Losing Kate

 

Katherine Marlene was born at 16:16 pm on June 9, 2002.  She was a petite 7 pounds, 5 ounces and had a full head of hair.  She had big, beautiful eyes and long fingers.  She had a tiny little birthmark on her earlobe.  We knew she was a girl long before she made her appearance.  

As she grew, her personality really started to shine.  She was smart and funny.  She was also quite trying on the patience at times.

Her teen years started with her always wanting to succeed in school, bringing home straight "A"s without me even having to push.  She was always harder on herself.

Teenage Kate had her hard moments.  We struggled with her eating disorder and low self esteem.  We sought help on numerous occasions.  She attempted suicide once and was hospitalized.  Once we found the right treatment, she started to soar.

At the beginning of this September it all came to a halt.

Her move in day at the start of her sophomore year of college turned into a nightmare.  

She was raped by another student in his dorm room.  

She internalized the trauma for about ten days before she told me.  Ashamed and embarrassed, she didn't want to be judged.  As a rape victim, one tends to blame themselves and is often afraid to speak out.  A victim feels afraid of retaliation and also fear that they won't be believed.  A victim is in shock and is unable to fully process what has happened to them.

I finally talked her into reporting it and she went to the hospital to get examined.  During the exam, she vocalized wanting to die and they had to commit her to behavioral health for 72 hours.

After her release, she was exhibiting signs of delusions and hallucinations.  Her dad was concerned and brought her back to the hospital.  She has been diagnosed with psychosis.  She has been creating an alternate reality to hide from the trauma of the attack.

As a parent, I cannot explain how horrible it feels to have lost your child on top of knowing what she has been through to bring her to this point.  

She doesn't deserve this.... any of it.

I cannot visit her due to covid restrictions.  I cannot hold her and tell her that she will be alright.  I cannot take away any of her pain.  I couldn't protect her from the monster who did this to her.  I cannot wipe her tears.

When I talk to her, I don't know this Katie.  

I pray that I have not lost her.  I pray so hard.

I listen for any little hint that she's still in there somewhere.

I don't want to be losing Kate.

A Mother's Cry

 

This is probably one of the hardest things I've written about.  I've started it many times and put it aside because I was never sure if I could even put it into words.

I also didn't want anyone judging the situation.  It is a tough situation to even think about going through but then to actually live it....

Mind you, what I am about to write about happened a few years ago and we are all fine now.  I am writing about it because I am sure other moms have gone through it, are going through it or will go through it.  I just want you to know that you are not alone.

I thought it was odd that she asked me for an extension cord.  She said that she needed it for her curling iron.  I had a long day and didn't really question her.  After several minutes...hell, it could have been an hour but the time doesn't matter, she came out of the bathroom and admitted to the lie and said that the cord was to put into the tub with her.

As a parent, I didn't know what to do.  I knew she struggled and we had tried to get help but help was just almost impossible to find.  School counselors were focused on SATs and college meetings.  I was told that they were too busy to even refer us to someone who could help.  I had called behavioral health and got her in to see an older guy but he really couldn't relate to poor body image and teenage breakups.

I tried to help but she accused me of making it about me.  I only tried to relate to what she was going through but she didn't see me as ever being a teenager.

When she admitted the intent of the extension cord, I calmly said that I was glad that she told me and we talked for a bit.  She went to bed.

I was up all night thinking why the fuck couldn't I help my own child.  I felt like a failure.  I made the decision to seek the ultimate help.

I can't really remember if she went to school the next day but again, the timeline doesn't really matter.

I made the decision to take her to the emergency room and seek for some way to help her.

She had serious body image issues.  She binged and purged.  She was a shell of what she once was.  She worked out constantly.

She had bullies at school who were into cyberbullying her.  Her ass was too big, her arms were too hairy, and whatever else.  

She self harmed.  Her arms were cut with scissors or a knife.

She was angry and depressed.

and I couldn't help her.

My beautiful child was a mess.

She didn't fight me on going to the hospital.  Which surprised me but I think she was just ready to get help too.

In the emergency room they ran blood tests and checked vitals.  Finally a doctor came and talked with us, mainly her.  She explained everything that was going on with her and her thoughts.  I was startled to learn that it was worse that what I was seeing.  My heart broke even more.

I stepped out with the doctor and he asked what I was thinking.  I started to cry and said that I think she needs to be admitted to the pysch ward and if she doesn't agree, I will have her forcibly placed.

As a mother, this had to be one of the hardest decisions I had to make. 

I talked with her a bit about my decision and at first she was scared about how it would all work.  She then opened to the idea and agreed to go.

