With one hour of sleep, I put my feet on the bedroom floor and headed for the kitchen. I had survived the night, and it was a sunny Tuesday morning. Even in the mess that I would now call my life I still had to function as mother and wife. Breakfast had to be fixed, Emma needed to be fed, and although I could semi function on one hour of sleep, I could not function without food. I had not eaten since Monday afternoon about 2:00 p.m. I was hungry, but the mere thought of food made my stomach flip. Grits, a great southern comfort food would do the trick. Today they would be creamy yellow, thanks to Land-O-Lakes Butter. (Just a side track, whoever came up with putting sugar and milk on grits must have been stoned.) I also knew Emma loved buttery grits, and today of all days I didn't need to fight with her to get her to eat. There was little conversation at the table. I murmured to myself. "Why was I in Asheville? If I had been home I could have stopped my dad. How in the world did I miss any signs that he might have been giving off? How could I have let my dad down so terribly?" Chris startled me with his reply. "You will not beat yourself up like this, it is not your fault, and I am not going to guilt trip myself either." He was angry. He like the rest of my family was dazed and stunned...... I had to remember that he was with me when I found dad...... Chris saw more than I did...... He was still in the apartment when the funeral home came to pick up dad's body...... and there is a strong possibility that Chris had to help carry his body from the apartment......... He had been through a lot in the past 12 hours, and I needed to be silent for the moment. "You have got to be strong, and try to put this behind you...." With that comment from Chris, I knew that to keep silent was my only option, because the response from my mouth would have blown him out of the water. I believed with all my heart that he did not realize what pain his words had just caused me, he is by no means a cruel man, but these words were. You don't ask a person, no matter what the circumstances of a parents death to "Be strong and get over it."
10:30 a.m. came quickly and my sisters had emerged upon my front doorstep..... By the looks on both of their faces they had little sleep during the night...... We hugged, but today we said little..... Numbness does that to a family.... silence was golden....... I volunteered to drive to the funeral home..... I am so grateful that the Director who would be meeting with us was a personal friend of Chris and mine. That would make it a bit easier, but awkward at the same time. He would know how Dad passed..... but I knew that the circumstances would be kept confidential. Mike walked in the conference room where we had been placed. He embraced me and shook the hands of my sisters. Words of compassion flowed, notes were taken for the newspaper article, a crematory box was selected, and service arrangements were made. We were given the responsibility of going by the church to speak with my pastor about details for the service that would be held Friday evening. When I called Pastor Monday evening, he was also in disbelief.
I was veering the car back towards home when Liz spoke. "I want to go to Dad's apartment." I froze in my seat. I didn't want to go near the place. Ellen spoke. "I want to go, too." Well, I think I was outnumbered. I drove home, retrieved the keys to the apartment, got back in the car, and before I knew it I was retracing my steps that I had taken less than twenty-four hours before. It was creepy being back upstairs. The first thing I did was to place a pillow over the blood-stained mattress..... I didn't need to have this visual, nor did my sisters. Reality was quite enough at this time...... Liz slowly moved from room to room, I believe trying to make sense of her nightmare. Ellen shook her head from side to side for the longest time. We all landed in the living room, not seated near each other, but looking from one face to the other. "There has to be something we are missing." Liz spoke. "I believe I have a clue, I am not sure, but I think it is all going to come down to his personal finances." I said. And, I would be the one to discover this, because not only was I my father's youngest child, but he had elected me to be the Executirx of his estate. "Before we leave I am going to take all of Dad's bank statements home with me and start digging through his papers. I think this will give us a better picture of what he was dealing with mentally and emotionally." I said. We all went back to dad's bedroom to the main closet. I knew where the fireproof lock box was hidden, and I had the key. The top document wasn't his Will as I had expected, it was his Divorce Decree from my step-mother. How odd I thought, but I packed it up with other papers that I knew I would eventually need. We took a closer look at dad's dresser, and in neat piles each of our photographs had been placed together. "His suicide had been well thought out or he would not have taken the time to do this." I said. A snap decision was not made to take his own life, dad had had a plan and it would come out.......
We moved to the kitchen and I started to put a time line together ...... on Monday Dad had taken the time to go get the Charlotte Observer, he had worked the crossword puzzle, retrieved his mail from the post office box, returned home to dress again for bed..... it didn't have to make sense.... but at least it filled in gaps of time. I continued to look around the kitchen. Dad had always kept a well filled pantry, he loved to cook. The pantry was almost empty, the frig was the same, and the freezer that was supposed to contain all of the "Buy 1 Get 1 Free" meat sales items, well it was empty, too..... My father had not brought me newly purchased food on Friday, he had emptied out his refrigerator and that was the beginning of his plan......
At the suggestion of Liz we all left the apartment and headed back to my home. Brooke was happily entertaining Emma on the playroom floor, and we sisters found my kitchen transformed into a Deli. Food and flowers had started arriving. Liz and Ellen were grateful for the good eats, they both had skipped breakfast, I could not eat. Chris would be home soon for lunch, thank goodness I did not have to deal with that....... he was capable of making a sandwich. I found my living room sofa calling my name. The lack of sleep the night before was taking its tole on me. Emma was tired, too. She would nap several hours this afternoon and I possibly could shut my eyes.... I had convinced myself that I would sleep better if it were not dark outside.... the night would not close in on me in broad daylight. Liz and Ellen ate and both knew they needed to sleep.... "We will be back tomorrow to start cleaning out dad's stuff.......what time do you want to start?" They asked. "10:00 a.m. seems fine to me.... I will get Honey to watch Emma." I replied. We had two weeks to go through and clean out dad's entire life history...... what would be discover?
