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Thursday, March 31, 2011

MY SOUL BURNS RED

MY SOUL BURNS RED
September 27. 2010



" ... for dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."  Genesis 3:19



A SEASON OF MANY FEELINGS


Fall is a season of many feelings
Autumn is here once again
As it comes every year.
And with the leaves
My falling tears.


This time of year is the hardest of all
My heart is still breaking.
Once again it is fall.
Memories once so vivid
Are seeming to fade.
My time spent with you
Seems some other age.
This season reminds me
Of grief and pain,
But yet teaches hope
And of joy once again.


For the trees are still living
Beneath their gray bark,
And you, my sweet child
Are alive in my heart!


Taken from the Fall issue of the
Suicide Loss Support Group


Monday, March 28, 2011

CHILD ABUSE - A Personal Story


CHILD ABUSE - A Personal Story


Today I am going off task to talk about an issue that is near, but not dear, to my heart.  I am including a drawing and a poem that is part autobiographical and part fiction.  I was that little girl that stood by the fence and wept.  Standing alone.  Wanting desperately to play.  To run and scream with glee.  To be free.  Wanting to be part of the group.  Wanting to be like everyone else.  So, so alone and lonely.  All of that is true and is burned indelibly into my memory.  While I am still unwilling to discuss the abuse, I will say that it was not until I became a mother that I was finally able to break through the barrier of silence that allowed me to discuss emotions and feelings.  It was important to me that my children be able to openly talk about what was happening in their lives and how they felt about it.  But it was not easy for me.  I fought hard and had to overcome incredible emotional obstacles to be able to make myself open up.  Abuse, even physical abuse, is not always visible to the eye.  Abusers are clever about hiding the evidence of their crimes.


My father abandoned my mother, my two brothers, and myself when us children were very little.  My youngest brother was still a baby and I was a year and a half.  My oldest brother was three or four.  My mother had to work to support us and had a long, long commute each day to and from Washington D.C.  She hired a live-in babysitter and housekeeper who we called "Aunt Mary".  She was my abuser and my nightmare.  She robbed me of my innocence, my personality, and my ability to trust.


Many, many years later I was finally able to tell my mother what had happened.  She ask why I never told her.  When I told her that Aunt Mary had convinced me that terrible things would happen to all of us if she was exposed and sent away, my sweet mother couldn't understand or accept why I would believe that.  She couldn't, and still doesn't, understand how I could believe it when I was told that we would all starve to death if I told.  I was a small child.  Small children believe what they are told.  Especially when told the same thing repeatedly.  Part of it, in my opinion, is because she loves each of us so much that she can't accept that she was not able to protect me from unbelievable physical and sexual abuse.


I am sharing this because it is important to be able to recognize the symptoms of abuse since it is not always visible.  I have known children that acted out even when they knew that punishment was sure to follow.  Then there are the children like me that withdraw from life.  The invisible children.


Little Girl Alone

written by Linda DuBos

November 24, 2010


In a barren, colorless world

Little girl stands by the fence and weeps.

She never looks up, she only stares down.

Why try? they ask.  She will never speak.

Never say why tears roll down her cheeks.


Little girl stands alone by the fence and weeps.


Desiring invisibility

She likes sitting in solitude at her desk.

Inside its warm, safe, and she can rest.

Teacher asks a question, then calls her name.

No! No!  I won't answer.  Its always the same.


Little girl stands alone by the fence and weeps.


Not me.  Can't you see I don't exist.

"You know this one.  Why don't you try?"

Little girl squeezes tight her weeping eyes,

Rocking, shaking, a puddle forms on her seat.

Eyes looking.  Head pounding.  Knees grow weak.


Little girl stands alone by the fence and weeps.


"It's okay little one.  It's okay.  Maybe some other day."

Teacher looks down, sighs, and quickly leads her away.

The voice in the little girl's head screams "Never tell,

Never speak.  Your voice brings pain. You know this well."


Little girl stands alone by the fence and weeps.


"We must get you out of these wet clothes."

Teacher starts to lift the hem of her dress.

Little girl pushes away, holding it down tight,

and backs away.  "Don't be scared.  It's alright."


Gentle hands lift up and pull it over her head.

Shivering, she wishes she were home in bed.

Teacher gasps!  Little girl looks quickly down

I will not tell.  I must only stare at the ground.


Teacher whispers in her ear.  Shhhh. Don't cry

Your secret is safe with me.  She let out a sigh.

I know well what happens to little girls that tell.

This will stop. No one is going to make your life hell.


The little girl looked at Teacher and smiled.


Little girl had to go home after school that day

Teacher promised everything was going to be okay.

Next day the bus arrived but little girl wasn't inside.

Where is she?  I shouldn't have let her go Teacher cried.


Momma says when she got home she wasn't there

She's my little girl.  I love her. I want her home. I swear.

Police ask questions.  Momma shakes her head and cries.

The nanny stands back and looks on with cold black eyes.


The invisible child has disappeared.

The moon still shines.  The sun still rises and sets.

Life goes on. But she is gone. And she was only five.

In time people stop looking.  They stop asking "why".

