… when it’s been 21 days since the king of your heart fell off his throne after a lifetime of battling the darkness that became him after his “mother THING” all but threw him away the day that he was born and you’re finally able to open his phone for the first time looking for any answers you can find. Then, there it is, right in front of your sobbing eyes … his “daily affirmation”. He really was “doing the best that he could”. I know it in my heart. God please let him finally be resting in peace.
What most people don’t know is that Williamson either sent or brought me flowers literally once a week from the day we got married, November 1, 2010. Initially, they were just a simple store bought bouquet or a single rose, but as his many successes ensued, the weekly deliveries became “whatever he felt like sending” from his partner in the crime, and sometimesto the random places I went. He had already warned me that I should be prepared for a house filled with “50 arrangements for his birthday girl” the week before my birthday since we were supposed to be getting on a plane to Switzerland on my birthday.
Catherine, there will be SO many flowers in this house that you won’t be able to walk through the house.
So, I just counted, and you WON’T believe how many arrangements are in this house. Yup. THERE ARE 50! In the foyer, in the kitchen, in the bathrooms, in our bedroom. Everywhere. They’re EVERYWHERE!
Thank you to everyone who unknowingly became cohorts in his “50 arrangements for my birthday girl” plan. I feel surrounded by both love and so many beautiful ironies today in the midst of all this grey.
And if I should fall, will it all go away?
No, my king, it shall never go away. I’ve been kissed by a rose on the grey.
KISS FROM A ROSE
There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea. You became the light on the dark side of me. Love remained a drug that’s the high and not the pill. But did you know that when it snows my eyes become large and the Light that you shine can be seen? Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey. Ooh, the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah. Now that your rose is in bloom, a Light hits the gloom on the grey. There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say. You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain. Baby, to me, you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny. Won’t you tell me, is that healthy, baby? And if I should fall, will it all go away? I’ve been kissed by a rose on the grey. {Seal}
May the endless tears he cried for ALL of you – his “family” – darken every day of your SELFISH lives and the shadow of his beautiful face staring back at you when you look in your otherwise EMPTY mirrors never cease to remind you of the “ZACK OF SHIT” you threw away! THIS is how you “loved” …
To learn more about the lifelong and often irreversible effects on children abandoned by their “mothers”:
So this is it. I say goodbye to this chapter of my ever-changing life. And there’s mistakes. The path is long. And I’m sure I’ll answer for them when I’m gone. So when the day comes and the Sun won’t touch my face, tell the ones who cared enough that I finally left this place that’s been so cold. Look at my face. All the stories it will tell I can’t erase. The road is long. Just one more song. A little something to remind you when I’m gone. When I’m gone. The road to hell along the way is paved with good intentions so they say. And some believe that no good deed goes unpunished in the end or so it seems. So when the day comes and the Sun won’t touch my face, tell the ones who cared enough that I’ve finally left this place that’s been so cold. Look at my face. All the stories it will tell I can’t erase. The road is long. Just one more song. A little something to remind you when I’m gone. So this is it. I say goodbye to this chapter of my ever-changing life. And there’s mistakes. The path was long. And I’m sure I’ll answer for them when I’m gone. When I’m gone.{Staind}
Like a scream inside, the one you just can’t hide. The sound so deafening, you can’t hear yourself think. As real as real can get. Keeping my heart in check from feeling anything but my own apathy. Again, again. It’s creeping up on me. Making it harder to breathe. We’re all under pressure. Can’t stand the weather. For the worse and not for the better. Please, this ain’t the way to live. Something’s got to give. We forgive but don’t forget it, no. Another day, another battle. We all have a cage to rattle. This just might be the death of me. Might be the death of me. It’s reached a fever pitch. I’m living proof of it. I find it hard to cope, without a thread of hope. Blood is thicker than water. But love is even stronger. Hold out a little longer. Until we found ourselves. Again, again. Like a scream inside, the one you just can’t hide. The sound so deafening, you can’t hear yourself think. As real as real can get. {Daughtry}
There you stood in disbelief, trying all you could to see through these lies. And every word that I could breathe would find you more inclined to leave, but I tried. I tried. And knowing what I’ve done to you … with every thought you suffer through … my heart as black as evil can. And everything I could have been … erased by what I wanted then …I couldn’t think a lesser man.
So, now I reap what I have sown and any rapture I had shown has bled dry. And I walked the streets alone, accepting pain I’d never known as you died. You died. Then I hurt myself to see it, too … to feel the knife put in you … my heart as broken as my ways. I never should’ve let it pass … this fall was never meant to last … the reason gone and damage stays.
All the delicate ways that I deepened our graves. My apology pales.
Oh, the pain in your eyes … my regrets have never known such sorrow. Oh, the shame that you hide … resolutions are the same tomorrow.
I have nothing left to give. I have found the perfect end. You were made to make it hurt. Disappear into the dirt. Carry me to heaven’s arms. Light the way and let me go. Take the time to take my breath. I will end where I began. And I will find the enemy within ’cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin. Dear Agony: Just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Is this the way it’s got to be? Dear Agony. Suddenly the lights go out. Let forever drag me down. I will fight for one last breath. I will fight until the end. And I will find the enemy within ’cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin. Dear Agony: Just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Is this the way it’s got to be? Don’t bury me faceless enemy. I’m so sorry. Is this the way it’s gotta be? Dear Agony: Leave me alone. God let me go. I’m blue and cold. Black sky will burn. Love pull me down. Hate lift me up. Just turn around. There’s nothing left. Somewhere far beyond this world. I feel nothing anymore.
~ Zachariah Lucas Williamson
***
Although his death certificate says “FOUND AUGUST 23, 2019”:
It was AUGUST 22, 2019, the night that changed everything for me and mine. It was the night my husband took his own life, and yes, I physically “felt it happen”. Sufficed to say that there are still so many parts of that night and what led up to it that are very unclear in my mind, as this trauma has obviously affected both me and our daughter in unimaginable and irreversible ways.
That being said, what I do vividly remember was sitting in a room alone trying to get a hold of myself and wrap my head around what was happening to my family. Then, at just before midnight, I felt it! I had an adrenalin dump and it felt like someone had punched me in the gut and knocked the wind out of me. I literally couldn’t breathe. The next morning, August 23rd, the police chief of our town came to find me in the hospital where our daughter was being treated for her own resulting trauma and suicidal thoughts as a result of what he’d done. As he headed toward me with “that look” on his face, I already knew what he was going to say.
“Mrs. Williamson, we did, unfortunately, locate your husband in his car this morning with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I am so sorry to inform you that he is, in fact, deceased.”
At which point I fell to the ground with a guttural wail that I’m told could be heard throughout the hospital. He went on to say that although they had found his body at 8:30 that morning, the coroner had estimated that he’d already been dead somewhere between 10 to 12 hours, which was confirmation that my physical manifestation of his death the prior night was correct.
Cut my life into pieces. I’ve reached my last resort. Suffocation. No breathing. Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding. Do you even care if I die bleeding? Would it be wrong? Would it be right? If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might. Mutilation out of sight, and I’m contemplating suicide. ‘Cause I’m losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. I never realized I was spread too thin ’til it was too late, and I was empty within. Hungry, feeding on chaos and living in sin. Downward spiral, where do I begin? IT ALL STARTED WHEN I LOST MY MOTHER! No love for myself, and no love from another. Searching to find a lover on a higher level. Finding nothing but questions and devils. ‘Cause I’m losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Nothing is alright. Nothing is fine. I’m running and I’m cryin’.
Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof? You’re scaring us, and all of us (some of us) love you. Achilles, it’s not much but there’s proof. You crazy ass cosmonaut, remember your virtue. Redemption lies plainly in truth. Just humor us Achilles. Achilles come down! Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?
Achilles!
Achilles!
Achilles, come down!
Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof? The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken. Remember the pact of our youth? Where you go I’m going, so jump and I’m jumping since there is no me without you. Soldier on Achilles. Achilles come down! Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?
Loathe the way they light candles in Rome, but love the sweet air of the votives. Hurt and grieve but don’t suffer alone. Engage with the pain as a motive. Today of all days see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above.
Achilles!
Achilles!
Achilles, jump now!
You are absent of cause or excuse. So self-indulgent and self-referential. No audience could ever want you. You crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it. Your act is a ruse. It is empty Achilles, so end it all now. It’s a pointless resistance for you.
Achilles!
Achilles, just put down the bottle!
Don’t listen to what you’ve consumed. It’s chaos, confusion, and wholly unworthy of feeding, and it’s wholly untrue. You may feel no purpose, nor a point for existing. It’s all just conjecture and gloom. And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it. Do not waste yourself on this roof.
Hear those bells ring deep in the soul chiming away for a moment. Feel your breath course frankly below. See life as a worthy opponent! Today of all days, see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above. Crowned by an overture bold and beyond. Ah, it’s more courageous to overcome!
You want the acclaim, the mother of mothers. (It’s not worth it Achilles.)
More poignant than fame or the taste of another. (Don’t listen Achilles.)
But be real and just jump you dense motherfucker. (You’re worth more Achilles.)
You will not be more than a rat in the gutter. (So much more than a rat.)
You want my opinion, my opinion you’ve got. (No one asked your opinion.)
