A Nightmare Plays Out In Real Time – Part 4 – “The Day That Our Lives Changed Forever”

Monday morning was kind of a blur for me.  I was drained emotionally from all that had happened that weekend.  I’m not even sure the order of events that day.  I know that after we checked out of the hotel, at some point we went to the courthouse to get a restraining order against Harold.

I spent most of the day filling out papers for the order of protection.  There was so much information to give.  I was terrified that it wouldn’t go through in time.  But, then… would he even follow it?

I then bought a packet for filing for divorce on my own.  I went home to complete the packet.  I was feeling sad that it had come to that.  I fully believed in marriage and my vows.  I had wanted so badly for it to be different.  I believed that marriage was meant to be forever.  But, then… I also knew that marriage was not supposed to make you miserable and broken.  And, it certainly wasn’t supposed to endanger your life or the lives of your children.

I was feeling relieved that nothing else bad had happened while we were at the hotel.  I was feeling thankful that my children and family were safe.  I was feeling hopeful that after having the weekend to come down off of whatever drugs he had taken, that maybe Harold had come to his senses and wouldn’t cause more trouble.

As soon as we got home, I found the phone number for Harold’s doctor and called to let him know what happened and ask him to find a way to get him help before it was too late.  His response to me was puzzling.  He said, “Sheri, I guess you haven’t heard.”  Heard what?  Was he not listening to me?  His reply took my breath away.

He told me that Harold was dead.

Dead.

My knees buckled and I felt sick.

He was still talking.  He was telling me that he got the call from a detective earlier in the day that Harold had killed himself.  How could that be?  He was staying with his sister.  Surely knowing the state he was in, she wouldn’t have left him alone.  And, how?  How would he do such a thing?  Did he take the gun with him?  My head was spinning.

I’m not sure if anything I said to the doctor after that was even coherent.  I think I was gasping.  I think I almost dropped the phone.  I was so confused.  This couldn’t be real.

What would I tell my children?  How would they ever understand?  Why would he leave them like that?  I certainly couldn’t tell them that he was threatening to kill them just days before this.  What would I say?

I remember sobbing to my dad that I never wanted this to happen.  I only wanted him to leave me alone.  What he said sent chills down my spine and I think it finally all sank in.  Everything.  All of it at once.  He said, “Better him alone than him taking you and the kids with him.”  He also said that he now knew me and the kids would be safe.

But, it isn’t what I wanted to happen.

Until that weekend, he had been a good father.  He really had.  As messed up as he could get sometimes, he was good with them.  He took good care of them.  There was no doubt he loved them as he should.  What happened to this man?  How could he do this to our kids???

I was angry.  I was hurt.  I was confused.  I felt so much pain for my kids.  At that point, I was able to forgive him for everything he’d done to me over the years.  I was able to let it go knowing that he couldn’t even deal with his own pain, much less what he created for me.  All those years of hell were forgiven.

The one thing I could not bring myself to forgive was that he left my children to grow up with this.  They were so young.  How would they cope with knowing their father committed suicide?  What would they feel knowing that he took his own life?  I hated him for that.  I hated him for many things before that… but, now… I only hated him for that.

I went through the motions of making calls to the sheriff’s office for information.  At first, they would tell me nothing.  Evidently, Harold’s sister told him we were divorced and that I had no right to know anything about the case and that I was not to have any of his belongings.  I had to convince them that we were NOT divorced.  I had picked up the papers to file… but, had not done so yet.  It was just that day even.  They finally started telling me everything and wanted me to come pick up his personal items that he had on him when he died.

His sister had taken him to her house in Zephyrhills.  She had spent the weekend with him sleeping the days away.  She had told the detectives that she knew he was severely depressed.  That morning, she went to work and her daughter went to school.  Her daughter came home to find him dead laying back on the bed with a gunshot to his chest.  I was told he used a rifle to shoot himself in the chest.

What rifle?  His sister’s rifle.  Why would he be left alone with a gun in the house knowing his state of mind?  That’s something only his sister can answer… and, live with.

I didn’t know what to think anymore.  I was tired of thinking.  I was exhausted from trying to make sense out of nonsense.  Was this really my life?  Widowed at 27 with a 6-year-old little girl and a 3-year-old little boy.  Was this who I was now?  It had to be a nightmare.  The whole weekend.  One big drawn out nightmare.

When I finally went to pick up his things from the sheriff’s office, there was only his wallet and watch.  The wallet didn’t have much more than his driver license in it.  There were pictures of our kids missing.  I’m not even sure that his bank card was in there.  No money was in the wallet, I’m certain of that.  Not one single dollar.  Not even change from his pocket.  Where had all the money gone that he took from our bank account?  Where were the pictures of our kids?  The detective told me that’s how it was given to her.

