I love my daughter more than life its self, but there are days when I want to slam her through the wall. Today was one of those days.
We had a great school day. 6 math lessons and practiced spelling words. All done in 21/2 hours. Great day. Then 7 pm rolls around. I don't know if she is just overly tired or what, but I was waiting for her head to start spinning around.
Kierstynne went upstairs and got her daddy's guitar..which is ok..daddy told her she could play. She plays in the living room for about 20 minutes ( she's pretty good too not having any lessons) then she comes in the kitchen where I am eating dinner and reading a book...Multitasking my way..lol She wants to sit in here with me so that I can watch her play. No problem. I pull out the chair for her so she has enough room and won't bang the guitar off the table. She sits in the chairs, puts the guitar in her lap and proceeds to start huffing and puffing. You would have thought she was the big bad wolf or something. I ask her what her problem is and she looks at me with this look that made my palm itch to smack it off her face. She proceeds to yell at me that it isn't working. That she is angry. I, very calmly, say to her, "Ok. What isn't working?" You could see it in her eyes that she wanted to slam the guitar down and start yelling. I gave the look..you know what I mean..and she thinks better of slamming her daddy's guitar. She starts yelling and fussing so, being the good mom that I am, I, not so calmly this time, tell her she better watch herself because she is about to get in serious trouble. WWWEEELLLLLLL....she looks at me and says, "WHATEVER."
Oh no..she had done it. She turned me into my mother. I looked at her and ask her what she just said. She looked at me, all brave and whatnot, and said, "I said..whatever." Do you have any idea how hard it was for me not to backhand her out of the chair. I think I probably would have if she hadn't still been holding her daddy's guitar. I was losing it. I felt the anger well up.
"Hang on to your sanity", I thought. So, I told her to put the guitar up. She leaned it up against the bookshelf. No, I told her. Put it in the case, go brush your teeth, put your pjs on and go to bed. Well, that was just the icing on the cake. She flipped. She starts crying and stomping around. I sat in the chair thinking to myself, "Do I beat her now or wait until I calm down?" My anger was feeding off of hers. Not a good sign. I gripped the edge of the table, looked at her, and in a very low voice said,"You have a choice, either go do what I asked you to do or I am getting the paddle, pulling your pants down and going to beat your behind." Needless to say, Mommy won this round.
What has gotten into my child? A year ago she was the sweetest, most loving child ever. Now she has been invaded by aliens. Aliens that know exactly how to push my buttons. I don't like this new Kierstynne. I want my sweet little baby girl back. I know she is growing up and those hormones are beginning to kick in, but this is ridiculous. She even told me I was the meanest mommy ever. Yeah ok, she has never watched Mommy Dearest. I know I am not mean, but it hurts when your child looks at you with tears running down her face and tells you how mean you are.
After she got ready for bed, I called her to me. I calmly told her that I loved her very much and that I was sorry she became so angry. I explained to her that even Jesus got angry, but that the Bible says we aren't supposed to sin in our anger. I explained to her that it was her choice to fly off the handle like that not mine. Her actions got her sent to bed early. I prayed with her and hugged her and told her again how much I loved her. This time, she told me she loved me too.
So, as I sit here writing this blog, I feel drained. Knowing that this isn't the last time I will have to deal with alien Kierstynne's anger and attitude, I pray for strength. I pray God will show me the right things to say, the correct way to punish her when she disobeys, and that He will give me the patience to see her through. I love my child so much and only want her to grow up to be a well rounded, good person who loves the Lord with all her heart, soul, mind and strength. I hate it when she has those fits. Will she grow out of them? I surely hope so.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
My Testimony Part 3
Ok. We are going to fast forward through the years to 2001. Being raised by my grandparents, I was very close to my granddaddy. He was my friend, my buddy, the man I looked up to. He taught me to drive. He taught me how to plant crops, harvest them, milk cows, feed chickens and collect their eggs, slop the hogs and butcher them for meat. He taught me to laugh, and to find humor in everything. I loved him more than I had loved anyone. He was always a big, strapping farmer. That was his nickname among his chronies, Farmer. Noone called him Walter. His family, pre Granny family, called him Baldy. I have no idea where that came from. He was a WWII veteran of the Air Force. He worked long hours in the potash mines in New Mexico. He ran heavy equipment for years. My granddaddy could take two nails and a couple pieces of wood and make a fort. He couldn't read or write very well, but that didn't stop him. I never knew he couldn't read when I was a child because he would always help me with my reading. He had a way of getting me to read to him without letting on that he couldn't read the book. He rarely went to church because he said it was full of hypocrites and he could talk to God right there from his Lazyboy. He could cook the best stew you ever ate. My granddaddy was amazing.
When he was diagnosed with Colon Cancer, I was devastated. I had already lost my husband, my step father, and my mother's dad. I didn't want to lose Granddaddy too. He waited too long to go to the doctor. He hid all his symptoms from everyone. By the time he finally told Granny, it was too late. Stage 4. Chemo helped for a little while. It is very painful to watch a big, strong man shrivel up to about 135 pounds. Living here in PA, I didn't have to watch him go through all the sickness. I missed the really painful parts.
I remember our last Christmas together. Granddaddy thought everyone should get something even if it was a pencil wrapped up in shiny paper. Noone should have to go without a present on Christmas. He was all smiles on Christmas Day. We took lots of family pics that year. Granddaddy didn't have the energy to stay up long, so we would go visit with him while he laid in his bed. He loved to listen to gospel music. He would go back in his room and tune the tv to a station that was playing gospel music and would just lay in his bed and hum along.