You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts. (No one asked for your thoughts.)
Be done with this now and get off the roof! Can you hear me Achilles? I’m talking to you. I’m talking to you. I’m talking to you. Achilles come down! Achilles come down! Throw yourself into the unknown with pace and a fury defiant. Clothe yourself in beauty untold and see life as a means to a triumph. Today of all days, see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above. Crowned by an overture bold and beyond. Ah, it’s more courageous to overcome!
I don’t wanna die alone. I don’t wanna live forsaken. I refuse to let this go. Because my soul is breaking. I don’t wanna let you know that my heart is just so jaded. I refuse to let it show. I refuse to let it go. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between I refuse. I’ve always walked alone. I chose the path less taken. I refuse to let you win. Life’s a bitch and I’ve been shaken. It’s not a joke at all. Inside my spirits fading. I refuse to take the fall ’cause no one cares at all. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. I refuse. ‘Cause at the end of the day I’m not you. I refuse. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. {Five Finger Death Punch}
On this day, at exactly 6:45pm, he hugged me tight and kissed my forehead while I was standing in the bathroom near my make up table. I can still see it. Feel it. Smell it. Taste it. And I can still “hear” the last words he said:
Have fun and be careful. I love you Catherine Williamson.
This is the sobering truth.
Don’t take anyone or any moment for granted. Please. One hour from now, you’re entire world could look, taste, feel and “sound” very different. Everything counts. Memento Mori.
Is this real? ‘Cause I can’t feel. I reach into his darkness and there’s nothing to hold. I try to heal … but spin my wheels. The more I try to stop this, the more I lose control.
Am I just a ghost in my own machine? In a sandbox in the entropy? Some reality got a hold of me, and I don’t think I’ll escape. Am I too attached to a memory? Stuck in my head for eternity? Am I in a dream or the in between? I don’t think … ’cause I’m not waking up.
Conversations with simulations. They say there’s no escaping … it’s a never-ending road. My salvation is lost in translation. The more I can’t explain it, the more I lose control.
Step One: You say, “We need to talk.” She walks, you say, “Sit down, it’s just a talk.” She smiles politely back at you. You stare politely right on through. Some sort of window to your right, as she goes left and you stay right between the lines of fear and blame. Let her know that you know best, ’cause after all, you do know best. Try to slip past her defense without granting innocence. Lay down a list of what is wrong … the things you’ve told herall along … and pray to God she hears you. I pray to God He hears you. As she begins to raise her voice, you lower yours and grant her one last choice: “Drive until you lose the road, or break with the ones you’ve followed.” She will do one of two things: She will admit to everything, or she’ll say she’s just not the same. Then you’ll begin to wonder why you came.You begin to wonder why you came. “Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness, and I’d have stayed up with you all night had I known how to save a life.”
(“How To Save A Life” … Words Adapted)
If only I had known all these years that I’ve been belting these words out loud that one day they’d become the inner voice inside my head talking back to me. With that, I can’t believe I’m finally putting this out into the Universe … BUT … here I am doing it anyway. As much as my own past mental health issues are multi-faceted, layered, and complicated, I’m also in my 8th year of recovery from the dragon that was my anorexia/bulimia.
With that, if you, your daughter, or anyone you know is struggling with body dysmorphia or an unhealthy relationship with food of any kind (’cause remember that “Men Have Feelings, Too“), I’d love to sit down and talk with them. After all, no one better understands how to live with and slay a dragon than someone who’s done it herself.
As you can see, I’m desperately trying to be as transparent as possible as I journey through this nightmare I’m living out loud, as I refuse to just sit back and let the broken roads each member of this family has traveled thus far have been in vain. My story? HIS story? My daughter’s? My son’s? They will have made a difference in the life of at least one other broken soul that’s lingering hopelessly out there in this world somewhere if it takes my last breath to do it.
Zack reminded us all so much of Robin Williams’, one of my favorite icons. He was larger than life. Always smiling. Always positive. Always the biggest presence in the room! He couldn’t stand to see anyone sad, so, he would make us all laugh until our sides hurt. Yes, he was the biggest clown I’ve ever met! At the same time though, he was intensely serious about everything he tackled in life, and as witty as he could be, his timing was always perfect. With him? There was a time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to play, a time to dig in deep and get to work, but always a time to just “Good Morning Vietnam” it!
On Thursday, August 8th, 2019, things seemed to be looking up. It was his day off, but we’d decided to split up for the day so I could take Gia for school shopping and lunch while he ran some errands of his own. When he walked out the door, he seemed to be in genuinely good spirits, and as you can see from our credit card statement, we’d all had a productive day. Me? Shopping. Having lunch with our daughter. Living life in the moment and excited for the double date later that night with our sweethearts. We were happy. We had a family. We had a home. We had a KING waiting for us at that home who loved us both more than words could say. He was our everything. HE WAS OUR ROCK!
But what abouthim that day? What don’t we see in this picture of him smiling at Pinstack? “Our rock” was literally crumbling before our eyes and had already made the decision to end his life. This charge you see at “CAB STORE ALLEN”? While Gia and I were eating lunch, he was at Cabella’s buying the Springfield he put to his head 14 days later:
So, there you have it. What you see hiding behind another one’s smile isn’t always joy, peace, and happiness, and these pictures are a sobering example of this tragic truth. Although we knew he was struggling, no one knew how close to the end of the story he really was. He was dying a slow, painful, agonizing death within his own mind … we just couldn’t see it. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry if this post upsets anyone because perhaps it’s too transparent, but there’s a poignant statement made in these pictures that I felt was important to share. Maybe the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel that way.
UNTIL THE DAY I DIE
The waters rise. The light declines. But I’m not turning back from here. Voices are crying. Corpses remind that most don’t make it to the end. Look to the sky. Take back what’s mine. This life can be a cemetery. This life can be a shallow grave. I’ll never be a casualty. I’ll never bow before I break. I’ll stand and fight. Until the day I die. I left the known to walk alone ’cause to remain was suicide. The “could’ve been”. Stood up again ’cause not to try was just to die. Maybe I’m wrong. But it’s my right. I’ll face the night. I’ll find the light. Look to the sky. Take back what’s mine. I’ll stand and fight. Until the day I die.” {Like A Storm}
How can this be happening? I’m losing him. WE’RE LOSING HIM! And now it feels like I’m losing myself.
The best part of my life came and past and it’s all downhill from here.
He’s dying. HE’S FUCKING DYING! I can’t do this without him. What will I do if he doesn’t get better? PLEASE, oh God, PLEASE … give us both just enough strength to make it through this.
If only you’d have known that as you arrived to work that October day, every plan you’d ever planned, dream you’d ever dreamt, or wish you’d ever wished for your own life and future was completely unraveling. You could have worn one of those silly expectant father shirts with sparkly pink letters across your chest … “I’M GONNA BE A DAD! IT’S A GIRL!” … and maybe even passed out cigars!
He was standing in front of that one big window at the gym, turned his head, our eyes locked!
I want you to know that I am ever so aware that none of this has ever been easy for you, although to those who don’t know what really lies beneath the frosting of the beautiful cake you’ve become, you DO make it all seem so effortless. But this job you never imagined you’d be showing up for on an equally cool night the following November came with so many unseen challenges and struggles, most of which have fallen on your shoulders without complaint. I know we weren’t the family you were expecting – “some other guy’s leftovers”. And I’m guessing she wasn’t quite the “little pink bundle of joy” you may have pondered welcoming into your once very private world.
As for all the things you have been, done and given?You didn’t have to do ANY of them! No one ever asked you. You just did … and still do. All the tears you have cried with her. For her, and about her? They matter, and I’ve counted them all!He breaks her. You fix her. He makes excuses. You look for solutions. He hurts her. He hurts you. He lets them both down, but you keep picking them up. I suppose the defining moment as to who and what you are as a father was that morning just a few weeks ago when you were first reduced to tears at the realization of how much she has grown in the years since you first met her and how quickly time is speeding by:
Catherine, I only have five years left with her and then she’ll be going to college. It seems like a lifetime when she’s only gone for two days, so what’s going to happen when she’s gone for months at a time? And then when she’s gone for good? Just thinking about it makes me sick and I don’t know how I’ll survive it!
You’re a beautiful human being, Zachariah, and your heart’s depths knows no bounds. You could have had anything … anyone … and to this day I cannot understand why you’ve done the things you have done for us, and more than that, why you didn’t run as FAR away as any other man’s legs could possibly have carried him. I was so beaten down, tired, weary and ragged and had literally NOTHING to offer you whatsoever. A father who wouldn’t accept you. An ex-husband who maligned you. A pile of debt. A broken body. An empty womb. The two ghosts. “His” kids. Still, you chose us.
I want to say thank you my true and faithful King. Thank you from the depths of my soul. You are so much of everything and then some. You’re the love of my life that I never knew I’d never had until that that moment I finally knew what the selfless, unconditional love of a man and a father was supposed to be. I know this may sound crazy, but it’s because of YOU that I now fully realize how God pours His own love into all of us. When I look at you? I see Him. You’re just a mortal man, imperfect in so many ways, but your honor, intentions, and steadfast love and devotion to this family are unwavering and always “for better or worse”.
