May 9, 2012

Today, Gabe would have been 54 years old.  I really don’t know how to process this.  He has been gone now just over two years now and those two years have seemed like a lifetime.

The estate is unwinding – properties are being sold, debts are being paid and before long, this too, shall be no more.  I have been working day and night trying to hold on to everything and to keep the business in tact.  But I think that it is now time to let go. 

Grief manifests itself in many different forms and managing it is a challenge in and of itself.  I grieved for the death of my husband; I grieved for my injured body; I grieved for my traumatized children and now I grieve for the business that we started together will be no more.

Recently a dear friend asked me if I spend time alone.  My response was a resounding ABSOLUTELY NOT! I fear being alone because I might actually have to deal with emotions, memories and feelings that have been buried.  Work has been an escape, a distraction and in my mind, a better use of my time.  I’ve had no time to sit and enjoy a personal pity party and I have tried to avoid this at all costs.  But it looks like I will finally get my invitation and the party will commence.  I dread this “party for one” and its eventual arrival. But I have come to the realization that this too, is part of grieving and one has to simply go through it to become whole again.

As the buildings are sold and new management companies come in to the picture, my work here will end.  When it ends, I will have a great deal of time alone.  The thought of this is traumatizing and paralyzing to say the least.  What will I do?  How will I cope? 

I’ve never been alone.  This is unchartered territory and I pray that I figure out how to navigate. 

To Serve and Protect

As Americans we are raised to believe that this creed is the most basic principal of those who serve in law enforcement.  It is simply a patriotic truth that speaks to our core. 

My family was not protected and service was not afforded to us.  THAT DAY should have never happened and there is a tragic backstory.  

Gabe had a history of mental illness.  He had been hospitalized numerous times both voluntarily and involuntarily.  He was on a great deal of medication and was very public about the drugs he was taking, his therapy sessions and his battles with depression. 

Gabe also had a very extensive gun collection and took advantage of showing this off to everyone who set foot in our home.  He was proud of his collection and occasionally liked to target shoot on our property.  This often didn’t bode well with our neighbors and on more than one occasion was paid a complimentary visit by our local sheriff.

In the fall of 2009, Gabe’s mental state significantly deteriorated – so much so that for the first time in a 21+ year marriage, I felt in danger.  Approximately two months before THAT DAY, Gabe was physical with me and our oldest son had to intervene.  I filed a police report and Gabe was arrested.  I requested and was awarded and Emergency Order of Protection.   I then called the Champaign County Sheriff and begged for assistance in removing the guns from our marital home.  After all, an Order of Protection is nothing more than a piece of paper and if my husband was enraged enough, he could have / would have ignored this and come to our property which literally contained a full blown arsenal.

The Champaign County Sheriff refused my request so I went a step up and contacted the Illinois State Police.  They confirmed that Gabe was labeled a “mental prohibitor” and did not have a valid Firearms Owner Identification Card, also known as a FOID card.  They also determined that Gabe had applied for a FOID card under various mutations of his last name and was repeatedly denied.  It was unlawful for Gabe to have access to any firearms let alone have any in his possession and this is an irrefutable fact.  Nevertheless, the county and the state turned their back on us by refusing after repeated requests to deal with the situation.

Two months later my husband was dead, I was fighting for my life and my children were traumatized beyond belief.

I have shared this to many and most react in disbelief and find it incomprehensible that law enforcement agencies did not assist us.  I have several theories as to why but will refrain from speculation due to pending litigation.  Whatever the reason, the bottom line is that laws were being broken, I alerted authorities, I reached out for help and I was denied on numerous occasions.

My story is not about the second amendment.  Irrespective of our own personal and political beliefs, I think we can all unite in agreeing that mentally unstable people should not have guns.  And furthermore, as we embark on the upcoming election cycle we are going to hear numerous politicians pontificating about whether or not Americans should be allowed to bear arms.  This my friends, is just clouding the issue.  You see, we already have plenty of laws already voted into place.  If however, we can’t hold law enforcement accountable for following through and upholding the law, then what good does more legislation do. 

The following article appeared on the front page of our local paper last week.  It speaks volumes.  Please take the time to read it.  It serves as shocking validation with respect to what happened to me.

http://www.news-gazette.com/news/courts-police-and-fire/2012-04-05/audit-gun-program-limited-protecting-safety.html

Two Years and Counting – Upwards that is . . .

