T.J. has decided to share the first book she released, entitled Suicide: One Person's Journey to Making the Choice, here on her website. This is T.J.'s autobiography. It, along with the poems T.J. has written over the years and continues to write, serve as the roadmap to her journey throughout this lifetime. She hopes you are able to take away something positive from her experiences. T.J. hopes you will be able to appreciate the humor that she interjects in some of the more serious points throughout the book as well. This is representative of her natural approach to life.

Copyright © 2006, Copyright © 2019

T. J. Christoff. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, without the expressed written permission of the author. 

For permission, send all requests in writing to T.J. Christoff, at: tjchristoff1965@gmail.com. Please include your name, the reason for the request, and a valid contact number. Be sure to check out T.J. Christoff’s other books and new creations at her websites located at: www.tjchristoff.com.

In the interest of protecting the identities of the individuals mentioned in this book, the last names have been omitted for most. 

Acknowledgements

There have been countless contributors during my journey through life who have helped bring me to the writing of this book. Some have faces with names that are easy to recall, yet there are many more that were in my life for but a brief moment. Some of whose names escape my memory, yet are just as important as those that are specifically mentioned here.  To those unfortunately unable to be named, thank you for the effect you have had on my life. The following individuals are not necessarily listed in order of importance or significance to me, yet have added great meaning to my life. To you all, I owe a great debt of thanks:

My parents, whose lessons I didn’t always understand, yet I know have made me a better person because of them. I love you both with all of my heart.

My brothers, Kenn and Mick and sister, Lorna, all of whom I love deeply.

My cousin, Tony, for being my little brother and for putting up with my late-night poetry writing sessions.

My sister-in-law, Monica, for always being supportive of me, and for understanding me even when others didn’t.

My nieces Casey, Kendall and Morgan, and nephews, Kenneth and Andrew; I have been blessed to have all of you in my life.

My friends, Patty Barr, Amy Herrington, Jessica Duval and Jennifer Shive, for all of the support you gave me when times were the toughest.

All of the staff and clients at Country Kennels, Kansas City, Missouri, for always accepting me just as I am.

Kindl, Sherry, Jeannie, and Janet, each of whose individual degree of impact in my life is immeasurable.

Steph, for being my hero at a time when I really needed one.

Deborah Betsworth, PhD, for all the many hours you spent listening to me, but most importantly, for saving my life. Were it not for you, I surely would not be here today.

To all of my four-legged friends, past and present; Sinbad, Toe-Doe, Hershey, Fluffer-Nutter, Jyesee Jōvon, Mēkkō, Cinnamon, Yoda, Scenic, Glamour, Zeke, and Travesura, whose dependence on me and unconditional love continuously remind me that I am needed. 

Most importantly, I thank God for bringing all of you into my life at just the right time, and for using me and my experiences to hopefully, in some positive way, “Change the World” … if only just a little. Thank you all, with all of my heart!

Dedicated

This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever known the feeling of loneliness, pain, fear or loss; to anyone who has ever experienced torment at the hands of others. To anyone who has ever hurt so deeply, that the thought of existing for even another single moment seemed impossible at best. It is to those who, despite the odds, have found a way to keep going when times seemed their worst. 

This book is also dedicated in memory of those who were unable to keep up the fight. It is for those who left this world feeling abandoned, alone and empty. It is for those individuals whose silence cried out for help and understanding, yet whose voices went somehow unheard until it was too late…until they were gone.

Preface

Hindsight is 20/20. I doubt there are many people who if given a chance, wouldn’t like the opportunity to go back in time and change some, if not all of their past. Be it the choices they made as an individual or the things that affected them in some negative or hurtful way. It is the events of our past combined with our individual innate sensitivities that each of us possess, however, that contributes to the making of the person each of us will ultimately become.

Each generation holds within it certain truths. The way children were raised 50 or 60 years ago, could not be scarcely imagined by the children of today. The discipline imposed by parents onto their children of only 30 or 40 years ago, while acceptable then, would have been judged as abuse by today’s standards. 

It is only through years of living that one is able to mentally go back in time to evaluate the effects life as a child has had on them. It is also through years of living that we are able to truly appreciate and put to use those lessons that were taught to us so many years ago. 

Through time, the recollection of certain incidents may become clouded. Some facts or details recalled differently from one person to the next. That doesn’t make an event any less real or accurate within the individual mind of the person that recalls it, or any less important. 

While there may be emotional pains associated with an individual’s upbringing, it is imperative that we try to look past the pain to the lesson. In every situation we encounter throughout the course of our lives, from childhood through adulthood, we have an opportunity to learn something. The only things preventing us from learning these lessons are our own fear, anger, pride and sheer unwillingness. 

There will always be pain, hurt and loss as long as there is life. There are no cookie-cutter designs for the perfect parent or for the perfect child. We use what we learn and experience as children to hopefully someday become stronger adults and eventually better parents for our own children. 

As we grow into adults, we are faced with other issues that bring about the feeling of pain, hurt and loss. Each incident will affect us in a way that may or may not be understood by others in society, but once again, that perception from one person to the next is no less real or important.

Life is a journey. A race filled with obstacles and lessons, starting from conception and continuing throughout life until finally reaching its end in death. 

Enjoy your journey…for you know not when it shall end!

SUICIDE

One Person’s Journey to Making the Choice

By: T.J. Christoff

Table of Contents

Poem – I Might Choose Suicide................................................ 1

Chapter 1 – Child Without Parents....................................................... 3

Poem – All I Ever Wanted........................................................ 15

Chapter 2 - Two-Ton-Tessie............................................................... 16

Poem - Sticks and Stones.......................................................... 37

Chapter 3 -Teenage Trials................................................................... 38

Poem - Pain and Hurt................................................................ 56

Chapter 4 - Aim High - Leaving the Nest........................................... 58

Poem – I Am Me....................................................................... 84

Chapter – 5 - College after All............................................................ 85

Poem - A Dream....................................................................... 92

Chapter - 6 - The Great White North, eh?........................................... 94

Poem - Mysterious One........................................................... 106

Chapter 7 – You Know It’s Going to Be a Bad Day When.............. 108

Poem – The Executioner......................................................... 124

Chapter 8 – New Beginnings............................................................ 126

Poem – The Beast is at My Door............................................ 131

Chapter 9 – The Sunny South – Back to the Nest............................. 132

Poem – Angry Words.............................................................. 140

Chapter 10 – Finally, Happiness for Me?......................................... 141

Poem – I Just Want to Know.................................................. 155

Chapter 11 – Maybe the Mid-West?................................................. 156

Poem – And So the Journey Goes........................................... 167

Dedicated to Mom............................................................................. 168

Chapter 12 – That’s Another Story................................................... 169

Poem – There Is a Plan for You.............................................. 171

Postscript........................................................................................... 172

I Might Choose Suicide

It’s dark in here

So hard to see

The choice that’s best

To make for me

Would anyone notice

If I weren’t here

My heart’s so full

Of pain and fear

A sensitive soul

This time around

I try to speak

But there’s never a sound

Shall I bandage my wrist

Perhaps that will do

A silent attempt

To talk to you

To make the choice

I must confide

Will result from what

My heart won’t hide

How do I tell you

How I struggle inside

With the fear that someday

I might choose suicide?

Chapter 1 

Child Without Parents

Born on December 29th, 1965, and two months premature I might add, I was already in a hurry to get started on my journey through life. I didn’t know why then and to some degree I still don’t. I was to be born the last of four children, having two brothers and one sister, the oldest sibling just six years older than me.

My father was a Navy man and was gone for most of my younger years. He would return as often as the military life would allow, yet as a small child it never seemed often enough or long enough. My mother on the other hand did her best to raise four small children, while working whatever job was available at the time. She did her best by us, and looking back now, I am amazed at just how well she did, while still being able to maintain her sanity that is.

Perhaps the reason I decided to enter the world early was because I wanted to meet my Grandpa Kenny. As fate would have it, however, he passed away from a heart attack, just days after I was born. We never met, as I was born in Virginia and my Grandparents lived on a little farm in Mansfield, Ohio.

My mom would often tell me as I was growing up, that my grandpa and I would have gotten along famously, as we were both known for our quick wit and a love of friendly banter. I often felt, however, that the passing of my grandfather had somehow cast a dark cloud over me. He was my father’s father. And given that my birth and his death had both occurred smack dab in the middle of the Christmas Holiday Season, well I just can’t imagine the mixture of emotions which must have taken place in my family, as would surely be the case in any family facing similar circumstances. 

Although I don’t know what the average age is when a child begins to store memories, which they will be able to retrieve later in life, as I recall for me it was around the age of three or four years. I remember being in an airport. My mother was holding me in her arms, and I was crying. My father was leaving again, and I just knew he was never going to come back home. Somehow, I could not see him in my life again past that very moment. He was going overseas again. I didn’t really know or understand where this “overseas” place was or why he had to go there, just that I would never see him again. This was very difficult for me, as I was the apple of his eye, or so I’d been told. 

He did come back, as he always had and always would. However, every time was just as difficult as the time before, though always in some other way, to some other degree and on some other level. Yet I don’t recall anyone ever having asked me, nor did I ever volunteer information on how I felt about this loss, regardless of how temporary it might have been. To me, it always seemed like forever.

It was also around this time that my mother and father decided to separate. Again, this was not something I understood, nor could I articulate well enough at that age to ask the questions that, on some level, I must have wondered about. Like, “why?” or “for how long?” or “is he ever coming back?” You know, the very difficult questions that are really no easier to answer or necessarily understand as an adult.

How long they were apart was irrelevant in my eyes, for as a young child I didn’t recognize time the same as an adult would. All I really knew was that my daddy was gone again and he was never coming home. As rumor would have it later in life, it was during this time that my mother had felt she had done all she could to care for her four young children, without the physical presence of a husband and father. Who could blame her, as the challenge of raising just one child alone would be enough to break many women, let alone four.

As told, my mother came home from work one day, gathered the four of us children near to her and announced that she would be adopting us out. Apparently at my age my only outward interest was to run around the room and play. I will never know, however, if that day had somehow affected me on a subconscious level, also affecting how my life would continue to unfold. With thoughts of death as my solution to a life filled with pain.

My parents eventually found their way back together, yet there were many times as I was growing up when I would have to ask myself, why? I knew in my heart that I wanted to have both of my parents close to me, yet I couldn’t stand to hear the arguments that seemed to become so common.

I can’t begin to imagine the stress my mom faced having to care for her four children, most often times alone. How she had to work and still somehow manage to teach her children the important lessons of life. I knew at a very young age how much she loved each of us though. How much she cared about our well-being. This became clear to me following a doctor’s appointment she had taken me to.

Until I was around seven years old, I had problems sleeping. I didn’t sleep well, because I had difficulty breathing. I would often have to sleep sitting up in my bed, with a humidifier on the dresser next to me to help clear my sinuses.

I often had a sore throat and didn’t feel well. My mom took me to a military doctor, only to become furious at the diagnosis he provided. He told my mom to look out the window of his office. He then asked her if she knew, “what all that green stuff” was out there? She replied, as I imagine most 

people would have. She said, “trees”. The doctor told her, in a rather harsh tone, that it was allergies. That was all that was wrong with me, he said, “ALLERGIES!” Knowing as only a mother could that he was obviously a lunatic, she promptly took me to a civilian doctor. And apparently just in time.

According to this doctor, I needed to have surgery right away to have my tonsils and adenoids removed; as they were so swollen, they were impeding air flow and my ability to swallow. I was scheduled for surgery the following day.

When we got home, my mom told me to go pack my necessaries so that I would be ready for my trip to the hospital the following morning. So, off to my room I went in search of the most important items a seven-year-old tomboy could possibly need for the perfect hospital stay.

I don’t know what it is about mothers, but somehow, they always seem to know just when to intervene. After I had carefully packed my “necessaries”, mom decided she had better 

check to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. I felt absolutely certain I had not.

Then the surprise came. How could she possibly think there was anything remotely more important for my hospital stay, then an old doorknob, a nail, some marbles, old keys, and my favorite Snoopy dog? I was incensed at the thought that I should actually be asked to leave those items behind, which I had so carefully chosen and packed. And only to replace them mind you, with a toothbrush, pajamas, and panties? What was she thinking?!

