The Normals

  It has been a long time since I have been here. Some times there are no words. Emotions can eclipse all forms of communication. Such has been this time in my life.

 It is a hard thing to realize you have been fooled. That you have been a fool is even more difficult to come to terms with.

 There are times when I am overwhelmed with a feeling that it has all been for nothing. Those times pass. I am in a state of flux. Torn between all that and what my soul is whispering to my spirit.



  I will tell you a secret, you were never meant to have read this. Not you. It was meant for those who were like me. The ones with broken bits inside that they can recognize in others yet not in themselves. The ones that weren't shiny and clean. Clean spirits, clean souls, clean thoughts.

  The normal ones who would cross the street before speaking to one such as ourselves. Staring, dry eyed, whispers behind raised hands. It was all a trick though. A child's masquerade. There are no normals. We are all here just pretending to be more than we are and hoping no one looks behind the curtain at the mess we have made of our own lives.

  There is no right car or house,  or mate or bank balance that will make you happy.
Be you. It's really what you are best at, promise.

A Time of Mourning and a Time to Fight

   I never understood when other parents would speak poorly of their children, of their struggle to like and sometimes even love their own. I remember a very strong minded woman going on in detail about the failings of her adult daughter and my visceral reaction to her words. It was to me, as if she had committed the unpardonable sin of motherhood. She had somehow found a way to cause a rift with her child, her future in living breathing form. and I shook my head sympathetically while silently finding fault.  Fool. I was such a judgmental foolish soul.

  I simply could not relate. Now, sadly...mournfully I can. I have been so filled with grief and feelings of betrayal that I have wished fervently to strip away all trace of me from my child. To erase me from her. Not to hurt her, but rather to be at peace in this world. How could this have happened? How did we get here?

  A reporter asked me in earnest, why I kept pushing. My divorce was final, why did I not let it go. She said I was free. I am not the only one to be foolish in such things. However, I am sure that just like me, listening to a mother's raw honesty, speaking of a child who was severed from her, she simply had no context in which to frame the situation. It is inconceivable that a relationship would become so torn that I could no longer be mended.  To lie with impunity for their own gain. I would have not believed it possible. Not my child, not our family. Fool that I am.

   It is very simple really. My reasons for not quitting.  I did not lie. My now ex-husband abused me emotionally, financially and physically, systematically over 7 years and he has not stopped. To be called a liar when I finally say the truth...No I will not accept that. There is so much evidence that what I say is true that the only viable excuse for not holding him accountable is that Pierce County is willfully refusing to enforce the laws both local, state and federal, out of what appears to be a vendetta against me for having the gaul to state the obvious. Putting a name on a building and calling it a place of safety and protection does not make it so. And when that truth is pointed out, the clear violation of a messenger's civil rights, victim or no, is not legal. As I was recently reminded, there is a price to be paid. Everyone wants to think the problems are solved that all their hard work and money, their caring has been fruitful. I understand that. It is a worthy cause.  However, not addressing the issue of Deputies who refuse to enforce the law and Prosecutors who are equally unwilling to even look at evidence.... It has to be dealt with. I am not the only one. If you were to speak candidly to the advocates and counselors on the other side of that building, you would see that. Those people work hard and I believe some in the Sheriff's Department do to. However, when they choose to ignore Officer misconduct?  Where does that fit with the "Walk A Mile In Her Shoes" campaign?

   Their own inaction underscore my words. Nothing has changed. They are merely placating the public.  And people like me, who speak out...that treatment hasn't changed either. I have been followed, threatened, left destitute and homeless. All because I refused to play nice. I was warned. I just really didn't believe the vengefulness would be so blatant. So systematic.

  Let me be clear, I don't want anyone to get in trouble, I want them to be trained. I want that building to be what is was supposed to be. I want the steady stream of victims who walk through their doors to matter. Is that so much to ask? And yes, I would like an apology. Not publicly, just an acknowledgement that the way I was treated was wrong.

   I tried to report illegal activities of both my then estranged husband and others and in response I was threatened by a Pierce County Sargent. Warned that my words would be taken seriously and it was a crime to make valse accusations. He said this as an opening salvo to a phone call he made to me. Where does that happen? I have been called every vile name imaginable and accused of many horrid things....however where is the proof? Where are the charges? What are my crimes? My phone has been searched, my computer as well and to what end? When was the last time you heard of a Domestic violence victim having their lives monitored by LE? Not to mention the side talks and taunting. Where does this happen? And why is it being allowed to continue? The truth will come out, all of it. The only way to be a better community is to to fix what is broken and to do that we have to admit it is most definitely damaged.

  When appearing before the court commissioner in an attempt to obtain a permanent Restraining Order on December 2, the commissioner's reasoning for not granting it was that my ex-husband had not done anything since the divorce was granted, two weeks earlier. He had broken it countless times before, but because he had laid low for two weeks...hey, he is no longer a threat. What asinine thinking is that? I get chastised for saying these things...for not softening my words. But let me be clear, this is my life and if my basic rights as a human being are continually violated I am not going to cow-tow to the people who are trampling on my civil liberties. If they can't uphold their sworn duties and have no respect for the laws and rights of those who come before them, they should not be surprised when they do not receive the respect they think a job title allows them.

  In court just the other day my ex-husband's attorney Mr. Rogge, stated that they had used a private detective to, in some way serval me. This seems to have broken the restraining order...but in this county those aren't worth the paper they are written on if the Sheriff's Department and the Prosecutor's Office refuse to enforce the laws they are supposed to uphold. By the way, I have never been interviewed by the Prosecutor's office, nor has my mother or step father who have all been witnesses to various abuses of both the ex-husband and Pierce County Sheriff Deputies and the issues with my daughter.

  It has been made very clear that not only does what happened to me not matter, but my continuing to seek justice and change have made me a target of Pierce County's many departments. First Sargent Villemosa (hope I got that spelling right) then Deputy Kreis and Deputy Wulik, then the female prosecutor at the Crystal Judson Center who refused, on the record, her words, to look at any evidence of spousal abuse that I put in front of her. She said this, while looking at the bruises left on my chest by my abuser's knees. Next, moving on to Judge Serko who intentionally made it impossible for me to hire an attorney and refused to allow me funds to do so. Let me remind you that my ex-husband's lawyer was paid well over $20,000 from MY portion of marital monies. My support was also deducted from that same stream of money, mine. I did not come to my marriage broke, nor did I fail to contribute to our finances during our marriage. I financially bailed my then, husband out multiple times. Now however, because I am disabled, I am labeled a gold digger and a liar. Not just any liar-no the worse kind a lowly thing that would try to use spousal abuse as a way to ... gain what? This is a no fault state, there is no benefit in a divorce court for such claims. My abuser going to jail would harm me financially and I would have lost my health benefits. I had nothing to gain by coming forward and so much to lose. All I wanted was to be safe. To be heard. To be believed. And it's the cruelest thing of all that the very people that are supposed to support and protect victims aren't.