It was hard leaving her there but I also knew that she was safe.  That first night I slept so good knowing that she was safe.

The first few days were hard for her as she never liked sleeping away from home but as she got involved in the program, I began to see improvement.  She was there for about 5 days.  

We put a plan into place so that she could come home.  We learned to talk about things.  We worked with a counselor.  Her medication was adjusted.

I'm not saying that everything was perfect after that.  There have been some large bumps in the road but we have tools to deal with them.

Despite everything she was a straight A student.  She is bright, funny, and beautiful.

I am proud of my daughter.

Dear Katie

Hello my darling daughter...

I know this will probably embarrass you in some way but sometimes blogging is the way I express my feelings.

Sometimes I feel like I fail as your mother.  I think that I struggle empowering you to feel like you can conquer the world.  I feel that I don't give you the strength to be strong and confident to face the days that aren't so good.  I want you to learn to be strong on the days that aren't so good.  I want you to learn to be confident on the days where you feel like falling apart.  I want you to learn to be brave on the most scariest occasions.

I know we've had some hard times.  I know that those hard times continue to haunt us.

I also feel like I need to apologize for your father and his failure to be a good dad to you.  Just know, I wish things were different but at the same time, if they were different and I had made different choices, I would't have you.

You often think that I don't care.

But I do care very much.

Some days it is hard, and you have no idea how hard it is to be a mother.

I don't make excuses but I didn't have very good role models for parents.  My own mother issues haunt me.  I never want to do to you what my own did to me.

I knew you before you were born.  I chose your name, Katherine Marlene.  I spoke to you even when you were inside me.  

I wish that you could see how I see you.

You are beautiful.  You are funny.  You are capable of great things.

I just wish that you can see that too.

I love you very much.

...... your mother

The Berlin Wall and My Mother

I used to have a piece of the Berlin Wall.

I bet you are wondering how this relates to my mother.

Let me tell you...

This is probably one of this most difficult things to write about and it has taken me years to put it together and just as long to not stop writing to have a cry.

Like I said, I used to have a piece of the Berlin Wall.  I also had a very coveted Stephen King novel and a potato belly mandolin.

As I write, please remember that I do love my mother.

You can love someone and at the very same time be angry at them.

I had a bad break up years ago that led me to see a counselor.  During my first visit I exclaimed, "Why do I keep choosing the wrong men?"

So the counselor asked me about my past, my family dynamics, my goals, what makes me happy.  You know, all that counseling stuff.

After a few sessions, my counselor mentioned that she thought I may be the daughter of a narcissistic mother.  She recommended that I read, "Will I Ever Be Good Enough", by Karyl McBride.

I read the book.  

And I cried for hours.

and hours....

The book felt like the author knew my life.

The hurt and anger bubbled up to the surface.  I had an understanding of why I am the way I am.

A narcissistic mother has the family revolve around them.  The pit siblings against each other.  She is extremely controlling of one child (me), makes one out to be the bad kid (my brother) and ignores the rest (my sister).

A narcissistic mother cannot exhibit empathy.  She doesn't acknowledge your successes and stresses the importance of how things look to her and not how it feels for you.  She is critical and judgmental.  She is more of a friend than a parent.  She tells you how to feel instead of asking how you feel.  

The dynamic of a narcissistic mother is so broad that I cannot even list everything and not all narcissistic mothers have all of the dynamic.

Obviously, growing up, I never knew of this form of abuse but as an adult, I totally do now.

Trying to heal from it is difficult.  I suffer from such self doubt.  

When I fix my hair, I hear my mom's voice, "If you wear you hair short, you face wouldn't look so fat." 

I struggle in relationships.  I try so hard to please my partner that I lose who I am in the process.  I have had lots of practice trying to please my mother in order to receive love and acceptance.  I never felt like I totally achieved the goal.

During my counseling, I grieved for my younger self.  I see a little blonde haired girl wanting desperately to be loved but never feeling it the way that it should have been.

Instead of encouraging me to grow and learn my way, she limited me.  I wanted to go to college so bad in Colorado.  I applied and was accepted at several universities.  When the acceptance letters came in the mail, I eagerly showed them to my mom.  She looked at the letters in disgust and said that she would never pay for me to go to a school that far away.  My hopes and dreams were cut so very short.  I basically gave up on dreaming after that.

When I was 21, I finally moved out and as I was packing up my room I noticed my coveted Stephen King novel, that she had even given my one Christmas, was missing as well as a piece of the Berlin Wall that a friend had sent me.  I questioned her on it and she said that she took them and gave them to one of her friends because she figured I was doing reading the book and that I didn't want the rock anyway.