In February of 2001, I was working as an assistant manager at Papa John's Pizza in Wilkes-Barre. I had gone to work that Friday, just like always. Around 4 pm, Tim shows up at work. It was odd because he very rarely came to the shop. He asked me if I could leave. I had no idea what was going on. He told me I needed to call my Aunt Linda in Va. I went into the office and placed the long distance phone call. The news was devastating. Granddaddy wasn't expected to last through the weekend and if I wanted to see him, I needed to come down now. I slipped to the floor, tears flowing down my cheeks. I had just talked to him on Wednesday. He sounded like his usual cheery self. Aunt Linda explained that Granddaddy ate his last meal Thursday morning and slipped into a coma that afternoon. He was on liquid morphine for the pain now.
I called my manager in tears and explained the situation. I left with Tim and went home to pack. I was so out of it, I didn't even pack Tim any shirts. My mother in law came over and gave me one of my father in law's anxiety pills to help calm me down. Little did I know at that time it would knock me out so that I slept almost the entire ride down. I view that now as a blessing. I think I would have drove Tim nuts during the 7 hour ride.
We were supposed to move into our new house that weekend. We had bought a trailer and were so excited because it was ours. I had been painting and cleaning for two weeks. I was so hyped about moving in. That would have to be put on the back burner now. My car was in Wilkes-Barre, but my mother in law assured me that my father in law would go and pick it up for me. So, with everything handled, we left for VA.
We got there around midnight Friday, February 16, 2001. I went straight into my Granddaddy's room and fell on my knees at the side of the bed. Laying my head on his frail chest, I began to cry. Oh, Granddaddy, I thought, I am so sorry you are so sick. You shouldn't have to suffer like this. Tim came in a few minutes later and knelt beside me and took my Granddaddy's hand. He had already watched his grandfather die from ALS and he knew how hard it was.
I decided to sit up that night and just talk to him. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. He had to have morphine drops put inbetween is cheek and gum every 2 hours to keep him comfortable. I thought to myself, "What kind of existance is this for my Granddaddy. He doesn't deserve to suffer like this." I really didn't want him to go, but I didn't want him to stay like this either. So, I began to pray for God to take him home. I knew that he was saved and would be spending eternity without cancer with the Lord. I talked to him about life with him as a child. I told him how much he meant to me. I told him how much I loved him. I thanked him for all that he had done for me. I just sat in the chair beside his bed holding his hand talking about nothing in particular.
Around 5:30 am February 17, 2001, I told Granddaddy to go home. I told him that Granny would be taken care of. I told him that I had Tim and that he was a good man and would take care of me. I let him know that it was ok to let go of this life and move on the his new one. I sat with until about 6:30am and then left to go into the kitchen where my dad and my granny were having coffee. Tim was still sleeping. It had been a long night and I was tired. My dad went back and sat with him for about 15 minutes. When he came back into the kitchen, I went back again. As I entered his room, I could hear what they call the death rattle. If you have never heard it, it's horrible. For those of you who have heard it, you know what I mean. Once you hear it, you never forget the sound. I knew the end was near. I reached out, grabbed his hand, brought it to my lips and kissed that weathered hand that had seen so much. I told him once again to go home. I left the room.
At 7am, my dad went into the room and I heard him begin to cry. I knew that Granddaddy had gone to be with Jesus. I began to cry again. I looked over at Granny and she knew too. I went into the bedroom where Tim was sleeping and woke him up. He was as emotional as we all were. We all took turns telling Granddaddy our last goodbyes.
Now I had lost my husband, my step father, and both my grandfathers in less that a 36 month period. I felt lost. All of the old feelings came bubbling up. I felt abandoned and alone. Our family began to arrive and the house began to fill. People really have no idea what to say at times like these. Sometimes silence is really golden.
My brother finally arrived and for the first time in about 4 years, I got high. Standing on my granny's porch waiting for the undertaker to arrive, I smoked a joint with my brother. He said I needed to relax, needed to destress. I guess maybe I did. I was afraid of all the old issues with the PTSD coming to a head. As I stood on the porch looking out at the swing where Granddaddy would sit, I swear I saw him. He walked over towards the swing, turned around and smiled at me. He looked great. Perfectly healthy. Now, some people will probably say it was because I was high, but I know what I saw. It was Granddaddy.
Granddaddy wanted to be cremated so we didn't have a viewing. I called off work for the next week, as did Tim, so that we could be there with my family. We had a memorial service later on that week and for the second time in 36 months we were buring someone is the middle of winter in frozen ground. It was a beautiful service. My cousin Laura's husband made a marble box to place Granddaddy's ashes in. It was absolutely beautiful. Granddaddy would have been proud.
We came home after a week to discover that Tim's family had all pitched in and moved us while we were in VA. What a suprise to come home and find my kitchen put together, our bedroom already set up and the house ready to be lived in. What a blessing. Even during the midst of darkenss, a light managed to show through.
Life once again settled into a routine. Tim and I were trying desperately for a child. We both wanted a baby. The doctor diagnosed me as having Poly Cyctic Ovarian Syndrome and told us it would be next to impossible to have a child. My depression kicked in again and my doctor put me back on depression meds. There was such a whole in my heart from not being able to conceive that I thought my heart would break. During this time, we had switched churches and were now attending Mill City Assembly of God. I had been going to a Pentecostal church when I lived in VA but this was alot different for Tim, who had been raised Methodist. I loved it, but it took him a little getting used to. He acclimated just fine.
In 2002, Evangelist Carl Harris came to MCAOG. I decided to go up for prayer. I wanted him to pray for Tim and I to have a baby. I explained to him that the doctors had said I couldn't have a baby. He prayed over us and then told us that it takes about 2 years for couples he has prayed for to have a baby. That at the 2 year mark either the baby has been born or is getting ready to be born. Ok. I could accept that. I began jounaling every night, thanking God in advance for giving us a child.
