This Puzzled Life is a mental health and recovery blog exploring addiction, trauma healing, LGBTQ experiences, humor, and the strange moments that shape us.
“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
When I woke up my cats Coco and Tinkerbell (Tink) were protesting their level of hunger as they do every morning. I limp every painful step towards the bathroom. Wait! Hold up. That wound origin I’ll leave for another post. Realizing that their cries would only get louder if I continued to ignore them. I first go fix their breakfast. They have an automatic feeder, but they live for their “yum-yums.” It’s usually a pouch of gravy or some type of canned food. I make them use the same plate and split the portion. They have both always shared without any issue. Initially, Tink was losing hair and Coco poked fun at her by calling her “naked butt.” I decided to try adjusting their diet before spending the money taking her to the vet. It turned out that I was correct. Tink’s nakedness would begin to resolve. And now she’s a beautiful fully furred calico.
I also had the need to write. What I didn’t know was the topic. I leaned on assignments that I’ve used in therapy. How would I set the mood? Light charcoal. Sprinkle sage. Negative energy go away. Ok now I’m good. The assignment I chose was to grab the pen and just start writing the “popcorn” thoughts. Before I knew it all my parts started shouting their statements. This assignment became exceptionally large. If you’ve seen some of the answers in other posts just relax and don’t judge. I will split this one up into different posts.
1. Everyone is entitled to love and compassion.
2. People who help others are magical.
3. Politicians are scary.
4. Doctors are not the Gods of the universe. No matter how much some think they are. Most are in it for the status symbol. Others are there for love.
5. A person’s intentions are not always someone else’s dreams.
6. Therapy isn’t therapy because it’s supposed to be easy. It’s there because it’s necessary.
7. Cats are the most entitled animals on earth.
8. You’ve lived it. Now write it.
9. Chronic pain is not about attention seeking. Some will do that. You don’t have to.
10. Karma is real.
11. Stand in your truth no matter how difficult.
12. The battle between good and evil has always been there. In the end, only light and love will win.
13. Not all coaches have whistles.
14. The 1980’s was the best decade ever.
15. They are watching and waiting to see what you do. Even if it’s every other weekend and holidays.
16. All men and women are created equal. Even when society said we’re not.
17. Covid is a butthole.
18. Toilet paper is golden.
19. Live it. Love it. Breathe it.
20. No one gets out of life alive. Tell them you love them now.
21. Leanne Morgan is currently the best female southern comedian. She is so yummy!
22. Never stop learning.
23. The destination can still be the same even if you take the difficult road.
24. PTSD is the symptom not the story.
25. Use religion carefully when interacting with others. The negative effects can be catastrophic.
26. Abuse is NEVER ok.
27. Darren Knight “Southern Momma” never gets old.
“One friend with whom you have a lot in common is better than three with whom you struggle to find things to talk about. We never needed best friend gear because I guess with real friends don’t have to make it official. IT JUST IS.” -Mindy Kaling
Recently, I have decided to pick up the pen again and resume writing. I must admit that this has not been an easy task. There is a fear that, yet, I have not been able to identify. I have looked at it and I’m worried that I would run out of topics. Yes, not even close.
Coco was still just a kitten whenever I was still writing. And her little calico sister wasn’t even a thought yet. Coco is now a full-figured adult cat. And Tinkerbell is another little essence of beauty that was a perfect fit that we both needed.
When the boys come for a visit, they provide their own comedy just being brothers. I laugh so much while being a proud momma with a full heart of love devoted to them. Even when the weight of the world is leaving its mark. I manage to be able to smile and belly laugh with them. And often wonder who’s really the emotional adult. They are so mature at their youthful age. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that, at times, I envy that. We talked about so many things. I think that sometimes Marshall looks forward to little brother being distracted by momma. Marshall is a night owl just like me. Our talk time is usually late at night.
I’m amazed by how simplistic life seems when I’m with them. So, Copeland and I take a walk down to the creek right behind my house. We walk the trail and I tell him stories about when I was young and things me and the neighborhood kids would do every time we had free time on our hands. I tell him stories about building bridges, seeing snakes, games we would play and my personal favorite, the times when I would be the one assessing the vines that we would swing on just in perfect timing when they would break as I was directly over the water. We look at animal tracks in the and try to identify the wildlife that has made its mark in the sand and mud. I just let the boys be kids while making memories that they will remember for the rest of their lives.
