Everything on the Stepherz home front is wonderful. I’m still pregnant– yayyy! 9 weeks and counting… Cramping, no nausea, but still chugging along. I’m as prepared as a person can make themselves for either outcome…

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This year has been an interesting one. I’ve really gotten to know myself more, and I’m thankful for that. I know that I’ve been blessed because Jeremy is a good provider for us, and that allows me the priveledge of being at home with my children and having the extra time to get to know them and myself.

I’ve tried things this year. I’ve tested myself. For instance, I didn’t even know what all the buttons on my old sewing machine did a year ago. I couldn’t even change the tension on my thread without royally screwing something up. I didn’t know how to stitch by hand. I could barely sew a button on. This year I cut off my satellite television, bought a fancy sewing machine, and taught myself to sew. I sewed quilts, adorable clothes, and even made felt fruit and vegetables!

I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned until this year. The only plant that grew in my home is the Pothos Ivy and that is because it is indestructible and loves water torture. But this year I decided I wanted a green thumb. And I did it. I mean, I’m not trying to brag, please don’t get me wrong. But, dangit. I’ve greened my own thumb! (try not to pay too much attention to the sweet peas in the front that are trying to test my green thumb. insobordinate suckers.)

It’s funny because a few years ago I couldn’t tell you what I was good at. I didn’t have a hobby. And it’s not like I’m talented or special. That’s not what I mean to put out there. What I’m proud of is that I quit making excuses to try new things or to challenge myself. I just made it happen. Anyone could do it, sure. I did it. I don’t have to envy people who are crafty, or who have time to craft. I’m kinda crafty myself and thanks to this SAHM blessing, I have the time to do it. Even better, I LOVE making things for people. I don’t mind if I never sell another quilt or painting or rose– I just love doing it.

Jeremy pointed out last night how far I’ve come in a few years in the cooking department. When we met (mind you, I was 20), my idea of being ambitious in the kitchen was mac-n-cheese with tuna stirred in, a can of peas, and some butter bread. But now I can cook it up like it ain’t no ones business! I bake, I marinade, I create. I have kitchen equipment and tools! I wear an apron! I MADE the fargin’ apron!

The lettuce and the zuchinni are from my garden! And the steak might not look deelish, but it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g!

And I guess this all comes from reminiscing on my childhood a bit the other day. My mom was a Chef Bouyardee Mom. She was a McDonald’s Drive-through Mom. She never made me eat anything green. Cinnamon Pop-Tarts were not just part of my nutritious breakfast, but usually all of it. And sometimes all of lunch and dinner too. No kidding. She was a modern woman who learned from a modern woman. My grandmother never created with her own two hands what she could buy in an Art Gallery or Designer Clothing Boutique or fancy restaurant. And there’s nothing at all wrong with a modern woman, or with a woman who doesn’t desire making things. I’m just glad that despite that no one ever taught me to cook or sew or to be creative, I did it anyways. That’s kind of neat, I think.

Anyways, I guess I can’t take full credit for the amazing garden. I’ve got a little green thumbed garden gnome named Noah who helps out. He uses this Miracle Gro magic potion that makes my zucchini grow an inch a day! I’ve got zucchini bread coming out of my ears, y’all!

I’m just thankful. I’m blessed. And I’m happy. I’m so glad I quit that desk job and came home.

I’ve spent many, many years reliving regret over mom’s death. I have always had tendency towards guilt, and mom’s death was no exception. Mom’s death probably defined and emphasized that tendency. But, until recently, I never really put things together completely.

I was riding in the car with Austin and the babies a few weeks ago. I was having a weird week in general and with Mother’s Day and mom’s would-have-been 52nd birthday approaching… it just kind of added to the funk. I’ve been taking Zoloft for a few months and it’s helped me tremendously. This particular week I had run out of pills and was on my 7th day of withdrawls when it all came to a head. Needless to say, I won’t let my prescription run out again anytime soon.

We were driving to town. The babies played quietly in the back seats and Austin was telling me a story about this girl he goes to school with. Her mother has cancer, is a single parent, and is trying to make up for some of her mistakes now that her daughter is a teenager and she is facing the possibility of death. The mother went on a field trip with the daughter recently. The daughter kept yelling at her mom to ‘Go Away’, obnoxiously trying to exclude her, and making her mother sit alone while the class went out for lunch. When I heard the story, my heart curdled. This child has no idea. She has no idea. And if I could let her see inside my mind for a few moments… She would know. You’ll only have one momma this time around. You had better hold tight to her.

As soon as Austin was done with the story, I started crying. I bawled outloud and started releasing a little secret that has crushing my spirit for so long… This tale of Susan’s last few days here with me… (you can start here if you’re a new reader)

Mom was usually pretty short on money. She was a single mother, so that says enough in itself. We took an annual trip in October to the mountains with her best friend (Helen), but this particular year (1988), mom was exceptionally tight on money. I remember hearing her talk on the phone to Helen and my grandmother, trying to make arrangements to borrow money from them so that we could go on this special vacation. I felt bad that she was struggling to get the money together. I know it must have been humbling for her to borrow money, especially for a vacation. But, being a self indulged 12 year old, I wanted her to borrow the money. I wanted the vacation.