Chris had been home and returned to his office for the afternoon. With the house quiet I placed Emma in her bed for a long nap. Even though I should have rested I didn't, I started digging through papers. I placed the Divorce papers to the side, I could not imagine that they had anything to do with dad's suicide. I started with bank statements, and it was no surprise to me when I looked at the ending balance of the check register.......$4,368.91 was all the money he had to his name........ I saw the entry for Social Security $1,008.91 each month......... I started going through credit card statements......... what a shock it was to me when I realized that the funds in his checking account were from a cash advance he had deposited in July of 2009...... He owed more to a credit card company than he had in his account...... Dad, even though retired, had been down recently because he had wanted a part-time job to help support himself a little better..... I had no idea that he needed a part-time job just to make ends meet...... He was to proud to admit he was broke....... This reality made his death all the more tragic. My grandmother, dad's mom, had always said that pride was going to be the death of her son.....well, she was right......... I put all of these statements back into a brown, legal sized envelope, everything except the Divorce papers. I slowly opened Dad's Divorce Decree and the first thing that caught my attention was the sealed date at the very top.... I could not believe my eyes, January 10, 2003.........Dad killed himself the very day that his divorce had been final...... to me this was a major clue.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
An Unexpected Gift - The Nightmare Continues
I left my father's apartment, climbed into our suburban and drove the three short blocks back to our home. When I entered the back door I found Honey (Emma's Godmother) and Emma sitting in our kitchen floor. They were fine... if this is what Chris called a total melt down......well he was wrong....... Honey knew how to take control. She came armed with the right ammunition......in one hand she held a package of M&M's and in the other hand she was holding a Diet Coke. If one didn't work the other surely would. "Cathy what happened?" Honey asked. "My father killed himself." I answered. Why mix words with someone who knew me so well. I would need someone in the near future that I could be completely honest with, and I trusted Honey. "I understand how he feels.... please try and forgive him quickly..... he didn't do this to hurt you.... he did this to relieve himself of his own personal hell." She replied. Honey had experienced deep depression, and I do believe she truly understood how an individual could possibly contemplate taking their own life. I had always heard that suicide was the most selfish act a person could undertake, now I knew that statement was true.
I left the two happy campers in the floor and for some odd reason started cleaning house. Why????? I had to stay busy. If I sat down who knows what might happen. As I unpacked the gear from Asheville I dialed the number of my best friend, Brooke, she did not need to hear this news from our church office. "Brooke, it's Cathy, I don't know how to say this, but my father is dead." After speaking these few words I began to cry. "I am on the way." Brooke replied. "No you don't need to come tonight, you have children to get ready for school tomorrow, and get ready for bed, I am fine." I said. "I don't care, I am on the way." Brooke is a firm soul. She arrived within 5 minutes, and I was so happy to see her. Brooke found me in my bedroom. Without words she hugged me the only way a true friend can hug...."How did it happen, please tell me he didn't kill himself." Brooke asked. "I wish I could." I answered. ''Please tell me it was with pills." She asked. "I wish I could." I replied. She asked no more questions.
Honey needed to get back across the street. For the remainder of the evening Brooke took care of Emma while I dealt with the events that were to come. Brooke loaded my dishwasher, fed Emma, cooked for Chris. If it needed to be done she handled it.
Knocks started tapping at my front door. My niece, Jessica, came in first. She buried her head into my shoulder and wept tears of anguish. Directions had not been made clear to her on where we were all to meet, and by accident she went to her grandfather's apartment. She arrived as the police were carrying the gun from the building. She was one person that I would not need to explain the circumstances of dad's death to. She was so angry. Her relationship had not been easy with her grandfather. They respected each other from a distance. "How could he do this to my mother?" She asked. "Baby, I don't know what was going through his mind." I replied. "We will never get answers to these questions." I added.
Ellen, her husband, Robert, and son, William, arrived next. I could not find the courage to tell my sister that Dad had killed himself, but I pulled Robert aside and told him. Ellen was called into our living room by her husband, and I heard the gasp of horror escape from her lips as Robert explained the circumstances that surrounded dad's death. Ellen's son, William, sat motionless in a red leather chair, making eye contact with no one. He was 16 years old and his world had just crumbled on him.
When Liz and her husband, Mac, arrived I knew that her daughter Jessica would bear the responsibility of breaking the news about Dad. "Well that is just perfect." She replied. "He stays away for 8 years of our lives, then waltz's back in for a twenty-four months then pulls a stunt like this." She added. Liz joined William in the living room, picked a chair opposite of him and stared at the floor. By now it had been 3 hours since I found dad dead, the shock was wearing off a bit, but for Liz and Ellen the nightmare had just started.
As a family we all convened in the living room, closed off the door and left Emma to play with Brook in the breakfast area. "We need to be at the funeral home by 11:00 a.m tomorrow. Can you both come with me?" I asked Liz and Ellen. "Yes we will be here in the morning." Liz replied. "I will drive over to Ellen's house and we can ride together." She added. "We need to arrange a service." I stated. "For what, and for who?" Liz asked. Jessica's husband, Jeff piped up "You need closure, you may be very angry right now, but you need closure and sooner than later." He spoke words of wisdom. "We can have a private service in our church chapel Friday evening at 7:00 p.m. if that works for everyone. I will call our church secretary in the morning and make the arrangement." I replied. "Let's get this over with." Ellen responded.
The rest of the evening was spent in quiet solitude ....... low whispers of "What could drive a person to do something so crazy........ what signs did we miss........... how could I have let him down like this....... why.....why......why.......?" No answers would come, and by 10:00 p.m. everyone agreed that whatever sleep we could get, we would need it. Lengthy hugs were exchanged. Brooke let me know that she would keep Emma in the morning while I went to the funeral home, everyone left and the house was quiet, so quiet I could barely stand it. Chris and I put Emma to bed...... I had not reason to turn out the light of our bedroom, sleep would not come no matter how hard I might try..... Every time I closed my eyes visions flooded my mind and I literally jerked myself into an upright position. I had to clear the thoughts of a person placing a gun in their mouth and pulling a trigger and ending their life so tragically....... However, I do remember dozing off between the hours and 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. Tuesday was going to be a very long day.