As the months went by and no baby appeared, my depression began to worsen. Then, my sister in law told us she was pregnant. I was so shattered. She had always said she didn't want children and neither did my brother in law. She had been adamant about that fact. So, I was heart set on giving my inlaws their first grandchild. The night we found out that she was pregnant, I laid in bed sobbing. Tim layed with his arms around me and tried to soothe me. It didn't help. It seemed that noone understood my pain. Again. I felt alone with my pain. Noone to talk to, because everyone I knew had children. I felt overlooked by God. I couldn't understand why He wouldn't allow two people who would be great parents to have a child when He allowed these teenagers to get pregnant at the drop of a hat, or women whom He knew were going to kill their children to have them. I was angry and frustrated all over again with God.
About a month later, my sister in law lost the baby. As angry as I had been because she was pregnant, I was heartsick that she lost the baby. I couldn't imagine how hard that was for her. Thankfully she decided to try again a few months later and this time she carried the baby to full term and gave us a beautiful niece. She even asked me to help her with the baby shower so that I wouldn't feel left out. It was painful but joyful all at the same time.
In July of 2002 we found out that my grandmother had Vascular Disease. She was going to lose her leg to the disease. My family asked me to move down and live with her again and take care of her. I was promised $500 per month to be her caregiver. So, Tim quit his job, we sold everything except personal things and moved from a 3 bedroom, 2 bath trailer to one bedroom. I went down in August and he followed in November. Difficult wouldn't even begin to explain the life we were about to embark on.
Tim got a job at Subway and I was Granny's caregiver. Being promised a monthly paycheck, I figured we would be ok with Tim working at Subway until he could find something that paid more. Well, I was lied to. Noone wanted to pay me a dime because they thought it was my responsibility to take care of her. Her children all had families and jobs and didn't have time to take care of her. So, Tim and I began to try to survive on $7.25 per hour. We couldn't apply for financial aid because we lived with Granny and none of the utlities were in our names. Talk about stressful. Being used and taken for granted was commonplace in my family, so I just dealt with it.
In August of 2003, Hurrican Isabelle came through Virginia. It knocked out the power to thousands and thousands of homes, took out phone lines, contaminated the water supply and many people lost everything. We were blessed. All we lost was our phone and lights. We had to use up the food in the freezer before it went bad, so I was cooking on the grill and storing things in the cooler. 9 days we were without power. It was the first hurricane that I had actually ever been in.
In October of 2003, I took Granny, who was now in a Jazzy, to the grocery store. We were walking down the isles acting a fool when we came around the corner to the meat counter. I immediately ran for the bathroom. When I came back, Granny looked at me and asked, "Are you pregnant?" I looked at her like she had just fallen off the turnip truck and told her she needed a new crack dealer. She knew what the doctors had said and I couldn't believe she would ask me that. I told her no I wasn't and she looked at me and said yes you are. Before we got out of the grocery store 2 other people had asked me the same thing. We drove home and I was car sick the whole way. Granny had a podiatrists appointment that afternoon, so my Aunt Nancy decided to ride with us. I was so car sick that I had to pull over 3 times. Nancy looks at me and asks, "Are you pregnant?" What was it with all these old ladies and asking me if I was pregnant? I knew I wasn't and told them all so. Nancy told me I had better stop at the drugstore on the way home and get a home pregnancy test. Yeah, ok. I did, just to prove them wrong. I bought one that had two tests in it, thinking two test would be enough to prove to them I wasn't pregnant.
I went home, went into the bathroom, took the test and nothing. The test was bad. Not even a line in the control window. I called my mother in law because she has this weird knack of having baby dreams whenever someone she knows is pregnant. She said she hadn't had any dreams since the middle of August. I told her what Granny and Nancy were saying and she told me to wait until the morning and take the other test. So I did.
I got up the next morning, went into the bathroom, peed on the stick and went to set it on the counter. I hadn't even pulled up my britches and there on the test stick were two blue lines. WHAT!!! I picked up the box to double check the reading...one line not pregnant, two lines pregnant. NO WAY!!! I took the test stick into the kitchen where Granny was and asked her what she saw. She replies.."Two lines..What does that mean?" I told her that meant she was going to be a great grandmother. She whoops and starts turning circles with her Jazzy in the middle of the kitchen floor. I called my mother in law back and told her and she started crying. I called my mom and she dropped the phone. Then I thought, "Hey wait, I haven't told Tim yet." I called him and told him to make sure he came straight home from work that I had something to talk to him about. When I told him, he didn't believe me. I showed him the test stick and he still didn't believe me. I made an appointment with the WIC office for the following Tuesday. I went in, peed in a cup, then the lady stuck me in a room. About 15 minutes later she came in and said, "Well, you are going to have a baby." I was so happy I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest.
I had to go to a high risk OBGYN because of my diabetes, age and weight. I followed the doctors instructions to a T. My mother went with me to the first ultrasound. I had one at my first appointment because I wasn't sure when I got pregnant because of the PCOS and my cycles weren't regular. I was 9 weeks. So, I got pregnant during the power outage from Hurricane Isabelle. Imagine that. I wanted to name my daughter, if I had a girl, Ysabella Gianna which means God's gift. If I had a son, I had no idea. I just knew the baby was going to be a girl. Tim and I fought for 6 months over her name. Yep, we were having a girl, just like I said. He wanted to name her Kierstynne Mykayla (the spelling is mine). I didn't want that name. I didn't have a clue what it meant. One day, we decided to stop at a bookstore and I just happen to walk by a display that had baby name books on it. I picked one up, looked up the names and found out that Kierstynne Mykayla means Beautiful Gift from God. Well, as you know, we now have a 7 year old Kierstynne Mykayla.
I have to end this post now as my eyes are crossing. Stay tuned for part 4.
When he was diagnosed with Colon Cancer, I was devastated. I had already lost my husband, my step father, and my mother's dad. I didn't want to lose Granddaddy too. He waited too long to go to the doctor. He hid all his symptoms from everyone. By the time he finally told Granny, it was too late. Stage 4. Chemo helped for a little while. It is very painful to watch a big, strong man shrivel up to about 135 pounds. Living here in PA, I didn't have to watch him go through all the sickness. I missed the really painful parts.
