Endings and Beginnings

     I have a new nickname. Over the course of the last 15 months I've acquired it. My best friend refers to me as “Candide”. Candide is the main character in a novella by Voltaire. Candide is told by his mentor Pangloss that we live in the “best of all possible worlds” and that “all is for the best”. Yet, through the course of Candide's life, he finds these sentiment's hard to believe at times. He seems to suffer trials and heartaches unknown to most men, yet presses onward.

     The beginning of a new year always leads me to reflect back over my life. I've lived 36 years. Yet, as I gaze back over them, even I find it hard to believe that so many lives could have been lived within this one.

I am the drug addict that spent 6 years of her life drowning her pain and heartache in a deadened state so as not to feel.

I am the survivor of molestation, going through the years fighting the feeling that something must have been wrong with me for that to have happened.

I am the survivor of rape, having lost my virginity to such and drowning myself in self-condemnation.

I am the young girl that was out of state on vacation when her best friend died, lost in a world before text messaging and smart phones could alert her.

I am the girl that sat in the next room as her beloved friend fatally shot himself, so certain that life in that moment summarized what his entire existence would be.

I am the pregnant girl that watched as her best friends child was laid to rest, an innocent soul taken by grotesque abuse and murder.

I am the wife who was beaten and abused at the hands of the man that gave her children, knowing that her escape would more then likely end in her death.

I am the single mother of two, stricken with health issues and handed a death sentence, wondering how it could all fall apart just as it was starting to come together for the first time.

I am the mother and wife that gazed upon her children, some claimed not by birth, and wondered how she would ever meet their special needs.

I am the woman who thought she'd finally picked up the pieces and started over, only to learn her husband was using illegal drugs and having an affair.

I am the single mother of three that had to begin new, yet again, with an empty bank account and a child in the hospital.

I am the mother that held her children as they cried over their beloved pet and therapy dog having been viciously murdered by trespassing hunters.

I am the woman that shuddered to learn her diseases had come back and her prognosis was worst then the first time.

I am the woman that is fighting to keep her children in their home and struggling to hold it all together in the wake of insurmountable odds.

     I am distinctly and uniquely ME. I may never understand why one life could be filled with such despair and heartache. I may never know how one body can endure so much, when another seems to break at the slightest pain.

     I no longer seek answers. I no longer demand of God the reasons. I do not seek to know what further disasters may besiege me. I do not care to know when my end may come.

     Instead, I seek to look ever onward, pressing forward to the prize that will come to all men at the end of this world. I know that there will be a time in the end, when all wrongs will be made right. When their will be no more tears, no more pain. When death will be a distant past memory, and sunlight and warmth will fill all of my days.

     I look forward, knowing that the only condemnation I live in is that of my own making. Content to know there is a love and forgiveness that has always been mine. Peaceful in holding an acceptance of self that no man can take from me.

     I am more then I could ever hope or dream to be, simply because each of us were created to be just that. I am more then my dreams, my self judgments, my critical inflection.

     I do not embody the abuse that has been inflicted upon my body, my heart, my soul, my mind and my spirit. Sheltered deep within me is the core of my soul upon which no man has ever embarked and only His light can touch.

     I have felt comfort in my cocoon of transformation and yearn to feel the sun upon my emerging wings. I seek to soar above and feel the breeze ripple across my body.

     For with each ending there is a new beginning. A million lives wrapped into one lifetime. A hundred old souls gathered in the midst of one body.

     My life is what I make it. My days are in my perspective.

I am ME, and that is all I ever have needed to be.

15 Years Later

It's odd the things you remember in life.

I was in the passenger seat of an old, green Ford pickup truck. We were in the drive-thru at Burger King and I was insisting there was no way that I could eat anything, not even a bite. Yet, it was argued that I was pregnant and I needed to keep my strength and my sugar up. A song came on the radio and as I listened to the lyrics I began to cry. Tonight, writing this, I remember what food I was given at Burger King. It was a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant. I remember what I was wearing....a black shirt with a gray striped dress over it. Yet, I can't remember that song.

We went to meet our group of friends before heading to the funeral home. I knew I wanted that song to be played at the funeral. Pam agreed, and it was played. 15 years later and my breath still catches in my throat when Angel by Sarah McLachlan is played.

Exactly 15 years ago today, a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed, six year old boy was murdered. Six years old....the same age my son will turn in three weeks. My son, who has blonde hair and blue eyes. My son who climbs, jumps, flips, and does stunts proudly and with no fear.....just like Jordy did 15 years ago. My son who asked today if he could watch Power Rangers on Netflix. Power Rangers....a show he's never seen, but that was Jordan's favorite.

