July 4th, Independence Day

This is my last post as a prisoner’s daughter. Sort of.

As I walked back to my dorm, the sounds of fireworks popping off around me, the smell of the sprinklers charging the dirt with water, I realized I would be picking her up in the morning. I drove up to Fresno for this summer arts program and it was the first time I’d been on the drive in two years almost. I told her I didn’t want to visit her anymore in the institution because she would be out so soon and other family was going, but mostly because it’s the most emotionally painful thing I’ve ever really done. It literally feels like a hot iron has been glued to your heart and as it’s pulled away, pieces of yourself get ripped back with it.

So I drove to Fresno for this arts program and cried the whole way.

Tomorrow morning, less than 10 hours from now, she’ll be free.

Tomorrow morning, less than 10 hours from now, I’ll be free.

I’ve been forced to keep her at a distance, keep my feelings at a distance for so long. Tomorrow, I won’t have to do that anymore.

I have so much more to say and yet, right now, that’s all I keep thinking: how foreign and alien the concept of closeness and vulnerability (with regard to her) is to me.

I can’t wait to wake up.

Advertisements

Charlotte I think I’ve posted this with you in mind before

For the love of a tree,

she went out on a limb.

For the love of the sea,

she rocked the boat.

For the love of the earth,

she dug deeper.

For the love of community,

she mended fences.

For the love of the stars,

she let her light shine.

For the love of spirit,

she nurtured her soul.

For the love of a good time,

she sowed seeds of happiness.

For the love of God,

she drew down the moon.

For the love of nature,

she made compost.

For the love of a good meal,

she gave thanks.

For the love of family,

she reconciled differences.

For the love of creativity,

she entertained new possibilities.

For the love of her enemies,

she suspended judgment.

For the love of herself,

she acknowledged her own worth.

And the world was richer for her.

Charlotte Tall Mountain (July 1, 1941 to May 6, 2006) was an artist and poet of an Iroquois Native American heritage.

2006 and two more weeks

Kids have weird ways of coping with disasters. In my case, my biggest coping mechanism seemed to be escapism through video games and movies. I was a pro at extracurriculars, academics, and friends. From the outside looking in, I was totally normal and I wanted it that way. Smiling has always been my strong suit.

I say this because as a result of that escapism, I also became a pro at compartmentalizing. They say that the most successful CEOs advocate for a little bit of compartmentalization. I read one article in which a man described it as the only means to success. I wonder if that’s true. For most, I bet it is.

Image result for alice in wonderland down the rabbit hole

I think about disillusionment a lot and how things really aren’t what they seem. Like Atticus Finch in Go Set a Watchman. Mostly, I’ve been experiencing a lot of “full circle” type moments leading up to my mom’s release. It’s pretty wild. Sometimes it feels like I’m all-in. Other times, I’m watching from a stranger’s window. That balance is required.

Netflix recently recommended a movie to me from 2006 The Covenant. I think it was a 96% match. In 2006, I was obsessed. So no, Netflix, you got that one wrong. 100% match. My mom went down that year I think. Might’ve been 2005, I’m not positive. I saw that movie and all I wanted to do was go to boarding school. I think I saw it a dozen times. In the great ol’ days of AIM, I somehow found a kid about my age who went to boarding school. He lived in Massachusetts and I genuinely believed I would be leaving California to go off to some prep school in the middle of the countryside. I wanted to be anywhere but home. We talked online for hours about absolutely nothing. It was great.

Image result for the covenant

I told my dad I had a headache or a stomach ache probably every other day so I could stay home and play the Sims. I was never an architect in that game. My designs were always so vanilla. I’m at artist so I feel like I’m qualified to say that. Even now, when I rev up the game and play for a couple hours, my designs and layouts are mediocre at best. Something about computers make me literally think in boxes and grids. It helps me focus.

Imagine, I’m at the front doors of puberty, fantasizing about a boarding school boy in Massachusetts living the life I imagined would be perfect. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my closet -because that’s the only place in my room where I wanted my computer- eyes actually glazed to the screen, playing the same DVDs over and over and over until the theme songs and words became ingrained in my mind. My sister and I shared bunk beds. There wasn’t much privacy except in that little computer closet of mine (even if the doors weren’t on it). I would sit there after school (or during school if I was pulling a “sick day”) in my uniform, blast AC, turn on the Sims and watch the same movies on repeat for what felt like forever. Everything else was on, but I was totally switched off.

One of those movies was The Incredibles. I think I watched that movie hundreds of times, even if I was just listening and not really watching. The main menu theme song played about 7 times in a row before I realized it had ended and I’d start it all over again. I don’t know why I remember 7. I think I must’ve counted it from the other room.

At school, you can’t really turn to the kid in line and update them on your mom’s prison sentence without things getting a little heavy. So I kept it light. I played sports, board games, computer games, everything that was a game, I was in on. Even when I did my homework, my friends and I played games or competed to see who could get through algebra 2 the fastest. Private school was surreal. I hopped from one bubble to the next. I never had to interact with the real world at all. It didn’t even matter that I had no idea how to dress myself because we were all in the same colored uniforms. That kind of routine was exceptionally helpful for me. The only times I had to feel anything was at visiting and I stopped going very often after a couple years. I needed the world to blur again.