I remember our last Christmas together. Granddaddy thought everyone should get something even if it was a pencil wrapped up in shiny paper. Noone should have to go without a present on Christmas. He was all smiles on Christmas Day. We took lots of family pics that year. Granddaddy didn't have the energy to stay up long, so we would go visit with him while he laid in his bed. He loved to listen to gospel music. He would go back in his room and tune the tv to a station that was playing gospel music and would just lay in his bed and hum along.
In February of 2001, I was working as an assistant manager at Papa John's Pizza in Wilkes-Barre. I had gone to work that Friday, just like always. Around 4 pm, Tim shows up at work. It was odd because he very rarely came to the shop. He asked me if I could leave. I had no idea what was going on. He told me I needed to call my Aunt Linda in Va. I went into the office and placed the long distance phone call. The news was devastating. Granddaddy wasn't expected to last through the weekend and if I wanted to see him, I needed to come down now. I slipped to the floor, tears flowing down my cheeks. I had just talked to him on Wednesday. He sounded like his usual cheery self. Aunt Linda explained that Granddaddy ate his last meal Thursday morning and slipped into a coma that afternoon. He was on liquid morphine for the pain now.
I called my manager in tears and explained the situation. I left with Tim and went home to pack. I was so out of it, I didn't even pack Tim any shirts. My mother in law came over and gave me one of my father in law's anxiety pills to help calm me down. Little did I know at that time it would knock me out so that I slept almost the entire ride down. I view that now as a blessing. I think I would have drove Tim nuts during the 7 hour ride.
We were supposed to move into our new house that weekend. We had bought a trailer and were so excited because it was ours. I had been painting and cleaning for two weeks. I was so hyped about moving in. That would have to be put on the back burner now. My car was in Wilkes-Barre, but my mother in law assured me that my father in law would go and pick it up for me. So, with everything handled, we left for VA.
We got there around midnight Friday, February 16, 2001. I went straight into my Granddaddy's room and fell on my knees at the side of the bed. Laying my head on his frail chest, I began to cry. Oh, Granddaddy, I thought, I am so sorry you are so sick. You shouldn't have to suffer like this. Tim came in a few minutes later and knelt beside me and took my Granddaddy's hand. He had already watched his grandfather die from ALS and he knew how hard it was.
I decided to sit up that night and just talk to him. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. He had to have morphine drops put inbetween is cheek and gum every 2 hours to keep him comfortable. I thought to myself, "What kind of existance is this for my Granddaddy. He doesn't deserve to suffer like this." I really didn't want him to go, but I didn't want him to stay like this either. So, I began to pray for God to take him home. I knew that he was saved and would be spending eternity without cancer with the Lord. I talked to him about life with him as a child. I told him how much he meant to me. I told him how much I loved him. I thanked him for all that he had done for me. I just sat in the chair beside his bed holding his hand talking about nothing in particular.
Around 5:30 am February 17, 2001, I told Granddaddy to go home. I told him that Granny would be taken care of. I told him that I had Tim and that he was a good man and would take care of me. I let him know that it was ok to let go of this life and move on the his new one. I sat with until about 6:30am and then left to go into the kitchen where my dad and my granny were having coffee. Tim was still sleeping. It had been a long night and I was tired. My dad went back and sat with him for about 15 minutes. When he came back into the kitchen, I went back again. As I entered his room, I could hear what they call the death rattle. If you have never heard it, it's horrible. For those of you who have heard it, you know what I mean. Once you hear it, you never forget the sound. I knew the end was near. I reached out, grabbed his hand, brought it to my lips and kissed that weathered hand that had seen so much. I told him once again to go home. I left the room.
At 7am, my dad went into the room and I heard him begin to cry. I knew that Granddaddy had gone to be with Jesus. I began to cry again. I looked over at Granny and she knew too. I went into the bedroom where Tim was sleeping and woke him up. He was as emotional as we all were. We all took turns telling Granddaddy our last goodbyes.
Now I had lost my husband, my step father, and both my grandfathers in less that a 36 month period. I felt lost. All of the old feelings came bubbling up. I felt abandoned and alone. Our family began to arrive and the house began to fill. People really have no idea what to say at times like these. Sometimes silence is really golden.
My brother finally arrived and for the first time in about 4 years, I got high. Standing on my granny's porch waiting for the undertaker to arrive, I smoked a joint with my brother. He said I needed to relax, needed to destress. I guess maybe I did. I was afraid of all the old issues with the PTSD coming to a head. As I stood on the porch looking out at the swing where Granddaddy would sit, I swear I saw him. He walked over towards the swing, turned around and smiled at me. He looked great. Perfectly healthy. Now, some people will probably say it was because I was high, but I know what I saw. It was Granddaddy.
Granddaddy wanted to be cremated so we didn't have a viewing. I called off work for the next week, as did Tim, so that we could be there with my family. We had a memorial service later on that week and for the second time in 36 months we were buring someone is the middle of winter in frozen ground. It was a beautiful service. My cousin Laura's husband made a marble box to place Granddaddy's ashes in. It was absolutely beautiful. Granddaddy would have been proud.
We came home after a week to discover that Tim's family had all pitched in and moved us while we were in VA. What a suprise to come home and find my kitchen put together, our bedroom already set up and the house ready to be lived in. What a blessing. Even during the midst of darkenss, a light managed to show through.
Life once again settled into a routine. Tim and I were trying desperately for a child. We both wanted a baby. The doctor diagnosed me as having Poly Cyctic Ovarian Syndrome and told us it would be next to impossible to have a child. My depression kicked in again and my doctor put me back on depression meds. There was such a whole in my heart from not being able to conceive that I thought my heart would break. During this time, we had switched churches and were now attending Mill City Assembly of God. I had been going to a Pentecostal church when I lived in VA but this was alot different for Tim, who had been raised Methodist. I loved it, but it took him a little getting used to. He acclimated just fine.