I keep my social circle limited to a couple of people and one child who is right in their age group. Whenever we all get together it’s a love for family regardless of linage. We are tighter than corn cobs in a hen’s ass. The boys play and the mommas have “real talk’’ time. I’ll take this time to interject that the “Mimi” of us used to baby sit me. And the other momma is quite a bit younger. I’m right in the middle. I don’t think that any numbers need to be shared. What we all share is the fact that life has left us all with scars. And that is something that I try to keep in perspective. We all have tears that find their way down our cheeks. And laughter that forces tears right down our legs. However, the mutual respect has only grown exponentially. If one of us went to prison, the other two would commit crimes just to go help them set up a commissary store. There has never been the question of whether we would answer our phones in the middle of the night. I’m usually in a sleep apnea stupor and too many meds to be awakened by my cellphone. I have no hesitation in stating that if I had an emergency I could just drive by their houses and leave the boys out in the yard, and they would take them without any questions. And Shelby is our built-in nurse that all boys need from time-to-time. Robyn is our “Mimi” that struggles to maintain being vertical. And Mason is their brother and another son to us. Our little extended and my children will be loved for infinity.
I still have not answered the question about why it’s so difficult for me to start writing. However, one possibility exists. And it’s called “Vulnerability.” Brene Brown says it best. Vulnerability is not weakness, it’s our greatest measure of courage.
“Friends are ones who overlooks your broken fence and admires the flowers in your garden.”-Unknown
“Paranoid? Probably. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face.”
Jim Butcher, Storm Front (The Dresden Files)
Since I have decided to write again, I have looked at some of my therapeutic roadblocks. Easily I would say that paranoia and anxiety are two of the most disturbing. Regretfully, this has taken me down some dark places and terrifying moments in life. And it is getting worse. It’s an immediate divergence that strikes fear in every part of my being. Let me explain how I’ve gotten to this point.
When I was a young child the guys that molested me, who I thought were my friends, decided it would be fun to step out from behind bushes wearing a mask and a black cape. They would begin walking towards like a scene from the movie Halloween. And it absolutely terrified me. As a middle school student with a very openly aggressive teacher, I was accused of things that I didn’t do. Falsifying instances about my behavior and sent to the office kept me in a state of panic that it would happen again.
Later in life, I was stalked for 14 years daily. And when things were going good inevitably bad things would begin to happen yet again. I was being followed constantly by some of the individuals that I wouldn’t identify until much later. Conversations that I had with people were known even when the conversations were benign. I was set up several times being told that we would talk openly. But when I would show up, the police officers were called without any provocation. I was found by one of my perpetrators at a domestic violence shelter by way of his professional job. Once found I was asked to leave because it posed a threat to everyone else. I was handed back over to my monster and subsequently lost faith in a system that promised me safety. I feared for my life every single day. The mind games were how I was held captive. I was also sitting in my car at another arranged meeting only to have those same men jump out from behind bushes. They got into my vehicle choking me until they took my keys, leaving me on the pavement, stunned and panicked at what I never saw coming. I was also held at gunpoint arranged by those same two men. During this same era, I was followed home by an employee that I worked with. As unnerving as it was, I told my husband only to be told, “You must’ve had something to do with it.” Little did I know that the individual was a convicted rapist.
At another job, to get some overtime hours, I had to work closely with a man that scared me to death with his advances. Once again, I told my husband. Instead of compassion and support, I was accused of having something to do with that as well. I took it to the upper management only to be told, “That’s absurd. We know that it was more likely you because of the way you met your husband.” I was devastated at their comments. And was soon out of a job.
Several years ago, when I was living in Albuquerque, NM. I stopped at a redlight where there was construction, bumper to bumper traffic and only one lane. An obviously sick drug addict jumped into my car demanding money. Terrified that I would lose my life I tried to remain calm, and he eventually got out of my car after pleading with him to let me go home to my wife and children. He eventually got out of my car, and I quickly sped off. There was also a situation that occurred right up the road from our house that involved a shooter going into a females’ job site fatally wounding her and others. We lived on the military base which provided a sense of security with my fear of being found by former perpetrators. However, there were frequent security threats that would occur often. And we were living in a safe area since we lived on the base. However, right off the base it was called, “The war zone.” I downloaded an app to identify registered sex offenders in our area since we had our first child. I kid you not. It looked like we were living in “Rapeville.” While it was a beautiful part of the country. It was an extremely violent city.