  The Sheriff department has the photos of my bruises, my medical records have been offered up, text messages and e-mails of my abuser admitting the abuse and apologizing ... all ignored. Because I am not a good little girl who bows her head and crawls away, I am a pharaoh. Mocked, shunned and financially punished by a Superior Court Judge who doesn't even pretend to follow the rules of the court or the laws of our state. I am left homeless, penniless and now he is threatening to take my car as well. My ex-husband has two vehicles, much newer than mine and of course paid off, 2 houses all of our financial assets and many of mine that I came into the marriage with, ordered by the Judge. I have been awarded exactly nothing. Because I have no attorney, no advocate and no money to retain one. I am alone and overwhelmed.

  Where in the realm of the law does a marriage with assets over $900,000, in a 50/50 state that is no fault leave one of the parties penniless? Literally owing the other party money? Where is it acceptable for a person to come before Supreme Court Judge with no evidence of any debt, not one receipt or bill, simply their word and they are given their spouses private property to absorb those none existent debts? How after taking that property to cancel out debts does that party have no right to the property that caused the alleged bills?

  So, I paid for my ex-husband's attorney, I paid for my own support. I paid for all the "debt" and I received...nothing. My clothes and a red couch and best of all Edgar.

   I will scrap the money together to get the transcripts and place them here...maybe someone out there can explain the comments and judgements handed down from the Judge Serko and Judge Rumbaugh in this case, because they defy reason.

  I am not done. I could careless for the person I thought I married, that is long in the past. However the continue misuse of the system to further his abuse...no, that will not do. To brand me a liar and worse, no. That is what drives me forward. I told the truth. I trusted the system and I have been punished for that.

  Now what of that adult who is also my child...we are broken in a way that I cannot see as fixable. Others tell me to give it time...but how?

  You see, the second time my abuser attacked me I left and went to my daughter's home. She and her husband had already talked to me about some inappropriate behaviors of my then husband. She worked for divorce lawyers, Lambino Martino (a law firm you may have heard of).  She spoke to Mr Martino and told him I would call. I did but couldn't get through the interview. All I could do was cry. I felt so....betrayed, stupid, foolish.. how could I end up there again? When you do not grow up experiencing love..it makes it difficult to identify what it is. You do not know it. I stayed with my daughter for a few days, while my abuser texted his pleas for me to come home, his apologies and promises...My daughter had a plan, remove one half of the money from our bank account, which was in the 6 digits and stay with her and her husband. Her boss would represent me.

 I made it to the bank, a Wells Fargo in Olympia and wrote out a check, trembling the entire time. In my fear and trepidation I dropped a few zeros on the withdrawal slip, still it was enough for an attorney. The teller said I needed approval from the manager for the withdrawal, because it was not my branch. I was ushered to her desk. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes, knew I was powerless to stop them from rolling down. Hating myself for being so weak, so small I sat before her.  She was all business, insisted that she must call my husband before releasing any funds to me....from our account...with my name clearly on it, it felt as if I was once again trapped, less than. As if I were a wayward child and not a grown adult with valid I.D. and a bank account. The tears flowed freely then. I felt humiliated. Of course he said no. Then he asked to speak to me. There were more pleas to return home, I had to hang up. I fled to the silence of my car and bawled as my phone continually rang. After four calls I answered. His message was simple come home and so I went.

  My daughter was furious. She told me if I left him again I could not come back to her house. I had left twice before and she closed her door to me. Life went on, every time I made my own money, my husband insisted I hand it over or withheld money telling me to use my own. In short he kept me broke. I did not see it for what it was at the time. Whenever we went out he was generous, but that was the rub, it was always his choice and his control of the finances.

  In one way he changed when I returned. I did leave three more times, staying at the Wesley Inn on those occasions, relying on my own credit card, which I kept despite his insistence that I close the account.  As stingy as he became with me, the more generous he became with two of my children, my daughters. He instructed me that I was no longer allowed to give them money or even things without going through him first. He started seeing them without me. He cut me out of my own family, my own life. He took them looking for cars for my daughters and travel trailers for my son-in-law, big screen TVs and Apple laptops became plentiful. I was happy for my children. They were all struggling to start their own adult lives. I was grateful. Until he started planning vacations that I would not be invited to. Saying I wouldn't enjoy going. Meeting over lunches and dinners that I was not to attend. It was humiliating...the isolation. The powerlessness. The sting of knowing your daughters would go so willingly along....

  When that last horrible night/early morning happened I had no idea the side relationships and plans already in place.  I called my children, my reasons for living, the ones I trusted more than any soul on this earth, it never occurred to me that they knew already. That plans were being made and lies told to placate me, to delay me....I had no idea until I saw my daughter standing next to my estranged husband...I could not comprehend it. She had been texting me all day. Messages of love and support and also inquiries as to my plans and whereabouts...I was clueless.

  The fact that this is a heart wrenching repeat of my childhood is not lost on me. Again those that are supposed to be loyal and loving choose to discard me, to once again find me disposable to further their own gain. That it's being done by those that I loved most in this world....is a grief I would not wish on anyone. The betrayal and the lies....tonight, in this moment I cannot see the possibility of reconciliation. A barrier has been put up so big that I, who tilt at windmills simply cannot imagine moving this one of stone. The one between us. I mourn the death of their loss, which is made all the worse for the studied intentionality of it.  8 years ago I had three children who gave my life meaning. Today, I have one. Loyal, kind hearted, I am so proud to be his mother. It doesn't take away the pain of the loses.

   I grieve. I grieve a loss of trust, the devastation of betrayal, I mourn the death of a false reality of a happy, loving family. I understand that mother's pain, the one I too shunned and blamed so long ago. Compassion. I am forever learning to be more compassionate.  A fool's quest is knowledge.

  I keep meaning to put up the texts and the other proof. I don't know why I can't so far. I suppose it will make it real. There is a deep humiliation and pain to know that those I love most do not return that love. There is something about your child's smile that heals and breathes life into a parent and as in all things, the other side of that is the haunting, gnawing ache from the loss of that magical balm.
Of all the things taken from me, those are the things I will forever mourn.

How Many Pierce County Deputies Does It Take To Stop Domestic Violence?

   Really, that is my question. How many Pierce County Deputies does it take to stop a domestically violent individual? It's a question we should all be asking ourselves.  The answer seems to be "It's directly proportionate to the number of influential people you know." This is a special kind of algebra.  Power+Money*(enablers)=abuser>victim(evidence+abuser's prior bad deeds)=She's crazy liar.

  Another question: How many times do you think abuse victims are ignored and abusers allowed free passage? How many victims of this misuse of power are there? I will keep asking that and if you have any experiences you would like to share, just message me. This is a pattern. The common way things are done here. They're far too good at this, across the board, for it to be the anything else.