In 2002, Evangelist Carl Harris came to MCAOG. I decided to go up for prayer. I wanted him to pray for Tim and I to have a baby. I explained to him that the doctors had said I couldn't have a baby. He prayed over us and then told us that it takes about 2 years for couples he has prayed for to have a baby. That at the 2 year mark either the baby has been born or is getting ready to be born. Ok. I could accept that. I began jounaling every night, thanking God in advance for giving us a child.
As the months went by and no baby appeared, my depression began to worsen. Then, my sister in law told us she was pregnant. I was so shattered. She had always said she didn't want children and neither did my brother in law. She had been adamant about that fact. So, I was heart set on giving my inlaws their first grandchild. The night we found out that she was pregnant, I laid in bed sobbing. Tim layed with his arms around me and tried to soothe me. It didn't help. It seemed that noone understood my pain. Again. I felt alone with my pain. Noone to talk to, because everyone I knew had children. I felt overlooked by God. I couldn't understand why He wouldn't allow two people who would be great parents to have a child when He allowed these teenagers to get pregnant at the drop of a hat, or women whom He knew were going to kill their children to have them. I was angry and frustrated all over again with God.
About a month later, my sister in law lost the baby. As angry as I had been because she was pregnant, I was heartsick that she lost the baby. I couldn't imagine how hard that was for her. Thankfully she decided to try again a few months later and this time she carried the baby to full term and gave us a beautiful niece. She even asked me to help her with the baby shower so that I wouldn't feel left out. It was painful but joyful all at the same time.
In July of 2002 we found out that my grandmother had Vascular Disease. She was going to lose her leg to the disease. My family asked me to move down and live with her again and take care of her. I was promised $500 per month to be her caregiver. So, Tim quit his job, we sold everything except personal things and moved from a 3 bedroom, 2 bath trailer to one bedroom. I went down in August and he followed in November. Difficult wouldn't even begin to explain the life we were about to embark on.
Tim got a job at Subway and I was Granny's caregiver. Being promised a monthly paycheck, I figured we would be ok with Tim working at Subway until he could find something that paid more. Well, I was lied to. Noone wanted to pay me a dime because they thought it was my responsibility to take care of her. Her children all had families and jobs and didn't have time to take care of her. So, Tim and I began to try to survive on $7.25 per hour. We couldn't apply for financial aid because we lived with Granny and none of the utlities were in our names. Talk about stressful. Being used and taken for granted was commonplace in my family, so I just dealt with it.
In August of 2003, Hurrican Isabelle came through Virginia. It knocked out the power to thousands and thousands of homes, took out phone lines, contaminated the water supply and many people lost everything. We were blessed. All we lost was our phone and lights. We had to use up the food in the freezer before it went bad, so I was cooking on the grill and storing things in the cooler. 9 days we were without power. It was the first hurricane that I had actually ever been in.
In October of 2003, I took Granny, who was now in a Jazzy, to the grocery store. We were walking down the isles acting a fool when we came around the corner to the meat counter. I immediately ran for the bathroom. When I came back, Granny looked at me and asked, "Are you pregnant?" I looked at her like she had just fallen off the turnip truck and told her she needed a new crack dealer. She knew what the doctors had said and I couldn't believe she would ask me that. I told her no I wasn't and she looked at me and said yes you are. Before we got out of the grocery store 2 other people had asked me the same thing. We drove home and I was car sick the whole way. Granny had a podiatrists appointment that afternoon, so my Aunt Nancy decided to ride with us. I was so car sick that I had to pull over 3 times. Nancy looks at me and asks, "Are you pregnant?" What was it with all these old ladies and asking me if I was pregnant? I knew I wasn't and told them all so. Nancy told me I had better stop at the drugstore on the way home and get a home pregnancy test. Yeah, ok. I did, just to prove them wrong. I bought one that had two tests in it, thinking two test would be enough to prove to them I wasn't pregnant.
I went home, went into the bathroom, took the test and nothing. The test was bad. Not even a line in the control window. I called my mother in law because she has this weird knack of having baby dreams whenever someone she knows is pregnant. She said she hadn't had any dreams since the middle of August. I told her what Granny and Nancy were saying and she told me to wait until the morning and take the other test. So I did.
I got up the next morning, went into the bathroom, peed on the stick and went to set it on the counter. I hadn't even pulled up my britches and there on the test stick were two blue lines. WHAT!!! I picked up the box to double check the reading...one line not pregnant, two lines pregnant. NO WAY!!! I took the test stick into the kitchen where Granny was and asked her what she saw. She replies.."Two lines..What does that mean?" I told her that meant she was going to be a great grandmother. She whoops and starts turning circles with her Jazzy in the middle of the kitchen floor. I called my mother in law back and told her and she started crying. I called my mom and she dropped the phone. Then I thought, "Hey wait, I haven't told Tim yet." I called him and told him to make sure he came straight home from work that I had something to talk to him about. When I told him, he didn't believe me. I showed him the test stick and he still didn't believe me. I made an appointment with the WIC office for the following Tuesday. I went in, peed in a cup, then the lady stuck me in a room. About 15 minutes later she came in and said, "Well, you are going to have a baby." I was so happy I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest.
