first sammi installment

Rain streamed down the windows and flung itself away as the ill-fated car tore through the streets. Black velvet sky wrapped around white picket fenced houses where young children were safely tucked away in bed – all except for one. The celestial lights had vacated the heavens, leaving only two headlights flailing in space, yearning for a resting place – for peace. Lightening sliced through the darkness and with that single crack of thunder a whole world fell to pieces.

She screamed from the backseat, with piercing wisdom and grief – like somehow she already knew her father had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, like she knew this man who was single-handedly supposed to be watching out for her was incapable of looking out for himself. Tears filled her big, brown eyes as she looked to her only parent for comfort. Her father’s unsteady hands loosely held the wheel as he turned around to face her – one last penetrating look before both lives lost all recognition of their past.

The car swerved. The tires hit the curb. The sky swirled around them; and with a breath of hesitation, it crashed into the ground.

That was the night that changed everything; choices were made by two people, tearing the fabric of an existence I thought was mine, and sending a little girl on the most bittersweet ride she would ever know. True it was only for a year – but in one moment we both saw fallibility in those we once found flawless. And in one moment we were tragically linked by the very heartstrings we felt tearing away.

This is a story that spans three generations; it tests the strength of family and the very quality that courses through our veins. It is also a story of discovery and hope, and of finding out what truly matters and holding onto it for dear life.
__________________________________________________________

From: Kathy Grinold
To: tbina7@hotmail.com
Subject: Deb
Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2003 13:33:41

Hi Tiner,

I’m very sorry to have to tell you like this, but Deb died yesterday (the 24th) at 6:15pm. She finally got to Columbia/Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan on Tuesday, but she just kept going downhill. Wednesday night Kevin drove home to get a change of clothes and to sleep in a bed for a change, and got a call Thursday morning that she was deteriorating. He drove back down, but by the time he got there she was on life support, but there was no brain activity. So he had her removed from the machines and she died yesterday evening.

One of the last things she said to me was to tell you not to worry about not being here and to enjoy the rest of your trip. I know that will be difficult for you now, but that’s really all you can do. Of course, the prayers are still helpful, that she find her way in the next world, and feel loved and comforted… and you can do that from wherever you are.

Kevin is doing as well as can be expected, in fact is experiencing some sense of relief. She is no longer struggling and in pain. The ordeal really took a toll on him. Sammi doesn’t really understand much. I don’t know exactly what he has told her. I spent time with her yesterday afternoon and she didn’t know what was going on. We left it to Kevin to explain.

I’m sending you a big, big hug and can’t wait to see you to do it in person. We love you Tiner. Keep smiling and keep sending your best thoughts!

Love and hugs,
Mama
__________________________________________________________

There I was, on a ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean – having just finished an Acting final where I’d played Krishna from the Mahabharata – reading and rereading that letter from my mother. I stopped seeing the words; they were just a blur. And I couldn’t find any air in my lungs. There I was, on a trip circumnavigating the globe, gallivanting around, while my aunt had lain dying in a hospital. And my baby cousin had been robbed of her mother at age five.

Have you ever seen a cat run full speed into a glass door? Well, that’s how I felt. All I wanted from the world in that moment was to be there. But I couldn’t. Running out onto the deck, I gasped at the sea air, chest heaving, and I slammed myself into the railing that held me prisoner.

Suddenly my body weight was too heavy and, slipping to the deck, my tears burned my flesh before adding themselves shamelessly to the ocean below.
___________________________________________________________

In memoriam ~
As I sit here to write this, it should be about 9pm on April 26th back at home. For me, it’s lunchtime and we are currently sailing through Alaskan waters. I can see the gorgeous volcanic mountain range of the Aleutian Islands from my porthole as we steadily approach our 2nd to last port of call. Technically I’m in the US. So, technically, I’ve sailed around the world. The pressures are already beginning: to put a name on my feelings, to label my experiences, to pick a favorite place. But how can I begin to do those things when I’m currently struggling to find a place for myself in this world I’ve just been traveling through?

Today I’m discovering the impossibility of that task; today when I consider the importance of Mother.

Since I left in January, there have been so many changes. Changes in myself, the global community, and the lives of the people I love and hold closest to my heart. This ship is a bubble-world, a little microcosm of home. The SS Universe has been our Great White Mother to whom we run when things get tough or when we just need to curl up in a ball and hide from reality. She’s also provided blissful separation for us, her passengers and children. But while I’ve been becoming acquainted with Mother Earth and her various places and peoples, my own motherland has been forever altered.