  When Deputy Larson responded to my 911 call, on July 10th, I recognized him. I told him that he had responded to my first call back in 2009. He immediately denied this. I wasn't surprised. It is far more common that I, remember a deputy coming to my home, than that same deputy remember me, some four years after the fact. I repeated myself and he firmly stated that no calls had ever been logged from that address, he had already checked. I repeated that he had.  He mentioned my phone number, and I realized the error. I had used the house phone number the first time. I explained that to him. He let that point go and moved on.

  It didn't strike me as odd, until much later, that a Deputy responding to a domestic call would argue with the victim about an occurrence of abuse, or that he wouldn't want to take pictures, that the prosecutor would later claim never to have received them, even though they were made part of the Domestic Violence Restraining Order evidence through filings with the court.  I have never before heard of such a concerted effort of a civil authority to refuse to do it's given job. I wouldn't believe this, if I were not living it. Let me tell you, it scares me. How easily everything can be ripped from you by those who are sworn to protect you and that you could be labeled "crazy" a "troublemaker" or "drug addict" whatever name makes treating you as less than will do. It's a bit of redirecting, not worthy of those who undertake it.  However, in taking this action they underscore my position.

    After I became aware my daughter was appearing at my ex-husband's side, my hurt...not a big enough word-my anguish knew no measure. I tried to explain my daughter's history. I had facts, records, texts and phone calls. No one cared. It didn't serve their narrative. If you think that stopping the selling of drugs in Gig Harbor is a priority, you are sadly mistaken. As long as addicts say the right things, they are free to continue as they like. I worry every day that my child will not live long enough to overcome her demons and I am filled with the helpless rage only a parent of an addict who is battling the system knows. I love my child, I am done enabling her. If the only way to help her is to expose the truth, so be it. I am never giving up on her or on truth. Never.

   I requested the recording of that first call made in 2010,  made at a time when I still believed that he didn't mean it. That he loved me. That it would never happen again and that he was sorry.
  I received a letter back from the 911 records department. It stated that it no longer existed. That call was  important because my, then husband, admitted attacking me on it. He promised to fix "this" and begged me to hang up the phone. The operator heard him, she and I talked about what he said and where he was in relation to me. She wanted to know I was attempting to get myself to a safe place. I was on the phone with her when he yelled that he loved me and then left the property.  Well ahead of Deputy Larson. I filled out a statement that time and I made this video, in case something ever happened to me.

  I sent it to my daughter, for safe keeping in March of 2009, incase anything should ever happen to me. Never guessing she already had a deeper relationship to my, then, husband than I could have ever believed.  I wrote about trying to get away from him four years ago. Well before July 10th, 2013.

     I tried to get this video I made after that attack in March 2009, submitted into evidence during the hearing for a DMVRO in 2013. I was denied this, because as I was told, Pierce County Superior Court didn't have the ability to view videos in their courtrooms. Just-ruminate on that one for a moment. That's how my entire case has been handled. As if, they believed I had found a way to go back in time and created every document which proves my abuser's guilt, because apparently I have conquered the space time continuum in order to plant these events beforehand or rather...after, which then became before, due to my time jumping, so I made it all up and they were then free to ignore me, belittle me and to refuse to uphold the laws of our state as well as Federal ones.  Not only does this create a nice package, it also is more plausible than the wild thought that they are dealing with a man whose history of abuse and assault was simply repeating itself. That is totally not believable.

     It will happen again. He will do it again and we will all have known that he was capable of whatever it is he does next.  Pierce County will be culpable. They already are.

   My abuser called the Sheriff's department before me on July 10th. To let them know I would be calling. He knew that, because I had told my daughter. I will attach the text messages between my daughter and myself. These are not new, I turned them over to the Sheriff's department. I gave them my phone with access to everything on it. Also, my computer. These things have long been out there.  Her credibility is easily brought down by her own words. Though it pains me to do so. You can compare her many conflicting statements and those of my abuser, which have changed constantly.

   I am told it's because my youngest daughter appeared with my abuser, every time he spoke to the police. That's why they believe him and not me. In over ten different interviews, or contacts with Pierce County Deputies she was present as his "stay out of jail card," his claim to honesty every single time. My child, 24 years old, an adult, but still -my daughter.

  There is no name, no form of expression that can measure the depth of my anguish, my deep what? Sadness? Loss? We humans haven't invented anything to affix to this ache that does it justice. No parent should ever know this betrayal. To know that your child...my child, not only knew what my husband was, but that she actively lied for him, against me- He beat me and she knew it. She was personally enriched for her actions. This is a mother's worth set down for all to see. One, wait two cars, one Apple laptop, various cash payouts....it is a long list the trade for parent for property.

   So, when Deputy Larson made his second visit to our residence in July of 2013, when he said my bruises "weren't too bad," when his main focus was not on what happened to me, but whether I believed my husband had been cheating, I had yet to see the game at play. I find it hard to believe that these actions were standard procedure, Deputy Larson's actions or those that came after him.  No more so than when Deputy Kreis chose not to "check" to see if there was still a RO out against my abuser when he met him at the marital residence, to not notify me of a break in, for not doing a welfare check when the Deputy discovered my abuser on the property with a garage door that was obviously kicked in. Correct police procedure was not followed so many times that these officers and their superiors are either inept or willfully derelict of duty. Which is it?  These things were done you see because the matter had already decided, I was the liar, my abuser the victim. No matter how often he continued to break the law, or how much proof I brought forth, they were never going to change from that stance. It became the official line, damn be the facts. And because, I refused to accept their predestined decisions, I would not bow my head I am made the example of. No. I will not accept this either. Never. You see this is my life. This is all I have.

   When a person finally scrapes up the courage to tell what has happening to them, and let me say, it is a hard thing to do. The worst things that a Deputy can do is to not believe them, to express an attitude of clear distain and ridicules damaging. It's emotionally, mentally devastating. When a Deputy mocks me on Facebook- it is jarring. I stay out of Pierce County as a rule now. I don't feel safe there.  I have been ridiculed for expressing that too. However, when it becomes acceptable in Deputies' minds to treat any member of the community in such a manner on social media, can you honestly say you think that this same deputy would treat me better in person? I prefer not to gamble on that one.  He has a system set up to ensure whatever he does or doesn't do, is deemed acceptable. That, to me is frightening.

   I myself, filed a complaint with Sargent Davidson about Deputy Wulik. I haven't heard back from him or anyone else for that matter. The newest stance seems to be to ignore me until I go away. This will be buried in the newsfeed soon enough. Until my abuser hurts someone else of course-then all of this will be seen as a revelation. Isn't that the way it goes here? Why have one victim when we can make multiples? Just give it time.