THESE are your self-evident truths:
You’re the beating of our hearts, the voice that calms our fears, the words to all our songs, the hand that wipes our tears, our eyes when we can’t see, our lungs when we can’t breathe, our legs when we can’t walk, and our arms when we can’t hold ourselves upright. You have made us both believe we’re the two most treasured prizes a man could have won, and that our many flaws and weaknesses are just as beautiful as you claim we both truly are. You are the mirror we gaze into when our own reflections fail us, and we are never more confident than when we’re standing behind you, beside you, or with you at our six. We belong to you Zachariah, and for some reason it was supposed to be this way. You gave us a home … and your heart … and everything we have today. We love you more than any of my endless words could say.
My husband wrote this for Gia in June because he believed, and it’s true, that they shared similarly broken hearts. Now, in reading it a second time, I realize he was actually writing about himself. Ten years ago my husband saved my life, and hers. In the end, it was him that needed to be saved … but I couldn’t do it.
“SHARDS”
I finally broke and my mind came undone. My body gave way as I hit the floor. My heart shattered. I lacked the strength to even pick up these pieces as they spilled across the floor while they looked at me in disapproval for the “mess” and inconvenience I made for them, but I gathered them up none the less as the whip cracked and scarred my back pushing me begrudgingly forward. I didn’t know what to do with what was left of me. I had never come this far apart. I was just a little [boy]. I just wanted to give up. Lay down. You know the rest. There is a crack deep in my soul that is still healing, but some days I feel as though it is only getting bigger. I thought I would never be strong enough to stand on my own and finally get my “shit” together. Could I find enough love for myself to make these jagged pieces worth putting together? I have looked to find strength in so many ”things” because I feel it is not within me, but deep down inside I know it is there. One day soon I will gather up these pieces again. Fit them together the way they are supposed to go. These shards will become my strength. My protection. My weapons against further abuses of my worth and love. The strength is gathering within me – I’m not little anymore! They shoved me on to the path of adulthood and I will show those who have wronged me my wrath, which will only be overshadowed by the ferocity of my love that is and was the best thing they will never have known. I spent so much time seeking their approval, when it was MY approval and favor, they should have been looking for all along.
To Catherine (my first and last Love, my soulmate and best friend),
To Catherine (my first and last Love, my soulmate and best friend),
Considering recent events and conclusions I have come to about my life, childhood, parenthood and overall feelings about the people in my life, I have come to some huge conclusions about you and your role in my life. Although we have had a rocky ride at times and we have done some really bad shit to each other I still really would do it all over again. Not just for Gia either. I do love you and I am still in love with you I just got lost along the way because I could not figure out why felt so distant from you and distant everything for that matter including myself if that makes sense. I do love everything about you except for the way we interact/react to each other under difficult circumstances.
After realizing how I really felt about Gia as my child and realizing that no one in my life ever felt that for me it hit me that you were the first and only person in my life that ever truly loved me, chose me as THE top priority in their life and fought to help me get over myself but also fought to protect me from anything and everything harmful or defamatory including myself. Even though you didn’t do it for me you brought my daughter in to this world and promoted that relationship that I didn’t even know that I wanted and needed so bad until now. You made me a parent and it turned out that was the greatest thing that ever happened to me next to falling in love with you and your daughter. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for fostering my relationship with Gia and being there for me even when I was impossible to live with. I don’t deserve a lot of the things you have done and been for me and I will always owe you for everything.
You are an outstanding mother and wife and I realized it is only because of your deep seeded insecurities mostly having to do with your parents and life events that cause you to do the stuff that really upsets and hurts me. I wish we didn’t do bad things to each other but no marriage is perfect and we have to keep trying. I worry more about my own bad choices destroying our relationship than I do yours and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt, invalidate or upset you. The list of those things goes on and on but I am trying to do and be better for you and for me as well.
I love you and I am in love you I just disconnected myself to protect myself. It wasn’t just you though. I was disconnecting from everything here lately because of my perceived failure at work and at home. When Gia goes to college you are all I’m going to have and that’s a good thing but I was afraid it would leave me alone and that things would get worse between us without Gia there as a buffer. I realize now I need to allow myself to trust and invest in our relationship even more physically and emotionally. Gia going away could become a blessing for us having more time to do things we love together and not stressing out about the juggling back and forth for her between Pete, school and other activities. I love you and I’m in love with you. I want it to stay that way and I want us to get closer as a result of what’s been going on here lately. This is just part of life. Gia is supposed to go have her life and we are supposed to have ours also. I want to have my life with you. You were my first love, my first EVERYTHING and I want you to be the last god willing.
Please forgive me for my doubts about you and about us and let’s move forward and make our marriage better than it has ever been. Ok?
Ten years ago, in the midst of a mental health crisis and major crossroad, I got a job driving big Ford trucks from Dallas to the four surrounding states, Kansas, and Missouri as a dealer trade “valet”. I spent so many days and nights alone on the open road just driving, crying, laughing, talking to myself and God. I’d stop in as many small towns as I could along the way in the quietest corners of “anywhere but home”, find a quaint cafe, then just sit with some coffee and listen, observe, and absorb as many “outside my bubble” experiences as possible. That job was one of the best things I’ve ever done, and I swear I wouldn’t be here right now if not for it.
Back then, I was a rocker who hadn’t heard of Rascal Flatts yet. I fondly remember the day I was rolling down the I40 to Yukon in a jacked up Ford F-550 when this song queued up to the radio. Meanwhile, there were horses actually running in the field abutting the highway, with a crisp, blue sky in the background that all but took my breathe away and reduced me to some of the most cathartic tears I’ve ever cried. I believe with every shred of my being that God set up that one singular moment in time up for me as the catalyst for the beginning of the “apostrophe” I’ve become.
Here I am now what seems like a lifetime later, eternally thankful for the countless tears I shed in those trucks that allowed me to finally begin the bittersweet process of moving on stronger, wiser, and ALIVE, despite the many broken roads I’d been down and sometimes still have to travel.
These days, when I hear this song I get butterflies as I dream of all the possibilities in her future. Whereas the girl in the song is learning how to let go, which was clearly me back then, I can only pray that these words will apply to our girl for much brighter and hopeful reasons. We don’t want her to ever be in a position where she has to choose between “someone” or herself. We want her to be strong and wise enough to start with choosing herself first and let all the naturally beautiful things that follow be her reward.
Williamson and I are determined to build our girl into a mentally wealthy, confident, and strong woman who will never have to wonder who she is and run away to save her own soul like I did. She’ll live life on her terms like the QUEEN she’s destined to be, “no reins” whatsoever,and I’ll fight for her to have that freedom until the day I’m gone and beyond. Unless, of course, she finds a king of her own one day who is lucky enough to capture her painted wild mustang heart. God willing, he’ll run right alongside her for the ride of both their lives, neverstop loving her unconditionally, and cherish the beautiful chaos she will surely bring into his world.
For the record, I’ve been praying for this boy, wherever in this world be may be, since the day that she was born. Actually? Now that I think of it, I’ve been praying for both my kids’ spouses all their lives. God has been so good to us in all things big and small, so I know that if a Prince Charming is meant to happen in her queendom, he’ll find her eventually “o’er field and fodder” and everything between. If and when that day finally comes, this crazy circle my life has been going in will be complete, and I will be one very happy mama!
THIS. On this night I watched my baby girl take the center of the stage as the first boy she ever really had a crush on gave her “the first dance”. To fully appreciate this, you must first travel back with me to “the day of the ball on the playground”. It was 4th grade for her, 5th grade for him, during one of my playground shifts their school. I was sitting on the curb, kinda not paying attention, until I happened to look up at just the right time to see her and her friends playing four square. The ball they were “squaring” got bounced off their court and started rolling towards the basketball court where some boys were playing. So, the ball was just rollin’ and the girls were all panicking, because “OMG it’s headed for ALL THOSE BOYS”! The next thing you know, this very handsome young man stopped the ball with his foot, picked it up and started walking towards the gaggle of panicking girls! But it didn’t end there, you see, because that handsome boy decided to invite himself to their game. When recess was over, I followed the girls back into the school as they all giggled and snickered amongst themselves, “Can you believe it? HE’S A FIFTH GRADER!” From that point on, “Sawyer and Gia” were a thing, but only on a first real crush level. He liked her. She liked him. It was the sweetest thing ever, and I GOT TO SEE HOW IT STARTED! Fast forward to THIS night, the middle school Fall Dance, and here’s how “the day of the ball on the playground ended” …
Williamson and I were chaperones at the dance this night, which is par for the course with us. It was just about over and a bunch of us parents were just kicking back on the outskirts of the party when one of the dads noticed a commotion wherein every kid in the room was engulfed in “some thing” on the dance floor that had everyone’s attention. So, that dad ran over and stuck his head through “the wall of kids” only to come running back and report that, “Holy shit guys, they’re dancing. THEY’RE DANCING!” “Who’s dancing”, Zack asked. “Umm, YOUR DAUGHTER AND SAWYER SMITH, that’s who!” From thence it’s just history. For the record, how lucky am I that no matter where this “first love of hers” either does or doesn’t go, I got to watch it from the beginning!