I moved to Texas for a few years to do therapy and the fear of being found stayed with me daily. I eventually cut off contact with most people in my life. And I left the unsafe safety of four walls in my private cell only to go to therapy. I had gotten to the point where I was terrified of driving in that big city traffic and needing a driver to get me from place to place. The years of being scared had taken their toll.
And when I finally moved back home to Mississippi where my trauma originated the years of fear and paranoia still has me in fear of everything. I have come face-to-face with perpetrators since living here. And it feels every time like the day it first happened. I question the motives of people that I should not question. I read into situations that never need attention. And the very few places that I do go usually end with me sweating, panicked, terrified and wanting to get back to my house as quickly as possible. I will go with close friends to eat occasionally. But I’m never relaxed. Even though I limit the amount of news I see, there is never a shortage of school shooters and other violent crimes that are seen on any type of news media. Has anyone laid a hand on me in a long time? No. I don’t fear “what is.” I fear the “possibility of what can.”
How do I learn to trust and continue with my life? I have absolutely no idea. I’m not even sure if that concept is feasible. I try so hard to trust the coach. But often my fears take over. How do I begin to relax from a life that seems to have always been chaotic and in crisis? I used to always be eagerly looking for the next confrontation that had become a way of life. But today I fear confrontation, people and life. I have always wanted to be free from the bondage of many different things.
I hide a lot of fear with a smile as I have for many years. But there are still days where I must have an escape plan just going to the mailbox. Maybe some of my fears are irrational to others. But conditioned I am. How do you go through things like that and not remain fearful of seeming innocent situations? The idea seems impossible. Do the kids who went through Columbine proceed without doubts and fears? No. Survivors are still plagued with ptsd and the fear that bad things can happen. I am in no way comparing my trauma to the same level as a victim of Columbine massacre. But I wake up every morning staring fear into the eyes of my own reflection. I’m not hanging onto the past. The past is hanging on to me. And I always wonder what is the next thing that I’m going to have to try and survive?
““Chronic anxiety is a state more undesirable than any other, and we will try almost any maneuver to eliminate it. Modern humans are living in anxious anticipation of destruction. Such anxiety can be easily eliminated by self-destruction. As a German saying puts it: ‘Better an end with terror than a terror without end.”
“Writing is medicine. It is an appropriate antidote to injury. It is an appropriate companion for any difficult change.
—Julia Cameron
I can’t believe that it’s been almost 4 years since I wrote on this blog. So much has changed in my life. However, some are unwavering. I’ve come to a greater understanding about dissociative identity disorder and how we are to function. I also still agonize at times to understand why we still struggle. Coach and I still work as a team. I told someone the other day, “Look things could always be worse. You could be my therapist.” And I stand firm in my belief that she and I are a perfect fit. I get really bogged down in some very painful ditches. And I still get frozen in fear making me too scared to move. But instead of telling me, “Get up you idiot!” She compassionately inserts her foot into my hind parts urging me to get my balance using her strength to support me until I’m strong enough to continue on my own.
My sons Marshall age 12 and Copeland age 9 are still the reasons that my heart continues to beat. Big brother always seems to be annoyed. Plus, puberty is also right around the corner. Copeland still enjoys cuddles with momma. Getting Dirty from playing in the woods. Eating anything available. Play with Gel Blaster guns and build anything. There is never enough food. And taking baths are viewed as the evil necessities I still enjoy giggling with them during about any topic. I enjoy continuing to learn about how to be a parent. Coach continues to be a strong presence in that area of my life as well. I’m not perfect but me and the boys always find some much needed laughter when they visit.
My cats Coco and Tinkerbell are still our own little support group when the piercing trauma invades my space and rolls down my cheeks when I’m alone. I still struggle with the guilt of many events from my life. Addiction is still very present in my life. The struggle on many different topics that are always tapping me on my shoulder and telling me to give up. There are wins, losses and battles that occur every minute of every day to deplete my energy instantly. Both physically and mentally I will always be one big jigsaw puzzle. I still battle depression, paralyzing anxiety, agonizing grief, suicidal ideations, lack of self-worth and paranoia.
I have so many things to help keep my mind and soul busy. The healthy burden of writing seems like something I need again. Good or bad. Right or wrong. I feel that I need to continue to tell my story. Even if it’s just for me. I just hope that one day I will successfully understand the concept of moderation. I do my best to continue to carry on and to live life one day, one hour and one minute at a time.