Even after all this time, I am very angry.  Two of my favorite treasures.....gone.

After my second divorce, my parents were helping me move into my new house.  She spotted my antique potato belly mandolin and asked if she could have it back.  She gave it to me for Christmas one year.  She wanted to gift it to my nephew (that I have never met) because she felt he would appreciate it more than me.

Again, I felt defeated but I didn't stand up to her.

Even after she died, my sister got her wedding rings and she said that was going to happen because I should get my grandmother's ring from my Aunt.  She said I should contact her to get it.

So why do I write about this now?

It has taken time.  I have so many unfinished drafts.  It is a hard subject to explain.  I open myself up to judgment because heaven forbid that I talk bad about her.

I can only hope that I continue to heal.  

Maybe someday I will be good enough.



Links:

Will I Ever Be Good Enough by Karyl McBride

Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers Website

Anonymity is a Voice of Cowards

Today was a trying day to say the least.

I have been having weird issues with headaches, dizzy spells, metal taste in my mouth, losing hair and abdominal pain.  I saw the doctor today to rule out some things but nothing really got ruled out.  I just have to see a different doctor on May 9th.  I won't say too much about what is going on since I don't have the answers yet.

I can deal with it.  Even though I am worried, I can deal with it.

She did discover that I have a sinus infection...still.  I thought it was cleared up but apparently is it really good at trickery.  So I have some huge horse pills to take.

Isn't that great?

So let's get to the point of this blog entry....

I come home from the doctor to find a letter in my mailbox.  There was no return address and no signature on the letter.

The letter is anonymous.

It goes on to tell me that I need to make the decision to be happy. Apparently, I am not happy and this person gathers this from whatever I post on facebook.

Yeah, facebook drama....

I hate facebook but then again I can't turn away from it.  Isn't that weird.  I suppose that many people have this issue.

Moving on...

the writer of this letter also tells me to move on and to get over it.  I guess I am angry all the time too.  

hrrmmm

The writer of the letter talks about my mother and what she did to me. (look up narcissistic mothers and the damage that they do...just look).  I'm not letting that go, not yet.  My therapist said that it is ok for me to be angry about it.  I am allowed to be pissed off and bitter and have negative feelings.  There is some serious damage done and I am NOT letting that go.  If that bothers you, then too bad.  Too fucking bad....

I guess the writer says that I am passing this anger on to my children.  Um, I don't think so.  I have done a lot of work to not be the kind of mother I had.  I allow them to follow their dreams and do what they love.  I support them emotionally.  I tell them every day that I love them.  And if that is passing my anger on to them, then so what.

The writer also used the phrase "be happy" so many times, I wanted to vomit.  Choose to be happy, just be happy, in fact....be happy were the last two words on the letter.  Really?  Just be happy?  Is that all it takes?  This person must be on some sort of medication or doesn't really understand depression.  

If I don't make the choice to be happy then I guess I prefer to live my life in misery.  Yep, that is what it says.  Sounds like this person doesn't know diddly about me at all.  

Also, the writer stated that my mother, me and my daughter are angry, bitter, drama queens.  

Pfft....whatever.....

Oh and the very best part....wait for it.....

Wait

For

It

The writer says that I suck the good, the positive, and the happiness out of people because of my choices.

Yep....that right there just pissed me off.

So many people enjoy my company.  They enjoy my conversation and my humor.  I have an ability to take whatever stressful situation and put a funny spin on it.  The doctor's office today was a great example.  I can make my broken ovaries a very funny discussion.

If anything sucks, it has been numerous people and what they have done to me.  I have been taken advantage of so many times.  I guess that has been my choice in the past.  I chose these people to be around and they sucked me out of my happiness.  So, I no longer really talk to those people anymore.

The letter goes on the say that my father and my exes help me out and I have a nice place to live and blah blah fucking blah....and I should be grateful for it.  I am grateful, really.  All three of them really caused a lot of hurt in the past and I got over it and moved on.  I forgave the cheater, the pansy and the leaver (I won't say who is who, just that all three of them left me and left me wounded.)  I am grateful for my ability to forgive and my ability to ask for help.  I am grateful that I can look past the past hurts and allow these three people to be a part of my life.

How's that for being grateful?

Therapy has been a very positive choice that I have made.

I have become so much stronger.  I have realized that I am entitled to be angry and pissed off.  I allowed to have feelings.  I am also able to look in the mirror and see what a beautiful person I am despite all the negativity I have dealt with.