Prior to my surgery I had always been a rather thin little girl. I never really wanted to eat, as the food and even drinks always tasted terrible to me. I didn’t know that those things didn’t taste the way they were supposed to, as I had never actually, been able to taste anything before. It wasn’t until after the surgery that this revelation came to be, and it was then that my life would really start to change, however subtly. 

At the time, we lived in a three-story house in Virginia, which to this day all of us kids have at least some degree of belief was haunted. There were always mishaps of some sort. Usually, it was something made of glass that was being broken.

I still recall the day that my brother Mick, my sister Lorna and I, realized we had seen our last allowance. Lorna is five years older than I am and was responsible for taking care of things around the house while mom was at work and my dad, gone. The three of us were messing around in the den. Mick was wearing roller skates and was picking on me, as he often did.

Lorna, trying to do her best to quiet us down and stop the fuss that was going on, decided the best course of action would be to push my brother. And push she did. Mick went rolling right into the sliding glass doors leading outside!

Now under normal circumstances that wouldn’t have been cause for alarm. This time, however, the ghost(s) that inhabited that house apparently felt the need for some broken glass. The door shattered leaving a large, pointed piece of the remaining glass still in the doorframe and hanging right over Mick’s head! Fortunately, he moved out of the way and the glass failed to fall. And that was just one reason we learned, why it wasn’t safe to wear roller skates in the house!

There were a lot of strange things that took place in that house as I’ve said, but the strangest incident, one that all four of us kids still question to this day, was the case of the disappearing perfume. My dad had come home from his duty overseas and had brought with him an expensive bottle of perfume for my mom. One night not long after his return, he and my mom had gone out for the evening. The four of us kids decided to have a couple friends over, and kids being kids, we thought we would have some harmless fun. 

We all went into a downstairs bedroom where we decided that we would hold a séance. I was to lie in a supine position on the floor as the others positioned themselves around me. Lorna was sitting at my head and was to lead the séance. Everyone put two fingers from each hand underneath me, as they were going to attempt to lift me up as the spirit visited.

I heard my sister start the séance by saying, “George Washington if you’re here give us a sign.” What can I say, we were kids with high expectations! As those sitting around me repeated the words, I felt myself being lifted slightly off the floor. Once the saying arrived back to my sister, she repeated it a second time. “George Washington if you’re here give us a sign.”

It was at this second calling when the glass globe covering the light bulb in the bathroom next to where we were holding the séance, suddenly fell into the sink below. Did I happen to mention that we were the only ones in the house at the time? You’ve never seen a bunch of kids run faster in your life!

During his mad dash out of the room, Mick had somehow found one of my dads hunting arrows to protect us with, as we all made our way into the kitchen upstairs. I still don’t know what he thought he would be able to do with that arrow, against George Washington’s ghost! That was the last séance I ever participated in, which is likely true for everyone else that was there that night.

Little did we know that the damage from that séance was far from over. The following day, my mom had apparently taken notice of the bottle of perfume my father had given her. The bottle had been left sitting on top of the toilet tank in the bathroom on the third floor. Apparently, George wanted to surprise Martha with some perfume too, as almost half of this new bottle of perfume was gone!

My mom was infuriated! She called out to my father who of course went to investigate. To say that he too was infuriated would be a major understatement. He yelled for all four of us kids to come upstairs. As we were all standing in the hallway outside the bathroom, one of my many bad days began to unfold.

Dad had lined the four of us up from oldest to youngest, in the hallway. My oldest brother, Kenn, would receive the first of many blows to come. My father held tight to the leather belt in his hand. The question was then posed. “What happened to your mother’s perfume?” There was a unanimous and simultaneous echoing of “I don’t know,” coming from each of us. We were all then told to turn around, bend over and grab our ankles. I heard the first swing of the belt as it reached its destination. Kenn’s butt! 

I have always assumed that the reason we were told to grab our ankles, was so that our hands wouldn’t get between our butt’s and the belt, leaving visible welts that if seen by someone outside the family, would have surely been questioned. However, I guess it’s possible that it was to ensure a more readily accessible target. At least on the first swing! We must have looked like a Jack-in-the-box times four, because each time the belt hit us, we would reflexively jump or “pop” up. Dad would then tell us to grab our ankles again, and so it went.

With each swing of his belt, my dad worked his way down the line. After the first passing I thought he would surely stop. WRONG! He posed the question a second time. Once again and in unison, we all said that we didn’t know, as best we could through our tears. Wrong answer! It was back to the front of the line again, and again he worked his way back to me. 

I don’t recall the number of times he whipped each of us before I heard my mom yell, “That’s it, I’ve had enough!” YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH? WE were the one’s getting our butt’s beat! My father sent my brothers to their room and my sister and me to our room. Before letting us go he told us we had five minutes to figure out what had happened to the perfume.  

Now most people would say five minutes isn’t much time, especially when you can’t see for the tears in your eyes and it’s all you can do to try and learn how to breathe again. But Mick was the brain, and of course Kenn was pretty bright too. Within what seemed like only seconds, the brothers were at my sister’s and my door. It was deliverance and they had come for me.

All I could hear them saying was, “if you say you did it, we won’t tell.” Like I said, Mick was the smart one. I mean, really? What was the point in my saying I did it if they had no intentions of telling dad? Okay, cut me some slack here, I was the baby. I apparently had yet to learn the lessons that they had. Well, I was about to get a fast and hard lesson that day.

All I knew at that moment was that I hurt, I was terrified, I couldn’t quite figure out how to breathe, and I didn’t want to be hit any more. So, I did what any young child would do, I listened to my siblings. I no sooner said, “Okay, I did it,” and Mick and Kenn were off and running. “DAD! DAD! Tori DID IT!! Tori DID IT!!” I WHAT?? “That’s not how this was supposed to go!” …and here he came.

Back in front of the bathroom standing in a line again, there we were. This time it was from youngest to oldest. Dad stood in the bathroom, just in front of the toilet. That bathroom never seemed smaller than it did the moment he asked, “Where’d you spray it out at?” WHAT? Was I hearing him right? WHERE? How should I know “where”, I didn’t touch it!

Okay, reality. All I could do as I stared at the floor and continued to cry, was point.

With all the strength I could muster, I lifted my right arm and with my index finger extended, I pointed to the rug that was on the floor in front of the toilet. My father picked up the rug, held it near his nose as if to smell it, and that was it. Well, not exactly. He put the rug back on the floor and told my brothers and sister that since they had received a whipping for something I had done, they were now each to take a turn whipping me.

Now unless there is a deep hatred between siblings, the bond between them is usually as strong as a heavy steel chain, virtually unbreakable; just as it was between the four of us by that age. So naturally they all refused, of course. Then Dad presented them with the ultimatum.

Either they whipped me, or he was going to whip each of them again. They were kids too and I’m sure the thought of an even greater lack of oxygen didn’t seem any more appealing to them than it did to me. So, with that I received my whippings from them and an additional one for good measure from my dad. So much for the ties that bind! This was indeed a bad day!

That was the very first of many incidents to come, but I think it was the one that affected me the deepest. The welts I wore externally were nothing compared to the scars that became buried deep within me.

All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted

Was a place I could call home

A place I could feel safe

And not so all alone

All I ever wanted

Was a loving hug or two

But mostly what I felt I got

Was hurt and neglect from you

The pain from words and welts and bruises

Soon was nothing new

But the scars they left behind

Are there yet not to view

Two-Ton-Tessie

As I got a bit older, I started to learn the value of friends. I found that most of my friends were actually Mick’s friends more so than they were my own. He and I were born about three years apart, and up until our teenage years, had actually spent a good deal of time together. I guess it’s safe to say, although I would never tell him this, he was my best friend when we were kids.

I guess that when your best friend is also your older brother, it’s usually a good idea to at least listen to him and seriously consider what he tells you, especially when it’s for your own good.

We had moved to Florida from Virginia and had only been there about two weeks when Evel Knievel made his daring Snake River Canyon jump. Mick and I had gone outside to play and discovered that several kids from the neighborhood were in the middle of the street jumping a homemade ramp on their bicycles. Neither Mick nor I had a bicycle at the time, so some of the other kids let us ride theirs, as we wanted to have some fun jumping this ramp too.

We had only been there for a little while when Mick decided to go exploring in the woods with a couple of his new friends. As he was leaving, he told me not to jump the ramp anymore. I told him that I wouldn’t and said that I would only go up a little way and then roll back down. It sounded believable to me but I guess he had his doubts, for as he started to walk away, he looked back at me and said, “Okay, but if you break your arm don’t come crying to me.” I was certain that there was nothing to worry about! I did just as I told him I was going to do. That is just until he was no longer within eyesight. As soon as the threat of him seeing me was gone, it was over that ramp I went. They say that practice makes perfect, and I thought I could surely be the next Evel Knievel if I practiced enough. I think I only made it safely over that ramp two times after Mick had left. Whoever came up with the saying, “the third time’s the charm,” obviously had no clue when it came to jumping a ramp on a bicycle. Apparently, I didn’t either.

I started to make my third approach. The speed felt right, as I was pedaling just as fast as I could go. The direction was good also, since I was headed right for the low end of the ramp. Wind was out of the southwest at about 5 miles per hour. Okay, you got me! I had no knowledge of what the wind speed was and didn’t really care. I was going to make that jump, NO MATTER WHAT!

Holding onto the handlebars for dear life, the front tire hit the bottom of the ramp perfectly. It then went off the side of the ramp, not so perfectly. I don’t remember anything that happened after that. That is, not until I woke up as the other kids were picking me up off the ground. That was the last of the ramp jumping for me, and the end of my dreams of one day jumping the Snake River Canyon on a bicycle!

As the kids were helping me walk back home, it was at that moment that they realized that they had no idea where I lived. Fortunately for me, however, the stars I had been seeing ever since I had come to were now starting to dissipate. I was talking normal. I thought I felt normal, a bit sore mind you, but normal.

It wasn’t until one of the boys that was walking with me held his arm up in the air and said, “Hey look, my arm’s broken too!” that I finally noticed my left arm. It looked like I was turning into Gumby! I never knew an arm could bend in so many different directions at the same time. Especially where there wasn’t even a joint. Who knew?!

Needless to say, as soon as I saw my arm I began to cry, and it was as if someone had flipped on the pain switch. Not only was I in pain, but I was also scared. How was I going to hide this from my mom? Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Yeah right! Like I was suddenly going to be that lucky!

When I got home, the first person I saw was my sister, Lorna. We looked at each other as I held up my arm and said, “It’s not broken Lorna, it’s not broken, please say it isn’t broken.” Okay, couldn’t she have just said that it wasn’t broken? I mean really. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that it

was, but it sure would have made me feel better; at least for a moment or two. She took one look at my arm and said, “Tori, it’s broken.” Here came the tears again. She said we had to wake up mom, which was scary in and of itself, and then told me to stop crying before we went into my mom’s room.

I got myself together as best I could under the circumstances. After my sister woke up my mom, I held up my arm and said, “It’s not broken mama, it’s not broken, please say it isn’t broken.” To which she replied, in a not so encouraging tone, “Go get in the car.”

I had the cast on for what had seemed like forever. It was the start of a new school year, and it had been hot. We only lived about a mile or so from the beach and could sometimes smell the saltwater ocean.

It’s hard enough for an adult to keep a cast clean and dry, but for a child it’s almost impossible. I don’t know how it happened, but I had gotten some sand inside my cast causing my arm to itch. Of course, when you get an itch, you scratch it. Well, I was no different. Since I couldn’t reach the itch with my fingers, I decided to slide a ruler inside the cast to take care of business. 

School had started and everything was what you might expect it to be in the classroom, until after about my sixth week of wearing the cast. I had begun to notice a hint of an odor. As the days passed by the smell became stronger, and even though I didn’t know what to make of it, I never said anything about it to anyone. As it turned out I wouldn’t have to, as I wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

Finally, one day in class my teacher decided to ask me about this pungent odor. When she did, however, I found her questioning to be both embarrassing and emotionally hurtful. She actually had the audacity to ask me if I was changing my panties every day! Can you believe the nerve of some people? Well, this time, I told somebody and let me tell you my mom was fit-to-be-tied!

Mom went and had a little chat with my teacher all right, and I never heard another word about it; at least not from my teacher. Of course, we still had to figure out where the foul smell was coming from. My mom took me back to the doctor to find out what was going on and to see about having the cast removed.

