For Theresa, Whereever I May Find Her

Saturday, July 14, 2012, my baby sister died due to cardiac arrest. They were able to restart her heart, hook her up to a machine that breathed for her, and kept her going. My parents, sisters, brothers...her husband and daughter clung to the hope that she would pull through as she had done three years earlier. For five days we sat in the critical care waiting room. Visiting for 15 minutes at 8:30, 12:30, 6:00, and finally 9:00. We took turns.

Her friends came and went. Her family came and went. The doctors mostly stayed away in order to avoid awkward questions.
The social worker came once to ask my mom and my sister's husband about organ and tissue donation. They both agreed that if my sister did not pull out of this nightmare, she would give the gift of living to another.

I am so very proud of my mother, and my brother in law, James. They made the decision to donate my sister's organs so that others may continue to live. Easy decision to make, right? You would think so, especially since the neuro said she was 100 percent brain dead. We sat throughout the night w/my sister while waiting for the surgery that would remove her organs and save lives. At times we were in the waiting area, at other times we were with her. The illusion of life that the machines gave made it look like she was sleeping, healing, coming back. The idea that she was going into surgery deceived my mind into thinking that she would be with us today. She finished her journey at 5:00 am Friday, June 20th, ending her life giving the "shirt off of her back." It was the hardest thing...leaving the hospital at 1:00 am. Walking out the door knowing that they were sedating her, putting her under anesthisia (spelling), and removing that which helped her live. My mind kept screaming...No...she's still alive...don't. I kept wanting to turn around and run back in...stopping them from making this mistake. I just wanted to tell her goodbye. But I kept on walking.

Love you, sis. Love you big as the sky.

Are You Kidding Me.

.

All I can say is that it's good that the Lord has blessed me with a big chest, because I seem to have loads to get off of it now.

One of the opportunities that summer provides is time...time to sleep, time to play, time to clean, so on and so forth. I've been reading the newspaper, again. This time the article was about a young, 17 year-old high school student and her not so young, 27 year old teacher. You guessed it, they had "relations." They were discovered, he was arrested, admitted to having relations with the girl, and is now in jail or out on bond.

Now the 17 year old is a slut. She's white trash. She's a tramp whore who took advantage of a man that just couldn't help it when she threw her young, teenage body at him. Girl got pissed when he broke up with her so she accused him of statutory rape. She's the one who should be thrown in jail. She's just as guilty as he is. Let's get the pitchfork, tar, and feathers. I know where we can find a big ole oak tree!

The above are the comments the newspaper allows to be posted at the bottom of the article. Would everyone in the room who has been a 17 year old girl please raise your hand? Now tell me, isn't one of the biggest compliments to your 17 year-old self is when an "older" cute guy pays you attention. I mean, what is he doing flirting with me when he can have any woman his age. I'm only 17, in school, what could he possibly want with me? That kind of attention is intoxicating. It's a drug that not only clouds your vision, but has you riding on cloud 9. So when your Prince Charming, who is 27 years old, pulls the chariot out from under you and leaves you in the gutter, you react just as you would had it been any guy who dumped you: you retaliate. This is the normal reaction of a 17 year old girl, SEVENTEEN year old TEENAGE girl. What did you expect?

And that's just basing it on the age difference. What in the world was he doing trolling for babies? He's a 27 year old man. With the female to male ratio, there are plenty enough women to go around. But I suppose he was trying to save money by staying out of the local bars and picking one out of his classroom.

Really?

I can't even being to speak about this. What a violation of trust and safety. School is rough enough as it is, especially high school. The one person you should be able to rely on keeping you safe, is your teacher. I teach, and I know first hand how vulnerable students can be, and how a teacher can be a person they look to find something normal.

I'm not proclaiming this girl pure as the driven snow, or innocent of wrong doing. However, I am saying that she reacted just as most 17 year old would have reacted. Mr. 27 year-old man, that is the price you pay when you play with children

Grow a Backbone?

This week there was an article in my local newspaper. A woman had been struck twice while running along inner state 10, just out of New Orleans. First thoughts: she must have been nuts. After reading further, eyewitnesses state that the car that the woman was in had been pulled over so that the woman's boyfriend could better beat her. Beating your girlfriend while driving can cause unsafe driving conditions, and we wouldn't want him distracted now, would we? Somehow she was able to get out of the car and escape the fists of her boyfriend. Unfortunately, she was hit by the cars she was trying to flag down.




What led her to this? How could someone be so pathetic as to find herself here? Why not just walk away? When he first started hitting, you should have walked out of that door? What could he possibly have that you needed? There are so many shelters dedicated to helping victims of abuse, why not go there?




Because there answer just isn't that simple.



Abusive boyfriends, husbands, wives, girlfriends don't start out beating the crap out of there significant other. In all truth, the beginning of many, not all, abusive relationships are heaven sent. You are their perfection, placed on a pedestal, floating on a dream of worship from this person, who in every way, shape, or form, is perfect. Life couldn't be any better.



Then there is something that happened at work, change in lifestyle, a big promotion. Still, the abuse doesnt' come in the shape of a fist. It's words. Small words like "You're lucky to have me, because no one would want your fat ass now." "I don't know why you want to hang out with those people, they are always talking about you." "God, you're so pathetic. Stop crying. Even your family can't stand having you around." "Who is going to love you like you are?" And the list goes on and on and on. It's subtle, the demoralization of your self confidence. It's like a wisp of smoke slipping through the crack of your bedroom door. Harmless...undetected while your living room blazes out of control. This stage is when you have become isolated. You have been slowly picked away at by a pirhanha nipping on this, tearing on that, until you honestly feel you have no one, no where, except the abuser.



THEN they start hitting you. Or not. Don't kid yourself into believing that emotional abuse isn't just as destructive.



I was lucky. Even though I honestly believed that my family thought I was nothing but a useless, pregnant, burden, my dad, my amazingly roaring bull of a dad, rescued me. I was lucky. Sometimes you can be pulled out of a burning building, sometimes you can run out, and sometimes you can be consumed.



Just leave him already.



Wish it could be that easy.



The woman was killed; struck by two cars she was desperately trying to flag down. The boyfriend was arrested: charged with domestic abuse and manslaughter.