    On October 1, 2014 my abuser appeared suddenly on the back deck of the marital home.  I had notified his attorney earlier in the day I would be bringing a motion if he did not pay his full support. He had already let it be known that he had no intention of paying me. He stormed up the backstairs, after parking in his friend's yard and sneaking through the back way to the house. He yanked open the french doors already screaming at me. I ran to the doors and tried to keep him out as he tried to gain entry. He was calling for my dog in a menacing sing-song voice. He grabbed my arm and twisted my right wrist, which had been on the door handle and yanked the door forward into me and then back, then closed the door on my hand. I yelled at him to leave in a panic. He said he was visiting his dog.  My dog Edgar, coward under the dinning table. Edgar had been the past target of this man's wrath and he would not, thank God, come out from hiding.  He finally left after yelling "I am going to be telling you to pack your sh*t and get out of my house in a month c*nt".  I called my mom and she came right over, convincing me once again to call the Sheriff's Office. I was hesitant.I felt they weren't going to help me and they didn't care what he did to me.  But I did, because she is my mother. I try now to honor her.

Bruising on hand and scrapes October 1, 2014

The pictures here were taken of my right hand. it depicts the bruising on my hand and several abrasions and a puncture, which were bleeding still when the Deputy responded, I showed him my hand. He wasn't interested. He took no report and oddly, wasn't wearing a name badge. My mom and Stepfather were there and witnessed his lack of response. Which is why my mother insisted I document it myself. That deputy had a partner with him, in a different kind of uniform. I admit I did not see if he wore a name tag. He held back and the first Officer took the lead. I was once again frightened at my abuser's audacity and with Pierce County Sheriff's Office lack of response to it. Frankly, I was just so...shell shocked and felt hopeless that they would ever help me. My mother became a bit firm with the Deputy asking this man would have to do to me before a deputy would stop him. No answer.

The deputy did say that if I had an active restraining order that "he could do something about this." When I tried to express my fears he replied "You married him". The universal justification for all abuse, right there. Crazy, liar, drug user and the all time gold standard of reasoning it's the victim's own fault...I asked for it. I married him, that is tacit consent right there.

   I have photos and videos and witnesses and medical records, still that's not enough. This man has a long history here, in Florida and several other states as well, not enough.  I am being called a liar and I am living in fear? This is a new and the cruelest form of abuse so far. No one should have to go through this. 

   This is never going to be alright and I am going to keep proving it happened. That I be heard until someone sees the truth. Until my name is cleared and my rights restored. And until Pierce County learns to stop revitalizing it's victims. 

   I have requested copies of the police reports surrounding all of these incidents. To post them here. So far I have received nothing. In some cases I have been told nothing was filed, which is odd considering I have copies of the complaints I filed, sent to me, blind copied, via the County's web sight. So I know they have them, and know they exist. Also, before they went radio silent to me, I heard from 3 sergeants and another bureaucrat within the Pierce County Sheriff's Department, they contacted me in response to that paper trail.  It exists. I have just been denied access to them, so far. 

   I have no idea how this abusive individual maneuvered his way around the system so well, however it will come out.  In every incidence he came after me, he contacted me.  The more I try to prove I am telling the truth, the harder Pierce County attempts to paint me a liar. I am not going away. Not ever. I have value. They are wrong, I am not crazy, I am tenacious. To a fault. 

  

  Also, it's not appropriate that our county has dragged me through the mud and denied me my civil rights, as well as my right to my own property, and my right to a fair hearing, among the multitude of other things that they have now done.  And to do nothing would be to accept it. That I can't do. I myself, question the resources and manpower that have been spent to keep this harassment of me going. How many meetings, background searches, lawyers consulted and the like? You have a right to know, and the why to the thing. These our our employees, and this is our money they are using against us. I didn't sign off on that did you? Do we now have a fund used to denigrate victims with impunity? This needs to be investigated, all of it. We are all deserving of some transparency and honesty in the actions of our civil servants. Please, use your rights to Freedom of Information and request copies of all documents involved. They may try to stonewall one, but they can't stonewall all.

  When Ed Troyer socializes with Deputy Wulik's band....and Deputy Wulik gets a free pass on bullying victims on social media, that is worth noting. When multiple deputies train with the man who supplied guns to my abuser and neither is prosecuted, that is worth noting. When my daughter's drug dealers are offered to Pierce County Deputies on a silver platter and they choose to not pursue them...you deserve to know why. Don't let anyone try and tell you that Pierce County is tough on opiate dealers. Not as long as they turn a blind eye, refusing to gather evidence that would harm the case they themselves are trying to trump up against a victim, who they refuse to see as one. 

 A woman should never have to suffer these horrible series of events upon finally finding the mental and physical resources to ask for help. To say "he hits me. Help me, please." She most certainly shouldn't be made the target of the system which touts itself as the solution to Domestic Abuse. 

  Not much has changed. Does that make you angry when I say that? Imagine being a victim and having to find it out it hard way. I hope you never find yourself here. Hiding, alone, marred by lies and innuendo. I pray that if you ever need help, a safe haven, you are granted it. Without judgment or recrimination. I hope these things, but I also know they will not happen on hopes and prayers. And so I write. I have to. This is all I have. Nothing has changed, but it will. It has to. Because we all matter and God is watching.. 

Again, especially in our present times, let me reiterate, I am pro law enforcement. They have dangerous, stressful occupations. I appreciate the good officers. However I am not going to be silent to abuse of power, I can't. 

The Whys

Well here we are....again, wringing our hands and crying out why?

   We are created to explore the whys, to look for answers. It is the way we learn, move forward...move on. However, some times there is no why that can encapsulate the event. Today is such a day. There is no fault. This is not about selfishness or weakness it is about an extreme pain so great that a soul pleads to be let loose its mortal bonds. It is simply too much.

  What do we learn? What do we take forward from this? Well, firstly, I remind myself of the only cure I know of. One not found in a bottle. One no drug pusher sells.... HOPE. 

I pile up all my reasons for being here...and not... I set my accounts down and total up sums of love, subtracted from fear, added to trials, multiply failures and tally it all and so far, hope wins out.

As long as there is hope all is not lost. 

But what if it were lost? 

Which is the folly? 

  In this great void that we try to fill up with noise and people, details and objects, all to keep us from admitting, we do not know anything. 

Death makes children of us all. 

  At times like these we clasp tight to our beliefs, our religions, our educations and brandish our chosen weapon. Flailing desperately at the unknowable. Shadow boxing is all we can manage. For what? Nothing can be changed. There is no great prize for unpuzzling another's reason. Sometimes there simply is no why that can be put down in a public square to be nodded over and commented on. So all present can quietly agree to the details and outcome. False reassurances.....

We are still such silly children.