“To those who abuse: the sin is yours, the crime is yours, and the shame is yours.”
—Flora Jessop, Church of Lies
Each year I write a Halloween blog from a different perspective. I enjoy writing a comical post but like most of my humor it covers up a harsh reality that torments me. The child in me shivers with fear as both the teenagers and adults forwardly shine with a protective humor that nothing seems to penetrate. This year I’ve decided to bring forth the vivid and cold-hearted truth of what some of my early Halloween years that were forced upon me.
The boogey man was not dressed in blue coveralls with steel toed boots. His mask was not the cast of Captain Kirk’s face and familiar theme song that can have most anyone watching the movie with the lights on. He did not escape from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium carrying with him a large butcher knife. And Jamie Lee Curtis was not the “queen of scream.” They looked like most anyone living in a neighborhood beside me and you.
The fall time of the year with the smell and feel of wet leaves leftover from the end of summer are present. A deep inhale is not one of safety but one of fear. The coolness of early fall has me reaching for a windbreaker and replay of one of the scariest times of the year. It replays over and over on a reel that never fails in a reality that never wavers with its truth.
DeviantArt
As a 5-year-old child wanting to be a part of the Halloween festivities I was excited and wanted to take part with my older friends. But the predator would again find its prey. They were more than twice my age and size. I trusted them and thought that they were there to protect me. But Halloween would strike fear in several ways. Leaving the safety of my own house I would go out looking for my friends. But I saw no one. Across the street and into our neighbors’ yard was pampas grass that stood where all us neighborhood kids had gotten our own paper cuts. I looked around the yards but saw no one. And then he appeared. In a black cape with the mask of an old man’s face I will never forget. No words were spoken just the slow walk towards me like most boogeymen. But this time the boogeyman was between me and my house of safety. Both my mind and body were on full alert. I searched for my safety and a way to get back to it while the figure walked towards me. As a 5-year-old crying and running was all I knew to do.
I ran back to my house as the figure continued to move closer. The black cape continued blowing in the wind. I ran into my house and back to my room where I locked my door and hid in my closet. Sooner rather than later the figure made its way into our house and down the hall to my locked room where pounding on my door was all that I heard. He spoke nothing. I sat quiet as a mouse hoping and praying that the figure wouldn’t again capture me for another touch and feel episode that hurt and was scary. Nope this time there was a burst of laughter from the big kids that served as their entertainment. And this time behind the mask was my friends that scared me yet again.
That year I didn’t laugh and each time I have this memory there is no laughter. I can only remember the fear that shakes inside of me as a child at a level of fear that I can’t describe. And each year during the fall season, I put on a smiling face. But I too have a life behind a mask of a little child that has never gotten over knowing the fear of being prey to someone’s seemingly innocent joke that was more than it appeared.
“One small cat changes coming home to an empty house to coming home.”
–Pam Brown
The last few months has been about change. These changes have been both externally and internally. Moving back to my hometown has been difficult coming back to very vivid memories about my abuse. But I’ve also gained a healthy relationship with an animal that, for the last few months, has been just what the doctor ordered. Coco is my cat that I adopted a few months ago. I have already written about her in an earlier post titled Yay Team Coco!!! So, this is not another introduction post about her.
This is a post, however, that is about things that I’ve noticed about her and us as we learn how to function as a team. It has also taught me how to work better with my system and to have more patience while we continue to heal emotionally. Coco is my “ride or die” companion and has brought me a big helping of love in a way that has made me flourish amid all the growing pains. Nothing upsets her more than me crying. She’ll pace around me meowing until I let her know, in some way, that I’m ok. If I’m not ok, she’ll walk up to me knowing that I need to pick her up and to get a hug in a way that only she and I connect emotionally.
One of the many hurdles I’ve had to overcome in therapy is doing something as simple as picking up the phone and calling my coach when I need help. After seeing a very abusive therapist for 2.5 years, being able to make a phone call was monumental. I do, however, remember a time when sending a text was next to impossible. I don’t pick up the phone very often and make that call. But sometimes is better than no times. I credit the relationship that Coco and I have built together with the ability to learn to trust again in different areas of my life.
Coco does have her cuteness ways about her that I’ve noticed. There was one day when I was going through more moving boxes and I opened the box that had all my stuffed animals. One by one I tossed them on my bed paying very little attention to any particular one. I threw the box out and went on about my way. A little while later I look to see that Coco had one in her mouth carrying it across the room. It was a homely looking bunny that had suddenly become her personal stuffy. And oh, how she loves her bunny. More than once I’ve caught her sleeping with bunny with her paw gently securing her by her side. And She will also take the time to groom bunny as well.