The cast was removed and as it turned out, not only was a piece of the cast rotting from sweat, water and sand, but the area of my arm where I had been “taking care of business” with that ruler had also begun to deteriorate. I had open sores that were in dire need of cleaning and fresh air. Once the cast was removed and the sores treated, that terrible smell would become just a stinky memory. 

Although my ramp jumping career had ended almost as quickly as it had started, it was not to be the end of my adventurous journey through life. As I’ve said, Mick was the smart one of the four of us. At least that’s how I’ve always thought of him. He was the best marble player on the block, and he could ride a skateboard better than anyone else in the neighborhood. His mechanical abilities were far ahead of his time, as he always seemed to be able to put a bicycle together out of a bunch of old spare parts, or make his match box cars work again, after Kenn had thrown up on them after having gotten drunk as a teenager. And he always knew how to find the perfect place to build a fort. 

It never failed, but every time he would find the “perfect place,” something would inevitably go wrong. The funniest time I recall was when we were living in Florida. Mick and I often hung out with several boys from the neighborhood. There was Donny and Johnny, who were brothers, and Danny, the son of the man who owned the mobile home park we all lived in at the time. We called ourselves the Explorers and even had a big flag that had “EXPLORERS” embroidered on it. I still have no idea where that came from!

One day while we were exploring the woods nearby, we came upon a rather large fenced in field, which we later determined to be a pasture. Of course, we all climbed the fence, as not much could stop a group of kids on a mission, and continued our search for anything that would possibly be of interest to us.

It usually didn’t take long for us to find something to get into and this day was to be no different. As we continued on our quest we eventually came to a beautiful, slightly wooded area which had a rather nice sized freshwater stream running through it. We were all admiring the scenery when Mick said, “this would be a good place to build a fort.” That was all it took for things to get a bit crazy. 

Suddenly, coming from up over a hill behind us, we heard a thunderous rumble. So thunderous in fact, I actually felt the earth shake underneath my feet; and it wasn’t getting any quieter the longer we stood there! We all looked in the direction of the now very loud noise when we finally realized the source of the disturbance. It was a giant herd of the largest animals I had ever seen in my life, and of course they had to be following the leader of the pack, Bossy the bull! Who by the way, might as well have been a T-Rex dinosaur for as scared as we all were! We took off running for the fence, which we had climbed earlier, just as fast as we could go. We really didn’t care that we first had to run through the rather wide yet beautiful freshwater stream, to get to that fence. As we reached the fence, feeling a bit relieved to be alive, we looked back and saw Danny still standing on the far side of the stream.

We were all yelling at him to “RUN!”, “RUN!”, when we heard him yell back, “I’M NOT ALLOWED TO GETMY SHOES WET!” Who says kids don’t listen to what their parents tell them? I guess his fear of being killed got the better of him and just in time too, for just as he hit the water, Bossy and the gang were right behind him. Fortunately, he had made it to the fence before they did and we all managed to live to tell the story. Needless to say, we decided not to build a fort in that most serene location.

During our time in Florida, I remember a man named Gene. He was a friend of my parents and would often spend time visiting them in our home. Gene had gone through a divorce, in which he lost not only his wife, but his children also. He was reaching out to my parents for comfort, and they gave their support as often as needed, and to the best of their ability.

By this time, I had become all too familiar with the way life was for a military family. It went something like this. You moved to a new place, made some friends, started to feel comfortable, stable, then one day your dad would come home and tell you that in two weeks you would be moving somewhere else. Again. This time we were leaving Florida for Ohio. This move was especially hard on me, as just a week or so before we had to move, my little dog and best friend, Sinbad, had disappeared.

I remember every day up until the day we actually left, standing outside and calling out for my dog. Then there was the long drive to Ohio, all the while looking out the back window of the car, hoping to catch a glimpse of my best friend running to catch up with us. I never saw him again.

It wasn’t very long after we made it to Ohio that my mom received the news. Gene, apparently unable to deal with the loss of his wife and children through divorce, made his last trip to a lovely Florida beach where he succeeded in taking his own life with a shotgun. I guess that without my parents around to lean on he finally just gave up. That was my first experience, so-to-speak, with suicide.

By the time we made it to Ohio, I was entering the fifth grade and had already moved six or seven times in my short life. Entering a new school was always kind of traumatic for me and the start of each new school year, regardless of whether or not I was a returning student, was even worse.

As I had already attended a number of schools to this point in my life, one would think I would adapt quickly. On the outside, perhaps it appeared as though I was doing just that, but on the inside, I was a mess. I was always a bit shy at first but learned rather quickly that the more I made people laugh, the less they would realize that I wasn’t really the person they thought I was. They wouldn’t be able to find a way to hurt me. I began to hide behind an invisible mask. That mask was humor. 

My sense of humor developed rather quickly and got me through many uncomfortable situations. However, I would soon learn that even having a sense of humor couldn’t prevent the pain I would experience throughout my life, at the hands of others.

My first day in the fifth grade, I learned how to pretend to read. It was lunchtime, and since I didn’t have any friends yet, I stayed in my classroom. There were other kids who also chose to stay inside to listen to records on the record player. Someone put a Bee Gee’s record on, and several of the girls in the class began to dance. I not only had no friends, but I had not even the slightest idea how to dance. So, I picked up a book and began to read. At least that’s what it was supposed to look like I was doing. In reality, I was secretly watching the girls dance, while wishing somehow that a miracle would happen and I would be able to dance too. I wanted to fit in. To be accepted. I did eventually learn how to dance, though I admit it was many years later.

I don’t know how long it took for me to feel as though I was starting to fit in, but I finally did, until that day at recess at the Tether Ball game. I was playing a game of Tether Ball with a boy from my class. I was winning and I guess he didn’t like that very much, so he slapped me very hard in the face. I cried of course but never told anyone what had happened. Maybe I didn’t fit in as well as I had thought.

Hiding behind a mask of humor wasn’t the only thing I hid behind. Since my surgery to remove my tonsils, I had come to gain a real appreciation for the flavor of food, and mashed potatoes and gravy never tasted better! My mom, after having realized what I had been missing out on for the first seven years of my life, did not have the heart to tell me that I needed to slow down. That if I continued to eat too much, I would get fat. So, I ate, and I ate. I would eat until I couldn’t eat another bite. And I got fat! This was when my life started to become very painful emotionally.

I made it into the sixth grade without too much of a hitch. In the sixth grade, students could volunteer to work in the school cafeteria at lunchtime. Not only did the workers get to eat for free, but that also meant an extra fifty cents in my pocket every day. Lunches were a lot cheaper back then.

I hadn’t worked in the cafeteria for very long when one of the ladies that worked there also had said something that really made me feel bad about myself. She had asked me if my father was in the military. I proudly told her that he was in the Navy. Her response was, “so you’re a Navy brat, huh?” Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that! I ended that conversation just as quickly as it had started. I told her, “I’m NOT a BRAT!” How dare she call me a brat? I’ll show her! And then I told her I quit. She apologized a bit later and I went back to work. It took me awhile, but I finally realized that what that lady had said was not to offend me, but rather that a “BRAT” was a term used to identify children whose parent(s) were in the military. I wish I knew what brilliant mind came up with that one!

It was while I was in the sixth grade that my cousin Tony came to live with my family and me. He was two years younger than I was and hadn’t had the easiest life to that point either. We got along well for the most part, and I thought it was kind of neat to have someone younger than me around to hang out with. I wasn’t the baby anymore.

Time went by rather quickly and I found that I had finally made it into junior high school. I was in the seventh grade now and had started to notice and care about my appearance more, especially my weight. Having gained a lot of weight, I had become very self-conscious. This self-consciousness expressed itself to me as saying, “you are fat, you are ugly, and you are stupid,” and that began to be reinforced not only by people in school, but by certain members of my family as well.

My father was known to have a sweet tooth. There were always doughnuts, or cookies, or coffee cake, or some other kind of cake in the house. Being a kid, I naturally wanted to have some of those goodies too. However, I didn’t dare ask my father for a doughnut, a cookie, or anything else that could be classified as junk, as he would most often reply, “what, another fat pill?” Or if I said I was hungry, I could often expect to hear him say, “Hungry? You could live off the fat of the land for six months!”

According to my dad and brothers, I was Two-Ton-Tessie, and my sister Lorna, was Thunder Thighs. These pseudonyms I suppose were given to us in fun, but I think I can speak for both of us when I say, neither my sister nor I saw the humor in it. She developed an eating disorder, and I developed an, “I’m fat, I’m ugly, and I’m stupid” disorder. I had other names too, but Fatty-Fatty-Two-By-Four was heard just about as often as Two-Ton-Tessie was.

The negative reinforcement didn’t end there. Everyone needs a costume for Halloween, right? In my family it was thought I should dress either in aluminum foil and go as the Goodyear Blimp, or in orange and go as the Great Pumpkin. Did they really not realize how deeply these things hurt me or did they just not care?

In an attempt to help me feel better about myself, my mom had taken me to get my hair permed. It was the first time I had ever had it done, and if anyone knows anything at all about permanents, they most likely will know that you can’t wash your hair for at least twenty-four hours after it’s done.

I went back to school after getting my hair permed, being very careful not to get it even a little bit wet, as it had cost a lot of money that we really couldn’t afford. I was going through my day feeling pretty good for a change. I was on my lunch break and had taken a seat on a step in one of the stairwells. After only a couple of minutes, I started to hear a sound that was unfamiliar to me. There didn’t appear to be anyone around. At least not to where I could easily notice them, so I wasn’t sure what the noise was or where it was coming from.

Finally, I looked beside me on the step I was sitting on and noticed tobacco spit lying there. It hadn’t been there when I sat down. As I looked up, I caught a glimpse of a boy who at the time was my best friend’s boyfriend. He departed quickly without a word. As he walked away, something made me decide to touch my hair.  It was at that moment that I felt the wet spot on the top of my head. He had been spiting tobacco spit in my hair. I was devastated! I was also terrified because I had to go rinse my hair out, and was afraid it would ruin my permanent. I never told my best friend what her boyfriend had done to me, and I never told anyone else, either. 

I couldn’t erase those messages that had become so deeply programmed in my brain. 

Another six weeks of training passed by and somehow, I managed to graduate again. This time I was a Security Police Specialist in the United States Air Force, and upon reaching my first permanent duty station, would be responsible for guarding the National Emergency Airborne Command Post (NEACP), a.k.a. Air Force One, a.k.a. the Presidents plane. Totally awesome!

Prior to heading to my new duty station from Lackland Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas, I would get to spend a few days at home. I arrived home just a few days before Christmas. I had worn my dress blues (the professional looking blue uniform issued by the Air Force), which was a bit baggy on me due to having lost the extra weight while in training. When I got home, I saw my mom. It only took a few minutes for her to make a comment about my uniform. Rather than acknowledge in a positive light that I had lost more weight, my mom only commented on the fact that my uniform looked too big on me. Once again, I felt as though I hadn’t done well enough.

While home for the Christmas holiday season, I received a phone call from a woman stationed at Grissom Air Force Base, Indiana. Grissom was the base I had been assigned to report to following my training in Texas, and the woman was my sponsor. Apparently, when an Air Force member is assigned to a new duty station, they are also assigned a sponsor to help their transition go as smoothly as possible.

I spoke with my sponsor just long enough to hear the very not so welcoming news. As it turned out, I had been assigned to a base that had never before had a female Security Police Specialist (SPS) assigned. I was one of the first females to enter this male dominated career field and would be the first and only female SPS assigned for a year and a half at that base.

I guess my life up to that point hadn’t been difficult enough, now I had to deal with a bunch of grown men that didn’t like me nor want me around. What difference should it make that they didn’t even know me prior to formulating their opinion?

My sponsor informed me that the “guys” were already placing bets on how long I would last, how long it would take for me to get pregnant, or whether or not I was a lesbian or a slut, because I absolutely had to be one or the other, and the list of things to bet on, or against me continued. I was angry! I hadn’t even gotten there yet and already the cards were being stacked against me! I responded to this news with, “Well, I guess the ‘guys’ just don’t know me very well, now do they?” And I began to formulate my plan.

I had realized at that moment that I had two choices. I could become everything they expected me to be, or I could work very hard and do my best to be the best. I chose the second option.