I had to go to a high risk OBGYN because of my diabetes, age and weight. I followed the doctors instructions to a T. My mother went with me to the first ultrasound. I had one at my first appointment because I wasn't sure when I got pregnant because of the PCOS and my cycles weren't regular. I was 9 weeks. So, I got pregnant during the power outage from Hurricane Isabelle. Imagine that. I wanted to name my daughter, if I had a girl, Ysabella Gianna which means God's gift. If I had a son, I had no idea. I just knew the baby was going to be a girl. Tim and I fought for 6 months over her name. Yep, we were having a girl, just like I said. He wanted to name her Kierstynne Mykayla (the spelling is mine). I didn't want that name. I didn't have a clue what it meant. One day, we decided to stop at a bookstore and I just happen to walk by a display that had baby name books on it. I picked one up, looked up the names and found out that Kierstynne Mykayla means Beautiful Gift from God. Well, as you know, we now have a 7 year old Kierstynne Mykayla.
I have to end this post now as my eyes are crossing. Stay tuned for part 4.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
My Testimony Part 2
Ok. Where was I..oh yes.. I met a man online. At this point, I still had no voice, and was living with Granny taking care of her. It was right around the first of March, 1999. I was still faithfully attending church and had made some close friends. My closest friend at that time, Margaret, had lost her husband to cancer the same day I buried mine. We had alot in common. I was able to talk to her in ways I hadn't been able to talk with anyone else.
Over the course of the next few months, the man I met online, Tim, and I began a friendship. We talked about everything under the sun. We liked the same things..music, tv, sports, food, etc. We came from two totally different backgrounds though. But, they say opposites attract, right? Our friendship grew and became stronger. I had explained the entire situation to Tim throughout our many chats. He knew all about my PTSD, my loss of voice, the investigation, the trial, my stint in Tuckers. It didn't matter to him. He knew what we had the sentencing faze coming up soon.
I had no intentions, and I mean NO intentions of falling in love again. I didn't want to. I was totally enjoying talking to people online and living in my little, self-made, safe cocoon. Well, lo and behold, God had other plans. Tim and I did fall in love. Online no less. We had the same ideas about marriage, children, religion, money, etc, and our friendship was going great, so it I guess is was logical to take the next step.
In the meantime, I am still dealing with court. Because we had a bench trial, meaning that only the judge heard the case and not a jury, the death penalty had been taken off the table. Now, if it had been completely up to me, I would have given both of them the death penalty. Yes, I believe in the death penalty. I believe if you take someone's life, your life should be taken in the same manner. The Bible clearly states an eye for an eye. But, to be fair, it also says that "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord." But, the Bible also tells us that we are to abide by the laws of the land. So, I had to abide by the laws set forth by Chesterfield County Courts.
Because we had a bench trial, I was not required to stand up in court and say anything. I had the option of writing a Victim Impact Statement. That is the option I chose. In this 5 page letter to the judge, I explained exactly what Jimmy's death had done to my life. I wrote about being a happily married woman when I went to bed on December 30, 1997 and waking up 8 hours later a widow. I explained to the judge how it felt to have to be institutionalized for 9 days because I had a phsycotic break. I let him know how my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest, stomped on, put in a blender, poured back into my chest and was expected to function correctly. I explained to him the lonliness, aloneness, despondancy, and heartbreak I was feeling. I told him how it felt to know that I wouldn't grow old with the man I had married and how I would never be able to look into my child's face and see Jimmy. I let the judge know how angry I was that all my options to a future had been taken away because two people decided to play God. I had to explain the financial impact Jimmy's death had caused. I wasn't able to work because I couldn't focus, talk, concentrate, or stand to be around people. I explained the fear that comes with PTSD. I explained the depression and anxiety that comes along with it too. I was grateful that I didn't have to stand up in court and read this letter. It was for the judge's eyes only. And I would hope that it had an impact on his sentencing choices.
Chesterfield County Court system has a program called Victim/Witness Advocacy. They assigned me a case worker and her first idea was for me to attend a support group. Ok...logically I knew that others had been through the same thing, but my feelings were mine and I wasn't sure I was ready to share my experience with a bunch of strangers. I did take her advice though, and went to a meeting. Big mistake. I was the only widow there. Everyone else had lost a child to homicide. No one had a clue how I felt. I sat there listening to everyone talk about how painful it is to hold your dying child in your arms, or to have to go identify your child's body at the morgue. I couldn't relate even one iota. I didn't have any children. Jason and Michael took that option away from me when they shot my husband. I never went back to that or any other group. I guess, in theory, it's a good idea. But if you are going to send someone to a group session, you need to make sure that there will be someone who has been through the same thing. I have often times thought of approaching the Victim/Witness Advocacy program and volunteering to counsel widows of homicide , but haven't felt led to do so.
Sentencing was scheduled for late 1999. I had decided to move up here to Pennsylvania to be with Tim and in November of 1999 I did just that. We moved into a little house across the yard from his parents. Now, I know what you are thinking..."Are you crazy? Moving that close to your mother in law." My mother in law is the most amazing woman ever. I couldn't have hand picked a better one. She is like a biological mom to me. She and I have a wonderful relationship. I would go over every afternoon around 3 and have coffee with her. We would talk and talk and talk. In the past 12 years she has been a lifeline.
We received our letter in the mail about sentencing the first part of November. They postponed it until early 2000. The Victim/Witness program paid for our hotel, and reimbursed us for the gas that it took to come down for sentencing. As I sat in the courtroom again, nervous, all the old memories assailed me. I felt myself becoming overwhelmed with emotion. I began to feel as if I was going to hyperventilate. Tim, the sweet man that he is, asked me if I needed to go out and get some air or water. He took hold of my hand and began to rhythmically rub the top. That was the most calming thing he could have done. As we waited for our case to be called, I looked around the room and saw Jason's and Michael's families. Because of all this drama, there had been a huge rift develop in my mother's relationship with my step father's family. They wouldn't speak to her. They just couldn't believe that their sweet Jason would ever do anything this horrible. They even bailed him out of jail twice during the past two years. His sister put up her house with the bails bondsman to get him out.