It was June 9, 1973. I was only four years old at the time and so far removed from anything to do with horses that it’s almost comical to think that through my daughter I, no, “we” as a family are now in the fledgling stages of this equestrian world. Meanwhile, today Gia and I watched Secretariat for at least the 20th time since we first saw it when she was four. In fact, it was the second movie we ever took her to together back when Williamson and I were still dating and I was slowly letting them get to know each other. This time was special, however, because of the tear jerker of a discussion we had that followed:
Momma, who does he remind you of?
Hmm? There are actually TWO people he reminds me of and I’ve ALWAYS thought it. I’m curious to hear if we think the same.
BUBBA! That’s so true! But mom, there’s a third person I’m also thinking of.
Who?
YOU! Not a lot of people had much faith in YOU either. You’ve ALSO proven a lot of people wrong!
If there were just one moment in time I could travel back to and personally witness, it would be the Belmont Stakes when that TREMENDOUS machine defied everyodd stacked against him and made a mockery of all the people drunkon SHAMpain in the crowd.
If you’ve never seen the movie or read about “The Horse That God Built”, do it! It’s so much more than just a movie about a horse. It’s the story of what can happen when one living creature truly believes in another and how faith can make miracles out of anyone. That’s what made OUR little family what it is today by the way … a miracle of FAITH! I’m so lucky to be surrounded by people I’ll never stop believing in as I watch them run their races with no reins!
This morning, my superhero obsessed daughter drew this picture of who I thought was Wonder Woman, only to find out it was a picture of me. She drew it after having written this unbelievable essay that I never even knew existed until today about how her favorite TV show led her to the SUPERNATURAL conclusion that the real superheroes in this world don’t actually wear capes. Rather, they wear the badge of honor that comes along with “hunting mental illness” and its veryunpopular monsters.
SAVING PEOPLE & HUNTING MENTAL ILLNESS:
THE SPN “FAMILY BUSINESS”
What makes a hero? It is their immense strength, bravery, kindness, and selflessness. They inspire and save the lives of people for no other reason than to help. I found MY heroes because of a TV show that I had no clue would be as special as it is to me. By telling his story and launching a campaign giving support to those in need, Jared Padalecki, alongside Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles, have inspired thousands of people, and myself, to never give up, and to always keep fighting …
In March of 2015, Jared launched “Always Keep Fighting” with different T-Shirts with the slogan. All the money gained from the over 500,000 products sold were given to the charities To Write Love On Her Arms, The Wounded Warrior Projectand Attitudes In Reverse – Student Suicide Prevention. Later, he gave the reason for him starting the campaign in the first place. That previous New Year’s Eve, one of Jared’s best friends lost his battle with depression. Jared stated that this was not the first time he had lost a personal friend to suicide. Using this new campaign, he said that he hoped “that this campaign, while raising money for a wonderful charity, can also raise awareness about issues that affect more people than we know. I hope it inspires people battling depression, addiction, mental illness, and suicidal thoughts to be vocal about their struggles. I hope it helps people realize that they shouldn’t be ashamed of what they are going through, and I hope it helps people meet and find new friends that they can relate to. I hope it helps people take pride in the fight that they have been fighting, and gives them a push to never give up or give in. I hope it helps inspire people to keep fighting. no matter how hard it is.” Through his actions, he showed a level of kindness and compassion that is superhuman. Later, however, he reveals something that gives the “Always Keep Fighting” Campaign an entirely different depth.
Living with an invisible mental illness requires an immense amount of strength and bravery. I have witnessed firsthand the kind of wear and tear it can do (and yes, there is a REAL “super hero” in this regard I am lucky enough to call my mom). Opening up to the public, to millions of people that you have suffered through the same battles as the people you are fighting for? That requires unbelievable bravery. Jared did just that. He said how he has suffered from anxiety and depression. He said that he did not understand why he would be depressed. “It kind of hit me like a sack of bricks,” Jared told reporters. “I mean, I was 25 years old. I had my own TV show. I had dogs that I loved, and tons of friends and I was getting adoration from fans, and I was happy with my work, but I couldn’t figure out what it was; it doesn’t always make sense is my point. It’s not just people who can’t find a job or can’t fit in in society that struggle with depression sometimes.” Misha Collins, a best friend, and co-star of Jared, also suffered in the same way that many fans and readers alike have. Misha had been self-harming for years. Since he was only around 12 or 13 years old. Misha won his battle. He stopped cutting himself and started loving himself. Later, he and his co-star/best friend Jensen Ackles started something of their own.
On February 12, 2016, Jensen and Misha launched the You Are Not Alone fundraising T-shirt Campaign with T-shirts that used the slogan “You Are Not Alone”. The SPNFamily Crisis Support Network has been established by Jensen and Misha in partnership with Random Acts, TWLOHA, and IMAlive. This project created an online support network to help fans cope with mental health issues such as depression, self-injury, and addiction and included training for fan volunteers who wish to be crisis responders in their spare time, provided immediate access to support lifelines for fans in crisis, and local community resources for those needing additional support or information. Together, they save lives and create warriors in the process. They have shown people that there are people who care about them. They save lives as any hero should.
Through words and actions, they have shown far more than bravery, courage, and compassion. Just like the ‘S’ on Superman’s chest, what they have done means hope for people. On February 9th, Misha Collins, who plays Castiel, on Supernatural, posted a video on his social media accounts. Misha’s message? He told his fans without speaking that they’re not alone. To people outside of the Supernatural fandom, this video may not seem like much. But to people who know Misha, to people who watch him every week on The CW, these four words, “you are not alone” mean so much more. Fans see that the actors that they look up to and love not only care about them but believe in them. They continue also to bring the three-word sentence, “always keep fighting”, up fairly often, constantly reminding their fans to not give up.
“Jared, Jensen and Misha”. To people not in the fandom or the people who simply don’t know who they are, these names may mean nothing. I promise you, however, that these names have meant life for thousands of people, mine included. They have not only saved lives, but taught people how to save lives themselves. To look around, at complete strangers, and help those who are struggling, and make sure that they win their fight. They have created an army that fights the demons that live in all of our hearts and minds. An army that is fighting every day for one another.
Jared, Jensen and Misha have saved thousands of lives, mine included. Day after day they continue to save people. Jared Padalecki, alongside Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles, have inspired thousands of people, and me, to never give up, and to always keep fighting. They have taught us that no matter what happens, what we do, WE KEEP GOING! No matter how much we want to give up on anything, little or small, we will refuse to stop. Most importantly, they have taught us that even if we think we have met our match and can’t go on, we will get up and fight harder than ever. We can go on because we are enough, we are not alone, and we have a family of people we have never met, who love us and understand us. Who live their lives loving and helping complete strangers? Thanks to these three men. As Jared said, “Even if there are a thousand small fights, even if every other minute you’re thinking about suicide, or depression, or addiction, or if you have a mental illness, I want people to hit it head on and take action. And to be proud that they’re winning their fight, period.” We must always keep fighting`!
Why does January 11th always have to be so fucking hard? It was one year ago today that he was standing at the window of our beautiful castle gazing at everything he’d built from NOTHING … literally NOTHING … after having spent a lifetime running from the pain of having been thrown away by his “mother”. I’d been taking down the Christmas decorations, and I’ll never forget it EVER. Especially in that we were just about ready to take Gina’s birthday flowers to her grave.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I’d rounded the corner only to find him standing there blankly staring out over the field behind our property with a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Zack? What’s wrong?” … and then he turned to look at me with a lost and hopeless look in his eyes that will haunt me forever. It leveled me at the core with that all too familiar adrenaline dump I’d come to know before in moments of panic and fear.
Catherine, I can’t feel anything anymore.
I was so physically ill, because I knew JUST what he meant by those five seemingly simple words. Over the years, I’d gotten to know the silent language that was often spoken by his face, eyes, and tears when he hadn’t said a word. Despite being surrounded by every possible tangible and intangible thing a man could dream of, he couldn’t feel any of it. He went on to say that the emptiness he was heavier than anything he’d ever physically lifted, which was saying an awful lot, because the man was stronger than an ox.
Ever the stoic and what seemed to be a tower of strength, and although he would indeed talk to me, it was always so hard for him to recount all the things we both knew were eating him alive. Up until “us”, he wasn’t used to having his feelings matter to the people that he needed to matter to.
In the months that followed “that moment in the window” we fought desperately to keep his head above the water, but in the end, the demons hiding inside the hole she left in his heart devoured him. In being perfectly honest, that was the day I really lost him, as from that point on he was only “dead alive”, slowly headed towards the dying light that began pulling him into the darkness.