I arrived at Grissom on the evening of January 4, 1986. It was cold, dark and had been snowing. A Law Enforcement Specialist met me as I arrived at the Main Entrance to the base. After getting settled in, it was time to rest and get mentally prepared for the next road I would travel on my painful journey through life.

It didn’t take long for me to start questioning myself as to why I was there. It was obvious within my first twenty-four hours of being there that the guys in my squadron didn’t want me there. But I had a plan and I was going to stick to it, no matter what!

I started training for my job and preparing for tests I would have to take and pass. There were three tests, a written, oral, and a practical test. I don’t recall the exact total number of written and oral questions that were on the tests, but I do know that all combined, there were more than 300 of them. I took and passed each test, receiving an “Outstanding” rating on all three.

My squadron commander (police chief) was so impressed with my performance, that he actually sent a letter home to my parents. He explained the different tests and how rare it is that anyone should do so well on just one of them, let alone all three. My plan was coming to fruition. It still amazes me though that it took entering the military to finally get a positive letter about me sent home to my parents!

It wasn’t long after I arrived that I noticed people staring at me…flash back to high school! I also noticed that I had started to become more confident since joining the Air Force. I just wasn’t sure if it was from all of my military training, or because I carried an M-16 semi-automatic rifle loaded with 5.56 ball ammunition to work with me every day. Regardless of the reason, externally I appeared tough as nails. Internally however, I was crashing!

Within the first couple of months at Grissom I was being tormented. That torment would continue throughout most of my three years there, occurring at different times and at the hands of various people. I recall often returning to my dorm after work, only to find derogatory remarks written on the dry erase board which was hung on the outside of the door to my room. There was also the morning when I finished work and upon returning to my car, I noticed some profane words that had been written in the dew that had settled on the windshield the previous night; and some unknown greasy substance that I had unwittingly stuck my hand in, as I lifted up the handle on my car door. I never said anything to anyone about what was happening to me. I felt to do so would surely only make matters worse.

There were countless episodes of harassment during my stay at Grissom, and as time went on my nosedive toward choosing suicide as a means to end the pain was becoming stronger and faster. Not only did I feel I couldn’t talk to anyone about how I was feeling, I knew that even if I had wanted to talk, there was no one there for me to talk to anyway.

I found myself using alcohol as a temporary means of not only escape, but also release. I would often drink to get drunk so that I could somehow release the pain I was feeling deep within me. I had done exceptionally well at proving myself ever since I had arrived at Grissom, but the good feeling I got from my accomplishments was overshadowed by my longing for acceptance.

Even though I had managed to make a few friends of some of the guys I worked with, I still felt an overwhelming rejection on a daily basis during my entire tour of duty at that base. The longer I was there the more I would drink. I would sit alone in my room, get drunk and hit my head against a wall as hard as I could to somehow try and make the pain go away. To somehow physically get those feelings out that I was unable to verbally articulate.

Realizing that nothing I had done to that point had helped, I took out a bottle of pills that I had, poured them out on the bathroom counter, and planed to finally take my own life. I was going to make the pain go away for good. Surely, I could do it this time. There was no one there to stop me. I was alone. I was all alone.

As I counted out the pills, I was becoming angry. To this point as I was drinking, I was mostly emotionally upset. I was feeling helpless. But now I was becoming angry. It’s amazing to me just how quickly a person’s emotions can change and to what degree, while they are drinking. I don’t know why but once again I just couldn’t do it. Maybe it was because I never really liked taking pills for anything, least of all to kill myself. It turned into another night of crying myself to sleep and subconsciously, I was heading right back to the drawing board.

That was the first of two times while stationed at Grissom that I would seriously consider killing myself. The second time would come near the end of my third year there, following the termination of my first truly significant relationship.

As it turned out (not that I hadn’t already known and become certain by this point in my life), the boy in that high school class knew more about me during my senior year, then I was willing to accept about myself until after having joined the military. I was in fact a lesbian. Cheers to me, I had finally accepted my true identity! However, now I was living in an environment that not only did not accept who I was, but would have kicked me out of the military because of it…regardless of how good I was at doing my job!

Kindl was the second female SPS to be stationed at Grissom. Our rooms were next to each other joined by a common bathroom. As it would turn out, I was to be Kindl’s sponsor. We hit it off well from her first day on the base. We worked different shifts but still managed to spend a great deal of time together. It wasn’t long before we entered into a romantic relationship. It was one that would last about two years.

By the time Kindl arrived, the guys had adjusted, for the most part that is, to having a female SPS in the squadron. They seemed to welcome Kindl with open arms. Because we worked different shifts, the guys we hung out with were different also.

Kindl liked to drink and on her days off, began drinking with the guys she worked with. We had been together for about a year when she started going out drinking with them at night and apparently forgetting that I was back at the dorm waiting for her to return. She didn’t seem to care that I would be worrying about her, because she would often stay out much later then anticipated without so much as a phone call to tell me she was all right. Near the end of my third year there, there had been an Air Force plane that had crashed into the side of a hotel in Indianapolis, Indiana. I had volunteered to go help provide the security at this major aircraft crash site. As it turned out, I would return back to the base earlier then expected. I thought my early return would be a nice surprise for Kindl. Instead, I was the one to be surprised.

When I entered my dorm room, which Kindl and I were now sharing, I found her lying on top of her bed with one of the guys from her shift. There were beer cans all over the room and they were both obviously drunk. I told her friend to leave, which he did, and then came the reckoning with Kindl.

She didn’t really have too much to say for herself and I guess I knew at that point that our relationship was all but over. Feeling betrayed and dejected, I did the only thing I could think of to do. I took my .380 caliber handgun and went to the softball park. I was going to make the pain go away. Forget the pills, as they would take too long to work anyway. The tears of loss and hurt were falling freely by now and I was alone again, sitting at the ballpark drinking and counting down what I believed was to be the last seconds of my life. 

Now there are those who will say that any person who contemplates or attempts suicide is only looking for attention, or that they are selfish. Well, there may be a rare number of cases where that is true, but I believe there is an overwhelming number of cases that boils down to someone being in extreme emotional pain, wanting the pain to go away as fast as possible, and recognizing that suicide can make that happen. That’s pretty much the boat that I was in.

I never told anyone what my thoughts were. I never made a dramatic scene hoping someone would try to stop me. In fact, for me it was just the opposite. I hid my pain so deep inside of me that I felt I needed to get rid of it alone also. I didn’t want to keep living…not if it meant I would continue to experience the emotional hurt I had felt for so many years. To tell someone how I felt would only make it more difficult to eliminate the pain…to eliminate myself.

Well, it was back to the drawing board yet again, as once again I failed to succeed. I stayed in the park for quite awhile, crying and drinking; I was feeling sorry for myself as only I could at the time. I think the reason I didn’t kill myself that night was because somewhere deep within me, there was a part of me that wanted to live. I think I realized that as I was driving down to the ballpark, when I almost lost control of my vehicle, coming very close to hitting a telephone pole head-on. That near miss scared me. Was this another case of Divine intervention? God only knows.

Kindl and I were still together when I received the news that I was selected to become a Military Training Instructor (MTI). I would be leaving for Lackland Air Force base once again; only this time I would be the one training the trainees.

Just before I was scheduled to leave Grissom, Kindl decided to break up with me, as she had decided to explore a relationship with one of the men she worked with. Of course, it bothered me, but by this time the realization that the relationship had ended the night that I had returned early from the crash site, had already become too real.

Once I arrived at Lackland Air Force Base, I had to attend a Military Training Instructor School (MTIS), which meant more studying and more tests. For me it had come down to memorization and repetition. That was how I would continue to succeed in the military and later in life. 

Prior to attending the academy, I had to go through some Pre-Instructor training. During this time, I would shadow a certified instructor, learning all that I could before going to the academy. I finally attended and then graduated near the top in my class and felt pretty good about my accomplishments. It was now time to become certified, so that I would be able to instruct basic trainees on my own.

It was to be a ninety-day certification period, in which time I was to learn the policies and procedures of Basic Military Training School (BMTS), and the Air Training Command (ATC). I would also have to become proficient at instructing the trainees on military drill and ceremonies and customs and courtesies. That would be just the beginning.

I knew that I only had ninety days to become certified, and after having worked so hard and done so well in the academy, I didn’t want to stop there. At the end of that ninety-day period, I would be held completely responsible for not only my own successes or failures, but also for the successes and failures of my trainees while assigned to BMTS. I was taking this new part of my military career very seriously.

It didn’t take long for me to see my dream of becoming a great instructor destroyed. While going through my certification period, I had three trainers that I would train under. The first would turn out to be a man who had a very lackadaisical attitude toward me, my training and the supervision and instruction of the trainees we were responsible for.

It was during this time that I would meet Sherry. She was what was known as a Blue Rope Instructor. It was said that those who were selected to become MTI’s, were chosen because they were in the top ten percent of their individual career field. The best as it were of their chosen field. Blue Rope’s on the other hand were considered to be the best of the best, falling into the top ten percent of all Air Force Military Training Instructors.

When I first saw Sherry, she was standing in the middle of what was referred to as the tunnel area, as it was a long hallway, or “tunnel,” leading from one side of the squadron through to the other side.

When I first noticed her, I had started to enter the tunnel area from outside the building. As I opened the door, I saw her. I was frozen in place, for lack of better words. I can’t explain other then to say I was stunned. I took one look at her and then thought to myself, “There is no way in this world that someone like her would want to have anything at all to do with someone like me!” I then turned around and walked away. I couldn’t even walk down the tunnel area to do what it was I had gone in there to do in the first place.

After leaving the tunnel area, I continued on with my training. Not long after my certification period began, I found that the training with my first trainer wasn’t going well, as he would often show up late to work, fall asleep in classes that he was supposed to be evaluating me on, and would often be late for scheduled appointments the trainees had; a big no-no in BMTS. Finally frustrated enough and concerned for the success of my own training, I utilized my chain of command to voice my concerns. Nothing was done. I would have to go to my supervisors in the upper echelon several times before finally having the issue addressed.

I was finally assigned a new trainer. It would be a female this time and I had hoped the change would be a positive one. Little did I know, but my Air Force career lamp was going to be getting dimmer by the day and it seemed there was nothing I would be able to do to stop it. This particular trainer started out with a huge chip on her shoulder. It would be nice of me to just say she was hateful and mean, as there isn’t a nicer word I could find to describe her.

From the first day of our very short-lived union, she would intentionally go out of her way to humiliate and degrade me in front of the trainees I was to be supervising. Rather than figure out the areas I was weak in, due to not having been trained properly by my first trainer, and then working to improve in those areas, she would criticize me in front of the trainees. This only caused me to feel as I had so many times before while growing up…stupid. 

I felt I had no choice but to utilize my chain of command once again, as I did not wish to continue being subjected to the verbal abuse I was receiving from this evil entity. I again voiced my concerns only to be sent back to the hands of this most ghastly beast.

Once I returned to “learn” under this trainer’s instruction, the punishment became worse. Not only was she still verbally abusing me, but she had also implemented some sort of torture that must have been used in every war in the history of the world to break a prisoner…sleep deprivation!

I would have to be at the squadron at 4 o’clock every morning and wasn’t allowed to leave the squadron to retreat from a day of hard labor, usually until midnight every night. This continued on for a period of about three weeks. She had won. Broken I was. I was exhausted beyond anything I had ever felt before. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said she was putting me through an extended version of the Navy Seals “Hell Week,” minus the actual physical training. I found myself in search of a bat and a bell to hit three times, indicating I had had enough. However, the best I could hope for was another visit up the chain of command and a change once again in trainers; which is exactly the way it went.

I was given a couple of days off to relax. Following the time off, I would return to a new trainer and a fresh start. I was so hopeful and happy for the change, that in an attempt to get prepared for my new “first day,” I made a trip to an office supply store. I just had to get some new supplies! I felt certain things would be different with this new trainer. They just had to be.

On my first day I was told that I was too nice to the trainees; that I needed to get in their faces and yell at them; that I had to let them know who the boss was. I told my trainer that I didn’t like to yell, but inside I knew I had to do what I was told. I had already experienced too many problems and I just wanted to finish my certification and get out on my own. I would just have to teach myself what I needed to know once I was certified.

Realizing that for all intents and purposes I was a trainee too, I chose to do what I was told. HUGE MISTAKE!! Sometimes you just have to say “NO!” Looking back, I wish I had done just that. They say that hindsight is 20/20. For me it was more like 20/15 or 20/10, because after all was said and done, I was seeing things so clearly the images might as well have been tattooed right on my eyeballs themselves!