  It no longer matters why. Depression kills more than any other cause of death. Know this. Please keep fighting cancer and HIV and throw your passion at these hard battles, but understand this....

just because a heart beats, a body breathes, does not mean all is well and we should go forward in gratitude. It does not mean that we do not suffer the same burdens as another's disease. 

There are no bandaids for this kind of pain.

  This is not a fish tale, a time to compare wounds or labor pains. It's not a contest to see who is the strongest or hurts the most. There's no debate. 

  Go your own way and do not trespass on another's struggle. Those whose anguish goes beyond what can be quantified on a glass slide or distilled down to a justifiable physical measurement, still emotionally bleed. 

  There are no marks set. No stage four depression. Coded words to be murmured behind raised hands. An acceptable diagnosis that will impart from one to another, the exact level of mental pain, physical anguish that has caused this outcome. 

  We are all still children and sometimes there is no answer to the whys.

My Battle

  One of the hardest things, the battle I lose most often is the one I wage with myself. I try daily to live in a place of peace, to be kind and to wish harm on no one. Most days I am fine- then there are the days the battle is lost and I find myself, always in tears on the emotional battlefield angry with myself for falling into that pit of anger and hurt that leads me to push those I love away and to strike out at those that do me harm. It is not that I wish to wound them, I simply wish to be left alone, to be left in some semblance of peace. I wish nothing more than to hide.

  I would much rather spend the rest of my days in solitude than in battle. I grieve the pain that I have caused, intentionally or not. I shame myself over my own cross words. The thing I despise most about being different, being broken, is that my first response to any threat is always to take up my armor. I am ever in the warrior position, even as I desire only to be the peacemaker.  I try. I fail.

I do not have the skill set. I so envy those that do.

  I have been told that I am fearless. That I am brave. I am not. When I am frightened I take my cue from the puffer fish and balloon to my full height of 5'1" and my attitude, I am sure adds a few more inches as well. I make noise, push out. It is all that I know. I must change. I must learn to be softer, to stand back. How will I learn this?
 
  I sit here writing these words and I am filled with a great fear. I know I must grow past this and yet I am unsure that I can. The small voice within me, the one the warrior protects protests. "This is how I have survived. If I let go of this shield the world will swallow me whole. I can't"

  The thing I want least to do in this life, the one thing I will not pardon myself for is hurting others.  To be willfully unkind is a wicked thing.  I inadvertently brush up against other's feelings often. I am brisk and forward, I have no tact. I hear these things from others and I try to soak their words in. To make alterations in myself, but my tongue is quick and healing from sharp words is slow. I am at a loss. I must grow past my own limitations so that I am not here again, in tears, failing and cursing my own survival system.

  There must be some way to breach this dark place that I find myself continually rounding back to. But how? That small voice beseeches me "I stayed quiet so long. I kept it all in and now, I simply cannot" how can you ask that of me? There is a balance I must discover. I must master my own fear and my reaction to it. This is going to be hard, all good things are. I will fail. I will fall down. This is life, bad things are going to happen. I will learn to live in peace anyway.

Trading Time for Time

 I haven't been here for a while...Life, it happens to us all.

  We are all time traders of one kind or another. I realized this fact while writing all the words that have come before this post. It was a wonderfully flawed, strong soul who started me on this journey and it is he who has continued teaching me still- even as he is years now gone from us.

  I sat in a room for weeks that seemed like months- at other times as -minutes with that soul in his last times on this Earth within the confines of a body that ultimately failed him, as all of ours will. I was there only as a supporting role. I was an in-law, an out-law, one of many that were in attendance.

  I had no pent up hurts or slights held as if treasures tightly to my breast, no unresolved issues with this man who could no longer make amends. I had known him when, in those waning years, he had too much time and so he traded it for sorrows. That painful place where memories are open wounds that never truly heal. We had held hands as he cried over his own falsehoods, his short temper and long grudges. Ashes all.

  I listened as he poured out his failures, the ones that haunted him. This was a strong man, a force in all things. I sat while he bowed his head to hide his tears. I myself am strong in my own way, I too have held firm, but there is nothing in this life that prepared me for it- when a mighty one became humbled, sorrowful of his own nature and completely...filled with regret for his own sureties which he later realized were in error. He could name off dozens, they took up his hours and gave him nothing worthy in return.

  I cannot speak for the others who shared that soul's last days. I would never presume to. As for myself, he gave me a gift it would take me years to fully discover and though it cannot be insured or measured, it is the most treasured thing I own, and I do own it.

 Recently, I was honored to be included in a small private gathering, in the company of souls who were heading down that same path as had been traveled with that other man. Again, it was another Patriarch, one who had been massive in his presence and now his body had been abandoned by his knowing mind. Leaving his own family to become time traders.

  We all do it, we look back over things, some good -others not, to do so we must give up the present. We are linear on this plane. We are free to thumb through our past, we can linger over hurts or joys all that we choose to, for a price. Time is still going forward, whether we wish it to or not. Choose well.

  The day will come when our hourglass simply will no longer turn for us. Where ever we have chosen to allow our thoughts to meander, whatever time we have traded, will be etched in stone with a name and a date. We will be carried forward through others who will be trading their own hours in our memory. Be worthy.

 The cavern between that first great man and some who loved him was never transversed. It was not to be. I saw the pain it caused, but I could do nothing. He could not lay down his shield and they saw no choice but to leave with one more strike from a dying man who never laid the blow. Let it go.

  There is a great honor, a spiritual renewing, in helping another being in the twilight hours, when they are neither child nor adult, but a new being too heavy to carry and to helpless to leave. We must learn to see them for what they are and also to understand that this is a natural progression, one that we all must go through, not in regret for the ravages of disease or the rages of discourse but as a step toward something more. Have hope.

 It is a new kind of time trading. There is something healing in these precious moments of caring for one who can no longer do for themselves. Be open.

 Grace is found in these times, if we choose to acknowledge it. Hands that once wielded great power at last tremble without control. Eyes once judgmental, all knowing, are lost to things unseen. It may be too late for the apologies we all feel we are entitled to, the endearments we did not receive, kind words withheld, but we can free those very things from our own moorings. In holding those once capable hands, let go of any slights. Give your time and you will gain doubly.

  It is a very easy thing to say, but they do not know me, they do not recognize me and to walk away,  with no more resolutions gained. It misses the point. It is no longer about "them", it is about us, me, you. It is about watching over the watcher and comforting the once mighty. It heals us.

  In nurturing our those in our present we can release the bitter past. It does not mean that the suffering was less than or that you are giving in. It takes the greatest strength, when finally finding oneself with the whip in hand and deciding to let it drop. Righteous indignation is never right. It is a thinly veiled attempt to excuse one-selve's own behavior by laying the blame with another.

  I believe that God is within us all. We see this most clearly in the very young and again in the oldest among us. They are not our burden, they are our salvation. There is no greater trade of time than one that blesses both the giver and the receiver and by lovingly caring for one who has done you harm, as we all will do, you free yourself. Be Free.