I left the two happy campers in the floor and for some odd reason started cleaning house. Why????? I had to stay busy. If I sat down who knows what might happen. As I unpacked the gear from Asheville I dialed the number of my best friend, Brooke, she did not need to hear this news from our church office. "Brooke, it's Cathy, I don't know how to say this, but my father is dead." After speaking these few words I began to cry. "I am on the way." Brooke replied. "No you don't need to come tonight, you have children to get ready for school tomorrow, and get ready for bed, I am fine." I said. "I don't care, I am on the way." Brooke is a firm soul. She arrived within 5 minutes, and I was so happy to see her. Brooke found me in my bedroom. Without words she hugged me the only way a true friend can hug...."How did it happen, please tell me he didn't kill himself." Brooke asked. "I wish I could." I answered. ''Please tell me it was with pills." She asked. "I wish I could." I replied. She asked no more questions.
Honey needed to get back across the street. For the remainder of the evening Brooke took care of Emma while I dealt with the events that were to come. Brooke loaded my dishwasher, fed Emma, cooked for Chris. If it needed to be done she handled it.
Knocks started tapping at my front door. My niece, Jessica, came in first. She buried her head into my shoulder and wept tears of anguish. Directions had not been made clear to her on where we were all to meet, and by accident she went to her grandfather's apartment. She arrived as the police were carrying the gun from the building. She was one person that I would not need to explain the circumstances of dad's death to. She was so angry. Her relationship had not been easy with her grandfather. They respected each other from a distance. "How could he do this to my mother?" She asked. "Baby, I don't know what was going through his mind." I replied. "We will never get answers to these questions." I added.
Ellen, her husband, Robert, and son, William, arrived next. I could not find the courage to tell my sister that Dad had killed himself, but I pulled Robert aside and told him. Ellen was called into our living room by her husband, and I heard the gasp of horror escape from her lips as Robert explained the circumstances that surrounded dad's death. Ellen's son, William, sat motionless in a red leather chair, making eye contact with no one. He was 16 years old and his world had just crumbled on him.
When Liz and her husband, Mac, arrived I knew that her daughter Jessica would bear the responsibility of breaking the news about Dad. "Well that is just perfect." She replied. "He stays away for 8 years of our lives, then waltz's back in for a twenty-four months then pulls a stunt like this." She added. Liz joined William in the living room, picked a chair opposite of him and stared at the floor. By now it had been 3 hours since I found dad dead, the shock was wearing off a bit, but for Liz and Ellen the nightmare had just started.
As a family we all convened in the living room, closed off the door and left Emma to play with Brook in the breakfast area. "We need to be at the funeral home by 11:00 a.m tomorrow. Can you both come with me?" I asked Liz and Ellen. "Yes we will be here in the morning." Liz replied. "I will drive over to Ellen's house and we can ride together." She added. "We need to arrange a service." I stated. "For what, and for who?" Liz asked. Jessica's husband, Jeff piped up "You need closure, you may be very angry right now, but you need closure and sooner than later." He spoke words of wisdom. "We can have a private service in our church chapel Friday evening at 7:00 p.m. if that works for everyone. I will call our church secretary in the morning and make the arrangement." I replied. "Let's get this over with." Ellen responded.
The rest of the evening was spent in quiet solitude ....... low whispers of "What could drive a person to do something so crazy........ what signs did we miss........... how could I have let him down like this....... why.....why......why.......?" No answers would come, and by 10:00 p.m. everyone agreed that whatever sleep we could get, we would need it. Lengthy hugs were exchanged. Brooke let me know that she would keep Emma in the morning while I went to the funeral home, everyone left and the house was quiet, so quiet I could barely stand it. Chris and I put Emma to bed...... I had not reason to turn out the light of our bedroom, sleep would not come no matter how hard I might try..... Every time I closed my eyes visions flooded my mind and I literally jerked myself into an upright position. I had to clear the thoughts of a person placing a gun in their mouth and pulling a trigger and ending their life so tragically....... However, I do remember dozing off between the hours and 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. Tuesday was going to be a very long day.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
An Unexpected Gift - The Nightmare
Chris stood still, his feet embedded in concrete. "Oh my god, you can't be serious?" He uttered. What kind of question had he just asked me? Yes, I was quite serious. My father had taken his own life and my world caved in on top of me.
When a person is in shock, and I do believe that I was in shock, you do one of two things.... you fall to the floor and refuse to acknowledge the circumstances for what they are, or you go into a high rush of adrenalin that hurls you past the insanity and forces you to focus on what absolutely must be done next. I had to call 911... that is what had to be done... that is why Chris had to leave with Emma... . I would protect her from the screaming sirens.... the police and firemen that come crashing in on suicide scenes...... she didn't need that nightmare floating through her dreams, that would be saved for me.
I ran down the flight of stairs to the neighbors apartment and frantically knocked on the door. "I need to use your phone, something is wrong with my father." My voice was shaking, my hand could barely dial the most important numbers in a time of crisis, but I managed. "911, how can I help you..." The voice replied. She was kind, but I found it difficult to explain to a stranger that I had just found your father dead in his bed? "There is something wrong with my father, he is not breathing, you must come quickly...." I got it out, and then the questions started flying. "Mama, how old is your father? When did you see him last? Does your father live alone? Does he have any medical conditions that medics will need to know about? Mama, are you alone? I will stay on the phone with you until the police arrives." She stopped asking questions. I was unable to answer her. I was choking back my emotions and fighting back tears of betrayal. All of a sudden I wanted to wake up and find myself back in Asheville.
Ironically the Rescue Squad Station is less than a block from my father's apartment, they would arrive in less than 2 minutes, and they did. Chris barely made it out of the driveway before the fire truck and ambulance were turning down Maple Street. I was standing by myself in the foyer to the right of the stairway. All medical personnel and police officers hit the steps two at a time and they ascended the stairs like sprinting Olympic athletes. I flipped open my cell phone and called Emma's Godmother, who lives across the street from us...."You have got to go over and meet Chris in our driveway and take Emma....Dad is dead.....you have got to help us......" I did not wait for a response, I just closed the phone.