The stress of the situation had led to the death of my step father in January of 1999. He was so torn between my mother and I and his family that he didn't know which end was up. He had some major health problems, but the stress is what killed him. He told my mom before he died that he didn't know where to sit in the courtroom for the trial because if he sat with my mom his family would be hurt and if he sat with his family my mom would be hurt. Thank God that he didn't have to make that decision because God, in His infinite mercy, chose to take Larry home before the trial began.
So now, sitting in the courtroom, with Jason's and Michael's family looking at me like I had three heads, it was time for sentencing. Jason's was first. When he walked out of the prisoner holding cell in his beautiful bright orange jumpsuit, handcuffed and chained, my heart dropped. I knew he was going to be there, but seeing him was something totally different. He sat in front of us at the defense table. I felt the need to jump the wall and beat him to a pulp. Even though I had Tim, the wounds were still very raw. Seeing him was like slashing them open again and pouring in salt. I could still invision the ideas I had for torture for him. It wasn't pretty. As I set there, trying to get a grip on my runaway emotions, he turns and looks at me. Nothing..no emotion, no regret, no compassion, no remorse. Evil. That is the only way to describe the eyes that looked at me from the defense table that day. Pure evil.
As the judge began, tears began to flow down my face. The judge, doing his job, slowly rehashed every charge that Jason had incurred. Capital Murder, Brandishing a Firearm in public, Committing murder with a deadly weapon, theft of personal belongings, leaving the scene of a crime, failure to report a crime, and a host of others. Before the judge sentenced him, Jason was given the chance to speak any last words. Did I want him to turn around and look at me and say sorry? Did I expect him too? Did I want to hear the lies? NO and YES. I felt angry because he didn't and angry because he had the audacity to. But in the end, he chose not to say anything. The judge sentenced him to life in prison with no chance of parole plus 55 years to be served consecutively. You could feel the air being sucked out of the room. The wails that went up from his family was deafening. They had hoped, as I guess I would have had the situation been reversed, that the judge would have compassion and leniency. Jason's lawyers had spoken their last statements right before the judge gave his verdict. Compassion, they asked for, so that Jason could have a chance to see his daughter grow up. What about compassion for Jimmy so he could have had a chance for children to watch grow up. A light at the end of the tunnel the lawyer said. Jimmy has no light at the end of his tunnel. Be merciful to Jason, the victim of an abusive stepfather and a mother who died of cancer. What about the lack of mercy he showed to my husband. No, the judge decided fairly. He metered out the correct punishment for the crime.
Next, Michael Lee Sammons, your turn. Same charges, but to a lesser extent. The judge didn't believe that Michael was the mastermind. He gave him the benefit of the doubt although the judge did say that he didn't believe all of his testimony. Michael, too, had a child and was expecting another at the time of sentencing. The judge sentenced him to life with the possibility of parole. So, he can go up for parole when he is 78.
Now, let me explain a few things. Jason was 19 and Michael was 18 when they killed my husband. Both were into drinking and drugging. Both had hard childhoods. Jason was married with a beautiful daughter, Michael was engaged with a beautiful son and one on the way. Not even legal to purchase alcohol, they both made a decision that forever impacted many people's lives.
Many times I have thought about requesting a sit down, face to face with Jason. What would I say to him? Would I want the answers he would give? Would he tell me the truth? Would I really want him to? As of yet, I haven't done it. I don't think I ever will. I have come to a place in my life where I am ok with it.
So, in my next post, I will fast forward a few years and continue my testimony.
Thanks for accompanying me on my journey,
Emily
Over the course of the next few months, the man I met online, Tim, and I began a friendship. We talked about everything under the sun. We liked the same things..music, tv, sports, food, etc. We came from two totally different backgrounds though. But, they say opposites attract, right? Our friendship grew and became stronger. I had explained the entire situation to Tim throughout our many chats. He knew all about my PTSD, my loss of voice, the investigation, the trial, my stint in Tuckers. It didn't matter to him. He knew what we had the sentencing faze coming up soon.
I had no intentions, and I mean NO intentions of falling in love again. I didn't want to. I was totally enjoying talking to people online and living in my little, self-made, safe cocoon. Well, lo and behold, God had other plans. Tim and I did fall in love. Online no less. We had the same ideas about marriage, children, religion, money, etc, and our friendship was going great, so it I guess is was logical to take the next step.
In the meantime, I am still dealing with court. Because we had a bench trial, meaning that only the judge heard the case and not a jury, the death penalty had been taken off the table. Now, if it had been completely up to me, I would have given both of them the death penalty. Yes, I believe in the death penalty. I believe if you take someone's life, your life should be taken in the same manner. The Bible clearly states an eye for an eye. But, to be fair, it also says that "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord." But, the Bible also tells us that we are to abide by the laws of the land. So, I had to abide by the laws set forth by Chesterfield County Courts.
Because we had a bench trial, I was not required to stand up in court and say anything. I had the option of writing a Victim Impact Statement. That is the option I chose. In this 5 page letter to the judge, I explained exactly what Jimmy's death had done to my life. I wrote about being a happily married woman when I went to bed on December 30, 1997 and waking up 8 hours later a widow. I explained to the judge how it felt to have to be institutionalized for 9 days because I had a phsycotic break. I let him know how my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest, stomped on, put in a blender, poured back into my chest and was expected to function correctly. I explained to him the lonliness, aloneness, despondancy, and heartbreak I was feeling. I told him how it felt to know that I wouldn't grow old with the man I had married and how I would never be able to look into my child's face and see Jimmy. I let the judge know how angry I was that all my options to a future had been taken away because two people decided to play God. I had to explain the financial impact Jimmy's death had caused. I wasn't able to work because I couldn't focus, talk, concentrate, or stand to be around people. I explained the fear that comes with PTSD. I explained the depression and anxiety that comes along with it too. I was grateful that I didn't have to stand up in court and read this letter. It was for the judge's eyes only. And I would hope that it had an impact on his sentencing choices.
