Diggin’ Up Bones
This post has had me on the ropes for days and days, going on a week now; I struggle each time I sit down at my laptop, and try to get words on the screen that match my memories and the void I feel in my heart. Part of the process that, literally, just pours out of me when I’m writing about Al, is my constant astonishment that I somehow managed to stay strong for all those years and survive; not just the 18 actual years we were together, but the years that followed too. From our separation in September, 2007, through the year that followed and the agonizing cache of lies, manipulations and sick games that were orchestrated regarding jurisdictional issues; his complete abandonment of our two children toward his own end for that entire year and beyond; the two cross-country road trips that I made with children and animals, as he prohibited the kids and I the use of our plane, to travel between California and Georgia, just to further weaken my resolve, and wield his compulsive need for control; concluding with two days of Mediation that were arranged at his insistence, on September 4th and 5th, 2008, and which led to a Marital Settlement Agreement; negotiated, executed, and carried away by both of us from those two days of mediation at 777 Gloucester Street in Brunswick, Georgia. From it all, I learned that we have within us an undeniable supply of resolve, tenacity and internal strength! I learned how to dig deep, hold my head high, and prove to myself, over and over again, that integrity and the truth will clear the path forward when challenged. It also became paramount for my children and myself, that my determination, even through the low points, was capable of exacting justice against…at Al’s worst, a Sociopathic Narcissist, and at his best, a gifted architect, but depraved, and controlling “outlaw.” I thought that the MSA document was going to be the key to a new, and free life; little did I know that there would be another 6+ years of crazymaking, still to come. For the next year and a half, while he refused to honor, or adhere to, our MSA, lied in depositions, hid assets, and committed more gross abuses of two different State’s Family Courts, I still didn’t have a complete picture of the lengths he was willing to go to, in order to punish, not just me, but our two children, as well. My education continued, when in February of 2010, he filed Voluntary Chapter 11 Bankruptcy, and confessed it was to prevent my collecting on our MSA. The bankruptcy case, wasn’t closed until February of 2014, and I would still face two more years, after that before our MSA would be fulfilled, and another five years, following that, which would require ongoing, legal intervention on the many occasions he chose to play “puppet master” again; refusing to, either pay our son’s college tuition, or by ignoring the other details and obligations that I had fought so ardently to obtain, and which he had agreed, and signed his name to, during those two days of mediation in September, 2008.
As tragic as it is to confess to all the heinous behaviors and dark secrets from those years, it’s also cathartic and therapeutic for me to purge the vile details of that time of my life with, and after, Al. It is also something that, finally, I’m at ease revealing, and can, unabashedly, chronicle, be it on paper, the keyboard, or verbally. All those years, and all those lawyers, combined with my own gut instinct (and a brief, but transforming real estate career) way back in 1989, and the many times I was told to document, document, and document again… turned out to be quite a gift! Al has already had some “fancy” New York attorney send me a “cease and desist letter,” regarding my “DearEasyDiaries” platform, but the cold, hard fact remains…the truth is a defense; it’s also something that I can pull up, and point to, in order to support and back up each and every statement I make, from the volumes of notes, emails, court-recorded cases, and endless communications and motions from the upwards of a dozen different lawyers, in three different states, that continues to bolster me on this journey of mine. I’ve come to believe it’s precisely that lesson of documentation which has created the temporary pause and hesitation I’m encountering, rather than aggressively moving forward, when I contemplate sitting down to tackle the subject and writing of my family of origin.
My original family at our home on Lago Lindo…6C Ranch
My years of experience with Al both prepared, and damaged, me for the journey and future that was awaiting. It’s not a proud moment, and I’m sure no one joyfully confesses to feeling damaged; nonetheless, it’s mine to own, and it’s the truth. I don’t know how anyone could endure all of those years and not have been left with a few scars; if you’ve done it, and came out on the other side unscathed, then you are a much stronger person than I, and you have, both my respect and admiration. Still, the reality of my marriage, separation, divorce, and the 8-10 subsequent years of battle after battle, combined with the memories of my own childhood, has helped me to understand that some of the remaining pain, and my hesitancy to write about that time, could be attributed to the fact that I’m unable to “document” most of the experiences of my youth, unless a photographic story holds the same authority when conveying a message? I know how I FELT growing up, but nobody ever attached a name or breathed life into what might be called a tangible description of those instances; Easy was there to comfort and encourage me, my Dad, my older sister, Viv, my Grandparents, and on occasion, my Mom, helped me to know love, but for a large majority of the time, I was left feeling like the black sheep…completely different from the rest. I wonder if that feeling of isolation, coupled with my inability to document my childhood, somehow resulted in my doubting a good bit of what I recall? Do you suppose that’s possible; or is it just some crazy, new-fangled theory I’ve invented to rationalize my avoidance of writing about my younger sisters, and keeps me from exploring and delving into the complicated dynamics of how our “family of origin engine” used to run?