While I stood alone, I made a second call. I had to decide which sister would hear the news first. I called my oldest sister, Liz. I knew she would be driving home from work, but I had to tell her that her father too, was dead. It was not pretty. Without realizing what I was saying I found myself screaming "Dad is dead and you have got to come help me." Imagine the shock that went through her body. "What are you talking about?" She asked. "We came home from Asheville this afternoon to find him dead in his bed." That was the truth, and right now she did not need to know about the note that was left, or the blood that was coming out of his mouth. "Please call Ellen, and tell her to come to our house a quickly as she can." I was not going to make another call, I could not make another call. "I will call Ellen, just hold on until we can get there." My sisters live approximately 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes from me..... what a drive that was going to be.
The Officers were only in dad's apartment a few minutes before returning to join me. The labored effort it took for each one of them to descend the steps affirmed what I already knew. I broke the silence. "My father is dead isn't he?" Without words spoken, the Police Lieutenant walked towards me and as gently as if he were attempting to embrace a china doll, he wrapped his arms around me and I sobbed. "Mama, we are so sorry." After several minutes I pushed myself off of his chest, and with a quizzical look I asked a pretty crazy question, I say that because of the reaction that I received from each Officer. "Why is there dried blood on the cheek of my father?" I had made the awful assumption that my father had taken an overdose of prescriptions...... how silly of me to make this suicide clean.....oh, no that was not the case at all....."Mama, what exactly did you see when you found your father in bed?" The Lieutenant asked. "I attempted to get the lights to come on in the bedroom but they didn't. The only light illuminating the room was the little daylight left, so I only saw that my dad was not breathing and the blood on his cheek, and I ran back down the steps to call 911." I replied. Now who was going to step up to the plate and tell the already stunned daughter the ugly truth of the matter? The Fire Chief looked at each Officer, not sensing a volunteer in the crowd, he spoke as calmly as possible. "Your father shot himself in the head, the gun was lying beside the bed." I literally ran straight into the wall pounding it with both fist....... "This cannot be happening, this absolutely cannot be happening....... OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!" I have no idea who came up and grabbed me, but they swayed back and forth gently saying "You have got to breath, you have got to calm down, or you will be going to the hospital." I did begin breathing, turned my body and pressed it against the wall for support, shook my head and stared at the ground. No one was speaking. What could anyone of these gentlemen say to me to stop my world from crumbling? "It might bring you a bit of comfort to know that your father had his bible and hymn book opened, photographs of children and grandchildren surrounding him." The Lieutenant commented. I did not respond with words, I only met his gaze and shook my head in agreement. I knew that he was only trying to help, but that is not what I needed to hear..........
Chris had walked back through the door, took one look at me, but chose not speak. "You will have to tell Chris what happened, I cannot do it." I said. After hearing the awful truth Chris closed his eyes stood and shook his head in disbelief. There wasn't a warm, supportive embrace shared under the circumstances. "You need to go home to Emma, she is hysterical. I will stay until the funeral home comes to get your dad." I protested. "This is my father, I am not leaving." Chris knew that he could not console Emma in the state that she was in, "Cathy, please go home to your baby." Those words got to me...... my baby....... my baby that would turn two years old in in eleven days.........
When a person is in shock, and I do believe that I was in shock, you do one of two things.... you fall to the floor and refuse to acknowledge the circumstances for what they are, or you go into a high rush of adrenalin that hurls you past the insanity and forces you to focus on what absolutely must be done next. I had to call 911... that is what had to be done... that is why Chris had to leave with Emma... . I would protect her from the screaming sirens.... the police and firemen that come crashing in on suicide scenes...... she didn't need that nightmare floating through her dreams, that would be saved for me.
I ran down the flight of stairs to the neighbors apartment and frantically knocked on the door. "I need to use your phone, something is wrong with my father." My voice was shaking, my hand could barely dial the most important numbers in a time of crisis, but I managed. "911, how can I help you..." The voice replied. She was kind, but I found it difficult to explain to a stranger that I had just found your father dead in his bed? "There is something wrong with my father, he is not breathing, you must come quickly...." I got it out, and then the questions started flying. "Mama, how old is your father? When did you see him last? Does your father live alone? Does he have any medical conditions that medics will need to know about? Mama, are you alone? I will stay on the phone with you until the police arrives." She stopped asking questions. I was unable to answer her. I was choking back my emotions and fighting back tears of betrayal. All of a sudden I wanted to wake up and find myself back in Asheville.
Ironically the Rescue Squad Station is less than a block from my father's apartment, they would arrive in less than 2 minutes, and they did. Chris barely made it out of the driveway before the fire truck and ambulance were turning down Maple Street. I was standing by myself in the foyer to the right of the stairway. All medical personnel and police officers hit the steps two at a time and they ascended the stairs like sprinting Olympic athletes. I flipped open my cell phone and called Emma's Godmother, who lives across the street from us...."You have got to go over and meet Chris in our driveway and take Emma....Dad is dead.....you have got to help us......" I did not wait for a response, I just closed the phone.
While I stood alone, I made a second call. I had to decide which sister would hear the news first. I called my oldest sister, Liz. I knew she would be driving home from work, but I had to tell her that her father too, was dead. It was not pretty. Without realizing what I was saying I found myself screaming "Dad is dead and you have got to come help me." Imagine the shock that went through her body. "What are you talking about?" She asked. "We came home from Asheville this afternoon to find him dead in his bed." That was the truth, and right now she did not need to know about the note that was left, or the blood that was coming out of his mouth. "Please call Ellen, and tell her to come to our house a quickly as she can." I was not going to make another call, I could not make another call. "I will call Ellen, just hold on until we can get there." My sisters live approximately 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes from me..... what a drive that was going to be.
