Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Guest post by Kim

Hi ya'll ,

I truly have nothing to post about. I am just a nervous wreck, getting ready to go.
Tonight Floozie 2 and Nosey are taking me out for my last hoo rah....dinner and a movie. I shall post about that tomorrow.

So for today, here is a guest post from My friend Kim. Her blog is Pooty on the Futon.WE have known each other since we were 12 years old.

This is not a festive post...just so ya know. But it is a reminder that some people are walking around with some very big hurts.

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November 30th :Pooty on the Futon






I have been in a daze since Nov. 6, 1985...
Unable to eloquently relay my pain in any verbal manner,than to be understood.

His first word was "elgra" and he never moved his lips...we laughed and laughed at his ventriloquist act, he was only 9 months old. It was, after all his first word.
"elgra"...(sigh)

Soon after,the word "mom" was there, to the joy and inner warmth that only your child's first word can bring.

Unaware that those were all his lips would say.

I would get up in the middle of the night to change and feed him, watching him drink his bottle, he would hold it with one hand and gently caress his own forhead with the back of his other. I couldn't stop watching him, the joy mixed with awe, welling up inside of me, like helium blows up a circus balloon, stretching to the point of tight shiny color, smiling brightly against the bright blue sky...the future was wide open.
One night, I was following our middle of the night routine, but I was overcome with this "feeling", a voice shouting in my head "Leave!" "Run naked out the front door to anywhere!" "Go!!!"...I was stopped dead by this, but thought it may have been the remnants of a nightmare, and shrugged it off, not having been introduced to whom I would find out later was my "little voice".
I stayed where I was and Tye was in intensive care one week later...
His diagnose..."grave"
I read it on his clipboard, the one that was beside his bed, on a nail, on the wall.
I swear he could hear me...I would say his name, speak words of love, say nursery rhymes, all the while his heart rate would fluctuate wildly, that being the only reaction, due to the fact he was on a ventilator and his eyes were taped closed, I would apply a salve of lemon and glycerine to his tounge so it wouldnt get dry and crack, he didn't move, but his heart rate...
I
just knew he was going to come out of this and we would all be so happy and relieved, everything was going to be o.k.,
I was so naive.
First of all, who could EVER hurt an infant, especially a father of three, not in my world, no one I knew,
Accidents happen...
Don't they?

The pediatric forensic findings spoke of the contrary...
Proof in black and white, with photos to illustrate the findings,

beyond a reasonable doubt,
death by the hand of another.

Murder.

"It cant be!"
I remember thinking, my naive mentality being my enemy.

My world crashed down on me like a tsunami.
Misery, being my roommate, my bed partner, my shadow, for the next three years.

I will never have the memory of his first steps.
My family an I will never have the memory of his first birthday party...

The tooth fairy.
The first day of Kindergarten.
Having to let him go on his own for the first time, like a big boy.

Kissing his tears away and bandaging up his first "boo,boo" with a "Snoopy" bandage.

Hearing about his first crush.

Listening to his sorrows on his first broken heart, and saying those perfect words that make the pain go away.

We will never know those moments.
They were stolen.

I remember singing the old nursery rhyme "Jack and Jill", at his bedside, the realization of what that song was
really saying..."Jack fell down , and broke his crown", "and Jill came tumbling after..."

Nursery rhymes were so morbid.

They were so true.

He had a skull fracture.
"He broke his crown"

And "Jill came tumbling after..."
It took painfully long for me to accept the reality of the whole situation.
It divided me from my family,
I was unable to convey my feelings,
I was unable to comprehend my feelings,
I was in an emotional coma.

My daughter saved me in 1989, by honoring me with the privilege of being her mother.
6:36 am Mothers Day.
The clouds lifted that day...
But I sometimes find myself thinking...

Kara will never know her brother,
they will never argue, over silly things
like frogs are cooler than flowers,
or something like that.

We were robbed.

We will never know his first prom,
We will never know teaching him to drive.
We will never know his high school graduation.
I will never know the grandchildren.

I waited for it to go away, the pain.
Only to accept the fact that it will always be there, we grow everyday with the knowledge that not only the life but the LOSS of a life stays with you
forever
and how you hold it inside has everything to do with your survival,
your emotional health,

The way you view the world.

The way you handle the world.

Day in day out,

You need to be there for the ones who ARE there.

They need you for the kind words,
because they got their heart broken.
They need that word of encouragement,
because they don't look like the other girls.

Because they are unique, exquisite and individual, and your baby girl.
All grown up.

Time has slowly sped bye, but sometimes it feels like yesterday...

The man who snuffed out the light that was Tye, comes up for parole, rehabilitated (supposedly).
Once there is the ability to act out such an act as to take the life of a helpless infant what kind of "rehabilitation" is there?

We are left to live with it,
he should be left to live with it, too.
Where he is,
so no one else could fall prey
giving trust where none is due,

The hole that was left,
never healing,

some days better than others.

Growing, emotionally, every day.
The process, never ending.

Knowing that the day I die will be the day I will see him again.

I can wait, for the living need me more.
I need them more.

It's nice to be needed.

No, there is nothing more wonderful than being needed.
It's a responsibility that is givin once, and you need to do your best, because you cant go back and do it over, again and that is what they will remember, mistakes or not,
it's the effort,
it's BEING there for the living...

Sure, a part of all of us died with my son that night,
but a bigger part of us survived.

That is the "Mom" that I am today.

The "Grampa" that my Dad is today.

The "Aunt" that my sister is today.

The "Family" that WE are today.

We are all doing time.
He needs to be doing time ,too.

I wasn't trying to make you feel sad, it happens...

Sorrow is a part of life,
just don't let it consume you.

He will have killed you, too.

Thats how I get through this,

day in, day out.

Life is Good.
It's how you deal with the lows and survive.

God doesn't give you more than you can handle.

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Big hugs to my friend.(she's the blond one in the pic) I hope the bastard NEVER gets out of jail.

Love me

3 comments:

desert dirt diva said...

woo hoo i am first, and that was very sad!!!!!!that pig of a bastard should of got life for taking that babies.....have a safe trip... I AM GONNA MISS YOU...my witch bag.....

Anonymous said...

The sheer pain really comes out of the screen in this one. What a sad story. Have a good trip over, we will be anxiously awaiting your first real British Blog! G5

CRUSTYBEEF said...

what an incredible post! So true about doing time, so true.

I hope his stay is forever too!

E