CarlaGEE.me

FRIDAY, 12/18: ‘Ann has died’ appeared in my text messages and I was stunned.

I had first learned of Ann and her story only one week earlier. It was the day after I had – in a terrible mood – written a small part of my personal story in a blog post called Long Story Short.

TUESDAY, 12/8: Of all the stories I could share or should share, I have no understanding as to why the one about my ex-husband is the one to surface. I finish ‘Long Story Short’ around midnight and publish it.

WEDNESDAY, 12/9: I run into my good friend, D at church. She asks if I would mind calling a friend of hers to share some words of encouragement. The friend, Ann is a 23 year old graduate from TAMU with a masters in counseling and now finds herself in a bit of a crisis. As D understood things, Ann and her boyfriend had suddenly and unexpectedly found themselves pregnant but now the guy was pressuring her to get an abortion. Apparently his communication was  becoming both menacing and threatening. Calls and texts to her included messages about how sorry she would be should she choose to have the child. That having a baby would ruin his life. That she was going to get fat and ugly and didn’t she care about that?!

Apparently Ann would not consider an abortion and was struggling between a choice to keep the baby or make arrangements for adoption. Either way, she was quickly making plans to move out of town, back home to be with family. I assured D that of course, I would call Ann and offer whatever kind of support I could.

D and I brainstormed some temporary housing or couch surfing options so that Ann could steer clear of the lunatic as she made arrangements to move. Reflecting on my own story, I knew Ann stood in the midst of chaos and uncertainty; however, 10 years on the other side of that reality, I also knew she would be fine – even if at the moment she didn’t think so. Perhaps this was the reason I had been moved to write yesterday.

THURSDAY, 12/10: I leave a voice mail on her phone, “Hi, Ann. My name is Carla. D asked me to connect with you. I understand we share a similar story and I’m here to help or if you’d like to talk.”

FRIDAY, 12/11: Ann returns my call and I learn more of her story. Apparently, the lunatic insists the child is not his. That she had found out about the pregnancy quite unexpectedly when taken to the hospital for a seizure. As she described things, it seems the news had been delivered along the lines of, “Here’s XYZ information about your seizure with ABC stats about your overall health and oh, PS you’re pregnant!” That’s apparently when the boyfriend left and became the Lunatic.

She has lots of personal questions for me. I answer as openly and honestly as I can wanting to offer assurance. Mostly I want to impart that surrounded by a support system of family and friends, she and the baby would be just fine. It would all work out somehow.

I also share that when the time comes she can prepare and easily arrange to file her own court documents for terminating the lunatic’s parental rights, as I had. She had additional legal questions so I offer to put her in touch with my friend, Lawyer Guy. She apparently connects with Lawyer Guy later that day because she calls me back with many thanks and tells me about their visit.

We agree to meet over lunch on Monday and I insist that she call me if she needs anything over the weekend. “My phone will be with me at all times. The important thing is that you keep safe,” I remind her.

That evening MrGEE and I attend our annual Sunday School Christmas party and I have a chance to visit with a badge wearing friend, Officer Mark. “I might need a cop, Mark,” and I share with him what little I knew of the situation. Mark walks me through the quick and easy way to file a report to the CCPD over the phone and explains what would then take place. I felt a little better about it and at the very least, he was on alert should I really need a cop.

D is at the party too and she overhears another party goer ask why I was carrying around my phone. I explain that D and I were on-call which opens up an opportunity to solicit prayers for Ann as we share some of her story.

MONDAY, 12/14: Ann and I meet for lunch at Chili’s. She’s a little pixie shaped blonde in a warm-up jacket and flip flops. She tells me about her weekend and more of her story. Up until then, the lunatic had been calling or texting 30 times a day. She thinks he’s backing off a bit but still plans a trip to the courthouse to file for either a protective or restraining order. Neither of us knows the difference, so I offer to send an email to my sister-in-law, a lawyer who works at the courthouse, adding questions about the timing for filing such an order and any jurisdiction issues related to her moving out of the county.

I ask Ann again about why she’s remaining in town if she believes she’s in danger. She explains she’s a volunteer with an organization that serves at-risk kids and feels an obligation to keep her commitment to them through the next week. For the second time since we’ve met, I assure her that no one would begrudge her skipping out early on any volunteer commitment if she felt her personal safety were in jeopardy. I know D has told her the same thing and think if it were me, I’d have already been gone. I can  understand, however, Ann’s state of confusion, fear, panic and stress. I don’t want to push too hard.