The Officers were only in dad's apartment a few minutes before returning to join me. The labored effort it took for each one of them to descend the steps affirmed what I already knew. I broke the silence. "My father is dead isn't he?" Without words spoken, the Police Lieutenant walked towards me and as gently as if he were attempting to embrace a china doll, he wrapped his arms around me and I sobbed. "Mama, we are so sorry." After several minutes I pushed myself off of his chest, and with a quizzical look I asked a pretty crazy question, I say that because of the reaction that I received from each Officer. "Why is there dried blood on the cheek of my father?" I had made the awful assumption that my father had taken an overdose of prescriptions...... how silly of me to make this suicide clean.....oh, no that was not the case at all....."Mama, what exactly did you see when you found your father in bed?" The Lieutenant asked. "I attempted to get the lights to come on in the bedroom but they didn't. The only light illuminating the room was the little daylight left, so I only saw that my dad was not breathing and the blood on his cheek, and I ran back down the steps to call 911." I replied. Now who was going to step up to the plate and tell the already stunned daughter the ugly truth of the matter? The Fire Chief looked at each Officer, not sensing a volunteer in the crowd, he spoke as calmly as possible. "Your father shot himself in the head, the gun was lying beside the bed." I literally ran straight into the wall pounding it with both fist....... "This cannot be happening, this absolutely cannot be happening....... OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!" I have no idea who came up and grabbed me, but they swayed back and forth gently saying "You have got to breath, you have got to calm down, or you will be going to the hospital." I did begin breathing, turned my body and pressed it against the wall for support, shook my head and stared at the ground. No one was speaking. What could anyone of these gentlemen say to me to stop my world from crumbling? "It might bring you a bit of comfort to know that your father had his bible and hymn book opened, photographs of children and grandchildren surrounding him." The Lieutenant commented. I did not respond with words, I only met his gaze and shook my head in agreement. I knew that he was only trying to help, but that is not what I needed to hear..........
Chris had walked back through the door, took one look at me, but chose not speak. "You will have to tell Chris what happened, I cannot do it." I said. After hearing the awful truth Chris closed his eyes stood and shook his head in disbelief. There wasn't a warm, supportive embrace shared under the circumstances. "You need to go home to Emma, she is hysterical. I will stay until the funeral home comes to get your dad." I protested. "This is my father, I am not leaving." Chris knew that he could not console Emma in the state that she was in, "Cathy, please go home to your baby." Those words got to me...... my baby....... my baby that would turn two years old in in eleven days.........
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
An Unexpected Gift - the new beginning
The Christmas Holidays of 2009 had been rather uneventful, almost normal, but who in their right mind has a "Normal" Christmas Holiday? When you add the family dynamics of relatives that see each other maybe three times a year at best, place them all in a 12 x 12 room, you simply pray for the best. But, surprisingly, our home had been filled with laughter and jokes, aromas that make the senses go wild from seafood delicacies, a standing rib roast, and scrumptious Italian desserts. We were all in good spirits. We had just attended our Christmas Eve Service, and things felt so good. Oh, but the holidays can get so rushed, and before you know it we are counting the days until next Christmas.
It seems that I have gotten into a routine, that is since our daughter was born, that after the Christmas and New Years Holidays pass, I head straight into planning a Birthday party, a party for that sweet little girl of mine. Emma was born January 22, 2008, and this year she was going to be 2. What would the theme be? Emma has her own opinions about what she likes, but she is not into Dora or Cinderella at this age, but she definitely loves Curious George.... that was easy enough. Being two also limits the number of guest I invite, and the list seems to be comprised of mostly family members. In my opinion this excuses me from buying formal invitations. I don't view this tactic as being lazy, I e-mail the date and time of the event, sweet and simple, and that is right up my ally.
With party planning over in rapid fashion, my husband, Chris, Emma and myself planned a quick trip for some much needed relaxation to the mountains of North Carolina. Friday morning, January 7, 2010, I was attempting to make decisions about what to pack, making sure that I included snow clothing just in case we were blessed with a winter wonderland of a weekend. There was a knock at my back door. "What are you doing up so early?" I asked my father who stood on our rear stoop. "I went to the grocery store this morning and they had so many Buy 1 Get 1 Free specials that I decided to give you the Get 1 Free. You need to put these things in your freezer. Are you guys headed to the mountains this weekend?" He was in such a chipper mood today, "Yes we are, why don't you come in for a few minutes and visit, Emma would love to see you." I could sense that he was in a hurry, "I have got to run, but I will see you when you get home." Dad bounced down the stairs, closed the driveway gate behind him, hopped in his car and left.
I finished packing, Chris loaded our van, and before 12 noon we were on our way . The drive to Asheville is gorgeous. The beauty of climbing Black Mountain is heightened by the anticipation of seeing snow capped peaks. Today we were not disappointed. Our second home is nothing fancy to speak of, but is is warm and cozy. We escape here when obligations are overwhelming us, and when the stresses from daily life are getting to be a bit too much. Our home consist of the basic necessities. We see no need for a phone line, cable TV, dishwasher, washer or dryer, but a fireplace is a must have. And, this weekend it would burn from sun up until sundown.
Our Asheville neighbors are wonderful. We are all equally excited when time permits us to venture north. We share meals together, take long walks, and if the weather cooperates we sled like we are all ten years old again. The only downfall about trekking to Asheville in the winter is that the house is so cold when we arrive. You can see your breath it is so cold. We have a plan. Chris unloads the car, I empty the cooler into the refrigerator, Chris turn up the thermostat so the radiators will start hissing and pinging (the somber racket that I dearly love especially in the middle of the night,) we bundle back up and run to the grocery store for items that I forgot to pack, or did not have to begin with. By the time we return home the house is a very comfortable 72 degrees. I sink deeply into the loveseat, snuggling my sweet Emma while Chris strikes a single match, touches the crumpled newspapers sending them into a roaring blaze. This would be a picture perfect weekend.
Saturday morning about 10 a.m. I called Dad's cell phone. "How are you this morning?" I asked. "Cold, I am cold to the bone." He answered. "Is it snowing in the mountains this morning?" He asked. "Dad it is beautiful, we have about 2 inches of snow on the ground and it is still falling." I answered. "Well, you know what I am going to say, but I am going to say it anyway, be careful." A parent never stops being a parent. "Yes Dad." I replied.
We engulfed the entire day. Our intentions had been to come to the mountains for rest, but that was quickly forgotten. Emma wanted to be outside. She had never experienced snow before. During her nap times we all recharged, thawed our frozen toes and fingers, and then headed back out to join in the festive activities that the snow fall had produced.
