In the wake of two really unhealthy relationships, I hid myself away quite well. Over the last two years, I have slowly been trying to unfold myself and air out a little bit, but have had trouble with that whole defensive walls going up as soon as someone gets close thing. Letting people see the parts of me that still may be a bit broken are scary.
Well, I let the walls down a bit very recently. And he is still around. SO, this is a start, yes?
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Some things in life that we see reflected on TV are way over-dramaticized. And some things are not.
Maybe it was the thumping of my heart or that my emotions were vascillating at an impressive speed between anger, pain, and sorrow. But the intricate dance of legalities and formal interactions between lawyer, judge, client, and witness are just as they have appeared on TV to me. The long run-on sentences full of legalese that skidded over my head without making much impact, the dramatic silence that preceeded the defendent being sworn in, and the quiet cursing as the victims family sat and listened to a defense case built on lies.
It was an odd sensation, being numb yet raw at the same time. I made it through my moms statement with a steady voice but my voice started to quiver as I began mine. I was breathing so heavily to keep myself from sobbing that I started to hyperventilate and my hands started to fall asleep. For the last little bit of my statement, I had to sit with my head on the desk, so as to be able to see straight. While my Uncle and Aunts statements focused on their anger towards this man and what they would like to see happen to him ("rot in a jail cell by yourself, just like you did to my mother you son of a bitch") my mother and I sought out answers to questions that never cease to surface in dealing with this. As this man took the stand and responded directly to our statements it became abundantly clear that we will never really get these answers from him. Outright lying about what we have and have not done, the defense's case was built solely on the absense of my grandmothers children. Not on his innocence. Luckily for my family's sanity and the mounting guilt we already feel, the judge would not entertain this line of questioning and they were left asking about the food he used to cook my grandmother because they had prepared nothing else. I will admit to a descending sense of hopelessness as they called witness after witness that said he was such a wonderful man, never did anything wrong. This kind of surprised me as I am not sure I really blame him for much.
When he took the stand he called us all his kids and I nearly vomited. He is not my family. He never was and he never acted like he really wanted to be deep down.
We were told that his medical condition warrants a light sentence and not to expect much. So we didn't. And because the whole damn town that he lives in pities him and thinks he is just the sweetest man, we also didn't expect him to be held responsible for much.
So when the judge began his closing judgement, I was floored to hear him say "Mr. Ev*****, frankly, I don't care how present the rest of Ms. Nelsons family was, that case would take hours and it is not what we are here for. What it comes down to is that you voluntarily took responsibility to care for this woman. The pictures from the night she went into the ER alone tell me that you are guilty of this crime..."
Within the closing judgement we learned of the horror of her condition like we hadn't known before. It is the first exposure to the medical examiners report and the autopsy report that we were allowed. My grandma's toenails were close to an inch long when she died. The implications of the lack of care in this one detail, as the judge pointed out, are horrendous.
A year in jail. Five years bench probation. 200 hours of community service. Thousands of dollars in restitution. In the end, we heard him being turned over to the sheriff and taken to jail.
I am still in shock. This is bouncing around in my head making me restless and irritable.
I am not sure how to let it all out and find a little peace.
Maybe it was the thumping of my heart or that my emotions were vascillating at an impressive speed between anger, pain, and sorrow. But the intricate dance of legalities and formal interactions between lawyer, judge, client, and witness are just as they have appeared on TV to me. The long run-on sentences full of legalese that skidded over my head without making much impact, the dramatic silence that preceeded the defendent being sworn in, and the quiet cursing as the victims family sat and listened to a defense case built on lies.