Within four days of my hopeful new start, I found myself being read my rights and ordered to turn in my hat and badge. The campaign hat and the Military Training Instructor badge, or “Cookie” as it is so affectionately referred to, are the two main items which distinguish a person as being a Basic Military Training Instructor. My hopes of becoming an instructor had just come to a screeching halt. 

I had been accused of mal-training and mal-treating my Basic Trainees. It was said that I had dragged a trainee approximately fifteen feet by the dog tag chain she was wearing around her neck. Not only was this trainee at least six inches taller than I was, but she also outweighed me by at least forty pounds. Let’s not forget the tiny chain that I had supposedly used to “drag” this trainee with, as well as the lack of any physical evidence; such as tiny bruises which surely would have been present had there been any truth to those most vicious allegations. I found myself in a state of disbelief and shock.

I was immediately relieved of duty and received an Article 15, non-judicial punishment. I would have to serve fourteen days of extra duty, and I received a reduction of pay, suspended, and a reduction in grade, suspended.

After all I had been through, I was ready to be done. I requested that I be allowed to exit the Air Force. I didn’t really know what I was saying at the time, as I was delirious; not only from the extra duty and everything else I had already been through to that point, but also from shear mental fatigue. After finally getting some rest though, I realized the error of my ways and recanted my plea to be discharged. My request fell on deaf ears.

As it would turn out I was granted my original request for release from active duty, only not the way I had anticipated. I was given a General under Honorable Conditions discharge. I was an emotional basket case. 

During the deterioration of my military career, something else wonderful was taking place. Sherry and I had somehow not only become friends, but we had entered into a romantic relationship that would last for five years. The relationship between Sherry and I was wonderful for at least the first three years. It was as if we were meant to be together. We were soul mates without a doubt. That’s what we had believed anyway.

After leaving the military I had to find a job and so I decided to go for what I knew I was good at. I applied with the San Antonio Police Department (SAPD). I knew I would make a good civilian police officer, as I had beaten the overwhelming odds of succeeding at being a Security Police officer. I was encouraged to see that a General under Honorable discharge was not a disqualifying factor in becoming an officer with the SAPD. 

I began going through the various phases required when applying with a police department. I had finished each phase I had attempted successfully and was to be scheduled for the next phase, when I was notified that I would no longer be considered for the position. Surprisingly, I would find out the reason I was no longer being considered, was in fact due to the type of discharge I had received. I was however welcome to reapply in a year. I couldn’t believe it! I just couldn’t seem to catch a break to save my life. My heart was breaking all over again. I had thought I was going to be all right, but suddenly I began to feel as though my life had somehow been Gods’ biggest if not only mistake.

I knew I had to do something about the type of discharge I had received. I would request a hearing before a military discharge review board. It would take two years before I would actually have my case heard by the members of the board, but eventually it happened.

Sherry was going to be a witness on my behalf. When my name was called, Sherry and I, along with my legal representative, entered the room. Sitting there before me were the five men who ultimately held the fate of my life in their hands; or at least a big chunk of it.

The purpose of the discharge review board was to determine whether or not the discharge that had been received, was equitable. That is, had all of the circumstances surrounding the discharge, including prior military record, been considered, and the most fitting type of discharge ordered. I sat there for approximately 45 minutes and plead my case before being excused. As difficult and painful as it had been to relive the circumstances leading up to my discharge, I knew that had actually been the easy part. The hardest part would be the wait to find out the final results of the hearing; be it good, bad, or indifferent. 

I Am Me

To you I’m like a stone

Something to be skipped, tossed or thrown

To you, I’m like a stone

To you I’m like a little thing

Seldom ever looked at and never really seen

To you, I’m like a little thing

To you I’m like a rock

Something to be kicked, picked up, and then dropped

To you, I’m like a rock

I am what you don’t see

There’s a gem inside and it’s me

I am what you don’t see

Like the diamond that started out as a stone

The value of which took time to be known

My worth in this world will someday be shown

Like a piece of sand that becomes a great pearl

Through will and sheer persistence, you’ll see

I am no longer a helpless little girl…I am me 

Chapter 5

College after All

I hadn’t much choice other then to put the discharge review board behind me. I knew that there was nothing left for me to do anyway, other than to wait.

By now, Sherry and I were living together. She was proving to be the type of person I had always dreamed of someday having in my life. She was always fun to be around. She was genuinely kind and thoughtful. She never had a negative thing to say to or about me. She always wanted the best for me and she believed in me, even when no one else did; including me.

Sherry, as I would come to find out, was very much pro-education. Following my discharge, she felt it was imperative that I enroll in college or a trade school. Naturally I resisted, telling her of a situation which occurred when I was in high school.

I was in the twelfth grade and was scheduled for an appointment with the high school guidance counselor. This appointment was supposed to be to help me figure out what type of career I would be best suited for following graduation, or if I should attend college.

I went to the appointment with a sense of hope. However, I would find myself leaving feeling anything but hopeful. My guidance counselor asked me what I planned on doing following graduation. I told her that I had thought about going into the military to become a helicopter pilot. It was then that she told me that based on my grades, not only was I not smart enough to go to college, but there was no way I would ever be able to join the military and become a pilot. Okay, does the WHOLE WORLD think I’m stupid?

After telling Sherry my story she did something that to this day still amazes me. She said that if I would enroll, she would go to school with me; that I wouldn’t have to do it alone. I couldn’t believe it…I really felt that either I needed my hearing checked or she needed her head examined! Was she serious? Why would she do that for me?

I would gradually begin to realize that this was someone who cared more about me then anyone I had ever known. Beyond that though, she really did believe in me. I mean really! Think about it. If I should flunk out of college, she would still have to keep going; and by herself at that! It was a deal I felt I might want to take, though I was still terrified. I mean if I couldn’t do well in my first twelve years of school, I had horrifying images of how difficult college would be for me.

After giving it a bit more thought, I agreed to her offer and enrolled in an Electronics Engineering program at Hallmark Institute of Technology, San Antonio, Texas. Staying true to her word, she also enrolled and sat next to me in every class, helping me understand those things I struggled with.

The degree program we were in was a year-and-a-half long. While we were attending Hallmark, Desert Storm kicked off. We were attending evening classes and hadn’t been there long that evening, when the instructor rolled a television set into the room. When he turned the T.V. on, there was coverage of the initial attack on every channel.

I had never seen the making of a war before and I was too young during the Vietnam Conflict to have any real remembrance of that. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then I realized that had things not happened for me in the military the way they had, my primary Air Force specialty being Security Police, I would likely have been deployed to participate in the events which were then currently unfolding before me.

In some ways I felt fortunate, yet at the same time there was a part of me that wanted to be there. What I was watching on television was what I had been trained for in the military; to protect my country even at the cost of my own life if necessary. My emotions were definitely stirring within me.

It wasn’t long after this stirring occurred, that I would finally receive a long-awaited answer. I had gone to the mailbox one hot Texas day, and there amidst the junk mail and bills was a large yellow envelope. I saw that it was addressed to me, and the sender I would notice, was the United States Air Force, Department of Personnel Records.

I felt my pulse start to quicken and for a moment or so, I had actually forgotten to breathe. My hands were shaking and I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, as I also felt it roll down the center of my back. I wasn’t sure if I was sweating more from the heat of the day, or from the intense stress I was suddenly feeling.

I was afraid to open it for fear of the possibility of bad news. What if they hadn’t believed me during the discharge review board hearing? Could they change my type of discharge to something even worse than it already had been? God Forbid! I realized that unless I opened the envelope, I would never find an answer to my most pressing questions.

I tore the envelope open very carefully and slowly. I must have looked like Charlie in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, as he opened the candy bar wrapper in search of that last golden ticket. As I looked inside, I saw what appeared to be a new DD214, certificate of release from the armed services. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was just what it had appeared to be.

My discharge had been changed from General under Honorable, to “HONORABLE,” and the reason for the discharge listed as “Convenience of the Government.” There was a letter that accompanied the new DD214 which stated that my discharge had NOT been EQUITABLE.

I was shocked. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. The emotional experience for me must have been similar to what Rudy Ruettiger felt when he finally received his acceptance letter into the University of Notre Dame. That was his golden ticket, and this was indeed mine!

The war continued on as did the degree program Sherry and I was attending. I struggled at times throughout the course of that year-and-a-half, but without fail Sherry was always there cheering me on.

She never seemed frustrated with me if I didn’t understand something. If she would explain it and I still didn’t understand, somehow, she was always able to find a different way of getting the message across. She would continue to look for and find new and different ways of explaining things, until certain that I finally had a grasp or an understanding of what the lesson was.

Finally, in January of 1991, Sherry and I both graduated with an Associates degree in Electronics Engineering Technology; Sherry with a 4.0 GPA, and I with a 3.42. I graduated feeling a lot better about my intellect…maybe I could learn. Maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life being thought of as stupid, or as a dummy, or as if I just wasn’t trying hard enough.

By 1992, just three years into our relationship, Sherry and I were having some problems. I might have been feeling better about my ability to learn, but I still wasn’t very good at all of the other stuff necessary for a fulfilling and long-lasting, intimate relationship.

Sherry would be going away for seven months to earn her Bachelors degree at a college located about five hours north of San Antonio. Before leaving, she informed me that she had decided that she only wanted to be friends with me. Of course, I took this hard, but I wasn’t willing to give up hope. We were soul mates after all and destined to be together.

We talked on the phone regularly while she was away. I still lived with her, more or less. That is to say I had not moved out. I decided to try and lose some more weight while she was away, and after about five months I finally went to see her. Twenty pounds lighter I might add!

I actually showed up on her doorstep a day earlier then she had expected, in an attempt to surprise her. She greeted me with open arms and with a surprise of her own. She told me she had been out driving recently and had been doing some thinking. She told me that she realized that she still loved me and wanted us to remain together. Why is it that every time I try to surprise someone, I’m the one getting surprised? Well, this was one surprise I was more then excited to be getting. Soulmates! I knew it was more than just a feeling.

After she had earned her Bachelor’s degree, Sherry was accepted into the Air Force Officer Training School (OTS) located at Medina Air Base, in San Antonio. She would attend five months of training there and would then be shipped to California for additional training. She had become an officer in the United States Air Force. This accomplishment, however meaningful it was to either of us, would eventually lead us both down a road that neither of us could have ever predicted.

A Dream

Life –

Like quicksand

In which I stand

Sinking, sinking

With each breath I take

Each slight move I make

I am pulled further down

Slowly I shall drown

The smell surrounds me

The muck, the mire

Life –

Here but only for awhile

The crushing of my body

The muddy weight of earth’s black hole

Holding me

Drawing the life from me

To fight is to die

To wait is to die

So how do I get by

This certain death that awaits me

With each breath I take

Slowly I awake 

A dream

Ah, but a dream

Chapter 6

The Great White North, eh?

While Sherry was in California attending training for what would soon be her new job in the Air Force, I was getting ready to make the long arduous drive from San Antonio, to East Grand Forks, Minnesota, alone.

Did I say that I would be making the trip to Minnesota alone? Oh, I’m sorry; to say I was alone was to have misspoken. I had plenty of company…let’s see…there were two cats and five dogs, two of which would have loved to see the other dead or at least severely injured, and would have done anything to make that happen. Let the good times roll!

I was to meet Sherry at a gas station on the state line between Grand Forks, North Dakota and East Grand Forks, Minnesota. She had arrived several days earlier in order to find us a place to live.

I hadn’t seen her in months, so naturally it was a very joyful reunion. I followed her into East Grand Forks to what was to become our new home. I was happy to finally be there, however my joy was short lived, as Sherry would only be with me for a couple of days. She would have to return to California for another month and a half of training.

After Sherry left for California, I found myself extremely lonely and without a friend to speak of. I was scared, naturally, but I talked with Sherry on the phone as frequently as possible, which always made me feel a bit better, at least while she was on the phone with me. Once the conversation ended and the receiver had settled back into the cradle, I began to feel the fear again. I felt isolated. I knew the situation I was in was temporary and tried to keep that in mind at the start of every new day.

I don’t know if the radio station I listened to in East Grand Forks was required to play the same songs every day and at the same time of day, but for whatever reason, I would be awakened virtually every morning to the sound of 4 Non-Blondes singing “What’s Up?” It would soon become my theme song. Often times listening to that song would put a smile on my face, but there were days when even that couldn’t lift my spirits.

