In the dust left behind

Hello, Friends,

You know that movie, Thelma and Louise, that was the way that this was supposed to happen. Like in the movie, Practical Magic, we were supposed to be two old biddies living in a house full of cats (okay, Brigid didn’t like cats so much) and we were going to die on the same day. We were going to be two crazy ladies on a mission of justice and empowerment that ended with us flying in a convertible off of a cliff. Either that or her Buick – either one!

I feel like I am standing on the edge of that cliff in a swirling cloud of dust that she has left behind. She flew away and I am still here.

Her mother is suing me over the final report on the estate. It is a back door move around the fact that Brigid had a “no contest” provision in her will. She is saying the most ridiculous things – like I spent too much for the funeral and on the funeral dinner. (Well – it was her family bellied up to the table!) It has been a constant assault, just when I thought this was over. We had a court hearing yesterday but the judge didn’t rule on anything. She wants me removed as executor/trustee and wants me to return any and all property – even the things Brigid left specifically to me. My attorney says I did great – but I don’t know. I just don’t know if this judge is going to buy this woman’s bullshit. She even said that, “The day after Brigid died, Joan ran out of the house yelling, Brigid left me 10,000 dollars!! YEAH!”

Well, if you have read this blog at all – or know who we are in real life – you know I have spent every day of the last 2 and 1/2 years trying really, really hard not to jump off that cliff that I am left standing on alone. I look at everything around me and I sometimes ask myself, “Is it even worth it anymore?” I know that leaving is not an option – that there are so many great things in my life. My family, my kids, my adorable grand-baby, Brigid’s adorable grand-babies. Brigid’s daughter. The promises I made that I am doing trying my hardest to keep! It is all so hard, though. I had to go over to the storage shed the other day and it is full of her things that are being kept for her oldest granddaughter. It still smells like her house and I just stand in the door and weep. This is supposed to get easier with time – but it doesn’t. People around me demand that I be who I was and I don’t even know where to find that person anymore. She doesn’t exist. I’m so tired all of the time.

I adore my husband, but this is hard on him, and he makes it harder on me. The house isn’t cleaned, the work isn’t done, I sit in the chair and stare at the TV. What he doesn’t see is me standing by the pictures of Brigid and I and crying – because I want to go back there. He is a good man and he loves me, but he wants to fix what is shattered. No one can fix this. I wrote this for him – but I can’t bring myself to give it to him.

What if I told you that you are not enough to fix my pain? That as much as I love you and I am grateful for you…you can’t replace her.

Would it help if I explained that if you had died and she had not…she would not have been enough to fix the pain of losing you. Would it help to know that losing you is my greatest fear?

What if what I have accomplished today is all I can do? Can you appreciate what was done and ignore what was left undone?

What if all I could do today was sustain life? If my only accomplishment was to get up and get through another day; can you honor that? Can you understand that I pushed through the sadness because I don’t want anyone to hurt like I hurt.

I am down the road. I am at the point where people say, “You need to move on.” What I cannot explain is that the absence of her has left a hole so large in me that the loneliness blows through it like wind through canyon walls.

Wounds become scars. The tears dry up. The things she left behind are settled. It doesn’t change the fact that she will never come through the door again.

I went to a Metaphysical Fair the other day and I did decide to do a reading. She nailed Brigid!! Down to the type of cigarettes she smoked and how she used to fling it around. I don’t know if the Psychic was that good or if Brigid is just that good – I put most of it on Brigid. She lets me (and unsuspecting people like my lawyer) know that she is still around. She told me that Brigid has heard me when I have yelled at her and that it is time that I start to forgive myself. She even told me that Brigid would be sending me someone special. These are things that I already knew. (I have my own abilities – but it is nice to get confirmation from someone else) They are things that make me weep. Yes – I need to forgive myself…I know that! Yes – I know that I will make a new friend…and it will be someone really, really special…but I didn’t want to hear that and I still don’t. Yes – I need to forgive Brigid – and I do forgive her and I don’t blame her – but there are so many times that I look around at something wonderful happening and think, “YOU SHOULD BE HERE!”

