Monthly Archives

June 2010

In Memory of Kay

LAMENT FOR A SISTER

Like a bird alone in the desert or an owl in a ruined house, I lie awake and I groan.  I am like a sparrow lost on a roof, the ashes are the bread I eat.  I mingle tears with my drink  ~~Psalm 130

  ~ Even from the womb, I loved Jesus.

My faith is firm. I believe in His power. I pray deep prayers of thanksgiving.  In truth, I have never pursued other Gods, or Gurus, or Goddesses. There was no need. No. I found my stillness and solace in Christianity.

Pleasure. Purpose. Promises.

 More.

I have a sort of contentment that surpasses human understanding.

But not today.  Not today.

Instead, I cry out in anguish, in pain, in a vocabulary I do not recognize. I am like an injured bird that cannot fly.  I weep for what is lost.  I scream for what will never be. I moan for what is yet to come.

I lie in bed watching the ceiling fan revolve-revolve-revolve.  It hums above me like an unfinished life, an incomplete prayer, a hollow space.  

Oh, God, I miss her.  I miss her.  I want her back. I want….I want.

Help Me.    Help Me.    Will You please help me?

Last night I had a dream that I was gazing in a enormous picture window and several sisters were laughing, hugging, talking, confessing their deepest secrets. When I tried to open the door, it was locked. I walked in the corridor alone.

I am so alone, so alone. Like a bird in the desert.  Like an owl in a ruined house.  Like a child who has lost her mother.

 Like a woman without a soul.

And I ask my God, “Why?  Why?  Why?”

I ask my God, “How can you expect me to go on inhaling and exhaling? How can you expect me find pleasure from the sun upon my face?”

What is the use of anything?

I cannot hear Him.  I cannot see Him.  He is silent.

So I drink red wine. So I pace around aimlessly. So I wail. So I write worthless words.

I cry from a place inside myself that I’m not familiar with. A place reserved for the inconsolable. A place where sorrow rises up from the depths of the earth.

The world has changed colors.  A negative instead of the entire photograph.

Yet, even through these intolerable, unbearable, inescapable tears, even now, through this salt that covers me; I know He is there.  Undeniably, I know He is waiting.   

CS Lewis said that we find our true path through unfathomable pain; we find who we truly are.

I don’t give a damn.  I don’t give a damn.

I’d rather not know.  I’d rather be who I was.  I’d rather have her sitting next to me, warming me, both of us filling one another up. 

I’d rather be in that room with the other sisters laughing, hugging, and revealing our deepest, darkest secrets that nobody else knows.   

  I’d rather take back the JOY.—–My sister, Kay, was murdered at about 5:30 PM on May 26, 2010.  My life was changed.  I am changed.  Nothing will ever be the same—-

Kay, Al (brother), Kim Forever.

 

WE must Be Still and Still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion

Through the dark cold and the empty  desolation,

The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters

Of the petrel and the porpoise.  In my end is my beginning.” –T.S. Eliot

In Memory of Kay

I’M STILL BLEEDING

~”My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?

Yes, I’ve been asking my Lord this.   A Lot.

I’ve been questioning, pondering, screaming, weeping, lamenting, howling, and bleeding instead of praying.  I can’t seem to find  the right words through the tears, the tears, the tears.

The salt is drowning me. And I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t confess; it would be easier to just drown, damn well drown. It would be easier to not know what happened, to not breathe, to not remember, to allow the moments to melt into other moments.

But I keep waking up to the same reality. A different kind of sunlight. A new darkness.

I asked my husband the other day, “Did Mike really do that? Did he really kill my sister?  If so, how can my heart continue to beat? If so, why am I still walking?”

 

How can I live without her?  How can I listen to the radio, do dishes, wash clothes, make supper, and smile a fake smile minute after minute, day after day, year after year, birthday after birthday, Christmas after Christmas?

Sleep.  Awaken.  Sleep.  Awaken.   All of those minutes without her. O’, to now sleep would be utterly abundant.

I went through Kay’s clothing this week.  I lifted her long winter coats, headbands, scrubs, and leather purses to my nostrils to inhale her, feel her, be with her.  I searched her pockets for something, anything. I found receipts, change, matches, pink lipsticks…lots of pink lipsticks.Kay

  Anything to grasp onto.