  I send you love and as always, hope. Live in grace given and it will be received. This is your life. Bad things are going to happen. Live anyway. Love hard and hold fast. We all trade time. Trade wisely.

   I am asked many times how can I forgive, because I wish to be free. Because it is a gift I ask for everyday and I will never get what I refuse to give. Because I want to be more than a set of stories, blog posts and news clippings. Because I am trading time for time and it is good.

With great love to SP, DSP, JD, CM

The Salt and the Sweet

I am sitting here, either too early in the morning or too late at night, my cheeks aching from smiling too much...if there is such a thing. There have been many changes in my life in the last year, some painful and others wondrous. This latest one is by far, both the most surprising and rewarding. I really do not remember when I first noticed it. That thrill you get when something special happens, be it a unexpected, yet appreciated compliment or maybe an much treasured gift. Only, now it is not about things that happen to me, or for me, rather it is the sheer joy I feel in watching someone else fulfill their dreams. I have had the honor of witnessing several wonderful souls reach their goals of late and it is a glorious thing.

 I know that two years ago, or so, I would have been "happy as I could be for them", but I would be secretly comparing my life, my goals to theirs. I would be looking for ways to discount the value of their efforts in order to appease my own feeble ego. I no longer do that. I read a quote a bit ago and it really touched me. It convicted me and I could not deny my own image when I saw it reflected within the adage: "Your light will never shine brighter by blowing out another's." Oh, well...there I was...right there...Well I mean, I have vacationed in denial before, but somethings you just have to own.

  So, instead of seeing the place where the needle may have slipped, where the craftsmanship could have been slightly improved, I celebrated the confirmation of the possible. The beauty in the creation. If someone else could do it, then it could be done. If it could be done, then I could do it. And in the mean time, how cool was it that someone I had watched pour themselves out, struggle and stretch to grow into what they would need to be to achieve their goals, reached them.
I had the freedom of no excuses. Of owning my place and the power to change it. How amazing is that?

 My soul is made happiest now by doing things for other people. Whether it is a big thing or a small one, and it matters not, if they ever know I did it. It is the simple act of giving, of serving from one soul to another. I am in love.

  That is exactly what this is. I am hopelessly and unabashedly in love with the lightness and joy my soul feels when I let go of myself and concentrate on someone else. It is the most marvelous thing. It is a delirious, drunken, headiness that I can only compare to seeing my children's beautiful faces for the very first time. It is something spiritual. Something my soul is doing of it's own accord. I hope that you are well. Life is hard, bad things are going to happen. Hang in there, because there will always be good, if you cannot find it, be it. It is life's salt and sweet. And I try to always, always, remind myself, when given the choice, be kind. I have never regretted being kind. 

Silence

 In every circumstance there is a lesson. I find myself often asking no one in particular, why? And on most occasions of late, the answer has been the same. Silence.  Whoever it was that stated silence is golden, lied. Silence is a sharp knife on tender flesh. It is an endless, aching quest unfulfilled. A hunger unquenchable, a void too great to be breached.

  It is pain and sorrow too great to be spoken. Silence is a weapon cruelly turned on a beloveds soul.
It is an echo unanswered. A careless, wanton heart with a fickle beating. Muffled, intentionally, quieted to inflict a demon's desires on freshly formed love. A forced kiss from dry lips. Dust laid thick on words of adore.

 Silence is a mourning of all things lost. A sentinel, ever guarding dark things. It carries more grief than tears can measure. It will awaken you from the deepest of sleeps to bid you listen, forever listen. Waiting for a message that will not come. It demands your attention but gives nothing in return.

I have tried to parse it out...the what and the how of it. I plot out waypoints, looking for a star, some far off light to show where I have gone astray. I make attempts to understand, to give atonement, appeasement to this stranger who has taken up residence without invitation.

  Silence is not moved. It will be neither coddled nor bullied.  Eviction notices pile up at its door and still it persists. Accusing in its attitude, as if I were somehow the interloper. I can reason out any puzzle, pairing up things in their proper order, but I do not understand silence's game. I search endlessly through tomes and words left by those far wiser than I can ever hope to be. Yet I come away with nothing..

 There is no place named silence on any map that I have found. Rest assured, I have looked, in hopes of finding its secrets. What is to sit in this place so empty? Is it something I have lost? Was it never really there? Endlessly my fevered mind cries out for the why.

  Silence will not be banished by a crowd. No, it will sit patiently at your shoulder biding its time.
For silence is not ruled by any clock or timetable. Its schedule is its own and it will not be swayed from its coarse. You may put it off for a scant hour or two. Silence smiles slyly, nodding to itself secure in its knowledge that it will linger long after your last visitor has gone.


 Silence is its own cruel master and its demands are high. Silence has weight and measure, can be felt yet goes unseen. It slips in and out of a room at will.

  So, here I sit with my jagged edges that will not stay in place and a reckless heart too loyal for its own good and I wait. Silence and I will keep house until its purpose is clear. I am adept at waiting it is my strong suit and so I wrap myself in this cloak of nothingness and give my companion its due.

 Finally it whispers, a soft sound of a voice unused to it's own tone. "Be still and know", not every lesson is meant for me. I am merely a witness, a small bump on a long road that someone else is traveling. In this I find great comfort. Silence also holds grace and I am thankful

Sloth

The Smallest Bird is Sloth.   While the others vied for power , Sloth could not be bothered.  He refused to grow in stature,  instead he honed his energy on escaping the carrion's glower.  In fact so tiny was his form  and so easily was he missed  he neither flew on his own wing  nor hunted his own grist.   He kept himself perfectly still  until the watcher's eye grew bored,   then slowly ever so  he would latch onto another  bird and ride as if a lord.  He was a trickster of another sort  using no slight of hand  It was by doing the very least that he took grew to take command. The toll of this was very high   and of course it brought him low .  He had no choice as to what he ate   nor where he chose to go . Too weak to hold himself aloft he was sure to someday tumble.  His body was too soft, his achievements too humble.

                                                     

Philip Seymour Hoffman Has Died

   Philip Seymour Hoffman has died. We have all lost more than can be put into words. He was quietly, elegantly, perfect at his craft. So much so, that we forgot it was an act, a character and not the man himself. I first saw his brilliance as Freddie Miles, in The Talented Mr. Ripley and he made the movie.  I can see him so clearly all these years later, understated, powerful, dressing down Matt Damon with a glance and a few careful words. There was something in his presence, he was more aware then the others. You would lean in to hear him speak. He had a way of delivering a line that let you know he knew things, secrets, the names of the demons that plague us all.

