CHAPTER TWO
Grandma’s Pearls of Wisdom
May 18, 2011
It seems that this day there is no skirting this one. My mother, Rikki’s grandmother. Last night I attended the Kansas Blue Ribbon Commission for judiciary overhaul. I so hate doing these things. The most of the crowd there were CPS people. Daddy’s who wanted to strip and punish mommy more—a very religious ‘grandmother perhaps even great grandmother’. I offered only a few suggestions—get rid of therapeutic jurisprudence, and consequences from the derelict judges—who are criminal themselves. E.g. passing a law in 2008 HB XXXX that states Judges must follow the law, law.--- Only to have that same judge again break that law—law. Then, instead of consequence, he retires to Washburn University, to teach law. Yeah, can you say insanity? That’s called our Justice System. “just-us”
My heart, feeling low this day, perhaps the rain, perhaps just the time. I began thinking about my mom and in 2007 the motion I filed for Rikki to see her granny one last time alive, as her health and terminal illness had advanced, granny was seeing her grandchildren one last time before she became bed ridden and died.
This is a painful subject for me, as I have a lot of guilt about my mother. I should have been there for her, I was not. She told me to stay here and fight for her granddaughter. I did. But no victory. And mom died alone, and in pain. I was not even notified of her death until 5 hours after she died. Time enough for the so called care takers to prop her dead body in her chair and literally rob her of everything. There was nothing left in her house except a few mice. They even stole her oxygen bottles her electric wheelchair.
So, I come out here, to my special place, one without phone, without internet (except my mobile) to be free, to do what I usually do out here—normal stuff, and no think, healing time. But apparently I am to write about granny as the following poem was open and looking at me from a Bradford exchange book- ( mom used to always order stuff from Bradford exchange—it was her trademark—one that she passed onto myself—and one that Rikki and I both always loved about granny.)
As I sit watching Iron Jawed Angels, I type in the poem that met me at the door. (fresh water pearl necklace accompanies poem—or other way around)
Grandma’s Pearls of Wisdom
I’ve travelled paths you’ve yet to walk
Learned lessons old and new
And now this wisdom of my life
I am blessed to share with you
Let kindness spread like sunshine
Embrace those who are sad
Respect their dignity, give them joy
And leave them feeling glad
Forgive those who might hurt you
And though you have your pride
Listen closely to their viewpoint
Try to see the other side
Walk softly when you are angry
Try not to take offense
Invoke your since of humor
Laughter’s power is immense!
Express what you are feeling
Your beliefs you should uphold
Don’t shy away from what is right
Be courageous be bold
Keep hope right in your pocket
It will guide you day by day
Take it out when it is needed
When it’s near, you’ll find a way
Remember friends and family
Of which you are a precious part
Love deeply and love truly
Give freely from your heart
The world is far from perfect
There’s conflict and there’s strife
But you still can make a difference
By how you live your life
And so I’m very blessed to know
The wonders you will do
Because you are my granddaughter
And I believe in you
Wow. That is my mom to the letter. In fact I feel her coursing through my veins now. I know that my mother has told Rikki this very same thing. She always believed in her granddaughter. There’s was a special bond. I have to in my heart believe that it still is.
Grandmother never was able to see Rikki that late fall in 2007. The Courts totally ignored the motion for granny to see her—as they:
1. Knew it would hurt all three generations beyond words and it did.
2. Rikki and granny’s love for each other was dangerous to the ‘abusers’ and would invoke a strength and hope in Rikki that must at all and any cost be stopped as Rikki’s silence and her misinformation – is and was their complete power to maintain control—and they did- they do.
Not even in my supervised visitation with armed guards—with granny in wheelchair and with oxygen. They refused to let Rikki and granny have that one last time—but they did allow the dog. Granny was taking care of Rikki’s dog- since the custody switch. They allowed the dog to go to supervised visitation, but not granny.
When, my mother died October 28th, 2008, I had just finished with another rally/march to end Domestic Violence here in Topeka, Kansas. Jana Mackey the KS-NOW lobbyist had just been murdered by her boyfriend, the community was still reeling from her murder then his suicide, that it was an exhausting march for me. Jana’s mother and father the following year began to actively campaign to end violence. But this year was as I feel I always am, alone in the struggle. Something I know to be true of all survivors-- all true advocates to stop the violence.
I had gotten home from the march the day before my mother died. It was wet and rainy and so very cold. I am unable to walk well, my bones and joints with osteoarthritis and from the many breaks rheumatoid arthrisitis as well.
I was so very tired, I recall I was not allowed at this time (as many times throughout Rikki’s child hood) to have absolutely any contact with her. The following morning I was informed of my mother’s death.
Both were gone. Rikki and granny, my rock, my mother- dead.
Then began the motions, to allow Rikki to at least go to her grandma’s funeral. Daddy’s Motions to disallow and to further gain a stronghold in the ultimate power and control of Rikki and I. We had an emergency hearing on November 4th, 2008. It was as to be expected, an abuser will always kick you hardest when you are down, I knew this going in. It was like the flood gates of hell opened up in that court room. I felt my mom more that time than I have ever since. Of course, it was not allowed. Rikki and I were not allowed to attend granny’s funeral. I had to go alone.
I had to identify my mother’s body over the internet. My mom planned for everything, except she forgot to sign her own cremation papers. I had to do that as well and send via electronically—I was unable to get to Texas to do this. In the electronic age, it was all done via the internet, and facsimile.