In the absence from my former life, a war has begun, a deadly virus has been loosed on the world, and my aunt has passed away. Each of these things have affected me in ways that could never be expected or fully explained. I’m ten days away from being home. Being that close, but not being there during this time when I should be with my family … the helplessness is overwhelming. Last night while standing on deck, with dawn approaching, looking out at the ocean and off into eternity I thought, “If I could jump ship and swim to shore, I’d do it in an instant, just to be there.” Something my mother said to me in her email – the email – resonated in my mind, “One of the last things she said to me was to tell you not to worry about not being here and to enjoy the rest of your trip. I know that will be difficult for you now, but that’s really all you can do.” My mother, my mama, the one who is sending me a big, big hug and can’t wait to do it in person. I can’t imagine not having that. But Sammi won’t. My baby cousin has just lost her Mother.

Debbi would always call the house and say, “Hey, it’s your favorite aunt!” and then would proceed to give me a hard time about any and everything she could. Our sarcastic interchanges were code for how much we cared for each other and enjoyed each other’s company. After Sam was born and as I grew older, I began to feel like Deb was more of a friend than an aunt. She would sometimes break down to me and say, “I’m so tired of being sick.” She wanted so badly to be healthy and able to do all the things she wanted to do. I found myself trying to find the words to comfort her, the same words that just don’t seem to matter now.

When I was ready to leave for Semester at Sea, she started to cry and told me she didn’t like that I would be out in the ocean somewhere on the other side of the globe instead of a couple hours north in New Hampshire. Was she trying to tell me her time was running out? Was she trying to say goodbye? Last night, when I got the news of her death, did she make me hold off on checking my email until after my final performance was over? Was she trying to protect me until I would be able to take the time to grieve? I think so. Deb was always so fascinated with the existence of angels and I believe she is now among them.

Though I know her suffering has finally ended, I still feel powerless. What can I do? I’m a bird in a cage, wanting to break free. I’m a missing puzzle piece wanting so much to finish the pattern that is my family. I’m constantly sending my love, my prayers, my meditations – I can only hope that is enough, because it is really all I can do. I can’t be there to hug my uncle and look into his eyes, because the words I’d be searching for just wouldn’t suffice. I can’t be there to hold my little munchkin; I can’t take her outside to blow bubbles and watch them float into the wind … an attempt to ease her pain, her confusion, her blissful naivety. I won’t be there to see Deb’s face one last time. I won’t be able to throw a blossom symbolizing my love into the grave, to say goodbye and to begin the healing process along with everyone else. These are the things I’d hoped for when the emails, the sickeningly impersonal emails that have been the only thing connecting me to these events, started looking bad.

How selfish I’ve been in wanting to travel, move around, spend a few years here and a few years there – all of the things that take me away from the people I love. Am I really as independent as I thought? Am I really capable of moving that far away from home again, for that long? Do I want to remove myself from the lives and happenings of my motherland? Can I deal with this feeling again, the feeling of seemingly not caring enough to be there, or of letting my loved ones down in some way?

I suppose, through it all, various forms of Mother will always be there; whether in biological, figurative, associative, or even angelic form. Mother is not a thing that can die. It’s more than just a person. It’s the purest form of love and support. Although the home I’m returning to in ten days can never be the same place I left 3 months ago, the universal Mother-spirit will remain the same. I will get my big, big hug from my mom. And someday when Sammi wants that same big, big hug from her mother, I hope I can be there to tell her that’s it’s always there in some form. You just need to ask. Mother can never leave you.

RIP Debrah O’Briant ~Peace and Love Forever.
__________________________________________________________

My dad read this aloud at the funeral. I wanted some representation of me there even if it was physically impossible at the time. At a later family gathering, I griped to one of my cousins, as a whiny child impersonating a broken record, “I wish I could have been there.” He looked me square in the face for one of the longer moments I’ve sat through and said, “Tina, you were more there than any of us.”

note on Sammi post:

this is the second installment of the work i've started on this project. i know liz read the beginning, but i'm not sure that b or mikey has.... let me know, boys, if you want to read the beginning parts.

also, i'd love any feedback on this. it could very easily turn into a larger memoir piece. let me know where you think i could open up into larger sections - chapters, if you will - and where things might get confusing or repetitive, or really anywhere you'd like to comment on. the more the better.

love.

flailin in a whirl pool

i'm swirling around, reaching my toes down for solid ground. there's so much to do and so much i want to do, but little to no time to do it in.

i'm not trying to complain. instead i'm looking at that evanescent thing called time. honestly, sometimes i think it's my worst enemy. and other times it's a best friend.

time heals. we've all heard that one, and i believe it's true. but scabs rip and phantom pains haunt.

there's not enough time in the day. let me tell you, as a grad student who just finished 21 credits in a summer, i've felt very strongly about this one on many occasions. and as a student teacher, starting in t-minus 5 days, this is still very much an issue.

aaand....

timing's everything. especially when you start falling harder than you planned. for someone who's already in love. with someone else.

fuck you, time. i want you to come to a screaming hault so i can tip toe around, take a breath, and figure out the what's, the when's, the how's, the where's and wherefor's of my life.