There had been a stipulation placed on finalizing the purchase of the house I had been living in. It was that the sale would go through only if the house in Texas was sold. As my luck would have it, the house didn’t sell. I soon found myself, along with two cats and five dogs, living in “pup” tents at a nearby campground until Sherry finished school and returned home. Did I bother to tell you that this was all taking place during the rainy season? Good times, eh? 

Although I had done a lot of exploring in the woods with Mick when I was a kid, I was far from being a modern-day Daniel Boone. I had never been in the Girl Scouts, or the Brownies, or even the Cookies for that matter...that was a joke! 

Which brings me to pose a question here…if the Girl Scouts sell cookies, then what do the Brownies sell...Milk? Anyway, nothing had prepared me for what I was about to experience.

I got to the campground and managed to get the tents set up just before dark. Since two of the dogs had become mortal enemies, I had to keep them separated at all times. No easy task in a house but nearly impossible with only a couple of canvas pup tents between them. Once everything was taken care of and everyone (except me of course) was settled in, it was time to build a fire. 

I had built fires in the past but prior to this, I had never built one using waterlogged logs, or while it was raining. I soon found out there was a good reason for that too. 

I had everything set and ready to go. Soon the fire would be blazing and I could finally try to relax a bit from this unimaginably stressful day. Yeah sure, like that was really going to happen. I mean, why should things start getting easy now?

It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I just wasn’t going to have a fire, save the tiny blue flame at the tip of each short-lived match I lit. I surrendered. I finally realized there wasn’t going to be a fire to keep me warm, or to cook over, or to help me relax. 

Sitting there alone and feeling as though I was experiencing my worst day in a long time, I did what I thought would help me feel better. I started drinking alcohol. I had only had a couple of drinks when I heard the siren and saw the pretty blue lights as the police car made its way up to my camp site.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, this nice officer began to inform me that there were tornadoes spotted near by, and that if I heard the “severe weather warning” siren, I would need to head to the camp grounds shelter right away. I asked him if I would be able to take my animals with me, and he told me, “No.”

As he drove away, I quickly started trying to devise a plan. There was no way I would even remotely consider leaving my “kids” behind, as I went to seek shelter. I knew I needed to figure out how I was going to get seven animals and myself to the campground’s restroom for shelter, before we all ended up being whisked away to the Land of Oz.

As the night wore on, my fear of being awakened by sirens going off, or to the sound of a loco-motive tearing through the camp ground as a tornado destroyed everything in its path, kept me from getting much sleep. I would eventually drift off however, only to awaken the next morning to a tent filled with water.

We only had to survive for a week or so in that jungle before Sherry would be there to rescue us. I was never so relieved to see a familiar face in my life, as I was when Sherry drove up in her little black Mazda pick-up truck.

As happy as I was to see her, for a brief second, I found myself becoming a bit perturbed. After all those wet nights I went without being able to build a fire, just who did she think she was coming in there and getting one started almost effortlessly? It only took a moment for that thought to fade however, as I was finally able to relax.

We soon found ourselves moving in to an old mobile home where we would live until the following year. Time passed rather quickly and it was starting to get really cold out. The northern winters were to be bitter cold, and we were just going to have to make the most of it until spring.

I can’t give Sherry enough credit here when I say that she did her best given the circumstances we, as a family were faced with. Our first winter was going to be a huge learning experience for both of us. We only had limited personal affects, as most all of our household goods were in storage at the time.

Not only was the temperature outside becoming unbearable, inside our new home wasn’t proving to be much warmer. Fortunately, there are some things in life that while they are happening, seem so unbearable that to even consider the possibility of them somewhere down the road becoming a source of humor, would prove to be impossible. This was one of those times.

I think both Sherry and I would have felt blessed if the biggest problem we faced was frozen water pipes for the ENTIRE winter. But this was the Great White North, and what would our first experience living in a miniature Antarctica be, if we weren’t able to fall asleep every night, and wake up every morning, to ICE covering the INSIDE of our bedroom walls! 

As the snow began to fall, Christmas also fell upon us. Sherry always had a way of making Christmas special. She was a big kid at heart and I loved to see the excitement in her eyes as it drew near. Although I hadn’t realized it at the time, that Christmas would prove to be the most special to me. 

We went out and got our Christmas tree just as we had in previous years. This year however, since everything was in storage, we didn’t have any tree ornaments to hang. Sherry had a very creative mind and wasn’t going to let not having any traditional ornaments to decorate with, keep us from having a properly decorated Christmas tree.

Knowing that I had a huge love of Dinosaurs, and since we needed to have some sort of decorations for the tree, Sherry went to the store and bought a large Dinosaur shaped cookie cutter and some colored construction paper. When she returned, we sat tracing and then cutting out what would be that years Christmas Dino-Ornaments. She always seemed to have a way of turning the worst situation into one that was at a minimum bearable, but most often positively memorable. I felt blessed to have her in my life!

As the winter season came to an end, my new academic career had already begun. It had been decided before leaving Texas, that once we were settled in North Dakota, I would start attending college again. I enrolled in and began attending the University of North Dakota, majoring in Psychology and Sociology. One way or another I was going to find a way to silence those incessant voices in my head…figuratively speaking.

Even though Sherry and I were doing relatively well together, I still had issues within myself that needed to be resolved. I had been fighting depression for years and regardless of how good things were between Sherry and I, there always seemed to exist within me a negativity which I felt was slowly eating away at the core of my being.

Because I had registered for the fall semester soon after having arrived in North Dakota, I was able to start seeing a university appointed therapist at no cost to me, by summer time. This was important for a couple of reasons. First, because at the time I didn’t have health care benefits, but most importantly, because I was in desperate need of help.

I didn’t want to continue living my life in a mere state of existence. I wanted to learn why it was that my life, which I had almost intentionally ended at least three times to that point, was unfolding the way it was. I wanted to somehow find a way to erase all the negative memories and experiences I had had from virtually the first day of my life.

I started seeing Deborah (my therapist) on a twice a week basis for one hour at a time. I didn’t really know what to expect from our sessions or even where to start, but somehow, I knew I had no choice. I believe that I intuitively knew there wouldn’t be too many more times that I would be physically able to head back to the drawing board. From my first thoughts of suicide as a teenager, I watched myself draw closer and closer to achieving my goal…to end the pain. Of course, ending the pain was exactly what I wanted to do, but I also wanted to live. I just wasn’t sure that I was someone who would ever be able to do both.

I would stay with Lisa, a friend of mine for about a week before locating a suitable apartment for my two dogs, (Hershey and Mekko) and me. Needless to say, I was totally turned off to the idea of being involved in a relationship with anyone. The one thing that I had noticed however, was how in each of my relationships, the person I was with always lied to me and cheated on me prior to the relationship ending. Was I the only person in the world who refused to cheat on or lie to their partner? If not, then why was I continually ending up with those that would? Apparently, I still had lessons to learn.

Angry Words

Angry words spoken

In the heat of a fight

Standing your ground

Though you know you’re not right

Spewing out insults

As quick as you can

Inflicting deep wounds

Without raising a hand

The mean things you say

The harsh words you use

Combined with “I love you”

Only serve to confuse

The sight of me crying

Seems to bring you delight

Every teardrop that falls

Is like fuel for the fight

Chapter 10

Finally, Happiness for Me?

After having moved out of Jeannie’s house things would start getting better. Not at first mind you, as regardless of the circumstances, anytime a relationship ends there is a sense of loss.

I was finally a police officer and couldn’t have been happier about that. I found myself helping people, issuing citations and making arrests…okay, maybe those people didn’t feel like they were being helped, but it was my job and I intended to do it to the best of my ability. 

After about two years of being single I would finally meet someone that would turn my world around. She lived in Washington D.C., and had also been in law enforcement. 

As had been the case with Sherry years before, from the moment I saw Janet, I knew in the depths of my heart that we were meant to be together. It’s a feeling that is difficult to describe yet when it happens, there is no mistaking it.

Janet had never told her parents that she was gay until after having met me. Not exactly what I had ever expected or necessarily wanted to be remembered for! I guess that since she also felt that we were going to be together forever, and having been close to her family, she wanted them to accept me as part of their family also.

I still remember the day she had finally decided to tell her mother Wendy, of her new-found love. According to Janet, they were in her mom’s car during rush hour, and Wendy was driving. Janet told Wendy that she had met someone and that she was in love. Naturally happy for her daughter, as most any mother would be, Wendy replied, saying that that was great and asked Janet whom it was that she had met. When Janet answered, “Her name is Tori” …well let’s just say that to this day I don’t know how Wendy kept from being involved in, or at least causing someone else to become involved in a traffic accident!

Janet said her mom immediately crossed from the far left-hand lane of traffic into the far right-hand lane of traffic, without so much as a signal to indicate her shock and dismay. Janet said that she couldn’t help but laugh, and even though the laughter was from her being nervous, I’m sure Wendy didn’t find any humor in the situation.

As soon as they got home, Wendy advised Janet that she was to go in the house and tell her dad Skip, about this most recent bombshell which Janet had just dropped on her. Janet told Skip who apparently took the news very well. As it turned out, I was the one who would become shocked, as Janet told me that she had informed her parents not only about herself, but also about us. It went something like this:

The phone rang at my apartment so naturally I answered it. Since I wasn’t expecting to hear from Janet, I was surprised when I realized it was her voice I was hearing on the line. I was even more surprised to say the least, when she said, “I just told Skip and Wendy about us. Mom wants to talk to you.”

I’m sorry, what did you say? Suddenly, I was in a daze. I was not at all prepared to meet the parents yet, and definitely not without prior warning! My mind began to race. Okay, I have to think fast. Maybe I can hang up the phone and pretend we got disconnected…yeah, that could work. Or maybe when her mom gets on the phone, I can act as if I don’t speak or understand English…now I’m thinking! Better yet, I can act as if I have no knowledge whatsoever as to whom this Janet person is or why she is calling me…Reality? I didn’t have a second to think let alone plan anything.

As soon as Janet spoke the word “you” ending her sentence, “Mom wants to talk to you” …well I would decide later that Wendy had either been holding the phone as Janet was speaking to me, or she had played professional volleyball, as not so much as a nanosecond had passed between the serve from Janet and the start of the volley with mom.

I was surprised when I heard her speak for the first time. I guess I had expected to be yelled at and blamed for the sexual orientation of her daughter. I was relieved to hear a very soft-spoken woman on the other end of the line. We spoke briefly when out of nowhere, Wendy asked me if I was proud of Janet. I told her that I was. To which she replied, “See, we love you already.” To this day I have no idea in what context she was referring when she asked me if I was proud of Janet. It didn’t really matter though, because I was.

As soon as Janet returned to the phone, I was hit with yet another unexpected surprise, as she told me her parents wanted to meet me and that I was to fly to D.C. that weekend. Talk about protective parents! What was I getting myself into? I wasn’t able to visit with them until the following weekend however, and the new “In-Laws” made sure my plane ticket was waiting for me when I got to the airport.

When I arrived at the airport in D.C., Skip and Janet were there waiting to greet me. Skip was very polite and made me feel comfortable, as if I were actually a part of the family. As we arrived at their house I was met with open arms and hugs from both her mother and “Grand Mommy.” So far so good I thought, until about ten minutes later when we sat down to eat.  Now I’m thinking that they had to know that I would be nervous. And having that instinctual knowledge as only parents would, as well as under the circumstances, being the sympathetic new in-laws one would hope to meet, you would think they would have fixed something for dinner that wouldn’t take too much concentration or dexterity on my part. So, someone please tell me why, oh WHY would they serve SPAGHETTI for dinner? Is that not one of THE HARDEST foods to maintain control over next to a Sloppy Joe, when it comes to the accidental spillage onto table, lap or floor? I don’t know, but I’m thinking…YES!!

I happen to love spaghetti and I had been lucky up to that point, not having spilled or dropped anything. And unless it was just that no one was telling me, it hadn’t appeared as though there was any runaway spaghetti sauce setting up camp on my chin or forehead. Although a little difficult for me at first not to help myself to seconds, I decided not to push my luck.

