I started seeing a counselor in February when I saw B in her car again and realized where this was headed and how powerless I was to stop it. That counselor was like a love struck junior cheerleader who did little but encourage me to talk and cheer me on. Her utter uselessness was recognized by my son, Ben, when he came to a session with me after Faerin passed. I fired her in June.
Month: September 2015
My 23 year old independent, talented and beautiful daughter was the goddess to me. From the moment she was born with the female bits instead of the other ones, every movement, every breath, every bellow of frustration seems to come from the center of perfect femininity. My darling Faerin.
Idiot. It’s a term of endearment, really. Fae was very proud of her status as a professional idiot, it meant the world to her, and to me. Going back to B after the incident in January made her an idiot too. Thinking for even one fleeting second about ending her beautiful life makes her an idiot as well.
But losing her made me an idiot. A mindless, empty, lost idiot without enough sense to even watch TV. My promotion was sudden and unexpected but thankfully only parts of it appear to have been permanent.
You may or may not know that when a human hears of another human’s death, a very common response it to ask, “What happened?” I asked the police officer in my living room, after I caught my breath.
I didn’t break down, I didn’t gasp or shriek or faint or any of those things. I knew. I’d known she was a t risk, I just thought I’d have more time to help free her. I knew and I swallowed hard and I put my hands over my mouth and I asked, “What happened?” They didn’t know. They knew she was dead, they knew she died in Grand Ledge, they had a form for me to fill out giving the Grand Ledge police permission to search the car. That was it. Everything beyond that was a mystery.
I like muffins. I like selecting the recipes, adding ingredients, observing the alchemy that turns…
Painting. I’ve been focused (to one degree or another) on painting for about a year and a half now.
Faerin and I were going to provide all the labor ourselves, but we only completed the front of the house before winter set in and we had planned to restart the project in June. By June I knew I needed professional help. I hired a co-worker’s family to complete the ladder work and they did a good job. But, as my neighbor pointed out today, they didn’t do as good a job as Faerin and I did.
For us, painting was a statement, an action, a meditation on the future and our place in it. Every stroke meant something.
The first thing I put in my journal after Faerin died. When they come To…
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