Now I am, once again, waiting for a judge to decide “justice.” Such a funny word. What is just, what is right, what is good. Personally, I would really like to see justice – just once! We don’t see much of that…do we? What little we may see we have to fight for even with out hands tied.

Even sitting here today writing “Brigid” feels so odd. I don’t want to call her that – I want to call her by her name. I can’t. We made a deal that this blog would be a place for people to find help…that we would be anonymous and they would be anonymous. I know that with every part of her she is telling me to step away from the “cliff” that I am staring at. I had come so far in coping with this before the court case came up…now it is like it is May 2016 all over again. The light was right there – I could almost grab it – the estate was nearly closed. Now it is gone again and some man who never met us will decide if I am “good enough” and if I have “done enough” to be the executor/trustee. Some man who doesn’t even know what Brigid’s mother did to her – the childhood of abuse. But, she is the grieving mother and once again…I am just some friend that manipulated the situation.

Please don’t worry – I am hanging in for now. I’m not planning on an “unscheduled dismount” of life. I’m just tired, sad, and alone…and there is no where that I can say that and there is no one I can say that to….except you.

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Still Standing

Hello, Friends,

It has almost been a year since I have written. Actually, it has almost been a year since I even opened this blog. It is still raw…so extremely raw.

Well, April is upon us, Sexual Assault Awareness Month and I needed to complete the selections for our Survivor’s Voices Round Table. This left me browsing through old posts – Brigid’s posts. I can hear her voice in every word she wrote. At one point, I could even smell her because her voice and her presence was so clear. Great thing to have happen at the office – huh! “Hi, don’t mind me – I’m just having a little breakdown!”

My little granddaughter turns 4 next week. 4 years have gone by. Sometimes the loss of Brigid hits me so hard I stop breathing. I look at her with her big hazel eyes and her sweet but incredibly independent ways – and I can’t help but feel so sad that she will never know her “grandma Brigid.” She will only have a few pictures and a ton of stories…but she will be no more real, no more relevant than George Washington. Just a person in history she has only heard about.

I’m still standing, though. Still hanging in there. I have a job interview next week that would take me away from VA and into a different organization. I’m excited – I’m terrified. However, it would be working full time in sexual assault advocacy…instead of only being allowed to “speak” from March 30th to May 1st of any given year.

I often wonder what Brigid would want – would she want me to go for it? Would she want me to stay where I am and continue the fight? The one thing I do know is that she would be there to answer the phone – to help me figure out what I should do. There to tell me that I am “good enough” to do the job; that I make a difference; that I have value. It seems stupid…I know…to not be able to find that within myself – to rely on another person. Maybe what I need is just that she would tell me these thing, things I already know, without me having to ask. That is what I miss…to be so emotionally and spiritually in tune with another individual that you never even have to speak. Your soul and their soul just are.

The last two year…yes! TWO YEARS in May – have been the hardest of my entire life. Harder than the rape, harder than the bad marriages, harder than the last days of the military. Maybe it is because I feel so detached from everyone. Maybe it is because I keep telling myself to “soldier on” and move forward and don’t fail. Maybe it is because the reality of her absence is worse with each passing day. Not a day goes by that I don’t talk to her. Maybe it is because I can’t stop the continuous loop of those three months in my mind. Maybe it is because she lied to me and I don’t know why.

There is a song by Rich Mullins…one of my favorites – called We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are…

“Well, it took the hand of God Almighty
To part the waters of the sea
But it only took one little lie
To separate you and me”

“And the Master said their faith was
Gonna make them mountains move
But me, I tremble like a hill on a fault line
Just at the thought of how I lost you”

Maybe this is where I am left trembling? If I lost her so easily – how am I to keep anyone in my life. I find myself being hyper-concerned about losing my parents, my husband, children, granddaughter.