Related image

I made an art project once and flashed people with an electronic flash from my camera. I described my life as a series of bright white lights. The time between those were just as important as the flashes, but I remember the flashes for their contrast and intensity. You can’t just slam someone in the eyeballs with bright lights all the time, you’ve gotta give em a break.

Today, I saw The Incredibles 2 with my dad and my sister for Father’s Day. It was the best one we’ve had so far. There’s been a lot of emphasis placed on the amount of time they took between the first and the second movie and every time someone brings that up I think, ‘14 years feels like a lifetime ago.’

When I was watching it, I kept thinking, ‘I’m so glad they waited. The content is so much better now than it could’ve ever been if they’d made it sooner.’ I think that parallels a lot of my feelings right now. That it’s opening weekend coming up and I’m stoked to see what the plot line is, who the villains are, what the solution is. I’m not really afraid or anything because it’s definitely happening no matter what and in many ways I need it to happen.

In visiting, I always walked by the glass walls filled with women on LWOP (life without parole) sentences. I saw them talking to their families through the glass. I could literally watch them living out their lives in a fishbowl. They were always really young. Maybe prison makes you look younger sometimes. I don’t know. But I always reminded myself that no matter how long it was going to be, she’d be coming home one day. Maybe that’s why they keep the LWOP ladies in with the general visiting population. It keeps you quiet, humble, and grateful all at the same time. Two more weeks. 

Image result for waves washing up on shore

I put your ashes in my room

I think in some ways I’ve come to understand the distress of a mother who loses one of her children. By that I mean also, a mother who has other children to care for.

I took a psychology class last semester and during our first lecture, my professor went on to do a short “meet and greet” in which she discussed her background and her family. It was at this point that she disclosed that she had lost her first child when he was 9 months old and she said he would be 5 now. She showed us photos of her twins who are about 3. She told us that every class she teaches, comes from a place of love. She lives her life in the shadow of her late son’s memory. I remember how that brought tears to my eyes.

Lou was not my favorite out of our pack but she definitely became my favorite. She was always the one who wanted her space and really didn’t give/receive affection the way that I was used to. Because she was sick, she’d gotten so cuddly and loving in the last few months of her life. It was a gift I wasn’t aware of until after she’d gone. I’d totally forgotten she preferred her space. For some reason, I kept remembering it as if I’d intentionally left her out. I felt guilt and horror that I’d done that to my little baby.

Before her death, I can say with total honesty that a part of my heart was fused with my dog Mookee. Her needs, her wishes, her happiness felt like it was literally a part of my own. I would look at her sleeping and I could feel warmth radiating all over my body. Whenever she got sick, I ended up feeling a little under the weather too. I’m sure it was all stress related but we had a hugely unhealthy dependency on one another. Lou’s cancer got to the point where I could no longer be that unhealthy dog mom. I became so closely linked to Lou and I rarely left her side. We had a 24/7 care schedule worked out towards the end after her first stroke. I simply did not leave the house.

Image result for hermit

And then Lou died.

I can’t explain the mixture of grief and relief I felt. Mostly, I felt guilt and agony but there were moments where I would forget to grieve and then chastise myself because I wasn’t honoring her memory long enough. ‘How dare you enjoy this movie Ashlee. You aren’t thinking about her’ or I would get excited about finally being able to go to the grocery store and become inundated with the memory of her and wish that I was not actually there but back beside her, comforting her. I became angry with my beloved Mookee that she was so needy and wanted my love and affection. I was angry at Moo for not being Lou.

As much as I tried at first, I could not muster the same love and devotion I once felt for Mookee. It was like a balloon popped in my heart and I could not fill it up again. Even today, I still feel like I’m somehow putting on a show, acting out the parts I used to play.

It’s a little bit better now. Some time has passed. But that attachment is still lacking. I don’t know if it’s temporary or what but I do know, Lou’s passing ripped a hole in my heart. I still chastise myself for not thinking about her more. Sometimes days will go by before I remember her little face. Other days, I hear words coming out of my mouth and I’m transported back to the same times I said those things to her. It’s both constant and infrequent. I have no regrets, I did everything I could but I still miss the feeling of her ears under my palms, the sound of her nose grunts, and the look of total trust and adoration in her eyes. Mookee is never satisfied, she always wants something. I hope in time I can wrestle out this conflict. I really miss who I was before.

The craziest part is that it hasn’t even been a month since she passed. Just shy. It feels like a lifetime ago already and some part of my thinks it’s because the dog I knew died last year when her disease started catching up to her. I’ve been grieving for so long and I didn’t even realize it.

That’s the hardest part about sickness. Watching the sick. I understand now why people want their loved ones to leave them to die in peace when they get sick. All the good memories are gone. I only remember her sick. I can’t picture her walking normally anymore. I can’t remember her playing. Thank god for videos and pictures because without them, I fear I’d only ever see her deathbed in my head.

 

Related image