Has this here blog been bumming you out lately? Yeah? Well me too, dang-it.

So here… Have some cuteness, it’ll perk you up:

There. Feel better? Now don’t go sayin’ I never did anything for you.

… That is the question. 

I’m not ready for flu season, are you? I can never decide whether to get the flu shot or not. Seems I don’t exactly trust what it is they put into those shots, and history has had it that I get the flu on the years I take the shot anyways. So why bother? They say your symptoms may be lessened when you have the shot, because you may still get a different strain. I think the flu shot is just another way for those pharmaceutical companies to make some dough, personally. You know, we Americans are always playing into that fear factor.

I did just read an article by Dr. Weil. He said, “Keep in mind that influenza is not just a bad cold. It means a few days of misery with aching, chills and fever. Worse, the flu can lead to pneumonia, which can be deadly. Each year, more than 100,000 people are hospitalized and 20,000 die as a result of the flu and its complications.”

Yeah, the fear factor. You better hurry! Go get your shot! How about that bird flu scare that made billions of dollars for the pharm companies? What ever happened to that money? Someone please direct me to the research that those billions went towards. Oh, wait… I forgot. It didn’t go towards any reasearch, it did go towards Rumsfeld’s retirement. Oops.

Sometimes the world bothers me. I think I’ll just take a nice tall order of the flu, please.

Helen Gibbs, me, and Susan Haire about a year before their deaths…

Part 2

You never imagine the mistakes you made during your life having such an impact on finding justice and peace after your death.

Mom was like most of us, she suffered from bouts of depression here and there. But Susan was a very passionate and intense person, and so were her “bouts”. When she met my sister’s father, Kimm, I was 10 years old. He wasn’t very kind and had problems with drugs. He learned quickly how to get a rise out of mom, and constantly put her into emotional situations where she would “react”. They were completely wrong for one another.

I remember them fighting. Nearly every evening there was yelling, and mom cried so, so much. She would usually end their passionate fighting by doing something completely insane, for attention of course. During one of their fights, mom decided to threaten to kill herself by jumping off of the balcony of our second story apartment. I remember watching her, and feeling so sorry for her. Surely she knew the worst that would happen is that the police would come, talk her down, and she’d wake in the morning with a broken ego and neighbors who thought she was crazy. The police did come, the neighbors did watch in awe, and we received an eviction notice within the next few days.

On Valentine’s Day of 1986, mom and Kim were fighting over one thing or another, and mom choked down a bottle of narcotic painkillers. Long story short, mom was institutionalized for awhile and I was raised by my maternal grandmother. Living with my grandmother those last few months of 4th grade offered me the most stability I had ever known. Healthy meals, homework help, a good school, and a bath before bed. I don’t remember being comfortable with that stability at first. I wasn’t used to having someone remind me to brush my teeth and wash my face before breakfast. I had known the chaos of my mother’s home for so long, it took almost the entire time I lived with my grandmother to get used to having someone around who paid attention and wanted what was best for me.

Mom was released from the hospital after a few months, and I immediately went home to her. She and Kimm were together again by the time I moved back in. Mom got pregnant with my sister around this same time.

When mom was about 6 months pregnant, we went to the beach for the day. We spent most of her days off of work at the beach. We were basking in the sun, laughing, and enjoying a picnic. Kimm was at work, and I enjoyed having her all to myself. I got up to go play in the water and as I was running, my eyes skimmed the beach looking for potential playmates. My eyes fixed on a family playing in the distance. There was a pregnant woman with a toddler stretched across their beach towels, and a man who looked like Kimm. I ran back to my mom and told her I thought I saw him. She stood up, poking her pregnant belly out while stretching to see. She agreed that he looked like Kimm.

“Go see, Steph. Go see if he’s here,” shes said so excitedly with a huge smile on her face.

I ran closer and as I approached, I realized the man was leaning in to kiss the pregnant woman. I got just close enough to see that it was Kimm and hurried back to mom to comfort her. I knew she must have seen. Her heart was broken before I even got back to our spot. She stood there, tears welling in her eyes, and a hand on her belly.

I spent the last years of her life comforting and loving her through that broken heart. Kimm had two pregnant girlfriends, Mom and this other woman, and a toddler with her. He chose his other family. I was saddened that mom was surpised when he did choose them, or that she even gave him the option of choosing her. That was the last we saw of him.

Mom gave birth to my sweet sister, Candace, a few days before my 11th birthday. I’m so grateful for Mom’s gift to me, in the form of a sister, before she left.

Candace wasn’t even 2 years old when mom passed. She doesn’t remember mom. She doesn’t know what mom’s laughter sounded like. She will never know how wonderful mom smelled, how comforting her hugs were, how delicious her brocolli casserole tasted, or how absolutely lovable she was. I’m sad for Candace sometimes, when I realize the only stories she knows of mom are the ones we have told her. But she’ll never have to miss mom the way I have. It was a blessing to have loved mom, but losing her the way I lost her is something I’m glad Candace will never know.