Maybe it is because she was the only person in the world in my whole life that was just 100 percent there for me – and I was 100 percent there for her. No question, no judgment, no need to ask, no apologies. It was a given – always a given – but never taken for granted.

At the end of the day – there is only really one person to blame…and that is the asshole that beat her. I know that. Yet I still find myself wondering…why did I fail her?

Peace,

Joan

When the Lilacs Bloom

When the lilacs bloom, I will always think of you. I used to go looking to find the first blooms and would snip off the prettiest stems and take them to you. Sometimes just a few, and sometimes by the arm load, but I always brought you lilacs.

The little lilac seems to withstand anything that comes its way. Late spring snow, freezing cold, and still they bloomed and stayed strong. No matter what the world threw at them they were sweet and lush. They brought you joy and laughter; your nose buried, breathing deep.

Then it seemed that as quickly as they came, they fell away. Still warm and fragrant even as they began to fade and lose their color and their joy. As though they gave everything they had left, because they knew they were dying.

The lilacs are in bloom and I know that before the month ends; they will die. I never even imagined that you would die with them. Everything in time will pass away and only the memory of their gentle fragrance will remain.

I see you now surrounded by the stacks of lilacs that I brought you. Each branch fully flowered, bright, vibrant, fresh, and full of joy. They are wild and glorious on their bushes no longer fearing the warming days. I know that you are where the lilacs will never again sleep. I will wait and weep as the lilacs bloom; until you can take me where the lilacs never wither.

Peace,

Joan

April looms large

Hello, Friends –

April is just around the corner and I have multiple events surrounding Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I have a quote on my desk reminding myself that I only have to do the next thing…and maybe have some chocolate.

As April approaches grief and guilt are becoming overwhelming again. In May it will be one year, and I can’t help but wonder if I wasn’t so all fired busy doing events in April if I would have seen what I obviously failed to see. I wonder if I should have been less of an advocate and paid attention to what I didn’t even know was happening. But what is done is done and what is behind me is behind me…and there is no way to fix this. I remind myself that I am not a mind reader, that I always made time for Brigid, that I would leave my house at any given moment and make the drive to her home for the smallest need. That I loved her with a love that stretches beyond death.

I have been dreaming of her, a lot, early in the morning just as I am waking up. It is like she is there and I reach out my hand and just before I can touch her I am awake and she is gone. It was extremely distressing for sometime. I would leave the bedroom immediately and go down to my recliner and just weep. Not just cry – but gut wrenching tears that came from the darkness that is now an empty black hole inside of me. So I was at a store the other day looking for the things I needed to do her memorial T-Shirt for the Clothesline Display and while fishing through the little jewelry parts I found this quote:

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

I think that must be what she is trying to say to me. I hear her voice often, telling me to “knock it off.” Mostly when the feelings of failure or that I must have betrayed her somehow come. Since I found that little quote on a piece of metal (which I bought of course!) she has stopped coming in the early morning.

I am unsure how April will go – except that I have to carry on. I have to move forward and leave the past in the past. If I falter on the journey and everything comes to an end…then all of the risks we took together will be for nothing.

I continue with therapy, although my old therapist retired and I am breaking in a new one. I have had two leave me now…wonder if it is me – LOL. She is nice and I like her. I still spend most of the time in session crying – but that is to be expected I suppose. I think what scares me the most is that I wonder how long I will have to wait to see her again? When the natural course of living becomes dying and I get to join her. I am nearly through the first year of firsts. The first birthdays, the first Christmas, the first St. Patrick’s Day and they say it gets better once you pass the “firsts” – but I don’t know…what about the seconds, or the fifths, or even the 25ths. She was only 45 and I am only a couple of years older. The average lifespan is roughly 70 – so how long must I miss her? At the same time, I know I can’t just go be with her. It doesn’t work that way. I have to stay here. I have a husband, children, and a granddaughter that needs me. I have her granddaughter that needs me. To leave would just be to pass my grief on to others.