The next couple weeks were difficult enough without his family blaming me for what he did.  They didn’t even ask about the kids.  They wanted his wallet and watch.  In fact, they wanted all of his stuff.  Did they forget that I had his children to raise… now, alone?  I was asked to send his body to North Carolina so that he could be buried next to his father who had died May 8th, 1985.  I had no problem with their request except that I had no money to pay for the transportation of his body.  They somehow thought that I had taken all Harold’s money.  What money?  Did they not realize that I was left with all these debts to pay by myself?  They said they would cover the expenses of transporting the body if I would sign the release forms.  I did.  I was told to not show up at the funeral.  My kids didn’t even get to attend their own father’s funeral.  Over the years, not one member of his family ever called, wrote, or sent a card to the kids.

When I told my children about their dad, I only said that he had died.  I couldn’t bear telling them that he killed himself.  My little girl understood more than I thought she would.  She was a “Daddy’s girl” through and through.  It broke my heart into a million pieces having to see her so devastated.  I remember sitting my little boy across my lap facing me.  I reminded him of what it meant to be dead.  I then had to tell this sweet baby boy that his father was dead.  He asked me if he died in the truck.  The truck?  My mind flashed to the crash Harold had when he was trying to run us off the road.  I couldn’t dare let my son think that the truck he would be riding in is where his dad died.  I explained to him that he died from a gunshot.  I reminded him of the talks we’d had about guns and I knew he understood.  They didn’t know until years later that he committed suicide.  And, even longer before they found out that he had threatened to take us with him.

They both had trouble from time to time dealing with what he did.  But, they’ve both grown to be beautiful individuals.

Our lives could have been very different had Harold lived.  But, in what way?

For better?

Or, for worse?

A Nightmare Plays Out In Real Time – Part 3 – “Escape… or, More Imprisonment?”

I awoke to a loud banging on the front door.  As soon as I opened my eyes he was jumping out of bed and putting on his pants.  He whispered to me that I’d better not make a sound or come out of the room as he pointed the gun at me.  He left the bedroom door open just a  little and I could see the front door from the bed.  He opened the front door to a woman yelling at him about money.  He said something about his kid or kids and I got the impression that this woman was his wife.  I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, only bits and pieces of things here and there that I was trying to put together. From what I could tell they were separated and had at least one child together.  He never had the front door opened more than 6 inches or so… just enough for him to talk to her and hand her money out of his wallet.  I wish I could hear more.  I wish I could understand more of what I was hearing.

All of a sudden he was back in the room ordering me to get out of bed and telling me I had to leave.  Leave?  Hell, yeah!  That’s exactly what I had been wanting to do since he grabbed me.  He put the nightie back in the closet and made sure the living room was straightened up and plugged the phone back in the kitchen as he told me to call my mother to come get me.  I happily made the call and he gave her directions of how to get to his house.  I was finally going home.  I could finally see my kids.  Thank God!

As we waited for my mother to come get me, he was talking very sweetly about how happy he was that he was able to rescue me.  He kept telling me how lucky I was that he came along when he did.  He wanted to cook me breakfast, but I just wanted my mom to be there so I could get as far away from this man as possible.  He kept me busy with small talk and the time passed quickly.

As soon as my mom came to the door I was ready to walk out, but he had her and my kids come in.  What the hell?  He was being so sweet to them and it was making me sick not to scream out what he had done, but I had no idea how he’d react and now my children were in this house with him, too.  He had my mom so convinced that he was such a great guy that she was actually thanking him for helping me.  Thankfully, we were finally leaving.

As soon as we got in the car, I began telling her how I had no idea who he was and that he just “took” me in the midst of all the commotion.  I was so busy talking to her about what had happened that I didn’t bother to look at the address or even the name of the neighborhood we were leaving.

Soon we were talking about Harold and I wasn’t thinking so much of the race car driver.  In fact, with being able to focus on Harold again, I forgot about my kidnapper altogether.  That seems strange to me now, but I guess I was putting my energy where the most CURRENT threat was.  It was the last time I saw that man face-to-face.  But, his name would come up while watching a race and I would always wonder.  I settled for thinking that it couldn’t be him… that the man who kidnapped me was just using his name to try to impress me or something.  But, will I ever know for sure?

Mom and I thought it best that we take the kids to a hotel and hide out for the weekend so that Harold wouldn’t be able to find us.  I went to the ATM to get cash for the hotel, but Harold had already emptied the bank account.  We ended up at a hotel in Brandon far enough away from home that he wouldn’t think to look for us there, but close enough that if something happened we could get home quickly.

It was Mother’s Day weekend and I was spending it hiding out in a hotel room with my mother and children.  That day and the next I went to pay phones to call Harold’s family in NC telling them what happened and asking them to help.  Help us… and, help him.  Maybe if he went for a visit with them, it would help clear his mind.  Maybe they could talk to him.  Maybe they could convince him to get away from the drugs.