“Aha moment!” Ok, yikes, I’ve got it… that’s it! Time to regroup, pause, pivot and go a new direction. Instead of reverting all the way back to my earliest memories and working forward, I’ll work in reverse and go back to the most recent experiences I had with my two younger sisters, and work backwards? The emotional unpacking will be as intense, no matter what order I choose to examine first, but this approach brings me back to what I know best, and also to what I can see in black and white…documentation! We all like to operate within our comfort zone, and even though this endeavor is pushing me far outside of mine, it feels like the only step I can take to make the next breakthrough?
Here goes…. It’s that kind of “sucker punch” you don’t see coming and literally knocks you flat; leaving you out of breath, and in a dazed state of shock. That was exactly how it happened, late morning on Wednesday, January 6th, 2016. My phone beeped its little signal, indicating a new text message was present; I was in the master bedroom of my home, just straightening up a bit and getting ready to go run some errands and grab a little lunch. Seeing the name of the sender should have been my first red flag, as it had been years (plural) since I had had any contact with my youngest sister, Lilith; even so, I was still unprepared for what came next. “Mom is in the I.C.U. at UCLA, and has been there for the past week; she’s unable to speak on the phone, but here is the name and number of the attending physician. If you want more information, I suggest you contact the doctor.” That was the extent of the entire text! I immediately called my older sister, Viv, who picked up in the middle of the first ring. Always the stronger one, with a steelier sense of self than I had ever had, or could hope to have; she obviously knew from the shakiness in my voice, why I was calling. She said she had just gotten the exact same message, and asked if I was ok? I was being very frank with her when I confessed that I felt an overwhelming wave of nausea and had had to sit on the edge of my bed to catch my breath and my balance. When I was able to speak, I just kept repeating, “why;” why was our Mother in the hospital, why the I.C.U., why were we being notified a week after the fact, and why and how had Lilith become so bitter and cold? Viv told me to take some deep breaths, and she would try to reach the doctor, and call me back. I just sat there, feeling numb and paralyzed. It couldn’t have been much time at all before PJ and Emily appeared in my doorway; it took only a second for them to both see and sense my distress, and they instantly sat down too, flanking me on both sides. Tentatively, they, almost in unison, asked me what was wrong. I’m not certain how long it was before I could answer, and relay what the text had said, telling them the news of their Grandmother’s condition, but by then we were all distraught, and just trying to, each, stay strong for one another.
After a bit of time, I tried to phone both of my younger sisters, who I guessed must be, with each of their families, at Dorothy’s house in Santa Monica, but were absolutely NOT answering my calls. Emily, PJ and I had moved out to the family room by then, and I was trying to piece together what could have happened; my guess was based on the history of the past many years, which had been shared with me by my Mom, who was privy to such details, as she had been included in most, if not all, of their holidays over the past many years. At least since 2009, when I no longer held the designation of “host home” for all holidays, I had learned that Dorothy’s home was the new main location for most gatherings. I had spent many times in that house too, many years before, but couldn’t remember the last time I had stayed overnight? I would hazard a guess that my last overnight would have been before Emily was born in 1991. Dorothy was a natural hostess, and did everything, cooking included, with the greatest of ease. She had the uncanny ability to remain absolutely unflappable…no matter the potential disruption; guests arriving early, guests arriving late, unannounced guests, or the last-minute grocery, or “Duck Blind” run, was all taken in stride. The fact remained, however, that as warm and inviting as Dorothy’s house could be, it was still only two bedrooms/two and a half baths, and as one of those rooms was her son’s, and the other, her own, that didn’t leave much room for overnight guests and extra bodies! The point to my elaborate rambling here, is that following my divorce, and the resulting falling out with my two younger sisters, most of their holidays took place at Dorothy’s, and I knew that, that meant my Mom was sleeping (for potentially a week) on a make-shift bed, crafted from one of the couches or an oversized chair and ottoman; regardless of the set-up, however….none of that seemed, to me, like safe or sane options for my Mom. At that point in my Mom’s life, she was struggling to manage a diagnosis of Congestive Heart Failure, High Blood Pressure, repetitive issues of poor circulation, recurring instances of severe Edema, the wearing of a C-Pap machine nightly, and her doctor’s “wish/demand” (depending upon who you directed the question…Mom or her doctor) requiring that Mom carry, or pull behind her, the oxygen tank that was a key part of her respiratory wellness.