DYING LIGHT
Here we go again, it’s coming on just like before. The same old sinking feeling pulls me down an endless hole. Oh, the heavy lifting as I fret for what might be. If this is the beginning of the end, then let me dream. In the eye of the storm from the moment we’re born. In the dying light, we learn to live when we give in to the silent waves that crash inside. In the dying light, we can begin to live again when we wake up to eternal life. Let this be an exercise in how to face your fears. Step into the realm of madness if you dare my dear. We are lost in the swarm from the moment we’re born. All that we need passes by until we concede and resign this mortal coil into the dying light. {Alter Bridge}
… and yet another lightbulb moment! Or rather, should I say, lightening bolt moment? While scrolling social media this morning, I stumbled across this illustration (ownership unknown). Upon closer inspection, I all but jumped out of my skin as I headed frantically to an old box of drawings I’d sketched throughout my late teens and early twenties, which for those of you who didn’t already know, was the beginning of my outward struggle with a debilitating mental illness. As I scrambled through that dusty box, the memories literally flooded me. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d sketched something hauntingly similar to the image I’d just seen on the feed. Then? BAM! There it was at the bottom of the box …
I have given birth to three children in this lifetime. First, there was my Christian, “the other pea in my pod“, to wit it’s no big secret to the handful of people who know us both well that we are actually one in the same. Born into similar worlds of contingent based relationships where our overall human value was merely as good as we could ever be. No deeds, words, behaviors, or actions were ever quite good enough for any consistent or unconditional favor, and both forgiveness and grace had to be earned. We have the same shattered hearts, same missing pieces, and heard virtually the same less than optimal words from our fathers repeatedly, creating the sick, dark, lonely chasms deeply engrained within each of our souls. On the surface? Both Christian and I appeared to have it all and to have been given everything we could have needed for success in our seemingly picture-perfect childhoods and adolescences. If only that were true. It’s not as easy as you would think to get out there and fly with burnt and mangled wings.
Next, there was the little one who passed go, but never collected the $200 before her tiny little feet hit the board. She was both the greatest gift and greatest tragedy of my life, wrapped softly in a yellow blanket and sent straight back Home in angel’s wings. Still, even with an often daily struggle with the hole in my heart that belongs to her, I must admit that there have been days that I’ve thanked God that He took her out of here before the pain and struggle of simply “existing” became her any longer than the few short hours she spent here.
Then, there was my Gia. The pièce de ré·sis·tance light of my life, and the very reason I finally found the courage some ten plus years ago to begin the arduous task of ripping the infamous Venom suit desperately off my sick and worn out mind and body once and for all.
My point being this this:
My two living children have been raised in virtually polar opposite environments. Well, for the most part. As was the case was for me, my son spent what were supposed to be the most innocent and carefree years of his life with a malignant array of “little toy guns” filled with hate, shame, anger, guilt and rage all but spat directly into his once unscarred and trusting heart and cemented permanently into his psyche. My daughter, on the other hand, once and finally removed from the cyclically toxic environment I bore her to, has, for the most part, had two healthy parents in the home in which we’ve dwelled since Zack came into our lives. No hate. No shame. No anger. No guilt. No rage being spewed into the depths of her heart.At least not on our watch! In this home, there are not one, not two, but three human beings who are cherished. Human lives that are treasured. Precious emotions, feelings, vulnerabilities, weaknesses, and differences that are validated, if not celebrated when possible.
With that, although the ultimate damage and survival reports are yet to be determined, it does appear that Gia is faring much better thus far as a result of the healthy words and ideals that are filling her mind by the driving forces in her life. Emotional and verbal assaults from parent to child are the crippling cause of a wide variety of adult mental illnesses and psyches, and from what I can tell you from my own experience watching two different children being raised in two totally different environments? Children do learn what they live! So please, if you are reading this, be careful what you are spewing into your babies’ ears. You only get one shot to fill those precious minds of theirs with hope, optimism and the potential for a lifetime of grace, not just for others, but themselves as well.
AGREEMENT 1:
Be Impeccable With Your Word!
Can you guess what the saddest part of this drawing of mine from 29 years ago is? Looks like I clearly had all this information within me before I even realized it, and what a fool I was not to heed my inner voice LONG before I finally did. Thankfully, because of my daughter AND my son, I finally found the courage to walk away from a childhood filled with “all the words I never needed to hear” and likewise a former marriage filled with the same. In true phoenix style I took hold of my little girl and lifted her out of not only my endless sea of madness and mountains of ashes, but as many future ashes of her own I could possibly foresee. Here’s hoping my Gia will be the first emotionally wealthy person to have grown from the twisted branches she came from only to find an equally healthy man to fill both hers and their children’s ears with only the most beautiful “words”.
This was written by my Mona Lisa, battle born, “Phoenix Collaborative” daughter, unbeknownst to me, until it was revealed the day after one of the most bittersweet days of my life, December 25, 2019. Perhaps the greatest irony here is that I have long been fixated with the ill-fated “Flight Of Icarus” and his toxic relationship with his father, as evidenced here with this drawing of mine, Circa 1990, from the “32 Sketches“. This glimpse into the burning embers and fire in her soul have become one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received.
Someday my gift will be your gift. By that I mean my gift unto this world. The divinely punctuated Light I’ve sought so desperately to find in this otherwise very dark place will live out loud through her. She’s the culmination of every one of my failings, disgraces, accomplishments, and achievements, and the truth behind all the lies I’ve searched so hard to find. She’s my diamond encrusted tiara legacy and yet another phoenix rising.
… when it’s been 3,760 days since you shed your skin and had the epiphany that changed everything in front of a fountain in a tiny hilltop village in France and you’re finally headed there with the love of your life to show him the very you were standing when it happened!
This day of the tour is exactly why he brought me here and I literally have butterflies in my stomach! Everything in my heart and life changed instantly and I am so thankful he wants to see the place I’ve been telling him about for nine long years! This is actually the second time I’ve used this song here in The Diary, by the way!
TAKE ME THERE
There’s a place in your heart nobody’s been. Take me there. Things nobody knows, not even your friends. Take me there. Tell me ’bout your mama, your daddy, your hometown, show me around. I wanna see it all, don’t leave anything out. I wanna know everything about you then. And I wanna go down every road you’ve been. Where your hopes and dreams and wishes live. Where you keep the rest of your life hid. I wanna know the girl behind that pretty stare. Take me there. Your first real kiss, your first true love. You were scared, show me where you learned about life, spent your summer nights. Without a care. I wanna roll down Main Street, the back roads. Like you did when you were a kid. What made you who you are? Tell me what your story is.
Ten years ago, you boarded a plane to France with so much more baggage than what you’d actually packed you could barely walk, much less carry the load you’d allowed yourself to be burdened with for too many years to count. Until the moment your feet hit this soil, you’d perpetuated a lifelong farce to everyone you knew and loved, not the least of which was yourself.
Meanwhile, all in the course of a relatively short jaunt, you met two complete and total strangers. Remember how you believed they were actual angels God had set on your path to help you begin the process of becoming acquainted with the other stranger you’d met on that trip – you? One of these days you should be brave enough to introduce those two strangers from your past and really speak your truths by the way, so consider this your official challenge!
At the end of the day, what I can tell you is that I find it no coincidence that you are back here in France, a decade later, celebrating your birthday with not only this amazing man who has brought you so much sweet joy and fullness that your words since meeting him have failed to find their way to paper, but more importantly – with YOU!
Everything has changed since the last time you were here and your life is unrecognizable! Your feet hit that soil with a steadfast determination to stop living a lie and start living an authentic life you could be proud of with the REAL you, no matter the cost, and cost you it did. How could you ever have known that despite your best efforts to salvage the life and relationships you already had, in order to see your resurrection to fruition you’d end up having to let so many things and people go? So, you became a living bomb that self-destructed during the process of peeling off that venomous black Spidey suit you’d been wearing all the while that had all but suffocated the life from you.
I’d like to think that if you could change this last ten years you wouldn’t have changed a thing, as in my heart I think you’ve always known that all of this had to happen for a reason. You found yourself. You found your voice … and your truths … and your many reasons. You know exactly who you are, how you got here, what things you’ve done right, and the many things you could have done better. You’re a perfectly imperfect beautiful disaster and perhaps a bit much for some people digest. You are YOU, nothing more, NOTHING LESS, and “what other people think of you isn’t any of your business anyway.” You’re a survivor, and a warrior, and a divinely appointed living QUEEN, and a true and genuine person. As long as your two babies back at home and that superman standing behind you in one of your favorite places on this Earth think that you’re their hero, who could ask for a better birthday present? HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, Catherine Marie Williamson! It’s been so nice getting to know you.
🐸 Countless days have passed since our story began that you still never cease to amaze me! You are still my hero, and if we had to go back to that tiny little apartment in Fairview, I would happily go. I could live anywhere, as long as you’re there. It’s not about the “house”, it’s about the “home”. You’re the prince among men who has continued to give us EVERYTHING, and I’m so damn thankful and proud to be your wife!
Never again, never give in, never give in. Never again, never give in, never give in. I wouldn’t wish this on just anyone, but you seem to share my impulse. I wouldn’t take this from just anyone, but you seem to like the result. I’ll connect the dots and you can tell me when to stop. I’d rather keep on going than be something that I’m not. We’re creatures of habit, we can’t live without it. We don’t have to answer to anyone. We’re chasing the rabbit, like creatures of habit, and no one else knows where we’re coming from. And nothing’s ever gonna change, ’cause I ain’t gonna run away. There’s no need to panic, ’cause you’re just as tragic. We’re creatures of habit, we don’t have to answer to anyone. I’m not amused by just anything, but under the circumstances (never again, never give in)! You be the recluse. I will defend you when you’ve used up all your chances. I’ll connect the dots and you can tell me when to stop. I’d rather keep on going than be something that I’m not. We’re creatures of habit, we can’t live without it. We don’t have to answer to anyone. We’re chasing the rabbit, like creatures of habit, and no one else knows where we’re coming from. And nothing’s ever gonna change, ’cause I ain’t gonna run away. There’s no need to panic, ’cause you’re just as tragic. We’re creatures of habit, we don’t have to answer to anyone. {Shinedown}
I heard this song for the first time today and it literally punched me in face. Stung me. Broke me. Leveled me. DEVOURED ME! Well, almost. While I was certain I understood the message being conveyed, I did some digging and found this on a Shinedown lyrics page:
Creatures is the progression of a person from dark to light, is the first part of the actual transition. This is where the person begins to shed all of the negativity that has held them in such a dark emotional state, breaking free from the human nature and animal instincts we all have that keeps us trapped, repeating the same mistakes.