The weekend went by rather quickly and soon I was flying back to Georgia. During that flight I felt truly blessed. Not only had I finally met the person I planned on spending the rest of my life with, but she also came with parents who would prove to accept and love me right from the very start. As if overnight, I had felt accepted as part of their family.

Since Janet lived in D.C., and even though we had both felt the connection, it would be a year before an actual physical move was made. Knowing that I had no desire to leave law enforcement or Atlanta, Janet would be the one to make the move. I couldn’t have been happier or felt more complete then I did with her in my life.

Once Janet had moved in with me, I felt as though nothing could take away my newfound happiness. She was wonderful. She genuinely cared more about me then just about anything else in her life, including herself. This would, however, eventually become a problem.

When it came to love I found that I loved Janet more than anyone that I had ever been with before. I would have done just about anything to see her happy. Unfortunately, the one thing I couldn’t do was read her mind.

After about a year of our living together in the apartment, and two years into our relationship, we decided to purchase a house. We had a third dog by then, Cinnamon, and even though it was a rather large apartment, we felt we needed more room. We also wanted to have more privacy.

To her credit, Janet did do all of the legwork. I had always said that I wanted a house with a big yard, a barn, a swimming pool and a two-car garage. I hadn’t realized and wouldn’t until sometime later that I never bothered to ask her what she wanted, and she hadn’t told me.

While at work one evening, Janet called to give me the good news. She had found what she believed I would think was the perfect house. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac, which meant it would be relatively safe for the dogs. It had a nice sized front and back yard. There was a swimming pool, a two-car garage and yes, even a barn! It wasn’t a real barn mind you, rather an out building that looked like a small barn. It was perfect! Based on what she had told me, and my confidence in her, I told her to tell the realtor that we would take it. Little did I know, but Janet wasn’t as thrilled with the decision as I was.

About a year after we had moved into our new home, we would receive an invitation to my nephew Kenny’s wedding. An interesting situation that would prove to be since his father and stepmother were flying in from Ohio to also help celebrate this most auspicious occasion.

As luck would have it, seven or eight years earlier I had been informed that my ex-brother-in-law, Buddy, had married none other than my once friend, Amy, from high school. I had also found out that the true author of that once so infamous yet popular letter from high school, had actually been written by…yep, that’s right… Amy!

For almost twenty years I had looked forward to the day that I would be able to confront the person responsible for destroying my senior year of high school and a good part of the remainder of my life. For almost twenty years I had thought about what I would do to that person if the opportunity ever presented itself. I was about to get my revenge! As much as I loved my nephew and didn’t want to ruin his wedding, I had a score to settle and wasn’t going to let anything or anybody get in the way of that.

Soon after arriving at the church, I saw her. We did not acknowledge each other and I knew that wasn’t the place for me to strike. I had waited that long, I could wait another hour or so until the reception.

Janet was very much aware of the hurt I had suffered at the hands of this vile woman, and stayed close to me the entire evening. But even she wouldn’t be able to stop me and she knew it.

After having had several drinks while at the reception, and realizing that she would never approach me to apologize for her most dastardly deeds, I decided to make my move. I finished my drink, stood up from the table I had been sitting at, and walked over to where she and Buddy were seated. I stood there with only a table between us. Looking at her, I spoke. “Amy, I just wanted you to know…that you have…two very beautiful daughters.” I know, I know…of all the things I could have said or done, why did I do that?!

She stood up and walked over to me and we embraced each other in what was a surprisingly welcomed hug. As we were hugging each other I told her, “I don’t hate you.” What was I thinking?! For twenty years I had all but wanted to kill her and some days during that time had probably wanted to do that too. Now, on the day of reckoning all I was able to do was tell her of how she had hurt me. I had forgiven her and she had apologized profusely as we spoke. It was finally over. The evening ended without incident and I was able to watch my nephew become a man. Janet and I returned home and I felt a sense of relief from that evening’s events. 

About a year and a half later, I would have to make the decision to euthanize Hershey due to old age. I had had Hershey since she was about six weeks old. I had rescued her from certain death after seeing someone dump her along the side of a road one night in Texas, as it was pouring down rain and flooding. Having to let her go was the hardest thing I had ever had to do in my life.

Only about a month earlier, I had adopted a puppy from the humane society. She was a German Shepherd/Border Collie mix and was named Yoda. Cinnamon would have to be euthanized not long after, as she had become aggressive toward people, having attacked me in a sudden fit of rage.

Janet was very supportive emotionally during this time, and in my eyes was a woman with a heart of gold. I would find out near the end of our relationship just how selfless she really was, only to wish in some ways that she hadn’t cared for me as much as she did.

I noticed around our second year together that she wasn’t her usual happy self. I knew that she wasn’t happy where she worked, and thought that was the biggest part of what was wrong. She didn’t really have many friends, and even though I had encouraged her to try and meet some people that she could spend time with outside of our relationship, her response was usually that she wasn’t good at meeting people because she was shy. I had introduced her to a couple of female friends of mine from work, hoping that would help her, but it didn’t. I would soon find out there was more going on inside of her then I had realized.

If Janet would complain about something, she would usually follow it saying, “I’ll fix it.” She was the type of person that when in love, would completely put the other person’s needs and wants before her own, very seldom voicing her own wants and needs.

By the middle of our third year together, a small city police department nearby had hired me. Janet was staying at work later and later almost every night. I was no longer receiving the phone calls from her that I had always looked so forward to getting, and she seldom seemed to be available to take my calls when I would try to reach her at work.

She came home late one night after having been out drinking. I guess she had expected me to be angry with her when she got home, but my feelings were of concern for her and for us. I had started seeing the signs again as I had several times before, just prior to the end of a relationship. She was drinking. She wasn’t taking or making the calls anymore, and she always seemed to have to work late. On this particular night she finally said, “I can’t live like this anymore.” I told her that I couldn’t either. To me that meant we had both realized that our relationship needed work and that we both wanted some things to change. To Janet however, it meant she wanted the relationship to be over.

I came to find out that Janet thought of herself as a city girl. She had apparently never wanted to live in the suburbs but chose to anyway, just so that I would be happy. She felt that her needs weren’t being met regardless of the fact that she seldom made her needs known. She didn’t want to have any responsibilities. I was crushed!

Since I had just taken a new job, the last thing I needed was the stress of another major loss in my life. I would have no choice. My life was falling apart again and just when I had thought it was starting to look up. During this time, my mom had called to tell me that my Aunt Linda (my mother’s baby sister) as dying of bone cancer and would need a bone marrow transplant. I volunteered to be tested to see if I was a match. There would be no time however, as she passed away only a couple of weeks later.

Janet stopped staying at the house and I started having problems at work. Only a couple of days after being praised for having caught an armed robber following the commission of his crime, I found myself in the middle of an Internal Affairs investigation.

It was not long after hurricane Katrina had devastated Louisiana that my life headed down hill in a hurry. I found out the hard way that there are people in this world that you just can’t help.

I had been working the morning watch when I noticed a vehicle that appeared to be in violation of several minor traffic laws, one of which was that the driver and front occupant did not appear to be wearing their seatbelts. Once I noticed by their license plate that they were from Louisiana, and given all that they had recently been through, I decided not to make a traffic stop. I followed them as they pulled into a parking lot. As they exited the vehicle my only intentions were to advise them of the seatbelt law and then be on my way.

Within only moments I found myself being accused of racial profiling, unlawful detention, threats of incarceration, and failing to give my name and badge number upon request. I was at a loss. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here I had stopped only to give helpful information, just to be ambushed with false and hateful allegations! 

During my prior eighteen years of combined law enforcement service, I had never been accused of any misdeeds, let alone become the subject of an investigation that could have potentially resulted in criminal charges being brought against me.

Feeling totally beside myself by the man’s accusations, I drove behind a building where I would sit, counting my traffic citations. Of all the things that man had accused me of, the one thing that bothered me the most was the racial profiling allegation. I knew in my heart that I was not racist, but I had to see the proof. As I sat reviewing the citations I had written, I discovered that out of almost 200 citations written over a period of five months, only 42 were issued to African Americans.

The following day I was advised that there would be an investigation. On the Wednesday before I was terminated, I was sent to a three-day Verbal Judo class. Apparently, I needed to learn how to communicate. On the Friday before I was terminated, I was placed on administrative leave and was required to turn in my badge and gun. On the following Monday, the day I would be terminated, I was in the Chief’s office promptly at 9 o’clock a.m., as the Chief told me that my services were no longer needed and advised me that the investigation was “Unfounded.” That is to say, there was not enough evidence to prove or disprove the allegations. He also said that there would be no criminal charges brought against me. When I asked the Chief why it was that I was being terminated then, he told me it was because my communication skills weren’t where the department would have liked them to be. He continued by saying, “That’s why we sent you to the Verbal Judo class.” You have got to be kidding me!! Could he possibly have been joking? NO! He was serious.

The error in his statement however was that if he had sent me to the Verbal Judo class to improve my communication skills on Wednesday through Friday, put me on administrative leave on Saturday and Sunday, and then terminated me on Monday, just WHEN was I supposed to use what it was they had supposedly sent me to learn? What could I do? He obviously felt he needed to make an example out of me for some reason. I left his office, went home and started getting drunk.

My world in just a matter of a few months was shattered. Both Hershey and Cinnamon had to be put to sleep less than six months previous. Janet, the one person I had thought certain would never leave me, had left me. I would later find out that she had entered into a relationship with a woman she worked with. She had indeed lied to me and cheated on me. My aunt Linda had just passed away from bone cancer. I had just lost what I thought was my dream job. And, I would soon have to find a new place to live without an income. Yes…alcohol was definitely in the cards for me, and would be for as far as I could see.

I Just Want to Know

I just want to know

How long I’ll have to try

To fight this battle that I fight

To choose to live or die

I just want to know

How long I’ll have to wait

To feel like I am truly loved

To find my true soul-mate

I just want to know

When the pain I feel will end

When peace and joy will fill my heart

That seems always on the mend

I just want to know

The choice that I should make

To know each time I choose to live

It isn’t another mistake 

Chapter 11

Maybe the Mid-West?

I felt as if I had just been sucked up into a funnel cloud and only seconds away from becoming engulfed in the tornado that was sure to shred me to pieces. I had to make decisions with no idea where to start. Janet was no longer there for me to make things seem at least bearable.

As I started drinking, I found myself angry, hurt, scared, lost, and once again disconnected. I would stay in the house alone for about a month, still without a job and still not sure what I should do. During this time, I would only see Janet a couple of times, which was difficult as I had seen her virtually every single day for the past three years.

Although Janet was gone, there was one person who had always been there for me and I knew I could always count on her friendship. Patty and I hadn’t seen each other but maybe once in countless years. Our friendship just worked out that way, but we were always able to pick back up right from where we had left off. Yes, she was a friend of the very rare kind.

Upon learning of my situation, she told me I should just pack up and move to Missouri and stay with her and her partner, Kim. Patty had made that offer to me several times before, but I had no intentions of moving to the mid-west. Things in my life were changing though and I found myself in a conundrum. I didn’t want to move but I had to go somewhere. I didn’t have a job yet I needed one to support myself. I didn’t have any close friends nearby, but I did have a best friend who was reaching out to help. I waffled on whether or not to go, finally deciding that I would.

Janet came to the house the day before I was to move out. She had promised to bring Scenic with her, a Bloodhound puppy I had gotten for her the previous Christmas. Janet had taken Scenic almost a month before, leaving me to believe that I would see her again. I never did. I too was attached to Scenic and to deny me the opportunity to say goodbye was unfair and cruel.

My parents had moved to Virginia two years earlier and had moved back to Georgia only a couple of weeks before I was to leave. I hadn’t seen either of them during those two years, and so decided I would stop by to see them as I was leaving Georgia. I was used to not seeing them for long periods of time at a time, the longest having been five years, but they were getting older and I had no idea when I would ever be able to see them again.

Patty flew into Atlanta to help me finish packing and to help me on what would turn into a fifteen-hour drive to Missouri. The day we were to leave, I spoke with my mom on the phone. She and my dad had decided to go to my sister’s house in South Georgia to pick up some of their belongings that my sister had been keeping for them. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to see them, but mom assured me that we would see each other again some other time.

The drive to Missouri was long and tiring, but with Patty, as usually was the case, there was some fun too. That was always something I could count on with her. She knew I was hurting and would continue to do or say things to make me smile or laugh. I don’t know how I would have made it without her in my life.