   As with any great gift comes equal parts sorrow. All genius must be fed on suffering, and Mr. Hoffman was not spared. You need never have had to see an interview he sat for, or talked to him in person, it was written in the set of his face. It was in his eyes when he played the role of the questionable Father Brendan Flynn, in Doubt. He had  easily access to a reservoir of pain to draw upon. And he drank it in huge gulps, so that we could all believe in whatever story he was telling us at the time.

  Philip Seymour Hoffman has died. He cannot be revived or replaced. He has left us, abandoned, alone. His talent came at a high price, too high. Do not allow anyone to drag his name or reputation low because of the circumstances of his passing. Mr. Hoffman knew the names of so many demons because he lived with them. We only caught a flash, a small glint of their shadows, however he faced them straight on and they set their teeth upon him, one needle prick at a time. Their jaws became unhinged to take in more of him and leaving him less. Emptied at last.

  For those who cannot find mercy, stop looking for fault. It is no treasure, and it buys nothing of value. No one has lost more, or suffered as much, as Mr. Hoffman himself.  Please see it for what it was, this was a theft. He lost all of his tomorrows, his hope, everything that he could have been and done. Gone.

  Philip Seymour Hoffman has died, and with him, so has his demons. It was a brutal and valiant battle, in the end it was a draw. They took his life and he took his leave.

 

The Struggle

The Struggle

There will be hard times.
Bad things are going to happen.
Keep going

Acknowledge the struggle
face it squarely
and plot its demise.
Find its weaknesses,
instead of your own.

Struggle brings Worry
an uninvited guest
do not be hospitable.
set no place for
worry at your table.
Give it neither your
words or your tears.
Leave it to starve.
Worry well fed is
Depression unchecked.

Struggle is meant to refine
do not let it define you.
Struggle is a gift.
It is a lesson to learn.
A taskmaster
Know your part.

Struggle comes to teach you
that which you do not wish to
learn, but what you must to
be complete.

Struggle is the answered
siren's call your soul sent out.
It is a dealmaker asking
"what will you give me
in trade?"
Barter well.

There will be hard times.
Bad things are going to happen.
Keep going.

Envy

Envy

The birds were seven in number.

A flock of black ink blotting out the light.
First was always Envy, an evil little beast.
Surveying all with cold dead eyes.
Measuring out who had what, and more importantly how she intended to take it.
Her days were spent on memories of what she had been made to live without.
Having been neither graced with beauty nor any great talent to set her apart, she settled on becoming the very best at being the very worst.

A younger bird might have cawed at the unfairness of the world. Crying out for someone, anyone to right the accounts.

Not Envy.

Envy is her own bookkeeper. A ledger maker, with withered heart.
Thrusting her head first one direction and then another. Endlessly scheming on what to embezzle.
What must she have? Envy will swoop into your window the crown of friendship on her head. Beware, her attachment to you will become obsessive, plying to win your adoration.
Be careful, be quick. If you must find a place at your hearth for Envy, place her in the liar's chair.
It is the only honest thing to be done.

She will claw at your back while she curries favor with your love.
Hoarding your belongings, let her go.
Nothing she can take from you is worth mourning over.
No matter what bauble she gathers, it will never be enough.
She sits in her nest crowing her victories.
The things she has stolen. The hurt she has caused.
The power she wields in the expanse of her wing.

Envy is a hateful, foolish creature.

A cousin to jealousy, though her robes are colored carbon, not emerald.
She is ever her first victim. With each sin committed, age falters.
Feathers scattered in the wind. They fall from her molted form.
Leaving patches of bald, pinkish, puckered flesh.
Bleeding wounds where once there was ebony plumage.

Envy is a liar, a thief, a petty discount version of what she was meant to be.
She is a promise lost. So intent was she on keeping others from the sky, she forgot that she too could have flown free.
Envy believes herself clever, she is not. She is merely a wicked being whose soul has been forsaken.

The first bird to fall is always Envy. She has not the heart, nor the strength to survive on her own. Having spent her days in thievery and vice she has no reserves of hope nor love. Weep for her as she lifts from her throne of
lies. See her off one last time. Close up your house and your heart.

Envy is death on pinion spread out to cast shadows on the living.
She has no power unless you allow her yours.

You Will Never Pee Alone

   I spent the last afternoon and evening doing one of my favorite things. I am a voracious reader.  So
   when a blogger/author/unicorn lover/ Queen of all things sporky started posting about a book that she had contributed in writing, I knew I would have to investigate this. The name alone is a testament to Parenthood. "I Just Want to Pee Alone" I think every parent has dreamed of the sheer bliss of being able to close the bathroom door and let nature take it course naturally. Alone, without a chorus of "MOM, MOM, MOMMY, MAMA." But just like that old axiom "If you want your dinner to be served quicker in a restaurant, go to the bathroom" there is "If you want to spend some, not so quality time with your entire brood, head for the Toto." I volunteered to read it and let you know what I honestly thought.

  So, I settled down fully preparing to enjoy a stroll down memory lane. I am in that sweet spot where my children are all adults. Living and loving and working all on their own. I still see them on the regular, but now when they visit, they usually don't barge in the bathroom, usually. When I started reading though I got far more than that. This book is more than you'd think. This is not just some quickly thrown together group of stories about the trials of parenthood. No, this has real tips you need to get through life. Like the need to take your own wet naps when burying your mother...oh, and a small scoop too. Trust me and rubber gloves and maybe a poncho.

  Also, do not, no matter how excited you are to meet Patti, from Insane In The Mom-Brain...do not kiss her on the mouth. Or share a beverage with her. I do not care if she gargles first with hand sanitizer the answer is no.  Get your own damn glass....I will not tell you her shame...lets just say it involves baby poop and her mouth. Enough said. Moving on.

   It would be so easy to say that this is a mommy bloggers, funny book. It is and it is raw and real. There are so many bare naked truths shared. So much honesty about the ugly side of parenting. The one that they do not tell you about. Even if they had told you, you would not have listened. You never know more about parenting your children than when they are still pretend children who are shiny and perfect and don't spew biohazards at you.

  There are many things in this world that are hard. Waking up at 6:30, smearing hello kitty make up on your face and using baby oil to slide into your wet blue jeans before the bus comes on the first day of high school is hard....Being the designated driver on ladies night with dollar well drinks and cute guys trying to liquor you up, is hard. Not killing your husband for making "that time of the month" jokes. Still being attracted to him after he dutch ovens you...also hard. But listen up buttercup it is nothing and I mean nothing compared to being a snot rag, vomit catcher, poop licker baby breeder. There is practical useful advice here and war stories. Learn from their battles, because there will be blood. There will be tears and sickness and sleepless nights.

  And if that little bundle of bio waste is not what you expected. If in this world of perfectly formed beings, yours is not, well then it gets real. Ask these women. There is nothing so harrowing as fighting for your child just to create something like a normal life.  So, when these talented loving, brave writers let you see behind the curtain, please take the time. It is well worth the price of admission to the madness of mothering. These women share their hurts, faults and fears, and in doing so they honor us. They are revealing their foibles and failings. Also, they are really saying that we are not alone. We all struggle with loving parenthood. No matter what you have read or how you have scheduled and organized parenting in advance, you will fail. Accept that going in and you and your young will be the better for it.