Her favorite perfume, Sensuous, filled every corner of the room.  And I cleaned out her big hairbrush to stroke her dark brown hair one more time; one more time…

  There will never be another time. Except in heaven, my Sweet.

When this man decided to murder my sister, he altered several lives. He did not care. He did not care. The Son of a Bitch, did not care.

Kay’s beautiful boys, Aaron and Jordon, are living with my Saintly parents. Mike’s sister is wearing his gold wedding band, writing poetry, and planning his memorial service for July. His mother is mourning in some remote cabin in Brule, Wisconsin, and his brother has been drunk for three weeks; nobody has heard from him since.  Even her three cats have been uprooted, betrayed, and removed from the house they grew up in.

I keep hearing Mazy crying and meowing in the back seat. I keep hearing people whispering- “You’ll survive this. You’ll go forward.” I keep hearing three gun shots.  I don’t give a damn about the forth.  I keep hearing the beating of my heart, the beating, the fucking beating…

And I don’t understand how my heart can continue beating…

Because I am still bleeding.  I am still drenched in red wine and salt and sorrow.  I am like a child who does not know whether she is lonely or hungry or thirsty…

 I am longing…

For my soul-mate to walk though the front door with that gigantic grin of hers, for her to kiss me on the cheek with those plump pink lips, for her to love me, love me, love me.

Because NOBODY will ever love me like that again…

 Kim 

Kim & Kay FOREVER.

In Memory of Kay

MY SISTER’S MURDERER

My

~This morning my mother phoned the mother of my sister’s murderer.  I’m not surprised by this act of empathy because my mother is a living saint. “Saint Shirley.”  She said they both sat on the telephone and cried and cried and cried.  That’s all.

Who would have imagined that the son that grew inside that mother’s  womb would kill the daughter inside my mother’s womb? But it happened. It happened two weeks ago.

And the world I knew ended. 

On May 26th my world became dark; like a candle snuffed out, like the sun dissolved, like every corner of the universe was suddenly consumed by shadow and shade and shit.

A flower left out.

My sister’s soon to be ex—husband made the decision to shoot her in the head three times, wrap his arms around her, and then commit suicide.  I can’t help  wondering why he didn’t kill himself first. I can’t help wondering why he didn’t just die.  I could have gone to his funeral and survived. I might have shed a tear for his pathetic existence.   I could have gone to work the next day. I could have gone forward.  I could have loved my sister for another fifty years.  I could have…

Stayed the same.

She was walking out the front door to take a walk.  She was texting my dad.  She had one hand on the door knob perhaps thinking about what she would prepare for dinner.  She had the rest of her life to think about. A life without him. Liberation. Freedom.  Me.  Always me. I would have loved her forever and ever.

We had tickets for Sex and the City for the May 27th.   We were leaving for a girl’s weekend in August in Minneapolis.  We were planning Father’s Day.  We were….

Intertwined. Tangled. Contained by one another’s roots.

Everything stopped in one minute.  All things darkened and dimmed in one minute.  Life lessened and flowed into a million narrowed, rotten, useless, insidious minutes.

I loathe those minutes. Every. Single. Day.

When he shot her; he shot me.  When he put the gun to her beautiful  head, I wonder what he said to her. The coward that he was, I assume he said nothing.  I hope not. Oh, Jesus, I hope not. I don’t want his acidic voice to be the last thing she heard. I hope she heard the chickadees chirping, the mowing of grass, the yellow canaries in her brown feeder, the whispering of the future.  I hope she heard the voice of God calling her home.

I hope…I hope…I hope…

In the meantime; we are picking up the pieces that Kay’s murderer left behind. We are going through her house, her dishes, her clothes, her nine bags of half used lipsticks, the snapshots of her life. 

The strange this is; I was doing okay until I saw the small food processer my mom bought her for Christmas.  There were still bits of nuts inside from her famous chocolate chip cookies. 

And I can’t stop crying. I just can’t stop crying. The world is so much less than is was. I am less.

And I don’t know where to go from here…