So I will stay the course, finish the race, no matter how long it may be. And I will miss her every day. I will hope for those moments between asleep and awake when she smiles at me and when, for a single moment, I can almost touch her. I will mourn…but I will carry on.

Peace,

Joan

20 Years Ago

Today would have been mine and Brigid’s 20th Anniversary as “besties.”

We were both new employees to a buffet/full service style restaurant. We had never worked together; but we were both assigned to work this massive party. The thing about these kinds of restaurants is the service staff is always short. Instead of carrying three or four tables, like in a traditional full-service restaurant, it was not uncommon to have 10 to 20 tables. This was a full party – the entire back room – if memory serves me we probably had 100+ guests. It was just the two of us.

These weren’t “nice” people either. They were nasty and treated their two servers like dirt; intentionally making things difficult. They demanded that once a plate was dirty it be removed from their table. Never mind the fact that they would go up to the buffet and put one or two things on their plate. You would go to a table and get drink refills, “More tea, ma’am?” “No, I’m good…thanks.” You would return to the table moments later only to have this same woman hand you her empty glass and say, “I would like a refill.” BITCH!! The next time you refilled the drinks you were prepared and brought her a tea anyway. “I don’t want that, take it away!”

It was a long and rough night. To make matter worse this waitress I was working with for the first time was a WACKO. She would be in the kitchen throwing stuff, cussing, and then stomp out with a smile plastered on her face. I wasn’t sure what to think of her but it seemed that she was in the mood swings from hell. I didn’t really care, she was keeping up and we were getting it done. Still – I kept my distance.

Finally the party from the 7th level of HELL went away. She stormed outside for a cigarette and I asked if I could bum one. We got outside and she slid down the wall like Jello and started to cry. She told me that her Grandfather had died that day, but our boss said she had to come in and work the party, then she could go home. I suddenly understood. I told her she needed to leave and be with her family. “Go, get out of here, I will clean the dining room.” She wouldn’t, she would stay and clean up. She said she appreciated it but she wouldn’t leave me to do that alone. We cleaned as fast as we could and she left.

We didn’t know it that day, but the death of her Grandfather and the party from Hell would create an amazing friendship. A friendship that even death can’t destroy.

The years went by. Our children grew. We both divorced horrible husbands. I found a great guy and remarried, she was my Matron of Honor. Our Granddaughters were born and have grown. I hate the fact that they will never know their Grandmother. How amazing and special she was. It will be up to me alone to keep those memories for them.

Tonight would have been special!! We would have gone to dinner, argued over who paid the bill, tipped too much because we hassled the server. Not in a cruel way, just telling old stories the way long time friends do. We would have both purchased gifts that cost way too much, but that meant a lot. Like the antique friendship quilt she bought me for Christmas last year. The one that is now hanging on a ladder by my bed. At the same time her birthday present is still in my closet, still in the Amazon box, unopened, unwrapped. I keep meaning to give it away…but I just can’t. It was the Highlander season 1 box set. She would have gone nuts…she adored Adrian Paul.

How do you lose one of the great loves of your life and move forward. I don’t know? I still don’t know where to go and what to do. I feel like part of me is missing and I know that I cannot join her…not until my time runs out. I remember our 20th – celebrate it in fact – knowing that I may celebrate 40 more November 7th’s without her. (I am only 47) But I also know that I will pass this date as many times as will be required because that is what she wants and my last November 7th is only up to God. I also know that I will never have that kind of love again. It is irreplaceable. I also know that I am blessed to have had it in the first place. People live their entire lives and never love another person the way we loved one another. It was truly a once in a lifetime kind of love.

Happy 20th Anniversary, Brigid. I love you to the moon and back…

Peace,

Joan

The work of mourning

Hello Friends –

I want to thank you all for the thoughts and prayers. I thought I would check in and rant for a while. This blog was started as part of my therapy – so I might as well keep going on that.