Most of the time it’s me and Coco having conversations about what she needs to quit doing and developing her cat manners. This is what we work on until she decides that a break is needed from watching the outside world. This is when she jumps in the crate covered by her favorite blanket and takes a much-needed nap complete with bunny in tow. And when therapy time rolls around her job is to be close to me in whatever way that looks like. And for me…. I keep putting forth the effort to continue getting better knowing that sometimes it takes passing an emotional kidney stone to make that happen.
“I sure hate it for Lake Charles, La. But I’m glad she didn’t come here.”
I do not think the female name needs any introduction. Many who were here actually have never forgotten the name. Because for many of us there is only name spoken on August 29, 2005…..KATRINA. Secretly, I spoke the same thought above. My child-like excitement over another storm was very quickly overcome by my adult memories and realities of what it meant to us who went through with terror and tears.
For only a split second my thoughts had forever buried the physical and mental destruction that only a few hours would create. And the fears and tears that seemed to the rest of the nation and world only took moments to forget. The weather event took only a couple of weeks to die out and now over 15 years to recover. The trauma of the event countinues to live in every raindrop, wind blown tree limb that peppers the yard for eeveryone who lived through it to once again find that tinge of pain that has never gone away.
And for some of us it also seems like a lifetime away. There had not been any life in Albuquerque, Master’s Degrees, two happy and healthy little boys and a marriage to someone I genuinely loved. It was danger on top of danger and that was all. The universe would again see best, where happiness and struggle would be found. Just like now…..the universe is has found what’s best. And through therapy I’ve learned to smile again.
She’s someone who was foreign to me. She’s someone that I’ve fought hard to find again after being lost for many years. She’s one whose name carries power again and no longer is one who can bring fear that manifests itself like a hurricane. She’s one who loves to be loved and gets to experience that in many ways and by many different people who love her back. Her name is DANA.
“Until one has loved an animal a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” –Anatole France
I’ve taken a little break from writing these past few weeks. The last couple of posts were prepared ahead of time in anticipation of knowing that a break in my life was just beyond my sight. And again, I was right. Sometimes things just go wrong no matter what all you attempt to do right. Not long after I had written the post, Her Name Is Marley, things would take a sharp turn south. Marley and I had been bonding and we were bonding tightly. She was cute, sweet, and cuddly. My days of having a sweet kitten in my life were many years overdue. She made my heart smile. But there was something hiding from me, Marley, and the doctors. Marley was sick in a way that I couldn’t love it out of her no matter how much we both wanted. Being sick with intestinal worms and low blood sugar were just symptoms of a much bigger issue. Within a two-week time period that was costly both emotionally and financially we were hit hard. And my little Marley was in the fight for her life.
I couldn’t have asked for more of a very caring staff from the local veterinary office. Marley, more than once, would lay almost lifeless in my arms while the tears streamed down my face hoping that my breaking heart would somehow fix the issues at hand. I could hear the concern in each one of the staff’s voice every time, I would call to check on her. Then suddenly, she appeared like nothing was wrong. She was also about half the size of a normal kitten her age. Within a couple of days, she was in the condition of being nearly dead. The cycle was gut wrenching and incredibly tiring. More than once I was up all night with Marley providing care and just making sure she would make it through the night. But she was miserable from her daily fight for life.
As a pet owner, your mind and heart can make you question humane treatment versus a sometimes-selfish want to keep your animal alive. I had finally come to the time when I asked the doctors, “How much do I need to continue to put her through?” They wanted to take her home to observe her condition closer before giving me any kind of answer. For the weekend, she went home with them and I took my concern and exhausted mind and body to bed for a little respite care. And as the cycle would again repeat itself. Fluids, glucose, and other medications were just prolonging the inevitable and they saw it as well. Marley’s condition would never be ok. I was told that she had a condition with her liver that would never get better. I took my broken heart and prepared myself to be without her. I remember little about those last couple of days. I was truly heartbroken and didn’t want another animal. I just didn’t think that my heart could bare to love another kitten or puppy of any kind. My connection with Marley had been deep and I didn’t want to feel that ever again.