All of those concerns were well documented (obviously something else I could relate to and understand), and yet I doubted that the Christmas or New Year’s holiday that probably led to Mom’s prolonged visit at Dorothy’s, resulting in hospitalization, had addressed any of those needs; it was logical to assume, that any deviation from the recommended, medical protocol could result in a dangerous prognosis for my Mom….and could have easily resulted in a hospital stay. That was where my mind kept taking me, and even when Viv called back to say she finally reached the ICU doctor and had scheduled a conference call between the doctor and the two of us first thing the next morning, I questioned whether I shouldn’t just jump in the car and head to UCLA? Viv assured me, it would be wiser to wait and hear what the doctor’s assessment was, before we jumped into action…and potentially into the “shark-infested waters” that our two younger sisters and their spouses represented. The plan was to regroup first thing in the morning, speak to the ICU physician to get a better understanding of the situation, and go from there. I had already arranged for two hotel rooms close to UCLA, for the next two days, thinking that would be the least of what might be necessary, and I wanted to be prepared. Also, because, like my Mom, I too shared a deep connection to our Catholic faith, and had already experienced a similar hospital situation a few years earlier with Mom, that, thankfully, included only a brief time in the ICU, but still worrisome enough that she had asked me to have a Priest come to see her; this time too, I went ahead and sought a solution for that, as well. I contacted one of my Mom’s favorite Priests from Old Mission Santa Ines, and enlisted his help to get someone to UCLA, as soon as possible; my quest was successful, and Father Donald, reached a Priest at St. Monica’s, the Catholic church that Mom loved near Dorothy’s house, and arranged for him to go to UCLA that very night. It was probably 7:00 that evening by the time all that occurred, but having spoken numerous times to Viv, having both my kids, and Alex (Emily’s husband) with me, and having also secured the comfort of knowing my Mom would have a Priest to pray over, and bless her, I was able to unwind at least a little. That my younger sister’s hadn’t called me back wasn’t a huge surprise at that point; by then, I had already sent both Lilith and Dorothy an email, requesting the courtesy of more information; Lilith HAD responded to that, and said she had arranged a phone conference for Viv and myself the next morning, and that the doctor would speak to us then. Viv’s call, however, was scheduled for earlier, and that was what I was focused on. I tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths, packing a small bag, going to bed early and preparing myself for what the morning might bring.
As planned, it was an early wake-up, the next morning; I fed the horses, chickens, dogs, and was ready for the 8:30 a.m. conference call that Viv had scheduled, and for whatever might follow. The physician was curt, cold and as distant as any I could remember….and by then, I had known my fair share. She summarized, and essentially revealed to Viv and me, that Mom had not been adhering to the guidelines she had been given, she wasn’t utilizing the interventive tools that were available, and had seemed to, almost, purposely ignore all medical advice and instructions given her; she went on to say that Mom’s prognosis wasn’t a matter of weeks, but maybe days, and that it appeared Mom had willfully opted to disregard all the measures that might have, at least, prolonged this inevitable outcome. The call was almost as abrupt as the doctor’s manner, and upon hanging up, I immediately called Viv back. I told her I was getting in the car right then and heading south; Emily, Alex and PJ had been present for the call, and their expressions seemed to match the storm of emotions I felt in my heart. PJ said he was going with me, and Emily and Alex said they would stay home, temporarily, to arrange extra care for the ranch over the next couple days; and be on their way as soon as that was done. Viv had said she would head up later that afternoon or the next morning; so, there it was…we had a plan. PJ and I had made it, maybe, 25 miles, but had not even reached the top of “The Pass”/Hwy 154 yet, when the beeping of a text message escaped my phone. PJ grabbed it, was silent for what felt like an eternity, but in actual, real time, probably wasn’t even a minute, before speaking, and then very calmly suggested, I pull to the side of the road. As he handed the phone to me, I expected bad news, but wasn’t quite ready for the immediacy of what was in front of me; the text from Lilith read, “Mom has passed peacefully, and there’s nothing for you to do; you aren’t welcome here!”
That is as much of this long-avoided, but all too real, truth and reality that I can possibly recount and handle for now; it’s a telling and important reminder of why I’ve done almost everything in my power to bury this truth, or at least not attempt to share it openly….. Even as a ton of bricks has been lifted from my shoulders, by speaking and giving life to that series of events, I’m forced to relive those memories, and once again, come face to face with an incomprehensibly, ugly side of humanity that lives within my family of origin. I know that I’m going to have to finish the “excavation” of this event, as well as several others, which will bring back more of the accompanying pain that I’ll feel all over again; that’s something I must, and will….do, but, only bit by bit, as I reconcile reality, against the distant images from my youth, the ones that I would so prefer to recall. God willing, that my writings are the extent of those instances, circumstances, and memories that I will ever have to encounter again!
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