EXACTLY! It was as though She were singing it to me Herself – my very best friend and nemesis, who for more than half my life, literally tried to murder me: The Dragon that was blocking my Light!Ironically, it was ten years ago this month when I finally set my tired feet upon the most unforgiving battlefield of my life:“Me v. Her” …
I never thought I would be one of those women who let an eating disorder control every aspect of their lives and I certainly don’t believe in “statistics”. I’ve known long well that none of this was ever about the food, but rather, some pathetic attempt to continually purge myself of a lifetime of shame, guilt and rage. It was about some sick sense of order I thought I was maintaining over the contradiction which had become “me”: My Rules; My Choices; My Food; My Control! (Or so I thought!)
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been asked what it was like living with an eating disorder, but my words always failed me:
But, Cat, why didn’t you just stop doing it? Why WOULD you even do it? You’ve always looked so fit and healthy.
Umm, that’s not quite how it works, but did you know that effing BITCH could have killed me? Whether it’s attempting to mutilate your physical body, or the creatures living in your mind, as far as I’m concerned, eating disorders are nothing less than passive attempts at suicide, and the words to this song say it all.
For the record, it’s never really “over”! I am here to tell you that eating disorders have no cure – only quiet remission. Even as healthy as I’ve become, She has never actually left me, nor do I think She ever will. As is par for the course with any addiction dragon a human can face – be it drugs, alcohol, food, or even toxic relationships I just say She’s dormant now and lying in wait for the rest of my life, such that I must always take care not to awaken her. In the meantime, I remain eternally humbled and grateful that I somehow managed to survive her and am alive today to tell you about it. Besides, my Mona Lisa is watching all of this, and I will not rest until she is battle born and ready to fight dragons of her own!
I didn’t want this day to end without acknowledging my little girl’s birthday. Year 14. I did my best to keep my head above the clouds today, but I think the gray and frigid weather at the cemetery late this afternoon threw me for a loop. You know what? Grief sucks! Truly, it does. It’s so unpredictable, and I hate the fact that I just can’t trust it at all. Some say it comes in waves, and nothing could be further from the truth, as days, weeks, and even months can pass by that I don’t feel that something is missing from my soul.
Yet, in that space where her very full life was supposed to be exists a dark, empty void filled with questions, confusion, regrets and “what if’s”. What would she look like today? What would her voice sound like? Would she have had my hair? His eyes? Been short, or tall? Who would she have been and where could she possibly have gone? What if I hadn’t picked up that Godforsaken box of Christmas decorations that I promised him I wouldn’t? And worst of the thoughts never far from the forefront of my mind – was her fate some twisted pay off for the many others of my sins? The questions are infinite and annoying and random and I really just actually hate them!
I waited to post this until it was late tonight, because I know that grief can make others feel uncomfortable at times and I didn’t want to make anyone feel sad or sorry for me. Besides, no one seems to really know what to say when it comes to another’s loss which is totally understandable. And I’m so worn out from the last two days of holding back everything I was feeling that I am going to cut this short, which is probably for the best. Every person in the world that I love and care about is more than likely sleeping peacefully right now, except for probably my mom and sister. Mom was literally holding my hand when Gina Marie was born and the both of them were there with me the moment that she left. So, they both know how much I struggle on this day every year and are always empathetic and mindful. For now, I’ll just have to cry it out, which is often the only thing I can do, and hope that tomorrow this, too, shall pass.
“The day of the Spic and Spann” was the day I began to despise myself and the dark brown skin I wore, and dare I remember the countless hours of my youth spent in a bathtub crying secretly to myself while literally trying to erase my beautiful color with my mom’s kitchen pot scrubbers!
… because after a first half of a lifetime being ashamed of the tone of my skin then finally learning to love it, I figured it was about time that I figured out exactly how I got it! I couldn’t be more proud of the results. Not only did I discover how deep my Italian roots run to the region close to Pompei, which in and of itself has recently become an even greater source of pride than I could possibly have ever imagined, but also, that the ancestral connection to the Hopi Native American tribe in my blood that my Grandma Mary had always mentioned is likely very true.
One hundred years have gone and men again they came that way to find the answer to the mystery. They found his body lying where it fell on that day, preserved in time for all to see. What became of the man that started? All are gone and their souls departed.
So, with that …. ME! It’s ME! I’m what became of “the man that started” my ancestral tree!
And just like that, the mystery of how I became the fierce SURVIVOR I am is solved! It’s in my blood and the STUNNINGLY beautiful brown tones of the Latin and Mediterranean skin I used to try and scrub off in shame!
With that, here’s a little shout out to any and all it may concern regarding the color of either my or anyone else’s skin:
Pardon me, but, my epidermis is showing! I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice my gorgeous shade of melanin! I tip my hat to my colorful arrangement, ’cause I see the beauty in all the tone of my skin! I’m a colored people and I live in a tainted place. I’m a colored people and they call me the human race. I’ve got a history so full of mistakes, but I’m a colored people who depends on His holy grace. This piece of canvas, “me”, is only the beginning. I take on character with every loving stroke! A thing of beauty who’s the passion of an Artist’s heart … by God’s design, I’m in cosmic skin kaleidoscope!
Nineteen years have literally flown by with tears and sorrow, joys and laughter, and an abundance of beautiful moments in between. But I vividly remember waking up about this time that morning, alone in the room that was “ours” less than 12 hours before, yet, where was he? I was literally pinching myself because I couldn’t decide whether I was still asleep in a twisted dream or awake in a living nightmare. Then I remembered where he was – laying on a cold metal table in the ER where I had to leave him. So, I slid out of the bed and put my ear towards the door to see if I could hear what the muffled voices awaiting my rise from a medicated slumber were saying. I walked towards the window and peaked through the blinds to find a beautiful day with a light wind blowing leaves down the sidewalk. A kid on his bike. A car driving by. A lady walking her dog. Everything outside seemed so normal. But then again, not so much. So how did I get here all these years later? Well that will all be revealed in this Diary in good time. In the meantime, however, let me tell you about one of the sweetest moments of my life that would never have happened be it not for “this day”, September 6, 2012.
First, let’s go back to nine years before when Williamson and I first met. This was at the very darkest point of my life, yet he somehow saw through the jacked up, broken apart, just about to come undone “me” that I was, only to find and believe in the “me” that I was yet to become. He refused to give up on me and somehow convinced himself that there was so much more to me than met his eyes. Eventually he even convinced me.
In the early days of our budding relationship, we of course shared all the memories of our pasts. “Take Me There” by Rascal Flatts was the theme of almost all our conversations, as we both truly wanted to know exactly where the other had been. He told me his stories and I told him mine, not the least of which was Mitch, beginning to bittersweet end, May 29, 1998.
There he sat patiently listening one night, not a detail barred or spared, up to and including the intersection where it happened. He had driven out with me to Addison soon thereafter to see the wall and the place and the road. He wanted to know all of it – all of ME.
Fast foward to …
SEPTEMBER 6, 2012:
I had driven to Addison to pick him up for lunch near the place he’d been working. We’d taken a wrong turn going back to his office which somehow spit us out a block away from “the wall”. When I looked up and saw the Midway Road sign I quickly realized where we were. Queue the live video all over again: There goes Mitch on that devil black bike speeding off to his final blaze of glory! But before I knew it Zack had taken my hand with a tender squeeze, “Damn, this is the place”. He remembered. After all this time, HE STILL REMEMBERED.
Just then, the video stopped just short of the less than grand finale, and the knot in my stomach unraveled. I looked at my beautiful husband and thanked God yet again that he chose to make me his wife. It was also in that moment that I was reminded of something else: I am no longer alone to carry all these memories and moving pictures that are locked inside my mind. How many men could live with and accept the ghost of someone before him? The memories of my past are precious to my husband, and he carefully protects and embraces all of them. Even the memories of “him”! There is a sacred piece of my heart and life that will ALWAYS belong to Mitch Boone and Zack has never once held that against me.
What a sharp contrast this pivotal point in our story was to another day in a former life with my ex: It was the two-year anniversary of Mitch’s death when Peter and I were fighting about God knows what. It bothered him immensely to see me grieving for someone else, and although I really did try to shield him from my pain, sometimes I just couldn’t contain it. So, on that day? He had had it! “Your MY wife! He’s GONE! Yet you’re still crying about it?” So, he took two pot lids from the kitchen and smashed them together as loud as he could standing two feet away from my body and said,
I’ll give you something to cry about. Remember THIS sound? BAM! Metal hitting a wall! How’s that? Now go ahead, just keep crying!