We leave each other with an awkward goodbye. Me, assuring her that I’ll call as soon as I hear from my sister-in-law  and her, promising to keep me in the loop on where she is and how she’s doing.

That evening she calls again with many thanks for the Lawyer Guy has sent her an email with lots of information answering many questions and more. She asks for my email wanting to send a picture of the sonogram and a note of thanks. D calls to report that she’s found a bag from Ann on her porch with a lovely Christmas card to her family and gifts for the kids.

TUESDAY, 12/15: Ann calls again to report that she’s doing well. She’s found many boxes to pack-up her apartment but jokes that folks might think she’s an alcoholic since most of them came from a liquor store. She reminds me to send her my email for she wants to keep in touch. She adds that she really, really appreciates all my help. After we hang up she sends over a text, “Here’s my email.” and “Sleep tight.”

WEDNESDAY, 12/16: No word from Ann.

THURSDAY, 12/17: No word from Ann.

FRIDAY, 12/18: I speak with D asking if she’s heard from Ann. She reports that she’d driven past her apartment and saw that her car was in the same spot. She wondered if she should call the police to which I reply, “No. I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll send her a text.” I get busy at work and don’t.

A bit later, I receive D’s text: Ann has died. And I’m stunned.  I understand her mother was unable to reach her that morning and contacted the boyfriend. The police were called to gain entrance to her apartment where she was found unable to move. She was then rushed to the hospital where she died. Apparently, there was a medical complication – maybe another seizure.  I definitely do not know all the details.

All I know is I learned of her plight, offered some assistance and she was gone all within a week.

PS: I have spoken with the police to share what little I know. Since our first meeting, I’ve learned a sliver or two more about Ann’s life which raises many more questions for which there are no answers. I believe none of us knows the whole story. I do believe, however, that she is in a much better place – free at last.

PSS: Ann is not her real name.

When I met him, he looked good on paper, a former law enforcement agent and former military officer. And he looked good in his work uniform for the former Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) now Homeland Security. He was a former resident of a small town in the midwest currently living in New Jersey. And according to his claim, he was a former member of Methodist Church back home. These are the details I learned about my former husband shortly after we met.

I don’t think about him at all any more except when BigGEE unknowingly makes references to his Dad and his assumed sharing of Mr.GEE’s biology. “I’m going to be tall like you when I grow up. Right, Dad?” To which we respond rather sing-songy with something like, “We’ll see.”

My real thought, however, is “Uh, no because a) Mr.GEE is not tall and b) neither was your biological sperm donor”. We haven’t talked with BigGEE about him yet.

In the summer of 1997, I was working at the biopharmaceutical research company, ImClone Systems, whose founder and CEO, Sam Waksal, would many years later be convicted of several white collar crimes sending him and his friend, Martha Stewart to prison. But that’s a small side note. At the time, I had just completed my professional certification through the LaGuardia Community College interpreter training program and was biding my time at ImClone until I felt ready to leave for full-time free-lance interpreting work.

That time arrived when in July 1997, a mass call for ASL interpreters was issued throughout the tri-state area to assist the New York City Police department in the questioning of over 60 Deaf Mexicans found living together in two small homes in Jackson Heights, NY. It quickly became a federal case and for the next 14 months, I worked a rotating 24 hour shift with a team of 8-12 interpreters (both deaf and hearing) to work with lawyers, police, counselors, medical professionals, prosecutors, teachers and INS agents to interview, guard, serve and care for these men, women and children while they remained in custody. But this too is simply a side note. The former husband/donor was one of the many INS agents who also worked the 24 hour rotating shift and we would meet a short five months after I began my full-time professional interpreting career.

It was late December and I was gathering personal belongings to leave for the day. I found along with my coat and bag a greeting card. It was an early birthday wish signed by someone that, up until that point, was unknown to me. Smooth. I’m a sucker for romantic attention. How had he known it was my birthday? Who was he? I did not recognize the name.

Long Story Short: We met. We dated. And against my better judgment and the warnings of friends, we married. Seriously, yes. Some of my friends actually begged me not to do it. It was doomed from the start.