It was an odd sensation, being numb yet raw at the same time. I made it through my moms statement with a steady voice but my voice started to quiver as I began mine. I was breathing so heavily to keep myself from sobbing that I started to hyperventilate and my hands started to fall asleep. For the last little bit of my statement, I had to sit with my head on the desk, so as to be able to see straight. While my Uncle and Aunts statements focused on their anger towards this man and what they would like to see happen to him ("rot in a jail cell by yourself, just like you did to my mother you son of a bitch") my mother and I sought out answers to questions that never cease to surface in dealing with this. As this man took the stand and responded directly to our statements it became abundantly clear that we will never really get these answers from him. Outright lying about what we have and have not done, the defense's case was built solely on the absense of my grandmothers children. Not on his innocence. Luckily for my family's sanity and the mounting guilt we already feel, the judge would not entertain this line of questioning and they were left asking about the food he used to cook my grandmother because they had prepared nothing else. I will admit to a descending sense of hopelessness as they called witness after witness that said he was such a wonderful man, never did anything wrong. This kind of surprised me as I am not sure I really blame him for much.
When he took the stand he called us all his kids and I nearly vomited. He is not my family. He never was and he never acted like he really wanted to be deep down.
We were told that his medical condition warrants a light sentence and not to expect much. So we didn't. And because the whole damn town that he lives in pities him and thinks he is just the sweetest man, we also didn't expect him to be held responsible for much.
So when the judge began his closing judgement, I was floored to hear him say "Mr. Ev*****, frankly, I don't care how present the rest of Ms. Nelsons family was, that case would take hours and it is not what we are here for. What it comes down to is that you voluntarily took responsibility to care for this woman. The pictures from the night she went into the ER alone tell me that you are guilty of this crime..."
Within the closing judgement we learned of the horror of her condition like we hadn't known before. It is the first exposure to the medical examiners report and the autopsy report that we were allowed. My grandma's toenails were close to an inch long when she died. The implications of the lack of care in this one detail, as the judge pointed out, are horrendous.
A year in jail. Five years bench probation. 200 hours of community service. Thousands of dollars in restitution. In the end, we heard him being turned over to the sheriff and taken to jail.
I am still in shock. This is bouncing around in my head making me restless and irritable.
I am not sure how to let it all out and find a little peace.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
In about three hours I will be linked via conference call to the sentencing hearing of the man being held responsible for my grandmothers death. I have been asked to write and read a victim's impact statement. I have been struggling with what to say. How do you portray grief in words? You can't. A feeling so basic yet complicated and intense cannot be translated into words in a way which would satisfactorily represent what I am feeling. But I had to try. Below is what I think I will be reading at the hearing. You many be asking why I am posting this publicly. Because, I want people to know what happened. I have had so many conversations with people in total awe that this man could do this, while my experiences with him have not always been that way, so this is my way of respecting their opinions and honoring my own. No one has to read this. But here, I will have a record of my efforts and my journey to come to terms and be at peace with this situation.
My name is Amber Alexander and I am Joanne Nelson's granddaughter. My mother, Cindy ******, is her daughter. My Grandma Joanne is so much of who I am today. Her presence in my life, especially during my childhood, was a guiding force in my explorations and discoveries of the person I am and the person I want to be. Through her I learned skills and hobbies of hers that are now passions of my own, and her warm embrace was such a strong part of my childhood that I can still feel it surround me today. I have hardly begun the grieving process because her death has hit me incredibly hard. The circumstances of her passing are confusing and painful for me.
I do not feel that I have enough wisdom or insight to draw conclusions as to what I think should happen to whom in the wake of her death because I am still making sense of it. My emotions flare between grief, sorrow, anger, guilt, sadness and pain. And a lot of confusion and unanswered questions. I can't begin to imagine what it was like in the final weeks of her life, I can't say whether I believe everything was done to ensure my grandmother spent her final days with the best possible quality of life, because I was not there. I do not know what was happening, I do not know what was done to help her, to ease her pain, or make her comfortable. What I do know is that my grandmother died in way that must have been unimaginably painful, in a hospital room with one blessed person holding her hand. A nurse she did not know.
