A year ago today Grandma Joanne was in the hospital. In about 15 hours, it will have been a year since she died with no one but a nurse holding her hand. (I still don't know who that nurse was, but someday, I would like to tell him how wonderful I think he is for staying with her.) I thought that by now, I would have dealt with more of this. There are times when I feel like I have, but there are also times where it hits me out of no where, like a heavy weight on my chest. Thanksgiving was hard. A year ago on Thanksgiving I was blocks away from her. No one answered the phone when I called so I gave up. I should have gone over there. I should have been there. I should have asked my mom how else to get a hold of her live-in partner/caretaker. But I didn't. I tried once and I gave up. At least she wouldn't have been so alone if I had done something more.

The man held responsible just got out of jail and is playing games on facebook. Why this is sticking in my head, I couldn't tell you. What else he is doing, I don't know. But knowing he is out is enough to keep me thinking twice about visiting the rest of my family over there. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him because I am more angry than I even realize and am afraid of what I would say or do. I don't want to see him because I am afraid of him and what he would say or do. I don't want to go because I am tired of hearing other people's opinions of him, of my grandmother, of the whole situation. I don't put all the blame on him entirely, I feel he is responsible for most of it, but not all. And I try to give respect and the benefit of the doubt. I have to believe that it is possible for good to exist in bad situations. But this by no means makes it ok for people to tell me what a wonderful person he is and how he could not have played any part in her death. It's still too raw.

I miss her.

hurdles of awesome

I am my largest obstacle.

Seriously. I am. My fear of my past becomes fear of my present and anxiety over my future. I create scenarios in my head that just make those walls I build around myself even higher. I have spent a lot of time that last two weeks examining these bits of myself, as I got to the point where I completely unmotivated myself into paralyzation. Ugh. What an awful feeling. I know that part of it came from dealing with residual stress from the sentencing hearing, but I was using that as an excuse. I quit doing all school work and prepping my business for the opening this month. The wonderful person that recently came into my life suddenly scared to hell out of me and I started pushing away and pretending that I didn't care as much as I thought I did.

Until I had this perfect moment of clarity. I was laying in the park, staring up at the trees, and I suddenly just KNEW how awesome my life could be if I would just let all that anxiety go. So I started to. I would like to say "SO I DID!" but its a process that is longer and more involved than that.

I am ready for what is coming my way! I open for business this month! I am enjoying the people in my life! I am acknowledging my fear but not making decisions based on it. BRING IT!

Oh! And visit my website! www.gracefulexistence.com

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.

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.

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.

Wading through It

There is a quiet and fierce storm raging inside of me so I am going to do what I tell my daughter to do when she is rendered speechless due to her emotions: I am going to use my words as best I can.

Lilacs are blooming all over town, each one serving as a reminder of my Grandma Joanne who passed away this last December. I have known all along that I was not done grieving, I don't know that I ever will, her absence has hit me hard. This woman was foundational in the development of who I am and what I value in life. She had a gigantic lilac bush in her side yard that my cousin Stephen and I used to use as a fort. The smell permeates the good memories from my childhood and reminds me of her embrace. Her musical voice. Her chocolate kisses.

I have not talked about her death much because it has been so painful to process. And because I feel guilty for not being there more. But I think I need to let it out, it's eating me inside. She died of sepsis (systemic blood infection) that was caused by bed sores on her back that were not taken care of. As someone who used to be a caregiver, it kills me to know who painful those are, and how slow and painful a way to die it is. At the time of her death, this woman who in life averaged 150 pounds weighed 88 pounds. Her medical records indicated that contrary to what her partner/caregiver had been telling us, she had not been to a doctor in three years. Senior and Disabled Services had tried to investigate but due to manipulation, they never made it through the front door. She entered the hospital around midnight on November 30th, hardly conscious and the infection was so bad that she couldn't speak, and could barely breathe on her own. She was gone within 12 hours. Her caregiver didn't tell them how to get a hold of us. He was barred from the room because when he entered, her heart rate and respitory rate would go through the roof. She died in a hospital room, with an off-duty nurse holding her hand because he didn't want her to die alone. We listened over the phone as the monitor flat-lined, never even being able to mutter a good-bye through the phone. The signs of malnourishment and mistreatment were so severe that her caregiver was charged on the spot. At a time when we should have been able to just sit and grieve we were dealing with police detectives and autopsy reports. When we were finally able to see her after her death, it didn't look like her. The harsh, sad face of the body in front of us was not the tender, warm, loving grandmother of my childhood. Her body was bruised from IV's that tried to save her and an autopsy that tried to answer questions. Her arthritic hands and feet were balled up. She was cold.