The universe and my coach seemed to see how much I need the unconditional love like the kind freely given to us by animals. Somehow, they both seemed to try convincing and push me emotionally into just giving the idea some consideration. I was mad at them both. I resigned myself to the thought but decided that I would not actively look for a kitten. If I were to reconnect, a kitten would just have to show up in my life. And that’s exactly what happened.
A litter of kittens had been found under a house and the momma cat had been shot and killed. A good Samaritan took the kittens to the vet and they were looking for homes. There was only one female and she would be mine. I couldn’t believe how big she was. She was normal size for a healthy kitten. Nevertheless, she seemed to pick up right where Marley’s love left off. It took her a couple of days to realize that she could safely be a kitten around me. And it took me a couple of days to realize that she would love me if I would let her.
One of the issues I have is allowing others to love me. The many years of abuse and love demonstrated the wrong way has caused me to put up emotional walls around my heart. I’ve found that love coming from some people has conditions. And what I’ve needed for many years is to be shown and taught the concept of love after abuse. And this little kitten that I fought so hard to not find appears to be just what the therapist ordered. For me, the connection with animals has always been easier and safer than the connection with people.
The first hurdle in our relationship was to give her a name that was meant for her. I watched her for a few days while also searching through lists of names. A 5-year-old alter kept shouting her obligatory pleas to watch one of her favorite children movies by Disney. And the title that also allowed her to keep part of a connection with Albuquerque and the Hispanic culture was Coco. This little kitten seems to look like a Coco to me. I have battle wounds from our many hours of playing. And my heart bares the pawprints for every minute she’s loved me through my tears and wounds that are and are not seen.
Every therapy session she’s close to me and usually sleeping at my feet with her paws touching my foot. She seems to understand that her job is to be by my side when my many tears fall. And so far, her daily work opportunities have been plentiful. As my heart continues to heal and the growing pains continue to hurt, we continue to be a dynamic duo. The pieces of my puzzling life are still being found. #thispuzzledlife
“Millions of lives were changed in a day by a cruel and wasteful storm.” —–President George Bush
This is a topic that to this day a difficult topic to talk about. June 1st is the beginning of hurricane season which will run until November 1st. I was in Mississippi at the time about 1 hour north of Gulfport in Hattiesburg, MS. Make no mistake that she left her mark on this area as well. I still have a lot of anxiety when a storm comes around which is often. Katrina was something that this area couldn’t imagine possible after Hurricane Camille in 1969 and Hurricane Frederick in 1979. We had “minor” hurricanes in other years. But after hearing stories from my parents and grandmother I wanted to see one for myself. All I can say is, “Be careful what you ask for and want.” I can say that I have some PTSD from the trauma that occurred from this storm.
This image became known as, “The Stairs to Nowhere. “August 29th, 2005 will never be forgotten. It’s been 15 years and just talking about this hurricane and tears will come to my eyes. I will never forget the uninvited guests known as love bugs that covered our vehicles and houses. The mosquitoes that were the size of house cats. The heat inside the houses was so hot that sleeping outside in a truck bed was the only way to get away from some of the heat. But the mosquitos were so bad that you also had to keep in mind that West Niles virus was also very possible. The price gauging from the companies from out of state to removing trees off people’s houses. Price gauging for gas and the rationing of gas.
We were told to plan for no food and water for 3 days. It was more like 2 weeks in our area. We all ate good for the first couple of days while everyone’s freezers were defrosting. After the defrosting everyone just had rotting meat and nothing to do with it. There was no sewage working either. Talk about nasty…. the manholes were running over with raw sewage and going everywhere. It was so bad that city officials were riding around neighborhoods telling us to use the bathroom in the woods.
A good friend of mine who was dating my sister at the time helped my dad with a chainsaw cut the tree limbs that were possible to move and put in a pile for the city to pick up. Sadly, he’s one of my friends that passed away a few years later. He was a good guy and I miss him dearly. We would finally get power restored two weeks later. Cell service would not be restored until November because the cell towers in New Orleans were destroyed. I was able to drive down highway 90 which was along the beach to get pictures like the above because I was a current student at William Carey University. The National Guard had control over the street and highways. I was in awe at what I saw. The mausoleum had been opened and the deceased were lying around on the beaches. The bodies of the ones of the mausoleums were also trying to be identified. Entire casinos barges were picked up and moved across the highway. The magnitude of the situation was finally beginning to hit me. This level of destruction I had never seen. I couldn’t identify street because all the signs were ripped away.