What I would like to come away from this whole thing with are answers. In trying to make sense of this tremendous sorrow, there are several things that keep going through my mind, bringing up more questions. The first of which surrounding the last couple times I saw my Grandma Joanne. One was in her home in the early afternoon. She was laying in bed and the whole time asking Gil if he was going to get her out of bed soon. While I know that in the wake of her stroke, one of the lasting effects was a very focused one-track mind, I still can't help but wonder how much of her days were spent like this? Was she in bed all the time? Asking to get up? Another is when she was put in a nursing home while Gil was in the hospital. By the time we were notified, she had been there three weeks, and we found out because one of Gil's sisters finally called my mother to let her know. Why did no one tell us what was going on sooner? We had offered in the past to help, only to be turned down, so we quit offering. Partly because we trusted that if help was needed, or additional care required, they would let us know.
My grandmother went into the hospital just before midnight, November 30th from what I have been told. Her condition was grave enough to warrant law enforcement notification so I know she must have been in really bad shape, yet, the first call made to us was at 8am the next morning, 8 hours after she was admitted. And about an hour after we left the house for the morning, leaving this urgent news waiting for almost the entire day until we heard it two hours before she passed away. This effectively made it impossible for us to get to her before she died, and we never got to say goodbye. That is one of the hardest parts of my grieving process. Why was there more than an 8 hour gap between the time Gil called 911 and the time he called us?
Shortly after my Grandma Joannes passing one of my other grandmothers, Ida *********, whom is my fathers mother and a retired nurse, told me that she ran into Gil in the grocery store shortly before Thanksgiving. She asked him if he had heard from me and whether I would be in town for the holidays with my daughter. Gil replied that he never heard from us. Ida asked how Joanne was doing and Gil replied that she wasn't doing well at all. At that point my Grandma Ida told Gil that she didn't think he looked well either and according to her memory he said neither of them were doing very well. At this point my Grandma Ida told Gil that they had home services that would come in and help take care of Grandma Joanne, or even just help with housework and cooking and she asked him if he had looked into any of this. My Grandma Ida does not remember Gil's exact response but she says that it was to the extent of "We will get by". She remembers saying something about him not being able to handle this on his own. This was about two or three weeks before her death. What I want to know, is if it was acknowledged that neither he nor my grandmother were doing well, why didn't he reach out? Why had he turned down offers of help? I cannot say whether reaching out and asking for help would have prevented my Grandma Joannes death, but at the very least, she would have had more people there with her when she passed. And he wouldn't have had to do it all by himself. Judging from his response to my grandma Ida's question about hearing from us, I can only assume that Gil was at the very least, bitter that we were not in better touch. I will be the first to acknowledge I did not call that often. But I think it is also important to acknowledge that communication is a two way street. There were phone calls on my part made that went unanswered, the phone just rang endlessly with no answering machine. There were several times that they had plans to come and join my mother and I for holidays yet failed to show up and failed to call to tell us they would not be coming. There were also many times that my mom would call and Gil would say that Grandma was in bed, but that he would call back when she got up, yet he never did. While I strive to be a compassionate person I am struggling with the anger I feel towards this man whom my grandmother trusted, as did my family, to care for her, who failed to reach out at times of need. One can only hear a rejection to offered help so many times before they quit offering and I fail to understand why he didn't tell us what was really going on, or how any bitterness or anger or resentment towards us would warrant not making phone calls at these times like these.
My Grandma Joanne was foundational to the person I am today. I truly feel that in order for me to honor her memory, and the impact she had on my life, and to make peace with this terrible situation, I must try to find the answers to these questions.
My name is Amber Alexander and I am Joanne Nelson's granddaughter. My mother, Cindy ******, is her daughter. My Grandma Joanne is so much of who I am today. Her presence in my life, especially during my childhood, was a guiding force in my explorations and discoveries of the person I am and the person I want to be. Through her I learned skills and hobbies of hers that are now passions of my own, and her warm embrace was such a strong part of my childhood that I can still feel it surround me today. I have hardly begun the grieving process because her death has hit me incredibly hard. The circumstances of her passing are confusing and painful for me.