Chesterfield County Court system has a program called Victim/Witness Advocacy. They assigned me a case worker and her first idea was for me to attend a support group. Ok...logically I knew that others had been through the same thing, but my feelings were mine and I wasn't sure I was ready to share my experience with a bunch of strangers. I did take her advice though, and went to a meeting. Big mistake. I was the only widow there. Everyone else had lost a child to homicide. No one had a clue how I felt. I sat there listening to everyone talk about how painful it is to hold your dying child in your arms, or to have to go identify your child's body at the morgue. I couldn't relate even one iota. I didn't have any children. Jason and Michael took that option away from me when they shot my husband. I never went back to that or any other group. I guess, in theory, it's a good idea. But if you are going to send someone to a group session, you need to make sure that there will be someone who has been through the same thing. I have often times thought of approaching the Victim/Witness Advocacy program and volunteering to counsel widows of homicide , but haven't felt led to do so.
Sentencing was scheduled for late 1999. I had decided to move up here to Pennsylvania to be with Tim and in November of 1999 I did just that. We moved into a little house across the yard from his parents. Now, I know what you are thinking..."Are you crazy? Moving that close to your mother in law." My mother in law is the most amazing woman ever. I couldn't have hand picked a better one. She is like a biological mom to me. She and I have a wonderful relationship. I would go over every afternoon around 3 and have coffee with her. We would talk and talk and talk. In the past 12 years she has been a lifeline.
We received our letter in the mail about sentencing the first part of November. They postponed it until early 2000. The Victim/Witness program paid for our hotel, and reimbursed us for the gas that it took to come down for sentencing. As I sat in the courtroom again, nervous, all the old memories assailed me. I felt myself becoming overwhelmed with emotion. I began to feel as if I was going to hyperventilate. Tim, the sweet man that he is, asked me if I needed to go out and get some air or water. He took hold of my hand and began to rhythmically rub the top. That was the most calming thing he could have done. As we waited for our case to be called, I looked around the room and saw Jason's and Michael's families. Because of all this drama, there had been a huge rift develop in my mother's relationship with my step father's family. They wouldn't speak to her. They just couldn't believe that their sweet Jason would ever do anything this horrible. They even bailed him out of jail twice during the past two years. His sister put up her house with the bails bondsman to get him out.
The stress of the situation had led to the death of my step father in January of 1999. He was so torn between my mother and I and his family that he didn't know which end was up. He had some major health problems, but the stress is what killed him. He told my mom before he died that he didn't know where to sit in the courtroom for the trial because if he sat with my mom his family would be hurt and if he sat with his family my mom would be hurt. Thank God that he didn't have to make that decision because God, in His infinite mercy, chose to take Larry home before the trial began.
So now, sitting in the courtroom, with Jason's and Michael's family looking at me like I had three heads, it was time for sentencing. Jason's was first. When he walked out of the prisoner holding cell in his beautiful bright orange jumpsuit, handcuffed and chained, my heart dropped. I knew he was going to be there, but seeing him was something totally different. He sat in front of us at the defense table. I felt the need to jump the wall and beat him to a pulp. Even though I had Tim, the wounds were still very raw. Seeing him was like slashing them open again and pouring in salt. I could still invision the ideas I had for torture for him. It wasn't pretty. As I set there, trying to get a grip on my runaway emotions, he turns and looks at me. Nothing..no emotion, no regret, no compassion, no remorse. Evil. That is the only way to describe the eyes that looked at me from the defense table that day. Pure evil.
As the judge began, tears began to flow down my face. The judge, doing his job, slowly rehashed every charge that Jason had incurred. Capital Murder, Brandishing a Firearm in public, Committing murder with a deadly weapon, theft of personal belongings, leaving the scene of a crime, failure to report a crime, and a host of others. Before the judge sentenced him, Jason was given the chance to speak any last words. Did I want him to turn around and look at me and say sorry? Did I expect him too? Did I want to hear the lies? NO and YES. I felt angry because he didn't and angry because he had the audacity to. But in the end, he chose not to say anything. The judge sentenced him to life in prison with no chance of parole plus 55 years to be served consecutively. You could feel the air being sucked out of the room. The wails that went up from his family was deafening. They had hoped, as I guess I would have had the situation been reversed, that the judge would have compassion and leniency. Jason's lawyers had spoken their last statements right before the judge gave his verdict. Compassion, they asked for, so that Jason could have a chance to see his daughter grow up. What about compassion for Jimmy so he could have had a chance for children to watch grow up. A light at the end of the tunnel the lawyer said. Jimmy has no light at the end of his tunnel. Be merciful to Jason, the victim of an abusive stepfather and a mother who died of cancer. What about the lack of mercy he showed to my husband. No, the judge decided fairly. He metered out the correct punishment for the crime.
Next, Michael Lee Sammons, your turn. Same charges, but to a lesser extent. The judge didn't believe that Michael was the mastermind. He gave him the benefit of the doubt although the judge did say that he didn't believe all of his testimony. Michael, too, had a child and was expecting another at the time of sentencing. The judge sentenced him to life with the possibility of parole. So, he can go up for parole when he is 78.
Now, let me explain a few things. Jason was 19 and Michael was 18 when they killed my husband. Both were into drinking and drugging. Both had hard childhoods. Jason was married with a beautiful daughter, Michael was engaged with a beautiful son and one on the way. Not even legal to purchase alcohol, they both made a decision that forever impacted many people's lives.
Many times I have thought about requesting a sit down, face to face with Jason. What would I say to him? Would I want the answers he would give? Would he tell me the truth? Would I really want him to? As of yet, I haven't done it. I don't think I ever will. I have come to a place in my life where I am ok with it.
So, in my next post, I will fast forward a few years and continue my testimony.
Thanks for accompanying me on my journey,
Emily
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