Yes, he really did that, and yes, he really said those words. I remember that moment as though it just happened now. He took my raw and bruised heart and accompanying pain and sorrow and mocked me with them in one of the cruelest moments of my life.
I’m such a blessed woman and thank you GOD for reminding me of how much You love me through the gift of Zack’s unconditional love and strength. I love you, Zachariah … more than I’ll ever be able to put in words. Thank you for loving me. No, wait! Thank you for loving us. You are my hero and I will spend the rest of my days on this Earth honoring and treasuring everything you are. I promise!
Every now and then, I will hear or see certain words strung together that hit me like a ton of bricks. By this, I mean really words that strike me so hard that I just know I’ll be repeating them for the remainder of my life and hopefully passing them down through my kids.
Take for instance the day someone showed me those “Four Agreements“. Now, those were some impeccable words. I live, breathe, and will die by them, by the way, and sometimes even make a mockery of them. Regardless of how far I’ve come thus far in my mental wealth and growth journey, I’m still just an extremelyperfectly flawed human after all.
Well, today, IT HAPPENED! A friend and I were watching our daughters play volleyball and talking about that good ole Devil’s boomerang called karma. Of course, we’d both pointed out the painfully obvious: “What goes around comes around … blah, blah, blah.” But then she said this:
People only think of karma in the form of bad things coming after bad, but I believe that karma also works in reverse. Good will always come after good given time.
I have long believed that perspective is everything, and today, my lifelong perspective on “karma” took a turn for the best day EVER! Karma can curse you … but karma can also bless you. It is my hope that Karma will only continue to bless me, mine, and any of you who are reading this.
… and to accept selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful people for who and what they are, the courage NOT to become bitter, and the wisdom NOT to let it happen again!
This morning was a SUPER early day for me, as most Fridays usually are being a full-time mother, full-time housewife, a full-time real estate agent. Since Fridays are in essence my “Mondays”, my alarm goes off at 4:30am, I pop up like a Jack-In-The-Box, hop out of bed, start the coffee and spin around like a manic robot getting everything and everyone ready and dealt with ahead of what are usually very hectic weekends in our household. Trust me when I say that I am not complaining, because I thoroughly love every one of my jobs and am blessed beyond words to have them! My adoring husband is ever so appreciative that I’ve somehow found a way to balance my career and our family in such a way that everything runs smoothly, and I’ve created a peaceful environment for them to come home to despite my organized chaos. I am also desperately hoping that I am, in all things, showing my daughter that yes, she can have and do it all if she so chooses, and this is how: Eat, sleep, pray, breathe, cry a little, laugh a lot, sing loud in the car, smile as much as possible, participate when you can, don’t bite off more than you can chew, LEARN TO SAY NO WHEN NECESSARY and thank God for everything all the while. (Being grateful eight days a week, 366 days a year is my other full-time job hee hee!) For the most part I am a very happy girl with a kind, patient, loving heart filled with enough “everything” for everyone in my atmosphere. I live my life by “The Four Agreements” and this is how I roll.
Every Friday for the last eight years, we have faithfully patroned a small, family-owned dry-cleaning business on the far southeast side of the town that we live in because they are fairly priced and do a good job, but even more so because we are just loyal that way. Meanwhile, once a week I pull through the window and go out of my way to be kind to this woman who is usually wearing a scowl, throwing or slamming stuff around, or barking out orders to the others that are behind the counter. And so, I watch. And think. And wonder. “Hmmm, maybe I’ll kill her with kindness today”, or “maybe she’s had a rough morning”, or “maybe she’s not a morning person at all”, or “maybe she’s really stressed-out Cat, so tell her to have a good day and go on about your business! AGREEMENT NO. 2: DON’T ANYTHING PERSONALLY! Her nasty attitude is about HER, not YOU!” But today something changed, and my otherwise patient demeanor snapped and took a turn for the worse!
I have always taken the time to untangle, organize and neatly twist-tie the hangers then place them at the bottom of the basket for return with the next week’s clothes, a practice I started many years ago when I had actually gone inside their store rather than drive-thru on a morning I was bringing comforters in. On that particular day I’d been standing and waiting while watching one of the girls at the counter feverishly detangling the massive pile of hangers others had returned as well, so with that I thought it would be a nice gesture to organize mine ahead of time. This morning, however, was the first time in years that I didn’t take the time to do that, which, I actually did feel bad about for a split second. But today of all days was slated to be straight from Hell, so I just shoved everything in the bag as quickly as I could and loaded the car for whatever the day might possibly bring.
You see, there is a little stress in our home this last couple of months. Nothing we won’t get through of course, because God IS so good, but stress nonetheless there is. Let’s see, I have a deeply hurting if not troubled child that I am desperately trying to keep from falling into his own oblivion, an uncle in Florida just days away from meeting The Maker, eleven live real estate transactions going at once, a husband with DOZENS of live real estate transactions going at once and a jacked up knee that needs surgery, a dog that won’t stop peeing on everything, a Bad Cat that keeps running away, a Good Cat who won’t stop crying and starving herself when the other is gone, a very socially active daughter wrapping up her last weeks of elementary school who is also playing volleyball, a house to keep up with, four peoples’ laundry to do, 300 miles a week of driving, my physical fitness to keep up with, and oh yes – this particular Memorial Day weekend marks the 19th anniversary of the night a man I was supposed to marry met HIS Maker by running his Harley through a brick wall going 90mph with no helmet. Yah, I’d say I am really kind of sad and emotional this week. I haven’t slept much, am functioning on pretty much coffee and faith alone, and I have an anxiety stomachache nearly all the time because I’m so afraid to let one of the 27 balls I currently have in the air fall on the ground and thus me right along with it (and also maybe because of the coffee)!
Dear Dry-Cleaning Lady:
I, too, was in a foul mood this morning! But guess what? I still managed to smile at you and took the time to ask how you were?
Who wants to know what she said to me when I asked the question, “Good morning dear, how are you?” She literally BARKED back at me, “Well thanks for not untangling the hangers for me!” And nope, it wasn’t friendly banter! She was literally mad that I didn’t untangle the hangers. Now what?
Well, I’ll tell you “now what”. I’m so done with not only that dry cleaner lady but likewise anyone in my life who does not treat me or mine with the equal amounts of kindness and respect with which I treat them. These last few months have been a reckoning of my soul, my strength, my will, and the personal boundaries I need to keep firmly in place going forward if I am going to survive without bitterness. I will not be spoken to harshly. I will not be treated rudely. I will not be disregarded, or unappreciated, or taken for granted. No more. Never again! “We treat and value others as we wish to be treated and valued or we lose them.” When I drove away from the window I kept my calm, and simply said to her, “See you next Tuesday dear!” Only she won’t be seeing any of these Williamsons again, and I’m damned sure she didn’t understand the horribly cryptic message I was sending.
As My Cousin Vinny once said, “I’M DONE WITH THAT GUY”! And yup, I’m so done with all those guys (and girls). Life is too short to spend my good energy or precious time in the BULLSHIT company of miserable, toxic people. – The End
I wasn’t sure if I was going to share this, because I honestly didn’t want to make anyone sad. After all, no one likes a Debbie downer, and at first glance, this precious treasure of mine may lead some to think, “OMG, how sad”. Let me to explain …
Our daughter had her friends here for a sleepover recently. Giggles and silliness ensued above our bedroom, which we did not mind in the least. Those sounds of silliness are not only music to our ears but even more so a sign that we must be doing something right! We’ve always said that we want our home to be where our daughter and her friends want to be. (Much like those days so very long ago raising my Christian that I fondly recall very similar sounds of boys camped happily at my home. They were “my boys” too, and some still are to this day, but I digress.) When kids cross our threshold they are welcomed, embraced, esteemed, heard, respected, validated, loved and cared for as if they were our own. For us? It’s the highest of honors: “The house full of silly girls”. But oh how I’ve digressed …
That night it was storming terribly. Pouring rain, crashing thunder, cracks of lightening and even some hail. Williamson and I were settled down in our room watching a movie while the girls upstairs were engaged in some pretty serious shenanigans. One hellacious “BAM” of thunder and lightning and our peaceful movie night quickly turned into a slumber party in our room! There we were surrounded by two cats, a trembling dog, then within seconds of hearing eight little feet trampling down the stairway, four 11-year-olds who jumped onto our bed. “Guess what, you’re stuck with us now people, bwa ha ha ha ha!” Of course, this was to be expected and perfectly okay. Soon, they were all giggling and wouldn’t shut up, so Williamson hit the pause button and we just let them do their thing!
It was all fun and games, until that is, one of the girls who hadn’t been in our bedroom before noticed a tiny dress I have displayed in a curio along with many other keepsakes and trinkets that were either gifts pending a long-awaited arrival or keepsakes given in remembrance of a brief and bittersweet life . You see, it’s “her shelf” – my daughter Gina Marie, the miniscule human who was given to share her time with me for only a matter of hours. Some day when I’m ready I will share her story in greater expanse, but for now what I can say is this …
Amid the giggles the girl noticing the dress immediately jumped out of the bed and ran to the cabinet.