Apparently, what I write on the interwebs is always up for criticism.  I never minded that.  I don't really ever give two shits what anyone thinks.  I am who I am.  I am not here to impress anyone.  I never cared about stuff like that.  If you don't like me or what I say, that isn't my problem...it's yours.


This person could have sent me a nice card.  Maybe something to cheer me up, you know, a card with puppies or kittens on it.  They could have told me how pretty I am or how wonderful my kids are.  Hell, they could have not bothered to send anything at all and kept their freaking stupid opinions to themselves.  Now there's an idea.

So whoever wrote this letter and took the time to mail it, is a fucking coward.  This person think they know me and all my crosses, all my hurts, all my smiles, all my thoughts and feelings.

They don't.

They suck at anonymity.  

I know exactly who they are; a cruel, ugly, mean, horrible, stupid, heartless, little person.

and that made me happy to write that.  :-)

The F-Bomb

I have never been comfortable dropping F-Bombs.  I don't know why.  It is a very strange habit of mine.

Maybe because my grandfather once told me that swearing tends to dumb people down.  For some reason they cannot express what or why they are excited, angry, happy, sad....whatever.....so they swear.

I have no problem uttering "damn it" or "shit".  Hell, I can even swear in several different languages.

But the F-Bomb....

One memory that stands out to me regarding the F-Bomb is the time my grandfather was having open heart surgery.  He was rushed to a hospital about an hour away and I was living in the same town as my grandma so I had to drive her to the hospital.  My mom met us there and we waited together.  It was a long long wait.  My grandma was so distraught.  I was worried.  I think my mom was too.

The surgery lasted for several hours and once he was out of surgery, it was late.  My grandma, mom and I ended up getting a hotel room for the night.

Since the situation was stressful and our nerves were rattled we decided to drink several drinks.  We proceeded to get drunk.

Mind you, three generations sitting in a hotel, tying one on was quite the site itself but when my mom dropped a F-Bomb, I was flabbergasted.

"Mom. you can't say that in front of your mom." 

Then my grandma started in with this...

"Why can't she say fuck?  Seriously, how can such a pleasurable thing be such an offensive word?  I mean if you really want to swear, say "unfuck".  Now there's a word."

I sat in stunned silence.  Not only did my mother drop a F-Bomb in front of her mother, my grandmother was dropping F-Bombs all over the place and also stating that fucking was pleasurable.

Holy Crap!

I looked at my grandma and then my mother and then we busted out in laughter.

Even though I still can't bring myself to drop F-Bombs, it is one of the best memories.

Dear Mom...

Dear Mom,

I think this is the very first letter that I have ever written you.  Kind of strange but I have never really moved so far away to where I couldn't just pick up the phone and call you.  This time circumstances are very different.  You are the one who is very far away and I don't believe there are any phones where you are.

I have always been a big letter writer.  Well, you knew that already since you had to put stamps and addresses on every letter I wrote until I was old enough to do it myself.

We scattered your ashes in your favorite fishing spot.  It was the very first time that I was ever there.  It is quite amazingly beautiful and quiet.  You should be at peace there.  It was hard to do.  It is hard to say good bye to someone that I have known my whole entire life.

Mom, I haven't really mourned your death yet.  It has been almost 11 months and I have not allowed myself to cry or mourn.  It is weird.  I think that if I really stopped to do it, I may never stop.  It doesn't mean that I don't think of you.  I think of you every day.  I think of what you are missing.  I think of the cancer that took you away.  I think about how sometimes I wish I could just call you.

Maybe I am mourning you.  I don't know.  I never had a mom die before.

I am thankful that I did get to talk to you the morning on the day you died.  I am thankful that I got to tell you that I loved you one last time and I am also thankful that I got to hear that you loved me too.  That was most important since I couldn't be there when you left.  

I went through all the cards that people sent us expressing their sympathy.  It is strange to look at them now and think that they offered their sympathy then but now we (your family) still hurt and miss you.  

I also went through the slides that I got from you.  It is so strange to look at them now and remember what it was like to be a child and looking at you younger than I am now.  They are good memories.  Thank you for giving me the slides.

I know that I am angry.  I am angry at the cancer that took you.  I am angry at you for not going to the doctor sooner.  I am angry at the cigarettes.  I am angry that there wasn't more time.  I am angry that you will miss life events.  I am just still angry.

I wish I could write more and tell you everything but I am crying now. (I guess I am mourning, eh?)

I miss you so much.

Love,

Me

My mom

Mom's final resting place

Mom's ashes being scattered