What bothers me the most about the years I was blessed with loving Susan, is that so few loved her back. It makes me sad to think about all of the people who walked into her life, and right back out. It’s no wonder she was so sad. A person shouldn’t go an entire lifetime needing love, and despite the generosity she gave through her love, never getting any back. I so often wished that she would be content with me and the enormous, endless adoration I had for her. But, everyone wants a partner in life, she felt so lonely for a companion. That kind of love is so important for the soul too. And I’m so sorry that she never was able to feel the closeness and connection of a loyal and loving partner. One who nurtured her as much as she nurtured others. I find some comfort in knowing that she knows how happy I am, and that maybe she lives a little bit of love through me.

Her suicide attempts played a huge role in the “innocent” finding of the jurors after his trial. More to come…

Part One

“Sometimes I can hear her crying, it wakes me from my slumber. I wake Jeremy up to hear the sounds. He sits up in bed, hears nothing. ‘Go back to sleep, Steph. You’re dreaming.’

But I’m not dreaming. She visits. I don’t know why she comes in mom’s stead. But she does. Sometimes I hear her cries. Other times I see her shadow walking through the house. She’ll pause to look in on me, while the others are sleeping, and then carries on down the hallway. I used to be uncomfortable with this. But she’s harmless, and one day maybe I’ll know why she’s here…”

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So much was left undone when mom died. There was so little time for healing and closure. We were suddenly thrusted into the different realm, I can’t explain it. But if you’ve ever dealt with murder, you probably understand what I mean.

The adults didn’t censor anything. Now that I am adult, I know there are just some things that children shouldn’t see, hear, or understand.

Before I tell you this story, I want you to have some history. Through a child’s eyes, because that was what I was when life changed forever for me…

Helen was my mom’s bestfriend for years, having met in nursing school when I was a toddler. Helen had a little boy, Greg, who was my age and a husband, James, who she married after Greg’s birth. I always knew James wasn’t Greg’s father, but Greg didn’t know that. It might have been apparent to most adults, as Greg had all of the beautiful physical features of his Cherokee Native American ancestry on his mother’s side, but none of the white characteristics of his “father”, James. Helen and James eventually had 2 children together, Allison and Darryl.

Helen and James had marital problems. Though not the normal strife and struggles a marriage sees. Right before the end, James found out about an extramarital affair Helen had been having for many years. In fact, the affair had gone on for more than half of their marriage. Helen was sleeping with a doctor she worked with at the hospital for some 7 years or so, and somehow James found out. He didn’t handle the news well.

My memories of James were never positive ones. He scared me. He was very strong, and had a scary and intimidating look about him. He was very stern and hateful, to everyone. I don’t remember him ever being nice to me, and I don’t remember ever being comfortable in his presence.

Helen woke one night, just after James found out abou tthe affair, with what she described as “the stinging feeling of a needle.” She immediately thought James was injecting her with something. She went into fight or flight, and found that James was holding a stun gun in his hand. He was holding her down, shocking her all over her body. Normally a stun gun would do just that– stun a person into being unable to move. However, James had used old batteries out of his son’s toy to use in the stun gun. The gun was burning her and bruising her as she fought to get away. She screamed for help. She hoped that her son, Greg, would hear and go for help. Her cries were unanswered. She fought her way to the bathroom, kicking and screaming. James was relentless, and kept hitting her and burning her with the stun gun. She kicked the toilet off of the floor trying to fight James off of her. She knew she was going to die.

He didn’t kill her. He left her swollen, burned, and bruised all over her body. She took the next day off of work to see her attorney, Mr. Barry, who took pictures and documented the whole incident. She also went to her doctor, where they took more pictures. She was afraid for her life. She didn’t leave him because she knew he’d try to take the kids from her. He had promised that he would if she tried to go. She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to work things out with him. I’m pretty sure she had loathed him for many years, way before this night that he left her bruised and battered.

She told mom that if he ever killed her, that she would make sure to get his skin under her nails for evidence. She wanted my mom to know that, so that he wouldn’t get away with it. I’m sure Helen didn’t know my mom was going to die with her.

When my mom’s and Helen’s bodies were exhumed for the second autopsy, they took the DNA samples from under their nails. James’ DNA was found under both women’s nails. Only in 1989 would the courts let a man walk free with this kind of evidence.

After James’ arrest, the investigators found specialty books and magazines in James’ attic on how to solicite a hitman, how to pass a lie detector test, and how to cover your tracks after you murder someone. Interesting reading material for an innocent man, no?

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Part 2 to follow…

** Edited to add: My laptop’s monitor is going out and is getting worse every day. If I don’t post again, it is because I finally had to put the laptop in the shop. This could take up to 10 business days! You SUCK, Office Depot. Thank you VERY much, Office Depot.**