Miss Cat, what is that little dress for and whose little footprints are those?
Ugh. My heart all but seized as I contemplated what to say so that her innocent young mind could understand. But before I could find the words one of the other girls who had already seen the dress and knew all aboutour Gina interjected:
That’s an exact copy of the dress Gia’s sister was buried in when she died. It’s a doll dress and it’s so tiny because the baby was only ‘this big’ (as she cupped her hands together). She was born and died before Gia, so even though she was itty bitty, technically she was her big sister. Those are all the gifts Miss Cat was given when she was pregnant with her and then after she died and it’s all very special to her. And those footprints? They were the little baby’s. That’s how itty bitty her real little feet were.
As the girls continued talking amongst themselves my husband quickly grabbed my hand for the quick three squeeze “I love you”. He was certain I was crumbling inside, and worried for what may be going on in my mind, but strangely, that was not the case. I was intrigued. As we continued to listen intently to a heavy conversation between the girls, they were soon sharing stories and memories of not only their own births, but those of their siblings as well. Can I just say that my words alone are not enough to express the amount of love and tenderness in that room on an otherwise dreary night? They were connecting. Bonding. Sharing. Feeling. Listening. Caring. It brought such an intense warmth and peace to my body that my skin was almost tingling.
But that wasn’t even the best part of this story. At one point, the girl who had noticed the dress and thus sparked the conversation literally burst into sobbing tears. She had connected what happened with my daughter to a sibling her own mother had evidently lost by miscarriage before she was born, which, as you can imagine, troubled her very deeply. But then, she looked at me and said these unbelievable words:
Miss Cat, I am really, really sorry that happened to you. You must have been so sad. It must have been so hard for you to hold your tiny baby in your arms and watch her just go away.
HER little heart was aching for me … I could see it in her eyes … and Gia, too, was becoming so viscerally emotional that we could all clearly see that she was breaking. One of the girls noticed and gently placed her hand on her back to comfort her, while the other girl was comforting the sobbing one.
Gia, we are so sorry for you too. But your sister is like an angel now and we wouldn’t have you if that horrible thing didn’t happen to your family. Right Miss Cat?
Then, my Gia, my powerful, graceful, and beautiful “Mona Lisa“, spoke these most unbelievable words:
And with that, I was stunned and speechless in all the best ways possible, because in that moment I realized that through “the dress” not only is my baby’s tiny little life remembered to have existed, but even more so than that, it DID mean something significant to someone other than just myself. To those girls who have seen it, Gina Marie’s “angel dress” is a lesson in faith and “life … no matter how small”, and of course, an example of how grownups can survive after tragedy and loss.
Perhaps you’ve already ready my second post, “SUMMER OF 1979: “Under My Scars“, where in a singular moment, a very cruel girl who didn’t even know my name called me a “spic” in front of a gymnasium full of my peers and literally changed the direction of my life and self-esteem forever. You see, I was born in Rhode Island, where the darker, olive toned skins were the norm and my Native American / Italian coloring blended right in with everyone else’s.
“The day of the Spic and Spann” was the day I began to despise myself and the dark brown skin I wore, and dare I remember the countless hours of my youth spent in a bathtub crying secretly to myself while literally trying to erase my beautiful color with my mom’s kitchen pot scrubbers!
Well those days are over and guess what? As it turns out, I’m pretty freaking gorgeous! And no, I’m not being vein, let me just promise you that! I’m talking about who I really am! Inside. Outside. Brown skin. Tired skin. Worn skin. Inked up skin. Thick days. Skinny days. Happy days. Sad days. Grieving days. Angry days. “Damn, guess I screwed THAT up pretty good, but oh well, the world didn’t end, so I’ll just have to forgive myself now and get over it!” kind of days.
The scars under my skin eventually became the catalyst for all of the best parts of who I am … beautifully and wondrously formed … and I couldn’t be any prouder of either my scars or my skin if I tried! They delightfully shroud a fiercely courageous yet delicately empathetic soul that is connected to every point of light I’ve intersected with. I am perfectly imperfect, and so are we ALL “beautiful disasters” in our own right. Beauty truly is in the eye of The Beholder my friends, and any eyes judging our books based solely on their covers do not deserve to read them!
That girl from way back then? Her name was Lisa, and wow did she miss out on getting to know one hell of a super cool chic. I have long since forgiven her for all the years those careless words of hers carved from deepest parts of my psyche, and if I ever see her again, perhaps I should even thank her. In the meantime, that ignorant CUNT of a “mean girl” would have been Jean-Claude Van DAMN lucky to have had the privilege and HONOR of knowing me! Little did she or any of those dumb fucks know that one day I’d grow up to be a living queen, “a divine apostrophe“, and God’s actual favorite daughter.
SKIN
Paint yourself a picture of what you wish you looked like. Maybe then they just might feel an ounce of your pain. Come into focus. Step out of the shadows. It’s a losing battle. There’s no need to be ashamed. ‘Cause they don’t even know you, all they see is scars. They don’t see the angel living in your heart. Let them find the real you buried deep within. Let them know with all you’ve got that you are not your skin. And when they start to judge you, show them your true colors and do on to others as you’d have done to you. Just rise above this. Kill them with your kindness. Ignorance is blindness. They’re the ones that stand to lose. {Sixx AM}
I bought this girl (“My Fair Lady”) more than a year ago! She was tiny and adorable and only $10, and since Costco has an AMAZING return policy, I thought, “Hmmm, when it dies I can either return it, exchange it, or, I can just take it to Mom and she’ll probably be able to bring it back to life. That crazy plant lady mother of mine!” So, I put her in the cart and took her home. Guess what peeps?I’VE ACCIDENTALLY KEPT HER ALIVE FOR OVER A YEAR NOW!
So, HOW did I manage to keep an orchid alive? You know, an ORCHID? Notoriously one of the most difficult living things to keep alive. Umm, I did NOTHING! Nothing whatsoever! I put her in this vase, watered her randomly, stuck her in front of this window and checked in on her now and again. You may not be able to see them, but there are these two long “things” protruding from the soil that look like extra-large petrified worms: Yup, that’s literally what I thought they were. Giant worms growing from the soil. Honestly, once her first bloom dropped, I wasn’t even sure if she was alive or not. She just stood there in the window day after day looking bald and naked and quite indeed dead. At one point, I’d thrown her away. Right into the garbage she went, but a few hours later it was really bothering me that she was in the trash since I wasn’t 100% sure she was dead or not. So, I dug her back out and tried starting over with a new and improved life plan for her in case she was planning a resurrection. Well? She did!
BTW, “The Day Of The Worms” was a super fun-filled day at our house!
Giiiiiiaaaaaaa, come fast honey, PLEASE!
What mommy, WHAT?
Gia, there are these two long green things sticking out of that plant and I’m pretty sure they are worms and they look kind of stale so they might be dead but please honey, since you’re a nature person and I’m afraid of snakes or anything that crawls on its belly, can you look and see what they are? Then? I literally pushed my own child straight toward the windowsill and made HER go closer for the inspection. (I’m such a good mom, right?)
Umm, Mommy? They aren’t stale worms you silly child, they’re ROOTS!
I went closer, put my head down a little, then she PUSHED MY HEAD right towards the worms and I screamed. OMG, that kid!
So, I started to think about it, and I literally almost cried. How on Earth did I manage to keep this girl alive to the point where not only does she have the petrified earthworm roots, but bright, healthy green leaves AND a brand new “lower bloom” to boot (she started with only the one up top).
THIS is how I did it:
I DID NOTHING!
I didn’t worry about her too much or overthink “what to do” to keep her alive and healthy in my “everything has to look perfect” abode. I gave her the very basic things she needed, nothing more, nothing less, then set her in the Sunlight and let her do her thing, in her own time, and in her own way, and let her roots do all the rest. I didn’t smother her with perfection (although I do converse with and sing to her quite often)! THAT’S what I did. I let her be and let God do the rest and now she’s beautiful and flourishing! It’s so damn simple it’s actually maddening! It seems as though there are many OTHER areas of my life where I need to apply this principle as well, and starting today, I am really going to work on that. Wait? I think I just had epiphany! There’s a certain 6’2″, err, “potted plant” I happen to love very much who I’m certain needs me to stop smothering him as well.
Here she is again … STILL looking beautiful … healthy and thriving as of May 9, 2020!
Nine years ago, at the very beginning of my tailspin to the end of my old life and rise to where I am today, I was asked to read a book that was intended to help me make peace with the death of my daughter and other tragedies I thought I’d never survive. Well, it literally did jar everything in my soul, and yes, it has helped me cope with not just losing her, the bittersweet reality of losing anyone I love at all.
Throughout my journey as a parent, however, I have also come to realize that indeed, it is true, that a mother is only as strong as her weakest child. As such, I have been burdened with the often hopeless feeling of trying to reach my son way down deep in his soul where he’s been hiding for too many years to count. I have literally prayed on my hands and knees that this book would someday become a movie I could take him to in an attempt to crack the hardened shell that has become his safe fortress and plant the seeds of a renewed faith in God within his jaded heart.
Well, today is the day, folks. Tonight, as a family, we are going to see The Shack! Maybe this will jar something loose for him just as it did for me in 2008.
The Diary Of My Perfection 