But teacher knows.  She saw nanny's cold black eyes.


No one will listen.  They say stop wasting our time

The girl is gone.  And you have no proof of a crime.

She cried, she pleaded. Stop her before another child dies.

"Nanny didn't, wouldn't.  You must stop spreading lies."


Defeated, Teacher stands alone by the fence and weeps.



A physical death does not have to occur.  A tiny broken body does not need to be found.  Emotional death is as deadly as a physical death.  Child abuse and neglect is a crime.  Please do your part to stop it.


For more information on recognizing and preventing child abuse and neglect, please go to the link shown.  Thank you.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

STARRY NIGHT

STARRY NIGHT
September 24, 2010


Today I went online seeking something that would touch my heart and help ease me through this depression that I now find myself in. First I went to famous quotes or poems on the loss of a child and found nothing there that connected with the distinct feelings I was having right now. Most grief writings do not address the unique feelings a mother or father experience on a death by suicide.

After much searching I found these three quotes that seem to address my immediate needs and touched both my intellect and my heart:





"It has been said 'time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and pain lessens. But it is never gone. --Rose Kennedy--











"Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy." ---Author Unknown---










This last quote is from "Raisin in the Sun" a novel written by Lorraine Hansberry (1930-1965). She was the first African American woman to have a play on Broadway. After this success, Ms. Hansberry wrote several other works, but died of cancer at age 34. The play "To be Young, Gifted, and Black" is based on her life.






"There is always something left to love. And if you ain't learned that, you ain't learned nothing. Have you cried for that boy today? I don't mean for yourself and for the family 'cause we lost the money. I mean for him; what he's been through and what it done to him. Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most; when they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well then you ain't through learning --- because that ain't the time at all. It's when he's at his lowest and can't believe in hisself 'cause the world done whipped him so. When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right child, measure him right. Make sure you done taken into account what hills and valleys he come through before he got to whatever he is."


How absolutely perfect is that? Bless you Lorraine Hansberry.

Friday, March 18, 2011

THE SUM TOTAL

THE SUM TOTAL
September 15, 2010



I am always misplacing things. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I have so many projects in progress at the same time that I just set things aside and then forget where I put them. Or maybe it's just because my memory is failing as I get older. Some things I carefully put in a "safe place" but then can't remember where that logical "safe place" is. Who knows. I just absentmindedly misplace things.

Today I was searching for a very important paper .... surprise! I couldn't find it no matter how many "safe places" I checked. While searching in my sewing/craft/art studio, I picked up an envelope off a shelf. A six by nine inch manilla envelope. On that six by nine inch manilla envelope was written "Jorgensen 0007-10". It was the envelope that had been given to us by the Mason County Sheriff's Office on January 18, 2010.

In the six by nine inch manilla envelope was a white Bic cigarette lighter, 4 quarters, 3 dimes, 1 nickel, and 3 pennies. Your wallet had been removed upon receipt of the envelope.

I removed the contents for the first time and held them in my hand. These were the items in your pocket. Possessions once made warm by the heat of your body. Items removed from your pockets by the same officers that drove away that day when I so desperately needed them to intervene and help me when you had taken all those pills. Those same officers that laughed the second time I called them and told them you were going to commit suicide and I needed their help. And again they drove away. Uncaring hearts, uncaring hands. Hands just doing their job. But to me these things are precious.

The cigarette lighter, 4 quarters, 3 dimes, 1 nickel, and 3 pennies are cold now. I held them in my warm hand. A great wave of sadness swept over me. To those hands just doing their job these few items were the sum total of my son's life at the moment of his death. It is hard for me to think about those hands removing these precious items from his pocket. Removing a wallet, a white Bic cigarette lighter, 4 quarters, 3 dimes, 1 nickel, and 3 pennies and placing them in a six by nine inch manilla envelope on which they had written "Jorgensen 0007-10".

Monday, March 14, 2011

FRAGILELY HELD TOGETHER

FRAGILELY HELD TOGETHER


Day after day passes. Month after month. And each day I think I should be getting better and little by very little I suppose I am - even if it doesn't feel like it most of the time. I hold on tight to the hope that eventually I will look back and see just how far I've come on this journey. But on this day, right now at this precise moment my heart is fragilely held together and prevented from exploding into a million pieces by sweet memories of past joys. And I dream and hope that all our tomorrows will be filled with healing thoughts and peaceful moments.

Monday, March 7, 2011

TIME IS A JEWEL

TIME IS A JEWEL






I discovered a version of this clock, created by Kim Rae Nuggent, in a Stampington publication and immediately connected with the sentiment.  It seems that "time" is the central theme in my life - time to mourn, time to heal.  My clock may be moving slowly but no matter how slowly it moves, it is still moving.  And sometimes time creeps up on me.  I don't see it coming and suddenly another month has passed since the passing of my baby, my boy,  my son, my sweet child.  How can so many months have passed when it only seems like last week that I lost him?  But time is a jewel without replacement because it is only when there is no more time to be had that we truly realize just how valuable it is.  It stands to reason then that the cliche "we should live each day as though it were our last" really does have a lot of merit.  But how do we live each day as though it were our child's last?