As it turned out, this beefy, gun toting, tough guy was incredibly insecure. I quickly came to learn that he could trust no one nor any situation and questioned me at every turn about my friends, co-workers, assignment schedules and eventually my family. “Where are you going?” “Where are you coming from?” “Who will you be with for that job or event?” He questioned everything including my faithfulness and love even as I blossomed in pregnancy.

“Really? You think I might have a date?! I’m three months pregnant and began showing in week two!”

“Some men think pregnant women are really sexy!”

It was sad really. He once questioned my devotion after reading an old personal diary written in my 20′s that contained, among the many bland entries of life as a single woman living in New York City, the occasional spicy post about someone I was dating at the time. I begged him not to throw out the book but he would not relent until finally I agreed to cut out those sections that contained references to other dates, interests and lovers. Those writings were NOT welcome in his home. I knew that was a bad sign.

I had to be more and more cautious about what interpreting jobs I could accept considering first what his response might be to each. If my judgment was off and I accepted a job that involved a perceived threat to our relationship, I might have my keys taken or the car disabled. He questioned me about most assignments wanting to know where they would be and with whom I’d be interpreting. Towards the end of our relationship, I gave up all interpreting work in The City choosing instead to accept more assignments in New Jersey meeting new faces along the way. But I continued to commute to the Helen Keller National Institute in Sands Point, NY enjoying the quiet, solitude of the almost 2 hour drive and the required over-night stays for multiple days worth of work. It was easy to fend off questions from the former husband when the clients were both deaf AND blind.

I admit that it was only after this experience that I could finally understand how abused women stay in bad relationships. I remember reassuring myself that if I just loved him enough, was strong enough, cut up enough diaries, gave up enough assignments, turned away enough friends, gave more sex, cooked better and tried harder then one day the light would click inside of him and he would . . . believe, know, trust, understand. I had quickly fallen into the misguided belief that if only I [INSERT VERB HERE]  then HE would change. I was a grown adult! Intellectually I knew that if a person wants to change he can only do so by starting from within.

I don’t know if this guy was a victim of his law enforcement work or military experiences or if he’d been that insecure since childhood. But it started to dawn on me that if I could no longer predict what would set him off, then I didn’t really him know him very well at all. How could I? Someone so guarded and on the watch never let’s down enough to let anyone inside. Perhaps that’s what happened before.

Another addition on his Formers List includes an entry for two former wives with whom he had children. I know, I know! It was an ignored red flag! I suppose the same part of me that opened my heart to stray dogs reacted similarly to him. I was probably compelled to take a stand and love the donor thinking that someone had to. Christians can get wrapped up in the confusion of guessing what Jesus would do.

I know now that fixing him was not my Jesus job. That staying was not the plan. For, nowhere in the Bible does it say that it’s okay to be someone else’s door mat. There’s nothing written there about enduring being locked in a car, shoved up against a wall, yelled and cursed at, iced with silence and ignored, abandoned alongside the road home or threatened abandonment three states from home. It does not say that in order to show your husband PROOF that you love him,

“You must NOT visit your family over Thanksgiving or else it’s over”!

Because I think Jesus would stand right beside you in agreement, “Then it is indeed over”.

I don’t believe this particular argument about my perceived desire to spend time with my family being greater than any desire to spend time with him at the holiday was an anticipated ‘line’ waiting to be crossed. I believe instead that in that moment, as a six month pregnant woman, I became a mother. There was no way I was going to bring a child into that environment. This child deserved better. I would find a way to give him that. That’s what Jesus would do. I had no money and no plan but I had a plane ticket. The details would have to be worked out later.

That next morning in November of 1999, the minute my husband left for work, I calmly went to purchase as many U-Haul boxes as I could and methodically began packing everything that was mine that would fit. I called a friend who called another and by 6:00 PM or so everything I owned sat piled in the garage of my pastor’s home. I spent the next three days and nights there and we fended off calls and visits from the donor until I could safely board my Thanksgiving flight home to Texas.

Long Story Short: My family welcomed me home with open arms and lots of Kleenex. My father and I drove back to New Jersey to retrieve my things. I moved into my parent’s 2 bedroom apartment. Two months later, BigGEE was born – happy, healthy and perfect.