The snow kept us from returning home on Sunday as planned. The streets had been scraped, but the NC State Troopers requested that if travel was not necessary, stay at home. We listened. Not that Chris didn't feel confident that he could safely maneuver us down the mountain, but I breathed a heavy sign of relief. The snow was no longer pristine, Emma had lost all interest in being both wet and cold, so Sunday turned out to be a very relaxing, simple lazy day. Who could ask for anything more.
Monday morning arrived. The sun shone bright and the snow was melting quickly. By 1:00 p.m. there were no visible signs left that a single flake of white perfection had fallen. Chris and I decided to have lunch in Asheville before heading back to Charlotte. We wanted to make sure that the car ride would fall in line with Emma's nap time. The trip home is so pleasant if the car is not filled with outburst from an infant wanting to be released from the grips of a cruel car seat. I breathed deep sighs of contentment. Life was good.
We arrived home about 5:00 p.m. Being the dead of winter, and living in the south, you know that it is almost pitch black by 5:30 p.m. This is not my favorite time of year. We had just enough daylight to get the car unloaded before darkness set in for another evening. I rescued Emma from the nasty car seat and headed for the back door. Reaching the top step I froze.....I mean I was frozen to the top step as if I had just been grabbed from behind by some unknown stranger that had one purpose, to cause me harm.... I was in a complete state of panic...... Chris came up behind me. "Cathy, what is wrong." The expression on my face told Chris I was far from being okay. "There is a note on the door." I said. "Who is it from?" Chris asked. "The hand writing is my dads." I said with a voice that was not my own. I threw Emma to Chris, ripped the note from the door, frantically shoved the key into the lock and turned on the kitchen light. The note was addressed to myself, my middle sister, Ellen, and my older sister, Liz. I shredded the envelope as I tore into the contents. On a single sheet of notebook paper, in penmanship that appeared to be scrawled, not written with ease, was a message "I cannot take it anymore. Please pray for me." What had I just read. I could not breath.. "Put Emma back into the car and hurry." I barked. "What does the note say?" Chris asked. "We have to get to Dad's apartment quickly, I think something is wrong!" I replied. Bless Emma. She started crying, and I could not help her.....
The distance to my Dad's apartment is a mere three city blocks, tonight it felt like three hundred miles. When I reached the top step to Dad's outdoor porch the door was unlocked, the door to the interior was also unlocked. I was running and Chris was on my heels. I found my father lying in his bed. His chest still. A stain of blood running from the right corner of his mouth down to his cheek. He was dead. My head reeled and all I could utter was "Get Emma out of this house right now." Chris, in a panic asked me "What is going on?" I silently answered "My father is dead, please take Emma home."
It seems that I have gotten into a routine, that is since our daughter was born, that after the Christmas and New Years Holidays pass, I head straight into planning a Birthday party, a party for that sweet little girl of mine. Emma was born January 22, 2008, and this year she was going to be 2. What would the theme be? Emma has her own opinions about what she likes, but she is not into Dora or Cinderella at this age, but she definitely loves Curious George.... that was easy enough. Being two also limits the number of guest I invite, and the list seems to be comprised of mostly family members. In my opinion this excuses me from buying formal invitations. I don't view this tactic as being lazy, I e-mail the date and time of the event, sweet and simple, and that is right up my ally.
With party planning over in rapid fashion, my husband, Chris, Emma and myself planned a quick trip for some much needed relaxation to the mountains of North Carolina. Friday morning, January 7, 2010, I was attempting to make decisions about what to pack, making sure that I included snow clothing just in case we were blessed with a winter wonderland of a weekend. There was a knock at my back door. "What are you doing up so early?" I asked my father who stood on our rear stoop. "I went to the grocery store this morning and they had so many Buy 1 Get 1 Free specials that I decided to give you the Get 1 Free. You need to put these things in your freezer. Are you guys headed to the mountains this weekend?" He was in such a chipper mood today, "Yes we are, why don't you come in for a few minutes and visit, Emma would love to see you." I could sense that he was in a hurry, "I have got to run, but I will see you when you get home." Dad bounced down the stairs, closed the driveway gate behind him, hopped in his car and left.
I finished packing, Chris loaded our van, and before 12 noon we were on our way . The drive to Asheville is gorgeous. The beauty of climbing Black Mountain is heightened by the anticipation of seeing snow capped peaks. Today we were not disappointed. Our second home is nothing fancy to speak of, but is is warm and cozy. We escape here when obligations are overwhelming us, and when the stresses from daily life are getting to be a bit too much. Our home consist of the basic necessities. We see no need for a phone line, cable TV, dishwasher, washer or dryer, but a fireplace is a must have. And, this weekend it would burn from sun up until sundown.
Our Asheville neighbors are wonderful. We are all equally excited when time permits us to venture north. We share meals together, take long walks, and if the weather cooperates we sled like we are all ten years old again. The only downfall about trekking to Asheville in the winter is that the house is so cold when we arrive. You can see your breath it is so cold. We have a plan. Chris unloads the car, I empty the cooler into the refrigerator, Chris turn up the thermostat so the radiators will start hissing and pinging (the somber racket that I dearly love especially in the middle of the night,) we bundle back up and run to the grocery store for items that I forgot to pack, or did not have to begin with. By the time we return home the house is a very comfortable 72 degrees. I sink deeply into the loveseat, snuggling my sweet Emma while Chris strikes a single match, touches the crumpled newspapers sending them into a roaring blaze. This would be a picture perfect weekend.
Saturday morning about 10 a.m. I called Dad's cell phone. "How are you this morning?" I asked. "Cold, I am cold to the bone." He answered. "Is it snowing in the mountains this morning?" He asked. "Dad it is beautiful, we have about 2 inches of snow on the ground and it is still falling." I answered. "Well, you know what I am going to say, but I am going to say it anyway, be careful." A parent never stops being a parent. "Yes Dad." I replied.
We engulfed the entire day. Our intentions had been to come to the mountains for rest, but that was quickly forgotten. Emma wanted to be outside. She had never experienced snow before. During her nap times we all recharged, thawed our frozen toes and fingers, and then headed back out to join in the festive activities that the snow fall had produced.
