Suzannah Speaks

Monday, November 25, 2013

Schools and Prisons

An articulate and well -read seventh grader sat next to me on the bus and talked about literature with me today. Bright as he was, he was stressed. He's in a local school now, but in 2 years, he'll have to try to get into one of the many school options available for high school. He would prefer to stay in his neighborhood, but no monies have been put in the poorly equipped & poorly functioning neighborhood school. He has no idea in which part of the city he'll be in. There are many like him, bright and stressed. There are some not as mentally agile as he and without learned parents. With this kind of stress, the likelihood of their dropping out or getting kicked out of school is very strong. But woo-wee, there is the now privately owned
prison system, opening its doors eagerly to those kids
who can't handle the new school system.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Sacred Tears

                                                Sacred Tears


Eyes stinging, blurred by infection,
Doctor’s drops,
I stumble in the stinging snow.
Head down, seeing only
My shoes,
Black Boots,
Step by Step,
Bus by bus
To meet my son
In warmth,
Break bread through pain,
And smile again.


I got instead the cold
Shoulder, wind again searing
My eyes, his anger burned.
Staggering, starving, searching
For a place to eat open
On Veteran’s Day,
Five more blocks of cold
To cafe, cake, a moment’s warmth.


Then, standing in line
Awaiting prescription,
Two hundred dollars,
Well spent, I knew,
As I rubbed burning, stinging eyes,
I wept salty, sacred tears.
A stranger took my hand then,
And walked me to the bus.


Tuesday, October 8, 2013

The Daughter in Law and her Mother I don't Understand

My daughter-in-law and her mother are two people I don't understand at all. They are very different from me. They have hurt me very much, hurt my son, and my grand daughter. I don't even know if they're aware of the pain they have caused.

In addition to many losses in our family when my sons were small, including both the deaths of their father and the death of the man I would have married had he lived, I was also stalked. A psychiatrist called it the "Jackie Kennedy Syndrome." Being a fairly young and attractive woman and mother, it was sad and rather shocking, perhaps enticing to the stalker, drawn to the darkness of this drama.

So, in addition to the deaths, the losses, I was stalked. I held out as long as I could, parenting and working to the best of my ability. When my youngest son went to college, as the psychiatrist predicted, the stalking got worse. I was terrified. My sons were scared, too. One was on the East coast, and the oldest on the West coast. 

It was perhaps a poor choice, but one can't judge choices in a time of terror. I chose to go to the West coast, where my son was finishing college. Not yet understanding the reach of the stalker, I thought my family and I could reconvene, build a new base. It was quite embarrassing and awkward for him, but he stepped up to the plate and tried to be there for me. It was not an easy thing for a young man to try to help his terrified mother. He tried, bless his heart.

He had many beautiful girls he dated at college . He is to this day, handsome and smart, amazingly kind. Being scared and under stress himself, he bonded very intensely with a smart young woman, who appeared somewhat distant and controlling. At the time, she had an intact family in Southern California. A few short visits allowed me to see all was not well in paradise.

 My son's current mother- in- law
boasted how she would go for weeks, even months, without talking to her husband when she was annoyed at him. My son's father in law was an incredibly hard working man, who had provided well  for himself and his family. Finally, after three months of his wife's not talking to him, he walked out the door. He left her two houses, all the monies he'd worked for, and took his social security check back home to South America. There, he met a sweet and loving woman.

Meanwhile, the former wife in LA became the "victim." Now, instead of blaming and using her husband, she blamed and used my son. Her daughter told me that her mother had taught her how to manipulate men. So, together, they manipulated my son, made vulnerable from all the losses he'd experienced in life, including my stalking and its resulting medical issues. He must have been terrified: a young man alone in the world, with no dad, a brother on the East coast, a stalker in his home city, his mom  on the run. Anyone less strong would have fallen apart right then and there. 

I would like to be able to say we hunkered down, bonded, and all was well. Unfortunately, the stalking followed me cross country. The stalker had thugs beat up my son on the East Coast, and I was in continuous fear and confusion. I had a medical emergency and the medication given to me resulted in seizures which damaged 75% of my heart. I was terrified and sought help where I could, but there appeared for many years to be no refuge. My son clung more and more to his girl friend, who became his wife. She and her mother ruled, dominated every holiday, and left me out. They didn't provide support and succour. The mother of all holidays, I was left out, alone and afraid.

The daughter- in- law told my youngest son in college that I was crazy. I suggested she call the Chicago psychiatrist, a well-respected, reknowned psychiatrist. She didn't. She persisted in the crazy theory. It terrified and alienated my youngest son, who floundered, also alone in the world.