The following day after we arrived in Missouri, I would have to put my remaining two dogs, Mekko and Yoda, in a boarding facility. Not wanting to waste time, I asked if they were currently hiring for any positions there. As it turned out they were and I was hired the next day. I would stay with Patty and Kim for exactly nine days before finding an apartment suitable for my dogs and me.

Working at the boarding/adoption facility was not only interesting, but rewarding as well. I would find myself adopting a third dog, Glamour, about two months after I had begun working there. I think it’s safe to say however, that she had actually adopted me, first.

Things were starting to settle down for me. I had become friends with the people I worked with, and even though things were not even close to where I felt I needed or wanted them to be, I was still doing better then I had been only a few months earlier.

On Friday, January 27th, 2006 I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that my mom was in the hospital. Apparently, she had been in some pain and after going to see her doctor, was admitted into a hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. I hung up with my dad and then called the hospital to speak with my mom.

Mom said she felt fine, but that her doctor had thought that the symptoms she was experiencing, were indicative of someone about to have a massive heart attack. They wanted her to stay in the hospital and relax over the weekend and on Monday the 30th, were going to run some tests to check her arteries for blockage. Mom assured me that she would be fine and felt very confident in her doctor’s abilities. Trying to keep the mood humorous, I jokingly asked, “You do have your ‘Will’ up to date, don’t you?” She laughed and said, “What makes you think I even have a Will?” We both laughed at the playful, yet somewhat morbid exchange.

I spoke with her again briefly on Saturday. On the morning of Sunday, January 29, 2006, one month to the day following my fortieth birthday, I would come virtually face to face with death, only this time it would not be intentional.

While at work that Sunday morning I had started running a pressure washer inside one of the kennels. I had all the doors and windows open and a fan running to help diffuse the exhaust coming from the machine. I was the only one in the building and there was only one other person on the property at the time. After running the machine for only about 45 minutes, I felt my head start to hurt as if someone had been hitting it with a ball-peen hammer. I thought it was just from the loud noise coming from the pressure washer.

Only seconds later I started to feel sick to my stomach, weak and dizzy. Everything around me was becoming a blur. I felt as if I was about to lose consciousness. Somehow, I managed to exit the building and call for help. I dropped to my knees where I would begin to vomit. My co-worker heard my cries for help and summoned an ambulance. I tried to stand thinking that if I walked around, I might start to feel better. Feeling faint, I dropped to my knees again and waited for paramedics to arrive.

I was transported to the hospital where a pulse-ox test was performed on me. Basically, it’s a test to determine the carbon monoxide to oxygen ratio in a person’s blood stream. After having inhaled pure oxygen for at least an hour prior to the test being done, the news of the test results I received was startling.

As the doctor explained it, the test is apparently rated on a point scale, the lower the number the better. He told me that an average smoker would usually score about a three on this scale. By the time my blood had been drawn and tested, however, I was at a 14. I was basically only a gnat’s behind away from biting the dust.

I would stay in the hospital sucking in pure oxygen for another five hours before being released. Anna, a friend who volunteered at the facility I worked at, also happened to be a nurse at the hospital I was in. She came to see me before I was released and encouraged me to stay at her house that evening, just in case I had any problems from the carbon monoxide poisoning.

When I got home, I called my mom to see how she was doing and to tell her of my near-death experience. I told her I was going to be staying at my friend’s house that night, to which she replied, “Well, don’t forget to put on clean underwear!” What is it about mother’s and their children’s underwear? I told my mom that Anna wouldn’t be seeing my underwear, but that I would indeed do as she had told me. I told my mom that I loved her and hung up the phone. Little did I know that would be the last time I would hear my mother’s voice.

On Monday, January 30th, my mom would have tests run to determine the degree of arterial blockage. I spoke with my dad late that evening and he said mom was fine. I hadn’t called her because I felt she would likely be resting. As I was talking with my dad, my mom was calling him on another line. I told him to tell her that I loved her, and we hung up. I had found out that her arteries were all close to 80% blocked and in some cases even more. They had also found that she had an aortic aneurysm. The doctors would be going in on Tuesday the 31st, to try and fix some of the problems she was having.

It was late Tuesday evening when after not having heard anything all day about how mom was doing, that I decided to call my dad. He sounded stressed. He told me he had just gotten home and that my mom was doing “okay.” The conversation was kept short as it was late and we were both feeling tired.

I would find out sometime later that my mom wouldn’t let anyone tell me what was really going on…how serious her condition had become. Mom knew that I didn’t have very much money, and had apparently stated that she couldn’t afford to fly me home to be with her, either.

At approximately 2 o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, February 1, 2006, I suddenly awoke from a sound sleep. I was wide-awake and though unusual, I decided to see what was on T.V. I was up for about two hours before going back to bed. I would later come to find out that it was around this same time that my mom started having serious problems.

At approximately 8 o’clock that same morning I received a call from my sister. My mom was in bad shape and I needed to get home right away. I felt helpless and lost. I couldn’t even think to pack and actually called Janet for help, as she had always been one to know just what to pack for any occasion. I then called the airport to make a reservation. After almost an hour of trying to make a plane reservation with someone who could barely speak English, I gathered the dogs and headed for the boarding facility. Once there I would quickly get them settled in so that I could leave for the airport.

Years before my mom had given me a silver necklace that had two charms on it. One was Praying Hands with the Lord’s Prayer engraved on the back of it, and the other was a Guardian Angel that Kenn had given to her. Still wearing the necklace from the day she had given it to me, I wanted nothing more then to get to her bedside and put that necklace around her neck. I wanted to protect my mommy.

Before leaving for the airport from the boarding facility, one of my supervisors asked me what hospital my mom was in. I suppose she had intended to send flowers on behalf of everyone I worked with. Realizing that I didn’t know what hospital she was in, I called my sister. As I asked Lorna which hospital mom was in, she told me, and then I heard her say, “But Tori, Mom’s gone.” I just knew I hadn’t heard her right. So, I asked her what she had just said. Repeating herself she said, “Mom’s gone.” I lost it. She couldn’t be gone. That was my mommy!! We had finally gotten to a point where we could talk without arguing. I was finally able to tell her that I loved her without any coaxing and actually mean it!! She had told me only three months earlier that we would see each other again, some other time. Why? WHY!

My mother had passed away due to a massive heart attack and blood loss from internal bleeding, at the age of 65.

A co-worker drove me to the airport. I would be flying into Atlanta where I would meet up with my brother Mick and sister-in-law, Monica. Together we all made the hour drive to the new house my parents had purchased only three months earlier. Dad was waiting outside when we pulled up. We all took turns giving him a hug, and it was then that I suddenly realized that in my forty years of life, this was the first time that I had ever seen my father cry. 

We didn’t have a funeral for my mom, only a family viewing. When we got to the funeral home on Thursday, we first had to see the funeral director to decide what type of urn would be best suited for mom’s ashes, as she had wanted to be cremated upon her death. While there, I discovered that it’s now possible to purchase jewelry that can hold ashes from the deceased. I chose a silver teardrop. It would be to represent all the many tears I would cry over the loss of my mom, and inside some of her ashes to keep her near to me always. The teardrop is worn on the same necklace she had given me all those years before, with the Praying Hands and Guardian Angel.

As we finished with the funeral director, it was time to see my mom for the last time. As everyone started to enter the viewing room, I was having a hard time convincing my legs to move. One of my brother’s had put his hand on my shoulder, as he said to me, “Come on.” I said I didn’t want to. I didn’t want it to be real, yet I managed to enter the room anyway. 

Someone was standing in front of me when I finally caught my first glimpse of her…I saw her hair. Again, I lost it. I went up to my mom and lay across her; whaling and holding onto her as if by some miracle that would bring her back. THAT WAS MY MOMMY!!! Hadn’t life been cruel enough?! I found that I was becoming a young child again in a matter of only seconds.

At some point I managed to pull myself together a little as I was now standing erect. I told my sister that I just wanted to be able to feel mom’s hand on my face again, as she would sometimes cup my cheek in the palm of her hand to show her affection toward me. My sister lifted up my mom’s right hand and placed it into my hands, and I then held her hand to my face in an attempt to feel her love for me once again; one last time. Deep inside I guess I knew she had always loved me.

Her hand was cold at first, but the longer I held onto it the warmer it was becoming. It was almost as if she was there. I had stopped crying as I held mom’s hand now hidden beneath the blanket that had been placed over her body. I was unexplainably calm. Then it happened. Her hand, the one I was holding, moved! I’m not kidding! IT MOVED!! Okay, feeling like maybe I was crazy, or even possibly a bit delirious with sorrow, I looked around the room to see if anyone else had noticed it. What was I thinking? There was no way they could have noticed, as our hands were under the blanket!

Having to tell someone what had just happened, I looked at my sister who was standing right beside me. She was looking back at me. I whispered, “Mom’s hand just moved.” She just smiled at me as if to say, “Alright Sis, we’re all upset here and want nothing more than to believe mom is in the room with us, but…well…you just keep believing that if it comforts you.”

Realizing that maybe I had in fact just taken an emotional nosedive off the deep end out of grief, I began to think that perhaps I had imagined it. I had no sooner allowed myself to believe that it was my imagination getting carried away with me, that it happened again! NOW I KNOW I FELT THAT!!

I had just been reassured that my mom was not only there in that room, but that she would be with me for the rest of my days; and perhaps now, she would be able to unravel the mystery, to the case of the disappearing perfume!

And So the Journey Goes

She counted all our fingers

She counted all our toes

As each she brought us into this world

And so the journey goes.

She watched us crawl

She watched us grow

Fixed the sleeves inside our coats

Before letting us play in the snow

She had the warmest smile

A heart more precious then gold

And when it came to doing laundry

There was a right and wrong way to fold!

All through our lives

Her lessons were strong

Still as adults came reminders

To “put clean underwear on”

We had our differences

Struggles to work through

Yet never having to wonder

How deep her love ran true

Her time to rest has come

Her life of teaching done

If ever asked who raised us so well

We will proudly say she was the one

And so the journey goes

As now we must carry on

But not without a lifetime of thanks

And we owe it all to mom! 

Dedicated to Mom

In Loving Memory of my Mom

18 March 1940 – 01 February 2006

Chapter 12

That’s Another Story

Throughout my life I have felt as though my choices were limited. I often felt as though I had no control over what direction my life would take. I had grown up feeling alone, scared, empty and lost most of the time. I felt as though no one understood me or even cared to for that matter.

I suffered both emotionally and physically at the hands of others without the ability at the time to fight back. For most of my life, my coping skills were virtually non-existent. I have fought the progression of thoughts of suicide since I was sixteen years old. It was for the longest time the only thing I thought I could do to end the pain I had felt deep within me for most of my life. 

It would take me twenty-five years to finally realize that I had in fact always had a choice in my life. My choice was to live or die. To make the choice to die would not only end my pain, but would give me control over my life…if only once. To make the choice to live would still provide me with control over my life, for the remainder of my life. I may not have a choice over some things that happen, but I do have a choice as to how I swing at the curveball’s life throws at me.

To choose life means to accept that there will inevitably be pain, sorrow, hurt and loss. It’s what each next unknown second of every minute of every day holds within it though, that makes choosing to live the better choice.

For me, living has meant learning how to learn. It meant growth from the pain of living. It meant seeing my mom for the last time and realizing how much she really meant to me, and regretting that I had never really told her how I felt about her when she was alive. How much I loved her and how thankful I was that she was my mom.

For me, living has meant seeing my father through the eyes of a child without understanding, to seeing him through the eyes of an adult and being thankful for the man that he became, and the person I have grown into because of him. For me, living means someday meeting my true soul mate and using my past experiences to nurture that relationship right from the start. Perhaps we have already met!

I don’t know what my future holds in store for me any more then the next person does, but I have reached a point in my life where I welcome each new experience with open arms and a clearer outlook. I have come to realize and accept that there is a plan for my life, and there is a plan for yours, too!

There Is a Plan for You

Now I think

I finally see 

There really is

A plan for me

The life I thought

Had been a mistake

I’m finding now

Was my journey to make

Each path I’ve traveled

Every choice I have made

Has held for me the lesson

I don’t have to be afraid

Every tear I’ve cried

Has had a purpose too

During this life long journey

Leading me to you

There will always be some trials

Some tribulations too

But deep down in your heart please know

There is a plan for you