Those who know me outside of the blog, know that I am a student of history. In particular, the Civil War, in all of it’s craziness. I also grew up in the cemetery industry, my family was 4 generation sextons of a small, country cemetery. Death was something that I grew up around so I am comfortable with the rite and ritual – so to speak.

I bring this up because I believe that we have lost something. There was a time when most of the funerals in America were performed at home. We were not separated from death, it surrounded us, engulfed us, and we walked side by side. Mourning and grief were accepted as normal. Sadness didn’t need to be hidden away.

In Victorian times (the period correlating with the reign of Queen Victoria – which follows through the Civil War and ends in around 1901) there were certain expectations of both those who mourn and the public. Most are familiar with the wearing of all black, but it was much more than that. Those who were in mourning were distinguished by their dark clothing or by the black armband that they wore. The amount of “social expectation” placed on these individuals was minimal. Many of you may think of the scene in Gone With The Wind where Scarlett shows up to a ball and is asked to dance by Rhett. She “scandalizes” the community by dancing with him while in mourning. True mourning of the period was much different, although attending a ball/dance would have been prohibited (except for the young…allowances were made for young people.)

Primarily – people were given the space and the time to mourn. If a person was invited to a dinner or a quiet event; they were allowed to decline without being told, “You really should get out.” Callers could be received or declined without judgments. Social pressure was removed. If you didn’t feel like getting out of your night dress and wrapper – that was allowed. If you felt like going out – that was also allowed. The simple statement of “mourning” was accepted and understood by everyone.

So why do I bring this up? I bring it up because this is where my greatest struggle lies. Last week at work, a co-worker came up to me with a movie called, “This Is Where I Leave You.” She asked me if I had seen it, and I have not, and told me it is really funny and to watch it. The movie is about a death and a family coming to terms with it – it is a comedy. She was somewhat upset that I didn’t want to watch a funny movie about death. I have also had to push off many of Brigid’s friends who want to “get together and talk about her.” Most of them want more details of her death; which we are keeping private. I also find that they want more details of the moment of her death, morbidly fascinated about “how it feels to do CPR” and “why didn’t you know” questions. Well, I didn’t know because she didn’t tell me and doing CPR isn’t that bad; so long as it is a stranger in the ER. Doing CPR on your best friend is more awful than I can put into words. Having the medical knowledge to know that no matter how hard you try she is already gone and that only a miracle will bring her back. Screaming inside for that miracle to happen, emergency vehicle sirens and people speaking but there is no sound. There is no sound – just silence. But the silence isn’t quiet – it is so loud that it roars. So many people who want to connect to her through me – “help me with MY grief.” At the same time I cannot help them. One thing I know is that I cannot be their anchor because I am already drowning. The endless communication and work with the attorneys, the thank you cards, the remnants of her life that I have to count, store, donate. The endless loads of laundry at the Laundromat – each opened box holds her smell and I know that once I wash those things – I will lose that connection forever. At the same time; each load of laundry completed and donated is one more step to completing these tasks. These are the trappings of life that she has no use for – no need to save them.

Too much of our world has lost the etiquette that surrounds mourning. This isn’t to say that I feel like I should be allowed a spot in a corner and to be left alone. On the contrary; certain people that I am close to have been my rock and my refuge. They have been the voice of reason – special thanks to Jay and Myst. At the same time; intrusion is at times overwhelming. I also find that too many people are wanting to play the game of, “I knew her longer” and “I loved her more.” I care not to argue with those people. At the same time I also choose not to repeat what Brigid actually thought about some of them. She was a kind soul who would not always push away a broken person – no matter how crazy they drove her!

