to remain silent, and she just couldn't understand that. She didn't want me to survive and thrive; she wanted me to survive and become the victim like she had done her entire life. I wanted more for myself, and she never ever understood that. She missed out on so much of who I was. She will never apologize for how she treated me. I will never ever hear those words. Some days, I don't even realize that those are the words I long for. Hearing those words today made me realize that I would give anything to hear them and be acknowledged. Someone to be sorry that things were so hard, so violent, and so gut-wrenching. She is a ghost, and she will never apologize.  She was very wrong, though. I do not live in a haunted house; I just sometimes have to visit there to continue healing, and I am so ok with that. 

I heart your heart. 

You can't take away my thoughts and dreams

 

There are just times that Spunky becomes more prominent, and it weighs heavily on my heart. Pieces are slowly coming together, and I am grateful.  The fear is ever-present and so intense. Somehow, I am going to end up like Probst in K-Pax. The fear is that time and place can somehow destroy all that I have worked so hard to achieve. Things were just that terrifying.  I have come so far, and she is such a huge piece of who I am as a person, and I so want her with me on the rest of this journey. She is still sitting in Mark's waiting room, taking it all in. I think she is trying to see beyond what was done to how she feels and what she thinks. All the people around her blamed her, and she is trying to undo everything that still plays in her head. She is trying to move beyond the gross and disgusting to that place where she was just a scared girl who needed so much care. I think she often puts on a front that she doesn't need anyone or anything, and yet I know she needs so much. There is just so much loss that I think it could swallow her whole. I think when a person has had to keep it all together for so long, that step of letting someone in, even if that someone is me, is a huge step. 

I think so much of that deep, deep sadness that I often speak about comes from her and what she had to experience. I have worked so long finding the right words, and I still struggle to find words for her. The kind of aloneness that she endured feels like that last leaf holding on for dear life before winter comes. Everyone has moved on, and yet I am always the last one hanging on.  

I was talking to a friend the other day, and she said that when her husband got into trouble, his parents took everything away. All his toys, his favorite show on Tv. He would go sit on his bed and say, " Fine, you can take all those things, but you can't take away my thoughts and dreams. How beautiful is that? Spunky had everything so violently stolen from her. Her sense of who she was, her womanhood, her soul was shaken to the core, and still, she always kept going. She always found something to fill her heart, taking care of others, watching the sky, and believing in the kindness of whales.  I do think that, deep down, she always believed she would someday make a difference for others, and that she held onto for dear life. She has had to fight her entire life, and finally finally, I don't think she is fighting anymore. I think she is resting. She is watching and waiting for that moment when she feels confident she won't break when she finds the words for the thoughts and feelings she has always had to hide.  

I think sometimes she sits there on that couch with that trauma mountain in front of her and is trying to find the best option to make it over the top. I personally think she is further than she thinks she is, but I understand the terror. The couch in the waiting room is the safest she has ever felt, and I know the moment is coming when she will stand, take a deep breath, move through that door, take my hand, and we will finish this journey together, doing all the things we once could only imagine. 

I heart your heart.