Once, this was taken care of had to arrange for the transport of not just her ashes- but those of her husband as well—he had died just a few months before, mom had him cremated sitting on her fireplace mantle. She wanted to bring him back to Kansas for his funeral. We brought them both back to Kansas and their funeral was held together. Finally the day of her funeral, November 9th, 2008. It was my mother’s birthday she would have been age 61. I never could remember her birthday. Now I will never forget it. I did not even know who was president until after the funeral, a week or more later— as my devastation was complete. Obama had won, so I had found out. Not that I cared one way or the other.
Memory remains fuzzy as to time, the following year after the death of my mother is more than blurry. It is my hope that I can began to heal from this as well as everything else. Another good friend of mine had told me when mom died to—take time out to grieve her passing—I didn’t. Not that denial was intentional, I was set to fast forward – seemed like time was running out. I guess that now looking back it had already ran out. I was just in too much shock and grief to acknowledge. I was set to auto pilot.
Trying to stay alive from the abuser Hal Richardson and his cronies—I have long since made several enemies in the judiciary that wish silently and not so silently of my death and or more pain. Rene M Netherton and M. Jill Dykes the current GAL aka Guardian ad litem or better known as Court Appointed Child Abusers”, to name but two.
I was at this time also being harassed by my so called friends—and neighbor—just more non humans- who see a situation and take advantage of it. In fact had it not been for a complete stranger—one neighbor a Vietnam veteran—crazier than I—I would not have been able to go to my mom’s funeral. You see my trusted friends/ neighbor had been a shade tree mechanic, they destroyed my car, stole from me,-- anyhow, this Vietnam vet who I had never met—or even talked to before—was pushing his trash out at some time I must have been outside, he said something to me, I burst into tears--- telling the whole story of my mom’s death… no way to get to Texas let alone her funeral in western Kansas.
The day before the funeral, he pulls up in a dark blue Saturn—don’t recall the model but the color and make. He had rented the car for me under his name, I had no identity, I a ghost to avoid being tracked down.. even on the state address confidentiality program. Any ways, this stranger, a person who later became my end world and humanity—talks bud, provided a rental car for me to go to my mom’s funeral.
I drove down the night before her funeral. I stayed in a motel of the not so pleasing—but it was hard to find a room, not because my mom had sold out the small town with her death – something else was going on. I recall twitter had recently made its debut, in fact I was ‘AngelFury’ on twitter, I bêta tested all new tech stuff--- I remember tweeting this:
“It’s not what is engraved upon a marble stone of how you led your life—but instead what is engraved on the human heart’ (pernicious?) it would have been November 8th, 2008—I buried mom the next day.
That is how I felt; I had a whole page of these inspiring quotes. I held them close to my heart throughout the funeral and weeks if not months following in a book bound in brown leather called ‘the secret’. Yeah, I like that philosophy. I even gave one to my dear daughter.- will have to dig it out I am sure that all these quotes are still in that book. Along with the following battered mothers custody conference January 2009 where my dead mom—what little insurance there was donated 5 rooms for mothers for the conference. As did her obituary as to donations were to be sent.
<PUT OBIT HERE>
I had 3 sets of suits—I could not decide which to wear at her funeral—mom had bought them for me the Christmas before—for court, for public speaking, for media, for conferences. They were and still are high dollar ass kicking—class act suits with flare, color and style—I was the best dressed in Shawnee shit fucking county—every time I went to hell court—I would never win in court by their rules—but I always shined bright, better and with class, self respect and dignity. Thank you mom, (she, even against her own very rebellious mind advised me to not wear red) but red is my color—the color of the blood spilled, the color of absolute disrespect for the mortal gods who wear black robes—the man gods called judges.
My red suit remains my favorite suit.
For mom’s funeral, I wore the same conservative pinstripe black and white suit/skirt, low black heels I wore in court that fateful day November 4, 2008. In my mother’s honor, I did in court all the right things without selling my soul, Rikki’s or my mothers. I really do not even remember the funeral. I only remember driving back with a carload of her stuff that was not stolen, some blankets etc, in a rental car that a Vietnam veteran had rented for me. Back to Topeka to unleash in mind was my only goal—Complete exposure of this case, for my mother. I would never stop, ever until justice prevailed. I burned on this, I lived on the adrenaline of this, I could barely spell my name—but hung onto this single simple fact that they had done pissed me off and my mom was now dead and in her after life—there would be hell to pay—momma was strong and in her death—mountains would indeed move for the incredible insane injustice—the spitting upon her grave – if you will, yes this was the time, and justice would fall upon all those rightly so.
In that December 2008, mom had been in her grave less than a month--- as my mom always did – she would pre order shit to be delivered at Christmas – birth days—etc… She said because she was a senile old bat-- When came a knock at my door. It was UPS or something, delivering to me a package…. I signed for it walked back into the abandoned house I had lived in for several years – for my safety- I opened the box and BAM…!! There was a note from my dead mom.
“For your work, change the world, save my granddaughter’’
I opened the box... a very high dollar top of the line lap top entertainment center—32 and 64 bit system—I am writing on it now.
I crumbled, I had to scan it and send it out to other via the internet—moms note (not hand written) but typed as she had instructed.—as who in the fuck would believe this? I didn’t… I had to scan that note and send it out—I knew I had suffered a great loss—the greatest. And as a psych nurse, I knew all the trademarks of collapse. I had to show this to others—just to know that I was not insane—imagining or even hallucinating. Momma was powerful in her life, who the fuck knew all she could do—free from her mortal body, and free of pain, free to be the wind.