So I spend my mornings in the shower in tears. I cry alone in the car. I whine to my therapist! All other times I slap a smile on my face and push forward. It is unhealthy, it isn’t honest, and it isn’t what I should be doing. Even with my husband I do this – though I long to tell him so badly exactly how much I hurt. I know that he wants to understand, but more important he wants to FIX it. He can’t fix it. He can’t stop the pain, but since he can’t fix it he can’t deal with it. So I smile and I make jokes – and I privately maintain my rituals.

Mourning doesn’t end when the casket closes. In fact, it only begins. I know that once the estate is closed and the work is done – I will have to find new ways to mourn and cope. In Victorian times – mourning was a minimum of one year – for those in deep mourning it was for two years. How I long for the permission to do that; publicly without judgment. To dress in black and be excused from the requirements of society…no; to be excused from cruel words and harsh statements. To be allowed to take care of myself. To heal with some manner of peace – even if that healing comes in an ocean of tears.

Peace,

Joan

WARNING – EXTREMELY GRAPHIC – CONTAINS PHOTOS THAT ARE TRIGGERING!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Friends,

The guy in the photo is Eric Jason Horner. He lives in Linn County, Iowa. He has lived in Benton County, Iowa. He has a Criminal Record with Iowa Courts Online. A simple Google search will bring this up.

“DISCLAIMER – THIS IS NOT A CALL TO VIOLENCE AGAINST THIS MAN – THIS POST IS TO PROTECT OTHER WOMEN!! DO NOT HARM THIS INDIVIDUAL!!”

This is the man that Brigid fell in love with, this is the man that beat her for 3 straight days. We are not able to prove that he murdered her. Although she died of massive blood clots in her lungs and had blood clots in ALL OF THE BRUISES ON HER BODY – she had a history of clots and had recently traveled with a change in altitude.

Please – never become involved with someone without doing a simple GOOGLE search. He has a long record of domestic violence.

The photographs are of Brigid’s body. The bruises on her arm are clearly from his hand – you can see the finger marks. I have debated whether or not to do this – but her mother asked me to – and I agree with her. If I can protect one women…then it is worth it.

Again – this man is currently facing drug charges, he will not change, you cannot make him NOT beat women…so if you have been asked out…RUN!!

The first month on my own

Tomorrow is one month.  A whole month has come and gone and yet I still feel as though this isn’t really real.  I keep waiting for the phone to ring, the Facebook to light up, or a sudden chat window at work.  I keep waiting for her to swing into the office while at another appointment – and yet the phone doesn’t ring, chat windows don’t open, and neither does the office door.

What is grief?  I don’t know anymore.  One minute I am relaxed and having a pretty good day and the next I am awash in whatever this emptiness is.  By emptiness I mean a whole section of “black hole” that doesn’t seem to have anything but deep black.  I see the things she left behind, the work left undone, the granddaughter that will never really know her grandma…and I feel so void that I am nearly motionless with it all.

At the same time, I move forward.  I get up, make coffee, shower, put makeup on and go to work.  I do those activities of daily living that are required…  I push forward when I don’t want to.  I see my therapist, we talk.  I think sometimes that therapy would be better with a six pack of Grape Seagram’s and a pack of cigarettes.

On the one hand I am reminded that I am alive…I did not die that day.  To quote a favorite Rich Mullins song…”the life goes on and so must the song.”  I know that death is not an option for me.  First of all, she would kick my ass at the pearly gates and though she is gone – I’m still a little afraid of her 🙂  Don’t worry – she gets that joke.  Second, I believe that we are all appointed to this life.  It will last as long as it is supposed to last and there just isn’t any logical way out of it…not for me anyway.  Third, someone has to bear the torch.

Speaking of torches – I’m not a big believer in horoscopes – just sometimes glance at them out of interest but not really taking anything to heart.  However, her horoscope last week dropped me where I stood.  “When you pass the torch and it’s still burning, it’s the responsibility of the next person to keep it burning still.  You’ll be a torch passer, so pick your person well.”

On top of all of this, a job has opened up working in Peer Support.  Great timing…right!?  However, it has always been my hope and my dream…so I submitted my application.  Not trying to get my hopes up but also can’t seem to help but feel a little bit of spark.  Maybe now.