The snow kept us from returning home on Sunday as planned. The streets had been scraped, but the NC State Troopers requested that if travel was not necessary, stay at home. We listened. Not that Chris didn't feel confident that he could safely maneuver us down the mountain, but I breathed a heavy sign of relief. The snow was no longer pristine, Emma had lost all interest in being both wet and cold, so Sunday turned out to be a very relaxing, simple lazy day. Who could ask for anything more.
Monday morning arrived. The sun shone bright and the snow was melting quickly. By 1:00 p.m. there were no visible signs left that a single flake of white perfection had fallen. Chris and I decided to have lunch in Asheville before heading back to Charlotte. We wanted to make sure that the car ride would fall in line with Emma's nap time. The trip home is so pleasant if the car is not filled with outburst from an infant wanting to be released from the grips of a cruel car seat. I breathed deep sighs of contentment. Life was good.
We arrived home about 5:00 p.m. Being the dead of winter, and living in the south, you know that it is almost pitch black by 5:30 p.m. This is not my favorite time of year. We had just enough daylight to get the car unloaded before darkness set in for another evening. I rescued Emma from the nasty car seat and headed for the back door. Reaching the top step I froze.....I mean I was frozen to the top step as if I had just been grabbed from behind by some unknown stranger that had one purpose, to cause me harm.... I was in a complete state of panic...... Chris came up behind me. "Cathy, what is wrong." The expression on my face told Chris I was far from being okay. "There is a note on the door." I said. "Who is it from?" Chris asked. "The hand writing is my dads." I said with a voice that was not my own. I threw Emma to Chris, ripped the note from the door, frantically shoved the key into the lock and turned on the kitchen light. The note was addressed to myself, my middle sister, Ellen, and my older sister, Liz. I shredded the envelope as I tore into the contents. On a single sheet of notebook paper, in penmanship that appeared to be scrawled, not written with ease, was a message "I cannot take it anymore. Please pray for me." What had I just read. I could not breath.. "Put Emma back into the car and hurry." I barked. "What does the note say?" Chris asked. "We have to get to Dad's apartment quickly, I think something is wrong!" I replied. Bless Emma. She started crying, and I could not help her.....
The distance to my Dad's apartment is a mere three city blocks, tonight it felt like three hundred miles. When I reached the top step to Dad's outdoor porch the door was unlocked, the door to the interior was also unlocked. I was running and Chris was on my heels. I found my father lying in his bed. His chest still. A stain of blood running from the right corner of his mouth down to his cheek. He was dead. My head reeled and all I could utter was "Get Emma out of this house right now." Chris, in a panic asked me "What is going on?" I silently answered "My father is dead, please take Emma home."
Friday, August 19, 2011
The Beginning
The beginning, where we finally feel the freedom to release the deepest pent up emotions that we dare not share with our closest friend for fear of judgement. Sharing life's most memorable events and cruelest dealings that should have never come our way, but they did. So I will start at the beginning, and oddly enough it is the second attempt at starting at the beginning, the first time ended in disaster, or was it really a blessing in disguise??? My story begins here.....
I gladly accepted the challenge in November 2010 to join the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), a project that unifies amateur writers around the world and attempts to inspire each individual to produce a novel in one months time. Was I crazy? I did not have ample time to devote to such an undertaking. My daughter was 2 1/2, I was working part time for my husband, and fulfilling the duties as power of attorney for a relative confined to a nursing facility, which I had no business doing, but that is beside the point. Crazy or not, I was willing to give up sleep to embrace a passion that has engulfed my soul for years, the yearning to express myself in written word. The freedom that comes with each stroke of my keyboard unveils layers of emotions that are so personal to me, and not foreign to others as I have found. The phrase "it's a small world, and gets smaller everyday" rings true within my mind daily. We are all similar whether we like to admit it or not. Our emotions run parallel with perfect strangers or our next door neighbor. We would know that for truth if we only took the precious time we cling to as a starved beast and shared our lives with those around us. Instead we elect to keep to ourselves shrouded in darkness believing no one would understand where we are in life, when truly nothing could be further from the truth.
My husband supported my decision to write. I must give credit where credit is due. He alone has attempted to motivate me for the past 5 years to "WRITE." He cut out the newspaper article out of the Charlotte Observer that outlined the NaNo challenge, he politely handed it to me, kindly adding "you should do this." After much discussion about the number of hours it would take to complete the 50,000 word novel in 30 days, I began to write. It was not hard for me. My life had been horribly crazy for the past 10 months. I needed an outlet to express my emotions, or I felt as if I would loose my sanity.
Although the novel was to be a work of fiction, my story was my life. Names were certainly changed to protect the innocent, but it was about me. The many griefs I had experienced in such a short span of life, the disappointments, heartbreaks, regrets, tears, sadness, and finally the joy and elation that comes from the realization that no ones life is perfect. Life is what we choose to make of it, that is what counts in the great scheme of things. But between the beginning and the end I had many personal lessons to learn, much forgiveness to extend even beyond the grave, and intense growing pains to come face to face with.
I worked very hard, and the sacrifices were more than I had imagined from the beginning, My insanity only intensified as the completion date loomed in my face. It was not uncommon for me to sleep a maximum of 3 hours a night. I was so tired. Now that is the understatement of the century, but by the same token I was thrilled to be completing this incredible work. But, hold on to your seats, because what happened next will leave your head spinning. It was November 29, 2010. I knew that I was 1,500 words from completing my first novel and I could feel every nerve ending in my body standing at attention. I sat down at my computer to write the final thoughts before forwarding my work to the judges. My computer system had performed without a glitch the entire month, until this evening. I opened my saved copy and started typing - my screen went blank...... I closed my system down without saving any changes, rebooted my computer and opened my work again. I began again..... then my screen went blank again.... after repeating the same process of closing and opening, nothing came up...... My head began to reel and throwing up seemed to be my only option. My heart raced, my skin was covered in fifteen layers of sweat, and I was frozen in my chair unable to move. What in the world had just happened..... A cruel joke, a sick twist of fate..... or a realization of stupidity that I had not saved my work on an external device...... It was all on my hard drive - the hard drive that had just crashed. With much deep breathing I was clear enough to call my computer wizard, yes it was 11:00 p.m. and he was in the bed, but this constituted an emergency. He patiently walked me through a multitude of attempts to find the novel sitting out in space, to no avail. "I'll be over in the morning to take a look, will you have enough time to finish if I get you up and running?" I had no idea if that was possible, but I had not sacrificed my time for twenty-nine days to quit now. I would try.
