Tag Archives: Murder

Trauma (My Mother was Murdered)

1992.

I might have saved her, had I listened to the warnings in my heart. (and yeah: I know that’s just not true.)

I’m going to succumb to a nap, and try and silence these voices. I’m sad, I’m frustrated, i’m angry.

Mostly, I’m sad. Mostly, I miss my Mom.
She never, ever got to see me perform magic.

She went to every performance she could when I was an actor, when I was a singer. She insisted on video tapes when she couldn’t.

She would have adored Grace and Braiden.
She would have lit up when i took her to the Castle …

Fuck … this hurts. Life isn’t fair, but my Mother always taught me to love it, anyway. And to channel that love outward.

Thank you for listening.

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Ugly Truth

There’s an ugly sentence in my head and it won’t leave me alone. I have to write it down. If it makes you mad, so be it. It’s been given to me for a reason. It’s going on the canvas.

DISCLAIMER: HEAVY, MATURE SUBJECT MATTER. Stop reading right now if easily offended. I’m not kidding.

I’ve struggled about writing this down. It’s kept me up all night, horrified at my own thoughts and yet knowing there’s a reason for what I’m about to write. Someone out there needs to read read this raw, ugly sentence.

Preface: every woman I know has been the victim of some form of misogyny, harassment, or straight up violence from men. Every. Woman. In decades past the milder (?) forms were laughed off as ‘boys will be boys’ and girls must be responsible for how they present themselves in public … and that’s a conversation I’ll happily have on another day. Today, though …

Every. Woman.
That’s terrible on the very face of itself. In my personal life I know of 4 good friends that are in abusive relationships. Some are violent, on occasion. Every single one of them makes excuses to stay with their spouse or partner. They cover up the bruises again, tell their friends and family that it can be fixed, that it won’t happen again, they will even go so far as to blame themselves. Maybe out of fear of loneliness, maybe not wanting to give up on the good things their partners are capable of. No one is ALL bad, right?

All of that for a simple sentence. One that occurred to me last night while reading about an old friend who finally got away from her abuser. You see, my mother was murdered by her abuser. He was clever enough in the execution that he got away with it. He got away with it. I’ve spent years trying to deal with that, and casting blame on myself for not doing … something. The truth was, there was nothing I could have done. I could not force her to leave. She made the choice to stay.
Every. Woman.

Here’s my horrible, ugly sentence.

My mother committed suicide; She did this by staying with her abusive husband until he eventually killed her.

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h. atred

“Now why so cut and dry?
A simple concept missed
Give tolerance a try
This confusion still exists
Ignorant mongers, no area’s gray
Couldn’t be any wronger in this age and day.

Why were we put here?
What for? We’re unsure
We sure weren’t put here to hate
Be racist, be sexist
Be bigots, be sure
We won’t stand for your hate

Let’s try to erase it, it’s time that we face it
If we don’t, then who will? Shame on us” ~ The Mighty, Mighty Bosstones

Hate. I don’t really have a place for it. I learned long ago that so much negative energy (and it takes a lot to actively hate) is very bad for my health and any relationships I strive to maintain.

A friend mentioned last night how boring hatred is. And she’s correct: there’s nothing glamorous or attractive about it. It becomes a monotonous raving with no substance, after a time. In addition to all of the negative energy, it’s uniquely self-destructive. It can literally make you sick. Do your utmost to not foster it.

Now that I’ve said that, I have a hatred I cannot shake. This hatred stems out for one individual person. I’ve tried for over twenty years to shake it, to let it wear off. I’ve tried to forgive. I’ve literally been on bruised and aching knees, pleading with the universe to allow me to forgive, and the truth is … I simply cannot.

It eats at me, friends. It colors my relationships and causes me, at times, to loathe myself. I can point to it as one of the major causes of my depression and over-introspection. It causes in me fits of anger that I choke on and hide. It’s always there, not far under the surface. Sometimes it rises up unexpectedly and distracts me from everything else.

It … does not entirely rule my life, but it certainly does influence it. I recognize its unhealthy hold on me and I swear, I’m trying to let it go.

I really shouldn’t be writing about it. It doesn’t serve any purpose other than to purge a little. I can’t see this being helpful for anyone, and possibly there are those that will use this pain against me. Go ahead, I guess. Get in line with the false rumor spreaders and haters of all ages. This is my pain and I’m leaving some of it here.

My Mother was murdered, and her killer walked away without any repercussion. Worse, he manipulated me in my grief to enable his alibi. I’ve spent over twenty years now feeling the guilt he apparently never did. I’ve learned to not hate myself, and I’ve done my best to forgive myself, but I haven’t forgiven him. He hasn’t asked for forgiveness, so I’m not really under moral obligation about that (I’ll tell you my views on forgiveness another time) but the hatred I feel towards him hasn’t abated, either. It kept me up last night, seething.

Here’s my ugliness: I wish him pain. Suffering. I would wish guilty feelings, but it seems to me that guilt is beyond his sociopathic understanding. I wish … I wish I could make him answer for his crime. If I believed in the religious afterlife, I might take some comfort in his ‘ultimate judgment’.  I don’t, however. So in my point of view … he got away with it.

I’m okay. I’m not about to do anything rash or stupid or violent. I just wish I could let this ugly, dark emotion go. It won’t bring her back. It won’t punish him. All I’m really doing is punishing myself, and now I’m doing it publicly.

Forgive me, friends. PLEASE forgive me, family. This seemed like my only option to get the rawness out. I’ll be better soon. I promise.

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Loss, Part Two

When she became a Grandma, everything in her life brightened. She was happy, joking, shining. Our relationship strengthened to a depth I hadn’t known since I was a boy. Carlaysle, and later Avalon Rose, became the focus of her joy. We talked at length about the future and what role she wanted to play in their lives.

My life found its direction in the spring of 1992. All the training I had came to fruition when I was hired to write scripts and act in plays for families at the new Heritage USA. The job paid better than moving furniture, and gave me the opportunity to pursue a career in something I love to do. Dawn was elated, and so was she. She told me that she knew this was just the beginning; the first open door.

In confidence she told me of the fear she now had of her husband. She had evidence of several affairs, and she wanted out. For whatever reason, she wanted to leave in a fashion that wouldn’t destroy his ‘ministry’. She felt that she could make plans, get away and then use the evidence she had to keep him from pursuing her. We spoke about finding a house where we could all live together, and she could help raise the girls. He had power, and money (from one of his conquests) but it was all tenuous. He was a coward at heart. If we stood up to him, he wouldn’t risk his position.

Sadly, he was far more evil than we thought.

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