When Gabe died, numerous people came up to me and said that the first two years would be the hardest.  I wanted to defy them and mentally recover from the tragedy must quicker.  Two years seemed like an eternity to me especially since every day seemed like it was filled with one hundred hours instead of twenty-four.  In the first several months, I would try to sleep as much as possible as I felt that sleeping made time pass by faster and this might expedite the process of grieving and recovery.

My measuring stick was the number of good days versus the number of bad days.  I remember keeping a mental log of my “turn around” time each time I would crash to convince myself that I was actually getting better.   It took me a long time to laugh authentically.  Yes, I would laugh and feign happiness for the people around me but it was a show.   And for some reason, I thought that if I “faked it” enough then it might eventually become real.   I struggled to find the joy that one feels in their core.  My daily routine and my basis for existence became one of throwing myself into work and to try my best to salvage my late husband’s estate.  My personal mantra was that of “live to fight another day.”

February 27, 2012 finally arrived – the two year anniversary of THAT DAY.  I thought that I would be filled with sadness and grief.  The exact opposite was true.   For the first time in a long time, I felt as if a burden had been lifted.  I made it and I was a survivor.  Things were going to be okay and I actually believed it. 

Each and every day since then, I seem to be able to have a better perspective of what my future and the future of my children is going to be.  An internal transformation has taken place and this is a true blessing.    Whereas I used to be filled with insecurity and panic, I now feel energized by the endless possibilities of what my future might entail. 

I am so thankful for a second chance; I treasure my friends and family in a way that I can’t even begin to articulate; I am blessed and I know it.   I try very hard to ignore the “small stuff” and to embrace the positives in my life.  I have a purpose in life in that I will continually fight for changes in our society that will hopefully prevent my story from happening again.   

This being said, I don’t want to ever forget.  Whereas it is important that we file away the bad, we must never completely throw it away.  Every so often, it is important to retrieve those difficult memories and to reflect on our own personal history even if for nothing more than to have a “reality check” and to give ourselves a “fist bump” for recognizing how far we have come.

And this, my friends is why I made the decision to write this blog.  “Transcending Tragedy” is how I have decided to define my life.  We all make choices in life and we can all be proactive regarding the mindset with which we move forward in life – no matter what obstacles we face. 

THAT DAY

I was in the kitchen trying to put together a mid-afternoon snack for three of my four children on what should have been a typical, uneventful Saturday afternoon.  My husband of nearly twenty-two years and I were having marital issues but nothing new or significant had occurred on THAT DAY.  In fact I was slightly exasperated over the fact that we kept having the same conversation over and over and nothing was really changing.  We just had one of those said conversations that ended up being circular in nature with no productive outcome.  I wouldn’t say we were fighting but I would say we were both frustrated.

At approximately 4pm Gabe called me into the bedroom stating that there was one more thing that he wanted to discuss with me but not in front of the children.  I followed behind him down the long hallway that ran through the center of our house to the master bedroom suite.  When he turned around to face me, I noticed an unfamiliar object in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.  All of a sudden I realized that he had a gun. 

I was struck by sheer terror and absolute horror.  I remember Gabe saying something to the effect that “All of this is going to stop,” as he pulled out the weapon.  I remember unintelligible screaming coming from my throat – sounds that I didn’t know I was capable of making.   I remember being pushed and shoved and somehow I ended up in the back corner of our large walk-in closet.  I remember the smell of the gun powder as each bullet was fired and the deafening sounds of the rounds exiting the chamber.  There were four shots in all – three nearly fatal shots to me and one deadly shot to Gabe.

Before THAT DAY, my reality was not unlike most other middle class American Moms in the Heartland.  I had always prided myself in being very healthy and enjoyed working out with a trainer two to three times per week.   I had always been fiercely independent and I cherished my autonomy.  As a CPA, I worked part time managing the real estate business that my husband and I founded.  Coupled with this, I had a small tax practice and consulting business.  My four children were everything to me and I loved being a mother.  Collectively they participated in numerous sports and musical activities and most of my social outings were taking them to their various practices, games and events.  My friends were the other parents whose children were involved in the activities my children were involved with.  I served as an officer for a few small local organizations, played in a monthly bunko group and occasionally showed up at a friend’s book club.  I cooked via crockpot, did about three loads of laundry daily and was always complaining about never having a perfectly clean house.  Like I said before, my life was nothing special; it was pretty typical and very similar to most other 40ish working moms.  

After THAT DAY, everything changed.   In the flash of an instant, I became a widow, a single mother, the sole bread winner and I was fighting for my life.