This was a funeral home where the first level was destroyed, and bodies were found on the beach. The amount of devastation on the Mississippi gulf coast was never acknowledged because New Orleans got most of the coverage. That was the reason for me and a teacher from William Carey University decided to write the book.
Those were the days where you got to know your neighbors and pull resources together just to get by. This is also about everyone being on the same economic level because there’s were no working atm machines and no banks open. I can remember that Sonic made hamburgers for the entire city of Petal, MS to keep the meat from going bad. Unfortunately, it was very difficult to find a place to keep certain medications cold for both children and adults. There were just not a lot of formula and water for babies and no way to keep medications like insulin to keep cool for the adults. There were thousands of people that were helpless during those days. We didn’t finally get cell phone service back until sometime in November because cell towers were destroyed.
We had no way of knowing what was going on in other areas. It was like we were on an isolated island because as a community we were also stuck on survival. The mayors had also called for a curfew in Petal and Hattiesburg and surrounding cities. For those who had generators the issue was fuel. And you also had to be alert for people stealing fuel out of generators, cars and boats through siphoning. There were many tears that were shed in the days after the storm. The storm itself was scary but nothing could compare to the fear and emotional devastation that happened as a result of the storm. Many thoughts of rebuilding, and others moved away forever. No matter what area of the south people lived in the date August 29, 2005 and the vicious Hurricane named Katrina will forever be engrained in people’s memory. And every year when that day comes around, I still shed tears for the tremendous loss that our state of Mississippi and the surrounding states that became our new reality.
“You’re going to miss this one day, I whisper to myself as I’m shot in the butt with a nerf gun while unclogging the toilet” —Unknown
I remember when Mel was pregnant with our second and sweet little boy Copeland. It was one of the saddest times of my life because we had found out that Sarah’s condition had gone from being in remission to terminal and she wouldn’t have many days left. And we had lost Copeland’s twin at 12 weeks only a couple of months earlier. I was completely distraught at what was happening in our life. I felt guilty for being so sad at the loss of our unborn child and the latest news about Sarah. I was in a whirlwind of emotions and mad at God when I should have been grateful and looking forward to being a mom again. My mental health issues became more erratic at this time. My rock and my yoda and the one that was teaching me about life was about to be gone. I just couldn’t handle that. My heart was shattered at both losses. The world would go on and my world would never be the same.
Mel and I would have to drive back because she had to go back to work. My parents would Facetime Sarah’s service as I sat in my truck waiting on an appointment. After the service was over, I cried secretly that I can explain. I cried because my heart hurt, and It felt like part of it was becoming necrotic. I also cried because my soul hurt. I needed someone to just hold me and let me cry over this loss. And as I cry now, I am sobbing like I did that day secretly in my house. I was mad at God for taking them both away. I just didn’t understand, and I still don’t. Everything hurt and it does again for a woman who loved me just because. What an emptiness I can still feel from those losses 5 years ago.
Sarah died in February and Copeland was born in May. And I think his birth was what I needed to keep going. Our boys will never know fully how stressed and distraught both of their moms were at that time. And how incredibly special and powerful to us for being our children. Copeland came along at a time at a time that we needed.
I now understand what my parents have told me for most of my life. One of my grandfathers died in September 1975 and I was born in December of that same year. My mom tells me that my birth is what helped them get through Christmas. And for Mel and me, Copland’s birth did the same thing for us. That little baby boy put a smile on my face where only minutes before there was a frown from a hurting heart.Ever since he was born, and Marshall has had the duty of being a big brother we have had some of the greatest entertainment and love that mothers can have with their children. Here’s a conversation that Mel and Copeland had several months ago….
Copeland: What are you made of mommy? Mel:_Sugar and spice and everything nice. What are you made of Copey? Cope: Plastic Mel: No sticks and snails and puppy dog tails that’s what little boys Are made of… Cope: nooooooo I don’t have puppy dogs!!! Mel: so what are you made of? Cope: Rubber Continuing the conversation later she asks Mel: So what are you made of Cope? Cope: plastic and rubber and Boogers!!! Lots of Boogers!!!!
Copeland Samuel Landrum-Arnold is the finest little superhero man cub that God has created other than his brother Marshall. I am blessed to be in his life and to be called Mom when I never saw that as a possibility several years earlier. I love you, son! And I’m so incredibly proud to be your mom even with challenges. Happy Birthday, Copeland!!!
This Puzzled Life 