;alkfj;alkfj;asldjfa;sdlfja;sdlfj.

so there.

sammi

This was one of those crazy college weekends that you look back at and say, “Man, we were a complete waste of space. But it was awesome!” My roommates and I had spent two years living above Town and Campus in apartments that, shall we say, had… character. Our current apartment was previously an office of some kind, so our living room came complete with coat hooks in the wall, a random left over door which we decorated and left leaning in the corner, and a fully operational old fashioned sink which we filled with water and housed our faithful pet rubber ducky. The walls were painted midnight blue by the last tenants, so we strung Christmas lights around the perimeter, surrounded the room with our Salvation Army sofa, futon, satellite chair, scattered pillows, and we called it a day. Our kitchen table was the graffitied beer pong table, which had once been a bedroom door from our last apartment, and the window in my room had roof access. For all immediate purposes, this apartment was prime for a few twenty one year olds and their friends.

So this weekend, my brother and some of his wacked out buddies were coming to visit. Our track record was pretty good. When people come to visit us, we usually deliver unforgettable times. UNH kids know how to party; and we partied artfully. We generally stayed away from frats and the people we associated with being involved in that scene – unless, of course, we dressed up in crazy costumes just to crash. Instead, we counted on each other for amusement.

Weekends of this sort usually included things such as 4am outings to the launder mat to play in the dryers and climb onto rooftops, or rollerblading excursions across campus when most of the die-hards had returned to bed. We’d been known to break into locked up residence halls before school was in session just to play the grand piano, or spray paint phrases such as, ‘You are being lied to,’ or, ‘Everything you know is wrong,’ on the back walls of the student union – and we nearly shit our pants when it showed up the following Tuesday in The New Hampshire. We savored deep philosophical conversations on our roof while staring at the stars, beach drives and trips to the ocean (where some would venture a swim in the nearly freezing water), lighting fireworks on an open field (somehow succeeding in lighting grass on fire and attracting the attention of the local five-oh), and any other spontaneous notion that might flit it’s way into our thoughts. This weekend was no disappointment.

To cap off this fun-filled few days in Durham, the lot of us took a field trip down to Hampton Beach – music blaring, enjoying being in the now – and to the nearest Taco Bell we could find. As we sat there in our Burrito, Chalupa, Cheesy Gordita glory, my brother says to me, “So. Have you talked to Mom?”

“Not since last week,” I replied, thinking this was no more than a silly story about her classroom. She always talks to us about the kids as if we know them all intimately. It’s endearing, actually; she adores her job and she’s damn good.

“Yea, so…” he sucks down some air before the plunge: “Kevin was driving drunk the other night and flipped his car.” His eyes break from mine as he takes an unnaturally large bite of his beloved Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The Band-Aid was torn; smarting, I had to respond.

“… uh…” slowly shaking the disbelief from my skull, “Is he ok?” Then it hit me, Mack truck Reality, “Where was Sam?!” trying hard to keep hysteria out of my voice.

“She was in the car.” He’s stopped eating and is looking at me again. My eyeballs are wide, wildly searching his for the punch line. The dread washes in.

“WHAT!?!?!” Usually at this point, he tells me to quiet down. I have a tendency to explode, irrespective of my surroundings. This was no exception, but this time he let it go.

“Yea. In the car. He lost custody of her.”

“…..” I can only imagine what my gaping face must look like.

“They’re both ok. I guess she had to spend the night at the hospital for observation. And now she’s staying at our house. No one really knows what’s going on or what’s gonna happen,” my eyebrows furrowed so deeply that my head started to hurt, “And Dad’s not talking to Mom.”

My heart pounded through my chest. I wondered why the others couldn’t see it, in 3-dimensional Pepe Lepew style. I continued eating and carrying on pieces of the other conversations swirling around me. I drifted in and out, sometimes staring out the gaudy advertisement-ridden windows, not looking at any one thing in particular. I would sometimes snap out of the daze, fighting nausea, and sigh, “I can’t believe this.”
________________________________________________________
I walked in the door, sat down on my bed, dialed home, and waited. I waited three rings and wanted to scream.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end sounded tired, weak.
“Mom. Why didn’t you call me!”