On a brief visit to her mother's house, I told my son's mother-in-law what I was going through. I said I appreciated her being there for my son. I, in her position, would have nurtured and cared for a young person. She used him. I also on that visit told her alcoholism runs in both sides of my family. My brother had died of drugs and alcohol at a young age. My mother was in a long term abusive marriage, which destroyed all our lives, for alcohol kept her too weak to fight back. My five times married sister was also an alcoholic. The mother in law laughed in my face. She then poured my son a tequila and had him join in a shot contest. He, too, became overly dependent on alcohol.

Once in Chicago, I tried to make up for the chaos, hunker down, and help my son and daughter in law. I know many people in the city, and many were trying to give me and my family support. My daughter -in- law took this opportunity and advanced her career. She hosted events and left me out. She got pregnant, had a baby shower to which she invited my friends, and left me out. Yesterday was my beloved grandchild's fourth birthday. I was left out, as I have been for all of her birthdays. I am left out of all holidays, birthdays, events.

In a few moments that he can grab now and then, my son finds a bit of time for me to spend with my grandchild. Even though the visits are short and infrequent, the child  and I have a bond. I'm a very loving and sensitive person. I'm a social worker and poet, after all. Kids pick up on and connect with loving souls. She loves me and needs me in her life, for my capacity to love. Her mother is controlling and my son obeys her. The child has been punished too much for too little. She has been punished since she was a baby.

My son's wife and mother in law are from South America. I don't think this has anything to do with my lack of understanding of them. I think it's about life priorities. They are impressed with the folks my son and I know in Chicago and the doors opened to my daughter-in-law and new people she herself has met. They are impressed with the beauty and elegance of this city. My daughter in law has had a series of high profile big paying jobs. They live well. She and her mother appear to like that.

They never celebrated holidays with reverence: no faith, no Christmas tree, no Easter lily, just tequila. Gratitude is not high on their lists. Arrogance appears to be. They are pretentious people in a very real city.

Had a woman been in the tough straights I'd been in, I'd have opened my heart and arms to her. I would have had a watchful eye on her son, not encouraged his drinking, not demanded all his time. I know me. I would have behaved differently.

 The little girl? I would have allowed her a babyhood. I would not have demanded adult perfection.I would have rocked her, hugged her, wiped away her tears, rather than punishing her for them.

They've hurt me, these two. They've hurt my son and my grandchild. Perhaps they understand themselves, but I don't. They are not foreign to me because they're from South America. They're foreign to me...simply because their human priorities are so very different.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Flower Child

The Flower Child by March Bracken

She buried her face in the field of black eyed susans,
Welcoming her without scorn.
She ran and buried her face,
Then delicately touched a baby periwinckle,
A sweet purple blue innocent.
She drank in the round rich
Luminous hydrangeas.

She heard a truck pull up
Crushing the pansies and tears rolled.
She heard the big ones laughing talking loudly
After a long lunch with many drinks in which she’d sat
Still as a mouse, eating nothing.
She felt the pansies’ death as her own,
Silenced with carelessness.

She bent over & touched a limp pansy
With one finger.
Then she picked one up, lying in the mud.
“What are you doing?” yelled her dad.
“Put that back,” screamed her mom.

Pale and fragile at four,
She fled gripping the flower
Tightly in her fist and ran,
Tears streaming down
Her pale pinched cheeks.
She ran as if her life depended on it.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Just Another Silly Sunday

  1. Just Another Silly Sunday

    My son, under the influence of others, had been painfully rejecting of me, and due to his following  others, I saw neither him nor his three year old daughter for quite a while. I had felt very hurt and sad for a number of weeks, but on this Sunday morning, I was in the mindset to “get on with it” and planned my day accordingly.

    It was a day in late July but the weather was cool, brisk almost, and felt more like early October. I did some work. I reached out to the young woman across the hall, and we decided to keep our doors opened while we worked, listened to different but compatible music, and chatted upon occasion in a non-superficial way, speaking truths from the heart. Different ages, from different parts of the country, we are similar in being at the crossroads of change in our lives. We cut to to the chase and without pretension shared our fears and hopes.

    At about 3 pm, I went to the bus stop to wait for the bus to take me downtown. The 4:00 service at my church is warm and cozy with a great quartet, a blues-gospel singer, and sometimes a world famous musician sitting in. The ambiance is lovely, and the people are there to give and to receive, and to gather in community. I waited and waited.The bus was supposed to come in five minutes. Still, I waited. I waited for about 35 minutes. During that time, I texted my neighbor, Semantha. I texted a recent photo of me and my granddaughter taken on the building’s lovely patio. Semantha is moving to another city, and I wanted her to have a momentum of our time together,our conversations, and the lovely outdoor space we share in our building. Immediately, the text was answered, and a texting conversation took place for the rest of the afternoon.