Jordan's picture sits on the cabinet in my dining room. The picture frame has a motherly angel down the side of it. An angel.......the first time I saw Jordan the sun was shining on his blond curls, and I thought to myself that he looked like an angel. Those words would come back to me when I heard of his death.

I should've known. There aren't many things that can make multiple grown men cry. Yet, all they told us was to go to the pay phone and call Dan. So, we did. I remember thinking it was someone in their family.....their aged father perhaps. But I remember when I heard the person beside me say, “No, it can't be. Are you sure?” Then they looked at me, and suddenly I knew....it wasn't his family member. This was someone I loved. Yet, when he said the name in that horrible sentence, I didn't want to believe. Yet, somehow I felt it......inside.....where the core of all you are exists.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, a small gray Honda. I doubled over in physical pain. I felt it.....the pain....it was driving through me. I raised my head and looked out the windshield. It was dark out, late. Most people were sleeping. Yet, I noticed lights coming on. Inside lights, then porch lights. I looked around for the source of what was waking everyone. I could hear it.....it was this primal scream that sent chills down my spine. It scared me. Even after I was taken back to the house and calmed down, I still didn't realize the screams I heard were my own. That would come to me later.

Each year, right after my birthday, I start to think about Jordan. I think of him often through the year, but towards the end of November I remember. Jordan's birthday is towards the end of November. The holidays. I think of him all through Christmas. He used to lie on the living room floor with me to watch the patterns the lights made on the ceiling. Then, into January....this month. Today.....15 years.

The news reporters all called it, “the worst case of child abuse in North Carolina history”. None of us would argue that point. We saw, we knew, we had tried to save him.

She is behind bars. Two consecutive life sentences and up for parole 25 years after her conviction date. She still claims to be not guilty. Facing the feelings I felt towards her was almost the end of me. God showed me that hating someone, seeking revenge.....that only destroys the hater and not the hated. I almost lost myself learning that lesson.

There are lots of lessons to be learned. There are some lessons that should never have to be learned. Jordan's death taught us all lots of lessons that we didn't need to know. It taught us a level of grief that to date has yet to exist anywhere else in my life. I'm sure those that love Jordy would agree.

I know that no matter how I write the words that come next, that they won't be able to convey the emotion behind my pleas. I know that words can't show you the tears that I shed as I type this. I know that words can't make you feel that pain that is still there.....in the core of my very being. I know that words won't allow you to hear the longing in my voice when I beg you to please do this one thing for me....for Jordan.

If you suspect child abuse, please please please seek assistance. Do not just pick up the phone, call your local Child Protective Service office, make a report, hang up and walk away. FOLLOW UP!! Call back, make sure it was investigated, make sure that the workers know you aren't going to forget. Let your presence be made known. Is the child in school? Report it also to the school. Is the child in daycare? Report it there. Do you happen to know who the child's pediatrician is? Report it there. Is the child school age but not in school? Report it to the truancy officer. Call the police. Call and report it to everyone you can. Each person you report it to will have to document the report and possibly investigate the allegations themselves. By reporting it to multiple people, you just gave that child that many protectors! Keep a ledger documenting what you saw....dates, times, who was with the child, what the abuse/injury was and never let that original out of your site. Include the dates, times and names of the people you reported the abuse to. Make copies to give to those who need it, but hold on to that original so that you hold those dates and times. So that if something else happens to that child, there are people that can be called who are able to move quickly to help the child. So that if the child is not protected by those in charge of protecting children, then there is a record of who to hold accountable.

Between 2006-2010, the average child mortality rate due to homicide was 52. That's 52 children dying each year as a result of child abuse. Homicide. Murder.

You can make a difference. You can save a life. You can do it for any reason you want, or you can do it for Jordan. It doesn't matter to me at all what your reason is, just please.....if you suspect child abuse, do something about it.  

The Strong One

Yesterday, you introduced me as "the strong one".

You dear, you are the strong one. You are the one who has never let people forget how your beautiful son died. You are the one that held the people who contributed to his death responsible. You are the one who made sure laws were changed so that other children would be protected. You are the one who comforted me and helped me to carry on when I was crushed with the guilt, thinking something I had said could have made a difference in his life.

You are the one who now is sitting in a hospital room, watching your "better half" of 11 years slowly fade away. You are the one who still comforted me when we spoke of your son that was gone so many years ago. You are the one who is still smiling for others when inside you must be experiencing such great ache and agony. You are the one who is still clinging to God, even as you wonder if He's given you more then you can bear.

You, dear Pam, you are the strong one. I love you and I would do anything to take this away from you. (((((hugs))))))