The morning of October 15th, we woke up early and loaded the car for our trip. My mom called Helen and my grandmother one last time to make sure they didn’t mind lending the money. We hit the road around 8 am and were to arrive in the mountains somewhere right after lunch. When we first began our trip, mom started reminding me that she was borrowing the money to go on the trip and that meant that we probably wouldn’t be able to do the things we normally did on this vacation– such as Tweetsy Railroad. I immediately got angry because I couldn’t imagine going to the mountains and not doing things that cost money. I went on and on. I pitched a fit. Finally mom pulled off the interstate, stopped the car, turned it off, and looked at me…

“Stephanie. Let’s just go home. I have enough money that we could go out to eat and go see a movie. Let’s just go home, OK? We can have fun, we’ll do something together.”

I started crying, putting on my Stepherz drama, and guilting her into getting back on the road. Back on the road to a place that ended in her death. And if I wouldn’t have been so selfish, so self centered… She would be here now. There’s no other way to look at that. She stopped the car! She gave me the choice. She looked me in the eyes and practically pleaded with me not to be so stubborn and selfish. And my choice was the wrong choice. I’ll live with that for the rest of my days.

I know there was no way I could have known that Helen’s husband would kill them. Obviously if I would have known, I would have chosen differently. But what’s true is true. And the truth is that she might have been here today had I just said, “Ok, Mom. Let’s go home.”

That was a heavy burden to carry for the first few years after mom died. I was so ashamed that I didn’t tell anyone. It sat and festered. I’ve only recently even talked about it. It’s difficult to change how I interpret it now, I’ve carried it as guilt for so long. But I’m working on it. Ya know, I was just a kid. All kids are pretty selfish. There’s just a handful who have something like this as a result of that selfishness, to carry around on their backs for a lifetime. I have to forgive myself for it, because I know mom did.

So, I guess I wanted to share that little (BIG) secret. I always wonder what kind of things make a person who they are. What have they seen? What do they know? What happened in their childhoods that help define who they became as adults.

There’s another pinch of stuff in the Stepherz recipe…

L to R: Aunt Liz & Mom

Susan passed away 19 years ago today.

She was some kind of beautiful. She was hilarious and fun loving. She was caring and nurturing. She was my heart. If you would have known her, you too would have adored her.

When she passed away, I was 12 years old. I wasn’t your typical 12 year old. I still played with dolls, I didn’t have many friends, and I was just shy of raising my baby sister by myself. My sister even called me “momma”. Mom worked so many hours to keep her head above water as a single parent. It had always been that way. So I didn’t get the same interaction with people in childhood that most kids do. Mom didn’t want people to know I was at home alone, so I wasn’t aloud to go outside and play unless she was home– which wasn’t very often. I braved Charleston hurricanes by myself, long nights listening for noises in the house, and eventually, raising my baby sister by myself. So I guess, looking back, I probably was a bit more of a momma’s girl than most 12 year old girls because mom (and my baby sister) was really all I knew. So when she left, it was really earth shattering.

When I look back, I remember my heart literally hurting after she died. For years. It hurt and I often had a hand on my heart because, even when I tried not to think about it, it really was a physical pain. Which is weird because broken hearts don’t really hurt, right? That’s what I thought too until, about a year ago, I heard about an ailment called “Broken Heart Syndrome“. It happens after a divorce, break-up, a death, or sometimes even just from homesickness. And it’s a recent discovery. Very interesting reading.

I think what breaks my heart the most about losing Susan, at this point, is that I now relate to where she was at in her life. I better understand why things were the way they were. I can relate to her more than ever. She died at this point in her life: The very point that I am in now. And I’m so, so sorry because I now know how young 32 is. I now know that she must have had so many hopes, and aspirations, and plans, and improvements she wanted to make in her life. She surely would have wanted to do and try and taste and experience so many more things. She must have thought about me and my sister in her last moments. She must have fought so hard for her life knowing that those two little girls needed her and were waiting for her to come home. And I’m positive in those last moments she thought she was going to make it and that, when she did, she was going to come back to us full forced: Embrace us, work less hours, spend more time talking, and hugging, and laughing, and sticking our toes in the sand. I know she wanted to come back and live, love, and have a second chance.

Knowing that she thought those things, in the midst of the fear, makes me love her so much more. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have my mother. I wonder what kind of person I might have been had we had that second chance. And what would she be like, having lived through that horrible night? Or what would she be like had she never had that night at all? What would life look like right now for all of us who’s lives changed completely on October 17th, 1988? 

I can’t forget about her. Maybe sometimes I feel that I remember the loss too much. As if I feel obligated to the loss because I don’t want her forgotten. As if she deserved to have someone left behind that mourns her. Sure, it was a tragic ending. There was no closure and the justice that wasn’t served was very, very sad and deserved its own mourning all by itself. But her life and how much she added to mine stands out so much more than her loss. She wouldn’t have wanted me to hurt over what happened that night, in memory of her. She would want me to celebrate having 12 fantastic and memorable years with her. I’ve told her story because I want her (and me) to have some closure and I don’t want the world to forget about her. But really, it’s ok not to feel sad anymore. And the release of that obligation that I’ve felt is so freeing.

She was the biggest influence on my life. I’ve been without her longer than I had her, but I love her more than I did, somehow.

Her friends and lovers have forgotten and moved on. But I’m still here. And I still remember what an amazing and beautiful human being she was. The world lost out 19 years ago, when she left. But I’m sure that she lives on through us. The dimples on Bella’s cheeks say Susan. Austin’s contagious laugh says Susan. The blue eyes that stare back at me in the mirror say Susan. The knobby knees on my little Noah say Susan. I see reminders of her life everywhere. 

We Love You, Jane Susan Haire. Always. And today I celebrate your life and the love you added to mine…

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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…