Last week the DA submitted a plea bargain for us to give input on before they offer it to the man that was someone she trusted, someone who was supposed to be taking care of her. While I am still trying to answer questions of my own about what I should have/could have done, and whether I feel he did this consciously, I am being asked to determine whether I think this judgement is a fair exchange for what he has done. I haven't even decided what it is I think he did do. But reading the plea bargain all my grief resurfaces and I am feeling a quiet rage inside of me for this man, who had everyone convinced we never offered help, that no one ever called to check in on him and my grandmother. He had my uncle convinced we had been out of contact so long that he didn't even know how to get a hold of us. And us the same about my uncle. He took out at least 10 credit cards in my paralyzed grandmothers name and wracked up over $30,000 of debt.

What I do know is this:
Court ordered letters of apologies and restitution in situations like this just feel really offensive. None of it will change the circumstances of her death. None of it will bring her back. It doesn't change anything, and it's not genuine. And what is money going to do? All the money he had, he stole from her. Two years of probation and 200 hours of community service in exchange for being responsible for taking someones life? Also offensive.

After spending so long trying to have compassion for someone who I would like to believe was doing the best he could, this rage is surprising and a little overwhelming. While on the one hand I would like to speak with him, hear his side, and understand and feel at least compassion for him, there is this greater part of me that wants answers. Why didn't he reach out for help? Why did he lie to us about so many things concerning her health and her care? And then there is the hurt granddaughter that just wants to yell "I WANT MY GRANDMA BACK YOU ASSHOLE!"

The Grandma Jo memoirs. take 1.

My Grandma Joanne was a remarkable woman. She never learned how to swim, and never left the country, but she was smarter than most people I know. When I was little she taught me the magic of growing things in the ground to sustain us. She would dig the holes, in rows of tilled soil, and I would drop the seeds in. Together we would cover this little spark of life and water it. Within the weeks that would pass, waiting for something to grow, she would teach me about flowers, let me walk the dog, and bake me cookies or make me milkshakes. When the corn stalks were tall enough to tower over both of our heads (she was a relatively short woman), we would run up and down the rows of the green silk stalks, laughing. I can hear her whimsical voice, "Come find meeeee" as she disappeared around the corner of a row.

She taught me how to write my name, how to crack the eggs into the batter, and the proper way to cuddle up on the couch. She would embrace me, surround me, and hold me in what I remember as her M&M blanket. A crocheted blanket that was the color of M&M's, her favorite candy. We would lay there and watch National Geographic shows or the Discovery channel. She used to grow pumpkins every year. And when they were still green she would take me and my cousins out there and carve each of our names in one. Our very own pumpkin.

My grandma had a very comforting smell. Clinique moisturizer, sunshine, baking, and love. When I was at her house shortly after her death, I opened a drawer of her sweaters and I could smell her. It was as if she were right there with me. Holding me one last time. I wish I had taken the time to hold her, at least one more time before she left. To tell her I love her. To tell her how very much she meant to me, how foundational she is to who I am and what I hold dear in this life. Her patience was unmatched. Her guidance and nurturing are some of the warmest memories I have. Her presence was a comfort to me.

I felt her here tonight. I could smell her. Standing behind me like she used to when I was waist high, with her arm around me so that I could lean back into her. I used to love being that close to her. So close that I could feel her chuckle. So close that her love would wrap me up and keep me safe and warm.

How could anyone ever tell you...

There are always people in your life that you may not be close enough to call at random just to see how they are, or that you even communicate with at all on a regular basis, yet you still consider them to be friends. I had the privilege of attending a C*UUYAN ConCentric business meeting in the summer of 2007 where I met several people like this. Beautiful people. Some that I haven't talked to since then, one of which I never will. Katie was a generous, warm, friendly, musical spirit. Upon meeting her she hugged me with a wonderful smile upon her face and a warm and genuine "So glad to meet you". She was there as I eased my way into an overwhelming experience with comforting words or a hug in passing. And she had the most beautiful voice.

Katie was on her way home from GA a few weeks ago when a on-coming car crossed into her lane and struck her head on. She did not make it. It's always a shock when someone makes a sudden departure like this, even if you didn't know them very well. I would like to think that she did not suffer long, and that she has moved on to do bigger and better things with her amazing spirit. She touched so many people during her time here that I can't believe that she would be doing anything else.

I will remember her with her smiling eyes as she sang a song that so many remember her for...
How could anyone ever tell you
You were anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you
You were less than whole?
How could anyone fail to notice
that your loving is a miracle,
How deeply your connected to my soul...

Rest in Peace.

Ooooh life.

Lately, I feel a little squished by it all. My attempts at escape or vacation have rendered me more stressed out than when I embarked, which is incredibly frustrating. Em has the chicken pox and until they popped up and were diagnosed I was at a loss as to why she was so out of sorts and emotional, which set me off and mixed with my mothers concern made for such a tense atmosphere the dog was suffering.

Death and serious illness has been everywhere I turn lately. In addition to all the celebrity death I see a lot of people distraught over, a friend was killed in a car crash, there have been several cancer diagnosis or suspicions, and so much more.