    I got on the bus and received a call from the disgruntled son, which was aborted as more texts from Semantha were coming in. (I need a new phone!). Fortunately, my son tried to reach me several more times, and we did at last connect. He said he’d meet me outside the church on Michigan Avenue with my granddaughter. I said, “OK,” knowing myself well enough to know I’d blow off church to spend time with them. (Both of  them would have enjoyed the short sweet service and music, but, and this is most of the trouble: the wife rules & would be mad if they had gone. As my granddaughter said recently, “She’s always mad.”) So I blew off church and hung out with my son and his 3 year old daughter. It was a pleasant afternoon. I ignored the texts coming in while I engaged with my family.

    On the bus going downtown, Semantha had texted she was having a “get together” the following evening at her house, a farewell event, at 6:30. She invited me. After my son and my grand-child left, I wanted to pick up something for the party. I bought 12 Crumbs cupcakes and an extra one to share that eveing. I was  stunned by the price, but quite joyful, as I knew the beautiful cupcakes would be a welcome party addition.

    Lo and Behold! Semantha, when I knocked on her door, asked, “What party? I’m not having a party!” I showed her all the texts. I had transposed two numbers when I saved her phone number. That whole afternoon, another person had been  texting me and playing me. That is kind of sad. I spent over $50 on the cupcakes. Neither Semantha nor I are cupcake eaters. So, here I was with a frigging load of cupcakes and no party. Moreover, the unknown texter had disconnected calls from my son, increasing the likelihood we wouldn’t have connected at all. A dirty prankster.

    Semantha did what any sane women would do living in Chicago. She  broke out the vino,we drank lots, talked more, shared a cupcake, and tried to get a handle on this silly Sunday.

    I learned in my alone sabbatical in Palm Springs that one can make meaningful & deep connections with folks one might never see again.
    So the meaningful connection with a woman young enough to be my daughter, who’d be moving away in a week, I recognized as a transitory, but nonetheless, valuable interaction. The cupcakes, another pleasant transitory occurrence. I will find loving homes for them, before they get dry and crusty. The prankster who texted me all afternoon: these people exist. Maybe he was a lonely old man, just pleased for a moment,  to pretend he had a friend.

    Relationships are tenuous. I came very close to missing my son’s call. In his need to have a marital relationship, it may be that my son gave up too much of himself, of his own family, of his own values and traditions. We connected for a short time yesterday. It was a good start. My grand daughter wasn’t quite as  at ease with me as usual, after a long absence. But that, too, was a start. Semantha and I used the cupcake fiasco as an excuse to drink too much wine and get to know each other. The prankster texter: well maybe he, too, benefited by having a fake friendship for an afternoon, a fragile reminder of how hard we all must work on keeping  real connections strong.




Sunday, July 21, 2013

Stalking

Friends, just to be clear, I have been fighting all these years. I have been fighting with the help of the division of violent crimes, & others. with federal agencies and local watch groups. This guy is related closely to Al Capone. He has an income of about 12 million a year. He can access criminals and bums all over the world to harass me, have my son's beaten up, terrify them. Just to be clear, I have kept us all alive. An important person on the legal side said, "You have been wonderful. You run when you can take no more. Then you fight again." It is getting worse.From the the stress my heart was damaged, my work always threatened, my family often physically hurt, certainly emotionally. They have no father. When they were young, had I shot him, I would have been killed. They would have had no mother. Just to be clear, his own people, gang members, law enforcement have listened, and although it took years,give me support. He is an obsessed, insane fan. This has gone on for years. In the past, I have filed police reports. But these are the kinds of crimes with many involved, are difficult to prove in court. Often, friends have been harassed,terrified.My work has enlarged my circle of love. He is sicker. I am in more danger. But There are people. When it first started, Illinois had no stalking laws. When the police heard his name, they refused to take the report. Had I known in the beginning what I know now, I'd have packed up my family & moved to another country.They are too big to pack up now.It remains an option for me. It is the love for my family, and the love of human rights, our rights, to live in peace. This is the result of one date years ago with someone who did n' t like the word, " "NO."

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Residual of Stalking or The Power of Love

For the first time in many years of stalking, harassing, intrusion at home and work, threats to my life, I am beginning to feel safe. So many things are changing. I am working out again, as I used to, before I was stalked, even in the health clubs. I am less drained. I am less snappy at an occasional bothersome stranger, as the stress is being lessened in my life. Instead of hanging on to work, I am being proactive and creating for myself a work landscape I always wanted. I don't have much time left. The stalker took away many years and much joy. I hung on, sometimes by fingernails for the love of my family, friends, patients. I hung on and hung on. I didn't shoot him, although the thought crossed by mind. I prayed a lot. I cried a lot. I lost out on a lot of years. But I am alive. My children are alive. My grandchildren are alive. My heart is still open and aware. I still live with the intent of kindness. So- if this isn't testimony to the power of love, what is it? Love IS courage. Love IS truth. And love is very strong.