Apparently, he had already given them a very different version of the events that took place.  He had them convinced that even though he did what he did, it was MY fault and that I deserved it.  They wouldn’t even believe me that he was threatening our kids and my family, too.  How could they not believe me?  How could they think this was my fault?  I had always been extremely close to his family.  In fact, they kept in touch with me more than they did him.  I loved them so much.  I never thought of them as in-laws.  I thought of them as MY family.  They knew him.  They knew me.  How could they not believe what I was telling them?  How could they ignore the fact that he was so messed up on drugs?  I guess it didn’t matter.  I felt so lost.  I felt so hopeless.  I thought if nothing else, I could always turn to them for help.

Each time I walked out the hotel room door for food or anything else, I was scouting for Harold.  We spent that weekend in fear that he would find us.  Scared that he would carry out his threats.  There was no way for me to know that he was, in fact, about to carry out one threat he had made for years.

No way for me to know how drastically my life would be changing forever.

Rock Bottom

Texas woman denied food stamps shoots children, kills self – latimes.com.

So sad. And, I’m sure that she must have been beyond desperation to carry out such a thing. I understand her frustration. I certainly don’t condone what she did… but, I know what it’s like to be at rock bottom and nowhere to turn for help. What she did is wrong in every way imaginable… but, obviously, she felt it was her last resort.

People do crazy things in desperate times.  And, these are desperate times.  It’s hard to imagine that anyone in this great nation of ours would have to go bed hungry… or, cold.  Harder to imagine is someone not having a bed at all.  But, it’s all around us.  Do you see it?

How horrible it must be to think that the only way to keep your children from the pain of starving to death is shooting them.  I can’t fathom ever considering taking the life of my children!  And, I don’t excuse this woman for trying.  I’m sure there are details of the story we have not heard yet.  But, going only on what we have here so far, it’s tragic enough.  Does anyone care?

We have programs in place to prevent hunger, homelessness, living without electric and water, etc.  So, why?  Why are there so many not receiving help?  Why are there so many living in desperation?

Our economy is tanking.  Our resources are strained, at best.  But, there are organizations to help.  However, as with anything else in life, there are certain criteria to meet in order to receive said help.  And, some of those criteria are redundant, useless, and a huge waste of time and money.  I understand that they cannot just hand out money to anyone that asks for it without checking out their needs first.  But, seriously… even though there are some clever con artists out there… MOST people asking for assistance truly need it to survive.  I have needed it.  I have asked for it.  I have been denied.

And, even with assistance programs, some barely survive at all.

I’ve lost my job… my family home… too many items of my children’s lives to mention without crying… things that were a part of my family for generations to never be seen again… jewelry and items I’ve had to sell just to have gas money or food… the list goes on.

Somehow, we’ve survived.  We’ve struggled… and, continue to struggle.  But, as a family, we’ve managed to stay together with strength and love that we didn’t realize we possessed.  Things will get better for us.  We will fight our way back out of this hole.  We will find a way to thrive again.  But, some won’t.  For some… there is no hope.  For those, I pray.  I pray for you.  I pray for my family.  I pray for my friends.  I pray… for me.

I have made a vow that when I am able to do so again… when I’ve risen a little more above rock bottom myself… I WILL help whomever I can, however I can.  Will you?

Hopelessness

When we feel hopeless, we feel beaten down.  It has happened to us all at one time or another.  It will continue to happen to us from time to time throughout our lives.  But, no matter what, we have to keep believing that things WILL get better.  We have to make a  conscious choice to find faith… inspiration.

With all the things I’ve gone through in my life, I know all too well what it’s like to feel lost… worn down… hopeless.  But, I also know all too well that things ALWAYS have a way of working out.  They may not be in the time frame we wish… or, may not even be the results we wanted.  But, it always turns out for the best for us in that particular situation.  I truly believe that things will always eventually be as they are meant to be.

Patience for some, me included, is hard to come by.  But, in this case, waiting is all we can do when we lack the power to make a change ourselves.  Sometimes, it’s just out of our hands to take any physical action and we’re left with leaving it up to God… fate… the universe… a higher power… time… whatever.  Sometimes just letting go of it can make all the difference in the world.  It allows us to step back and see it in a new way… occasionally, we see that it’s not as bad as we first perceived it to be.

And, even if it is something horrible… we can waste time and energy focusing on nothing but it… or, we can be strong enough to focus on the good things around us and be happier for it.

I also believe we can always find good in even the worst of circumstances.  We may have to look very hard for the good… but, it’s there.  If it’s a relationship ending… What did we learn from it?… What did we gain?… Are we better off without it?  If it’s a loss of life… What good did that person bring to our lives?  Isn’t a celebration of that life (no matter how short it was) the better way of showing our love?

I feel very strongly that when you think positive thoughts you give off positive energy.  When you think negatively… negative energy.  I work hard to focus on the positive.  I figure there’s been enough negative in my life so what can I possibly hurt by CHOOSING to be positive… by CHOOSING to see the good?  Sometimes, our lives truly suck.  And, sometimes… we just need a new perspective.

Either way, it’s our choice on how we deal with it.