Taking four classes online, which I maintain was still a good idea because going to class would just suck ass, bring an incredible reading load that I am keeping up with but I am getting a little tired of it all.

But today, I am letting it all go for awhile. I am going to drink tea, listen to Nat King Cole and remember how to breathe, I am going to play with my sick kiddo. I am going get my car looked at so I can get it fixed and take her out to the woods. I am not going to worry about the dishes, the laundry or any other chores that just have to be done. I am going to take a nap, make popcorn and watch a movie. Unless I don't feel like it, then I won't. I am just letting it all go today.

swallowed by my brain

This term is going to be a big one. It is the end of the first week and I have an overwhelming amount of work to do. But it is all fun, and I am hoping it stays that way. My anatomy class gets major points from opening the term with a brain dissection which was a trip and a half. But very cool. And my global health class is going to be stretching me to think outside of my privileged white person box, which is always an exciting, albeit uncomfortable at times, experience.

The other thing life has been full of lately is a selective process of letting people in, and it's really nice. I am really beginning to realize the depth of trauma I walked away from when I left my childs father. Not just from the relationship, but from becoming a mother, and the changes that brought to me and my life as well. I have said this quite often, that she saved my life, and she really did. Being a mom has forced me to examine my relationship with myself intensely the last few years, and to learn all over who I am, and what kind of life I would like to lead. These things have led to a lot of distance between a lot of friends and myself. The process of letting go is never an easy one, but with the perspective I have gained, it is a little easier to be at peace with the decisions some people make. When I shifted my priorities in life to my child, I think a lot of people in my life took it as a statement of disapproval of their lifestyle because there are just situations I will not bring my daughter into. (When all you do is have party after party, you generally won't see your friends that are single parents, especially if said parents feel that exposing children to excessive drinking, drug use and adult situations is inappropriate. Logic, who knew, right?)

Lately, in my reflecting I have let go of the hurt that came with realization that some of my friends were not comfortable being close to someone with a child, someone who no longer drank, someone who was at a different stage in life. I am also learning to let go of the guilt I feel for intentionally putting mental, emotional and physical space between myself and people whom I used to consider dear friends, but that now, don't feel like healthy precenses in life. It took me a long time to get to this place. Especially when above mention unhealthy presences tried to hold on to an Amber that was no longer there. I have done a lot of changing and growing in the last five years since becoming a mom. I am happy with the person I am now, and secure with the continuing process that life is. I look forward to seeing where I continue to change and learn and grow. And I relish the fact that I have finally reached a point where the presence of other people is something I genuinely want, and seek out. And that there are filters in place to be respectful enough of myself to not get close to just anyone there, but to people that really do add something positive.

Ok, enough with the touching emo moment. The other cool thing about right now? A really cute, nervous boy kissed me the other night.

Letting go? Now why would I want to do a silly thing like that?

Ok people. My baby is no longer a baby. Well, she hasn't been for quite some time but arg! I spent the day scoping potential schools that will have a large hand in shaping my childs enthusiasm (and hopefully not a lack thereof) of learning for the nexts six years of her life. Oh gee, no pressure.

What ever happened to childhood? Maybe it is me, but when I read on one schools website that kindergarteners only get two twenty minute recess's I was automatically turned off. As someone who used to work in child development with the age group just younger than kindergarten, I would rather eat a brick of salt than expect to only give the little darlings twenty minutes to run around and play before expecting them to come in, settle down, and pay attention. Has it always been this way? I feel old when I start the next part of this sentence, but back in my day, recess was so much more than that!

Anyhow, that school had no music program, a crappy library and a poor excuse for an art curriculum. One thing I noticed though, that makes me truly sad, is that all the good schools are in the upper middle class to rich neighborhoods. And by good schools I mean strong community aspect, strong music/art, lots of awesome extracurricular, an emphasis on the joy of learning and how each individual child will find that differently, and other awesome things such as gardening, composting, field trips and community service. I have always known the disproportions (is that a word? it is now...) existed, but I never really took the time to examine them. Or, as much as I hate to admit this, maybe I wasn't looking that hard before becuase it didn't affect me or my family? So what are the familes that aren't in the "right" neighborhoods supposed to do? I mean, I lucked out in that I have friends who live in the areas I need an address in and are willing to help me cheat the system, but not everyone does or can do that. Are they just supposed to accept a mediocre education for their children that will continue to have lasting affects on the way they learn, the way they view themselves and school? That's bullshit. But how does one equal it out?

This quiet rage that has sprung up about this has been a distraction from the fact that more than ever before I am realizing how fast children grow up and battling the urge to just squeeze her. I never anticipated just how difficult I would find it to share the responsibility of her education with other people. There was a time when unschooling or homeschooling sounded so awesome and pleasant until I tried that whole stay at home mom thing. (I would like to think it would have turned out differently with a more supportive and stable spouse.) And I think there is incredible value in the lessons that happen in a public school outside the lesson plan. But Oy. Letting go, who knew, right?