I probably don't need to finish that part of the story, you already know how it ended.... The novel was gone, the hard drive crash had been all encompassing, and nothing was left to salvage. Oh, did I feel stupid..... my husband was sick, and I had just failed the most important exam of my life. But, nothing is a true failure if you take away important lessons from the experience. That I most certainly did.
So, "For the Sake of Sanity", I am going to re-write, if that is even possible, my first novel in the form of a blog. The beginning is quite messy, life can be that way at times. But I am here to help you see that emotions are raw, exhilarating, draining, earth shaking, breathtaking, and most of all mountain moving. The first novel was entitled "An Unexpected Gift." I share that with you because if you make it through the first chapters of the blog you will make no correlation between where the story seems to be heading and the title. You must endure to the very end, it will make since then, you will see the beauty - if you dare.
"An Unexpected Gift" will begin shortly. I hope you will join me on the journey that lies ahead. Beginnings are exciting, you never know where they might possibly lead you. May you be blessed in your life as I have been blessed in mine.
C. Morton
I gladly accepted the challenge in November 2010 to join the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), a project that unifies amateur writers around the world and attempts to inspire each individual to produce a novel in one months time. Was I crazy? I did not have ample time to devote to such an undertaking. My daughter was 2 1/2, I was working part time for my husband, and fulfilling the duties as power of attorney for a relative confined to a nursing facility, which I had no business doing, but that is beside the point. Crazy or not, I was willing to give up sleep to embrace a passion that has engulfed my soul for years, the yearning to express myself in written word. The freedom that comes with each stroke of my keyboard unveils layers of emotions that are so personal to me, and not foreign to others as I have found. The phrase "it's a small world, and gets smaller everyday" rings true within my mind daily. We are all similar whether we like to admit it or not. Our emotions run parallel with perfect strangers or our next door neighbor. We would know that for truth if we only took the precious time we cling to as a starved beast and shared our lives with those around us. Instead we elect to keep to ourselves shrouded in darkness believing no one would understand where we are in life, when truly nothing could be further from the truth.
My husband supported my decision to write. I must give credit where credit is due. He alone has attempted to motivate me for the past 5 years to "WRITE." He cut out the newspaper article out of the Charlotte Observer that outlined the NaNo challenge, he politely handed it to me, kindly adding "you should do this." After much discussion about the number of hours it would take to complete the 50,000 word novel in 30 days, I began to write. It was not hard for me. My life had been horribly crazy for the past 10 months. I needed an outlet to express my emotions, or I felt as if I would loose my sanity.
Although the novel was to be a work of fiction, my story was my life. Names were certainly changed to protect the innocent, but it was about me. The many griefs I had experienced in such a short span of life, the disappointments, heartbreaks, regrets, tears, sadness, and finally the joy and elation that comes from the realization that no ones life is perfect. Life is what we choose to make of it, that is what counts in the great scheme of things. But between the beginning and the end I had many personal lessons to learn, much forgiveness to extend even beyond the grave, and intense growing pains to come face to face with.
I worked very hard, and the sacrifices were more than I had imagined from the beginning, My insanity only intensified as the completion date loomed in my face. It was not uncommon for me to sleep a maximum of 3 hours a night. I was so tired. Now that is the understatement of the century, but by the same token I was thrilled to be completing this incredible work. But, hold on to your seats, because what happened next will leave your head spinning. It was November 29, 2010. I knew that I was 1,500 words from completing my first novel and I could feel every nerve ending in my body standing at attention. I sat down at my computer to write the final thoughts before forwarding my work to the judges. My computer system had performed without a glitch the entire month, until this evening. I opened my saved copy and started typing - my screen went blank...... I closed my system down without saving any changes, rebooted my computer and opened my work again. I began again..... then my screen went blank again.... after repeating the same process of closing and opening, nothing came up...... My head began to reel and throwing up seemed to be my only option. My heart raced, my skin was covered in fifteen layers of sweat, and I was frozen in my chair unable to move. What in the world had just happened..... A cruel joke, a sick twist of fate..... or a realization of stupidity that I had not saved my work on an external device...... It was all on my hard drive - the hard drive that had just crashed. With much deep breathing I was clear enough to call my computer wizard, yes it was 11:00 p.m. and he was in the bed, but this constituted an emergency. He patiently walked me through a multitude of attempts to find the novel sitting out in space, to no avail. "I'll be over in the morning to take a look, will you have enough time to finish if I get you up and running?" I had no idea if that was possible, but I had not sacrificed my time for twenty-nine days to quit now. I would try.
I probably don't need to finish that part of the story, you already know how it ended.... The novel was gone, the hard drive crash had been all encompassing, and nothing was left to salvage. Oh, did I feel stupid..... my husband was sick, and I had just failed the most important exam of my life. But, nothing is a true failure if you take away important lessons from the experience. That I most certainly did.
So, "For the Sake of Sanity", I am going to re-write, if that is even possible, my first novel in the form of a blog. The beginning is quite messy, life can be that way at times. But I am here to help you see that emotions are raw, exhilarating, draining, earth shaking, breathtaking, and most of all mountain moving. The first novel was entitled "An Unexpected Gift." I share that with you because if you make it through the first chapters of the blog you will make no correlation between where the story seems to be heading and the title. You must endure to the very end, it will make since then, you will see the beauty - if you dare.
"An Unexpected Gift" will begin shortly. I hope you will join me on the journey that lies ahead. Beginnings are exciting, you never know where they might possibly lead you. May you be blessed in your life as I have been blessed in mine.
C. Morton
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