I’m still not making sense of this new normal…because there is nothing that feels “normal” right now.  Tomorrow will come and go – and the second month will begin.  Hanging on to faith because there isn’t much else to hold on to right now – faith and a couple of very good friends.

To those of you who read our blog – thank you for keeping me in your thoughts and your prayers.  It has been a blessing.

Peace,

Joan

Passing the torch

I’m not a big believer in horoscopes – primarily…I read them for fun.  However, Brigid’s horoscope for today was quite compelling.

“When you pass the torch and it’s still burning, it’s the responsibility of the next person to keep it burning still.  You’ll be a torch passer, so pick your person well.”

Since we began this blog back in 2010 – our goal was always to be “light-bearers” – people who can shine a light in the dark tunnel that is trauma…and help guide others.  We often talked about how dark and lonely it can be…when you are out there on your own.  How lucky we were to have one another so that we didn’t have to walk alone.

Brigid is continually sending me little signs…and I guess this is one of them.  It isn’t often that I read her horoscope…so today’s kind of blew me away.

Sometimes I wonder why my heart is even still beating…it just hurts so bad.  I guess this is her way of reminding me that, even without her, I still have OUR mission to complete.  One of the things that I placed in the casket with her was one of my SGT shoulder boards…I kept the other.  You see, one of them was hers…and one was mine.  It was that way from the day that I earned them.  She was scheduled to have a radiation treatment on a non-malignant brain tumor.  It was my fourth time being scheduled for Primary Leadership Development Course, they kept cancelling me, although once was because I got pregnant…so I can’t blame the Guard for that one 🙂  I was going to cancel – not go and stay home to be there for her.  She said, “Absolutely not!  You have to go, they will never give you another chance.  You have to earn the stripes that I never got the chance at.”

The mission continues.  I guess the torch passes from Brigid to all who are willing to pick it up.  I will carry mine.  Maybe Rich Mullins put it best in his song “I’ll Carry On.”

“I’ll carry the songs, I learned when we were kids.  I’ll carry the scars of generations gone by.  I’ll pray for you always, and I promise you this; I’ll carry on, I’ll carry on.”

I do covet your prayers and I thank you for all of you who have sent messages of support and have been praying.  You are a blessing.

Peace,

Joan

Missing you!!

Joan and Brigid

I thought I would take a moment and share a few pictures.  For those who want to know – I am on the left and Brigid is on the right.  These were actually done by a local newspaper for the showing of The Invisible War in our state.  We desperately wanted to remain anonymous…so we were able to use some great lighting effects to hide who were are.  I think that they are some great shots!!

We were really terrified that people might recognize us.  You should have heard Brigid’s voice on the phone when she said, “What do you mean…Page 1 above the fold?!”  It was quite a moment for us.  However, the opportunity to have a voice – even an anonymous one – was amazing.  Truthfully, we didn’t want the story to be about US…we wanted it to be about ALL OF US.

I would ask you for your kind prayers and thoughts.  I spoke with the Medical Examiner’s office this morning and they are going through the autopsy with a fine tooth comb…they have even brought in a couple of other people to review the findings.  This is good news.  The gentleman that I spoke with could tell me very little – while also telling me a lot.  I am grateful to them that they are trying to find the answers.  ALL of the answers.  My prayer is that we can get the monster that did this to her!

Using the Stanford student as an example – it is the reality of that “20 minutes of action” he got that becomes a lifetime of hell for the Survivor.  People lecture, I have lectured, about the health risk behaviors of being a Survivor – but this isn’t what people think about.  We talk about smoking, drinking, ect… and yet the conversation about “prey for the predator” doesn’t really happen.

No matter what happened in her last months – this is how I want you all to remember Brigid.  “Page 1 above the fold” fearless and bold!  This is who we are…this is who we will continue to be.

Peace

Joan