   Nobody asked me but I will tell you anyway.....you are never going to be able to pee by yourself. There I told you. First it will be your children, then your spouse and later, your grandchildren. yes...just let that sit there and ruminate. You will have grandchildren. Try not to laugh at your children when they come in after a long night of no sleep, smelling like week old kitty litter and looking even worse. Hand them this book, it will still be relevant. Good writing is ageless.

                                  I Just Want To Pee Alone

Words that Wound

  I remember the first time I ever noticed that some children were born differently. I was at a new school and I was filled with both wonder and fear. Not just about a new school, or other children. Everything scared me. Having lived a life of virtual solitude the stimulus of it all overwhelmed me. I was a quiet child, watching everything. Measuring the threat level of everywhere I went. So, when we were led down into the basement of, what to me was a giant, dark tomb of a building, I was already fearful. I noticed them almost immediately. They were at the other end of the long, low space. Someones brilliant idea of the perfect place to unleash children in the winter months. In my mind it was very dark, which I am sure added to my perception of these new creatures. No matter how dim it was, it could not hide the fact that they were different. I remember one day edging closer...they were always kept away from us and I did not know why. There was one boy, with a red padded helmet and as I watched transfixed, he stood very close to the concrete wall and banged his head on the flat cold surface. I ran to my teacher, filled with confusion and afraid for this other child. I pointed him out and begged her to help him. She waved me off dismissively and said that he was retarded.

  I tried to ask her what that meant. She was done with me. She told me to stay at my own end of the play area (that is what they called it) and to go play or sit with my back to the wall in the corner. She stared me down, waiting for me to decide my own fate. It took a long time for me to ask my mother. She was not one to take questioning well. She would rather we were still. It was the school's role to educate us. Finely I did ask and she to her own credit, explained that this meant that these children had had some part of their development retarded and something in her words, I truthfully do not remember them in detail, that made me think they were doomed. Or somehow broken or less than. But she did say, that I was not to use that word. And with that I had my full education of children with special needs.

  I remember that they kept them in a separate part of the school. They ate before us, so we did not share the cafeteria with them. I once was sent to pass a note from the office to one of their teachers. I had never been down that part of the school. Where our hallways were decorated with craft paper turkeys and colorful paper plates painted with happy scenes, here they were bare. I could hear them before I ever opened the door. It was all strange noises. That filled me with even more fear. Guttural outbursts and loud voices I could not understand. I tried to look down and not stare at them and give the little yellow paper to the stern teacher and then as the door closed behind me, I ran. We were not allowed to run in the hallways and I was always one to follow the rules. But, not that time. I ran for the safety of happy pictures of happy children and the quiet comfort of a classroom mored in controlled discipline.

  I never thought much of those children again. My life was full of so many of my own challenges. It would not be until I had my own children and volunteered in their schools that would I find out the bittersweet joy of actually knowing a special needs child. Her name was Kara. She was in a special little wheelchair that had a little cushion to support her head. I would read to the children. That was my special talent. I loved to teach them words and introduce them to the magic that lived in books. Every Wednesday I sat down with the children one on one and helped them understand how a string of letters became something more. I had seen Kara, I had smiled at her and held eye contact. My son seemed to love her. It was while sitting with her and silently puzzling in my head how to help teach this child. I had no idea what she knew or could do. She was a clever little minx. She smiled and laughed and understood my words. She may not be able to speak clearly, but she had no trouble absorbing the lessons.

  She became one of my favorites. She seemed always to be smiling. I did not know, when I sat down with her that first time, remembering the only experiences I had ever had with such a child, that she would be the one to teach me. She was not interested in limits that others had set for her. She could not run or even stand, but she was far freer than so many adults. There came a day when I would be called into the office. My son, who was a middle child and very much a loving soul, had gotten into a fight. Through telling and retelling the events of the day it was reported that one of my son's favorite things was being chosen to help Kara navigate around at recess. Times had changed greatly from when I was a child. And it was while doing this that some other child had used the "R" word. I had never talked to my children about it's use. I think their teachers must have taught them. I had not thought of that word or it's loaded meaning for a child's lifetime. My son had first stood up for Kara and then there was pushing, which of course is how we all landed there in that room discussing it.

  I had taught my son to keep his hands on his own body and it was not like him to be physical. I remember that he got off with a warning and that I told him that it was not okay to push people and he answered me with a child's simple truth. "It is not okay to call Kara that. She is not retarded. She is my friend." We would as a family have the opportunities to get to know and love many children of different levels of special needs. They have enriched all of our lives. There are words that are so egregious, so harmful that they should not be uttered. Surely, when this particular word was first used to describe a set of challenges a child may be born with, I would like to think it was not meant to be offensive. However, like so many other seemingly benign labels that have come to mean something far different than their origins, this word has come to mean less than, not worthy, stupid and a slew of other evil connotations which should never be said to or about anyone. Most especially not the sweet spirited souls who every day live beyond limits that their bodies and minds may try to set for them. I have a deep love and respect for both these children and their strong, brave parents. Who, not only have to deal with the day to day demands of bodies that do not move on their own, or children who will never say " I love you mama, daddy" and my hear breaks for them. I hold them in the highest esteem for the daily trials that we will never fully understand. We cannot. I can relate to a harried mother who's two year old will not eat his food or take his nap. That I understand.  But that mother or father who will never know the joy of a day with no accidents. Or the promise of all of those special dreams we hold out for our children. Little league and training wheels, first dates and proms. They let go of many of these dreams that die ever so slowly when faced with this worlds realities.

 I think of all these things and I am overcome. I cannot for the life of me grasp the depth of strength of pure will power to deal with this jaded world that would think it appropriate to use such language. I would not make it through the stares and rude comments, there is no way I would stay out of jail if someone dared to use such a diminishing hateful word in front of my child or myself. We all carry our challenges, our own special needs. Most of us can hide them. We are all broken and we all suffer. Ladling out pain to others will never lessen our own. Ignorance is no excuse for throwing out hate. In case you have not been told, incase you did not know... it is never okay to call anyone, in any context "retarded".  Remember that words have power. And you are a compilation of your thoughts, deeds and words. The next time you see a parent out and about, trying to have a normal life just running errands with a child who may never walk or talk or sing, show compassion. Give them a smile, a kind word a place ahead of you in line. Send up words of prayer for them and their family. You may not even realize the harm you inflict with a side glance and a grimace or a downward stare. These are tiny paper cuts. But using the "r" word is purely hateful and for that you have no excuse. When given the choice be kind. Life is hard enough, do not add to another's burden.