Aftermath

How do I describe what the hours, minutes, seconds were like after the death of Colley, the police did come into the house eventually, Lee took them down to Colley's room. In my panic I had not noticed how carefully he had prepared, he had cleaned his room, put notes on various items as to what he wanted us to do with them, had lit a candle and had music playing in the background. I am sure he intended his father to find him when he went down to wake him for church, while I would have spared Todd's dad the agony of finding Colley's body, I am grateful it was not Lee or I believe I would have been burying two instead of one. Yes he left a note, the words are burned into my soul, "Please don't blame anyone, it's no ones fault but mine. Love you all, Colley".

I had collapsed after yelling at the police officer who told me my son was dead, I wanted him to take it back, it wasn't true, I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten in my life, I wanted to escape somewhere in my mind and never come back. My husband ran to me and I pushed him away, I told him it was his fault, not because he had argued with Colley but because the guns were too accessible and I had asked him less than two months before to get a gun safe, even as I said the words I wanted to take them back, I meant them and I didn't mean them, I loved Lee and hated him. I wanted to die, Oh how I wanted to die! How do you describe the agony of soul and body and mind and yet the world refuses to stop moving and keeps pushing, forcing you to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make.

Your home becomes a crime scene, photos are taken, some of Colley's belongings were taken along with his note, those few last words we were left with, documents must be signed, questions answered. Lee handled the questions, took them around to see what they needed to see, I sat, frozen, hoping to die, hoping to find this wasn't real. The female member of the sheriffs office who was taking photographs left with tears in her eyes, she is the only one I saw any emotion from and it touched me, I do not know her name, I wanted to thank her but I could not make myself move.

We wanted to go to him in the trailer, they wouldn't let us, not until he had been moved out of the trailer onto the stretcher and in the body bag. I could not see him that way, not in that bag, I know what they smell like, feel like, I have carried the little bodies of lost babies in those bags, we carefully swaddle those little babes and my son would not have that same care and I just could not see my son that way. My husband and my oldest son did go out to say a last goodbye before they took Colley away. When someone dies violently it becomes a case for the medical examiner and as a family you lose any right to refuse an autopsy, my precious son was going to be taken away and I had no power to control what was going to happen.

I donated Colley's eyes, I don't know why it became important but I needed some part of this make sense, I never thought I would be able to donate a part of my child but I wanted to have something good come from the loss of this part of my heart.

So much happened in the space of a few hours that felt like days, we were surrounded by people and yet felt alone, isolated, we had to find someone to clean the trailer, family needed to be notified, paperwork signed, we had to find a way to tell our younger children their brother was dead. I am not sure I could tell who all the people were at our house, I wanted to bring my other boys home, I wanted to wrap them up and keep them safe, I had to call work and tell them I would not be coming in. My son was dead. I had to make arrangements with a funeral home so that my son could be released once they were done at the medical examiners. People kept coming by, words must be said comfort given, food showed up, I couldn't eat. The magpies kept coming back. I needed to sleep and yet my brain would not allow it. A funeral must be planned, a cemetery chosen, Colley's friends needed to be called to let them know their friend was gone.

As on that day a brain can only take so much before it will begin to shut itself off trying to isolate the pain that is too much to bear all at once. Memories can be the same way, reaching a point where you must stop for a time or you must perish. I must stop, enough for now

I Am a Child of Abuse

I have been told that when a child is molested they tend to get stuck in their emotional development at the age they were molested. For me being the age I was it meant that I see everything as black and white, right or wrong, good or evil, there is nothing gray in my world, nothing in between the extremes. I have worked very hard for many years to change my view of myself and my world, at times I see that I have progressed and yet it is an issue I still struggle with, others can make mistakes, but if I do I cannot forgive myself, I fall apart and want desperately to hide myself, to cease existing, it is not enough to die because I believed that I would live in my shame for eternity.

 Mormons believe that after our life here and after the second coming of Jesus Christ we will be assigned to one of three kingdoms of Heaven based on how good of a person we were here, grace is also involved because no matter how good we are here without the sacrifice of the Savior we still would fall short of even the lowest kingdom. Being a child of abuse and believing myself to be evil I was/am convinced that no amount of my being a "good" Mormon is going to make up for who I am, for my fallen state. Somehow I think if I can "save" everyone around me then just maybe I might be allowed to be in the lowest levels of heaven. There is a part of me that realizes this is faulty thinking but I still go around in a state of anxiety because I still have a bigger part that believes it to be true.

I was still in many ways a typical child and teenager, I had my rebellious moments, I drank alcohol a couple of times, stayed out too late, dated before I was sixteen, smoked pot once and took pain meds I wasn't prescribed. I had friends but wasn't overly outgoing, I attended church meetings, got bullied, I still cried easily though not as much as I had as a younger child. I both loved and hated school, the perfection thing invaded here, if I couldn't do it perfect then I just didn't do it at all, so my grades often suffered.

When I was thirteen I was given a pamphlet by my church leaders called simply "Chastity" in its pages were the words of a talk given by a General Authority of my church, in it I read words that cemented my belief that I was evil. While I hope these words were not meant the way I took them, what I remember went something like this, "it would be better for you to die than to allow anyone to steal your virtue", I interpreted them to mean that I should have fought to the death rather than let my virtue be taken. Not only was I evil, I was without virtue, I had let a man steal my virtue and should have died at eight but even Jesus hadn't wanted me.