I do not feel that I have enough wisdom or insight to draw conclusions as to what I think should happen to whom in the wake of her death because I am still making sense of it. My emotions flare between grief, sorrow, anger, guilt, sadness and pain. And a lot of confusion and unanswered questions. I can't begin to imagine what it was like in the final weeks of her life, I can't say whether I believe everything was done to ensure my grandmother spent her final days with the best possible quality of life, because I was not there. I do not know what was happening, I do not know what was done to help her, to ease her pain, or make her comfortable. What I do know is that my grandmother died in way that must have been unimaginably painful, in a hospital room with one blessed person holding her hand. A nurse she did not know.
What I would like to come away from this whole thing with are answers. In trying to make sense of this tremendous sorrow, there are several things that keep going through my mind, bringing up more questions. The first of which surrounding the last couple times I saw my Grandma Joanne. One was in her home in the early afternoon. She was laying in bed and the whole time asking Gil if he was going to get her out of bed soon. While I know that in the wake of her stroke, one of the lasting effects was a very focused one-track mind, I still can't help but wonder how much of her days were spent like this? Was she in bed all the time? Asking to get up? Another is when she was put in a nursing home while Gil was in the hospital. By the time we were notified, she had been there three weeks, and we found out because one of Gil's sisters finally called my mother to let her know. Why did no one tell us what was going on sooner? We had offered in the past to help, only to be turned down, so we quit offering. Partly because we trusted that if help was needed, or additional care required, they would let us know.
My grandmother went into the hospital just before midnight, November 30th from what I have been told. Her condition was grave enough to warrant law enforcement notification so I know she must have been in really bad shape, yet, the first call made to us was at 8am the next morning, 8 hours after she was admitted. And about an hour after we left the house for the morning, leaving this urgent news waiting for almost the entire day until we heard it two hours before she passed away. This effectively made it impossible for us to get to her before she died, and we never got to say goodbye. That is one of the hardest parts of my grieving process. Why was there more than an 8 hour gap between the time Gil called 911 and the time he called us?
Shortly after my Grandma Joannes passing one of my other grandmothers, Ida *********, whom is my fathers mother and a retired nurse, told me that she ran into Gil in the grocery store shortly before Thanksgiving. She asked him if he had heard from me and whether I would be in town for the holidays with my daughter. Gil replied that he never heard from us. Ida asked how Joanne was doing and Gil replied that she wasn't doing well at all. At that point my Grandma Ida told Gil that she didn't think he looked well either and according to her memory he said neither of them were doing very well. At this point my Grandma Ida told Gil that they had home services that would come in and help take care of Grandma Joanne, or even just help with housework and cooking and she asked him if he had looked into any of this. My Grandma Ida does not remember Gil's exact response but she says that it was to the extent of "We will get by". She remembers saying something about him not being able to handle this on his own. This was about two or three weeks before her death. What I want to know, is if it was acknowledged that neither he nor my grandmother were doing well, why didn't he reach out? Why had he turned down offers of help? I cannot say whether reaching out and asking for help would have prevented my Grandma Joannes death, but at the very least, she would have had more people there with her when she passed. And he wouldn't have had to do it all by himself. Judging from his response to my grandma Ida's question about hearing from us, I can only assume that Gil was at the very least, bitter that we were not in better touch. I will be the first to acknowledge I did not call that often. But I think it is also important to acknowledge that communication is a two way street. There were phone calls on my part made that went unanswered, the phone just rang endlessly with no answering machine. There were several times that they had plans to come and join my mother and I for holidays yet failed to show up and failed to call to tell us they would not be coming. There were also many times that my mom would call and Gil would say that Grandma was in bed, but that he would call back when she got up, yet he never did. While I strive to be a compassionate person I am struggling with the anger I feel towards this man whom my grandmother trusted, as did my family, to care for her, who failed to reach out at times of need. One can only hear a rejection to offered help so many times before they quit offering and I fail to understand why he didn't tell us what was really going on, or how any bitterness or anger or resentment towards us would warrant not making phone calls at these times like these.
My Grandma Joanne was foundational to the person I am today. I truly feel that in order for me to honor her memory, and the impact she had on my life, and to make peace with this terrible situation, I must try to find the answers to these questions.
Friday, May 7, 2010
With Sepia-Toned Loving
After my grandmother's death, we had to go into her house to look for insurance papers and other information for the death certificate. I remember being so absolutely numb about the whole experience until I opened a drawer of her sweaters and her scent hit me like a ton of bricks. It washed over me and into me, it blurred my vision and for a moment it felt as if I was wrapped up in her warmth and love. As the smell faded my heart was left raw, the numbness no where in sight. The next drawer I opened was full of pictures. Memories of a life recorded, with the story left untold. So many smiling faces, some of them I knew, a lot of them I didn't, and still don't. I am generally not one for obtaining a lot of possessions, but I hoarded these pictures fiercely. I snatched up all that I could, taking an armload out to my car. It felt disrespectful to be thinking about what of hers I wanted to take with her death so fresh in my mind and heart.
But I realized something. They are more than just things. They are a life line into my past and a connection to a family I wish I would have held closer. Sorting through them the other day for the first time since I brought them home, I came across one of a 6-year old Joanne, blonde curly ringlets, standing by the ocean with her mother. My daughter was staring at me through those eyes. Last night, Emily and I sat down and I showed her these brittle, black and white relics.
"See, you look so much like your Great Grandma Joanne, look at her hair!"
"And her smile! Look mom! I smile like her!"
Thumbing through these pictures and reliving moments I shared with this woman, stories that she told me, and the magic she brought to my life, I was able for the first time to hold her in my mind with love, and feel at peace with my relationship with her. I was able to remember all the joy, the wisdom, the love and start to release some of the sorrow and pain. Just a little. But it's a start, right?
"Mommy, she's so beautiful! I miss her but I don't remember her...will you tell me more about her?"
This is why I kept the pictures.
But I realized something. They are more than just things. They are a life line into my past and a connection to a family I wish I would have held closer. Sorting through them the other day for the first time since I brought them home, I came across one of a 6-year old Joanne, blonde curly ringlets, standing by the ocean with her mother. My daughter was staring at me through those eyes. Last night, Emily and I sat down and I showed her these brittle, black and white relics.
"See, you look so much like your Great Grandma Joanne, look at her hair!"
"And her smile! Look mom! I smile like her!"
Thumbing through these pictures and reliving moments I shared with this woman, stories that she told me, and the magic she brought to my life, I was able for the first time to hold her in my mind with love, and feel at peace with my relationship with her. I was able to remember all the joy, the wisdom, the love and start to release some of the sorrow and pain. Just a little. But it's a start, right?
"Mommy, she's so beautiful! I miss her but I don't remember her...will you tell me more about her?"
This is why I kept the pictures.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Canine Awesomeness
So we have this dog. And at first, he was more for my daughter, but I have to admit I have quite fallen for the little bugger. And, apparently, he is smart.
So, at my house, there isn't much privacy, and usually when it is just my daughter and I, the bathroom door never gets shut. (I know, I know, too much information for some of you, but whatever.) But having this little dog stare at you while you pee is a little unnerving. So for the first few months he was with us, I would shoo him out of the bathroom and he would slink out with a sad look on his face. (And yes, I am quite aware the easy thing to do would be to just shut the damn door.)
But now?
He still follows me on my heels to the bathroom, but he will stop at the doorway, turn his back to the bathroom and politely wait.
So, at my house, there isn't much privacy, and usually when it is just my daughter and I, the bathroom door never gets shut. (I know, I know, too much information for some of you, but whatever.) But having this little dog stare at you while you pee is a little unnerving. So for the first few months he was with us, I would shoo him out of the bathroom and he would slink out with a sad look on his face. (And yes, I am quite aware the easy thing to do would be to just shut the damn door.)
But now?
He still follows me on my heels to the bathroom, but he will stop at the doorway, turn his back to the bathroom and politely wait.
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