“Sorry T. It’s been crazy around here and I’m not getting a whole lot of help.” Well, obviously. Dad’s ignoring her and Ian came to New Hampshire. Now, you’re probably wondering why my father would be so insensitive – be patient, I’ll get there.

“I know Mama. I’m just a little shocked. Tell me what’s happening.” My insides melted. It was rare that my mother weakened. She is one of the strongest, smartest people I know, and if she is having trouble with something it is clearly a challenge. I found myself transported back to another dark night. It was September of my first high school year, the night she learned of her mother’s death. She shook and she cried and all I could do was hug her, be strong for the woman who, until then, had always been strong enough for the rest of us. By the sounds of it, she was again trying desperately to hold it all together – for the sake of the family.

“Well. It’s been a zoo around here this week. Between DCF and Deb’s family coming by constantly to see Sam, I can barely keep things organized let alone get things settled for her. Luckily, we’re on April vacation, so I was able to get over to Birch Grove and sign her up for school.”

“So this is going to be for a while, then.”

“As long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?”

“For the state and the court to figure out what to do. They’ve already taken away Kevin’s license.”

“Well, GOOD.”

“And he’s going to appear before a judge soon. He’s going to have to go to AA and parent retraining and, most likely, therapy. He’ll probably do jail time, too…” Jail. Wow. Switching gears, she murmurs, “You do realize that this was within days of the one year anniversary of…”

“Deb’s death. Yea, I remembered.” It stung. It’d been a year, and I still hadn’t gone to see the grave; I still hadn’t given her my rose, now dry and fragile.

“He’s been going downhill. He’s not been eating. He’s bankrupt. He’s got all of the medical bills still looming over his head. And he feels like none of us are helping him. I drove him to the police station from the hospital, he was still drunk and belligerent, and he was telling me that he had been drowning and nobody noticed, nobody cared.”

“Mom, this is not your fault.” She’s the only girl of five, and Kevin is the baby. After he was born, my grandmother was drinking whiskey daily and not being a very active mother, which had much to do with my grandfathers’ unwillingness to accept some of the boys as his own – but that, too, is another story. So my mother became the surrogate; and she’s felt responsible in that role her whole life. “Listen. I graduate in three weeks and then I’ll be home. We’ll make this work, ok? I’ll take her after school so you can focus on the end of the year.” Somehow I always knew something like this was going to happen, a moment of truth. This was a time when my spirit could shine, and I wasn’t about to lose my chance. I was going to make up for missing the funeral, for not being as active in Sammi’s life as I had wanted. I would be strong enough for all of us; we would not fall apart.

This was my role, right now, there was no turning back – forget all the other plans of traveling abroad, teaching English in Japan, or moving to San Francisco. My family needed me, so that’s where I needed to be. But, man, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
_______________________________________________________

She came tearing into my life
A ball of fire
Scalding me with what’s real
And true, when

Truthfulness
Hanged at the gallows
Suffocated
And broken
A value forgotten
It fades
As mist at dawn

She came into my home
Took my bed
My room
My space

She took my mother
And made me a mother too

She screamed
She sassed
She cried
She laughed

She pushed

Every last button
Every last nerve

regroup sesh

hi boys and girl.

to regroup:

i'm so psyched about our week together, even if it didn't seem as productive as you might have wanted, lizzzzzzzzz. and i'm simultaneously sad that it's over - honestly, i feel like we stand in that driveway waving goodbye to yall more than is good for the health. but overall, i think just hangin out and doin dumb stuff is what makes us... us. and we certainly did that. so good job! pats on backs all around! PLUS. we cut dreads off. that's an unprecedented event that should not be downplayed. AND we ate taco bell, watched movies, took pictures (this time with pants on...) AND we lit off fireworks. AND. we hung out with cows. AND. we made friends with teenage druggies in boston..... hm. anyways... you get the point.


i'm just gonna do a lil 'to do' list for my show (i HEART to do lists):

-write grant letters
-submit said letters
-meet with Nancy Dunn re- ideas for performance places and if it's worth it to move away from Tolland Youth Services (which i def. want to do, because then it becomes more legitimately part of our business venture)
-meet with Roets' for ideas
-call all local HS's to check on pricing, seating, stage sizes
-make a contact list of all people already signed on, send out welcome email/letters
-come up with interview questions for the documentary portion
-come up with list of pop culture images/songs/clips that might encapsulate theme
-solidify theme
-start solidifying story line/framework/get idea of how many scenes/pieces are going to be needed
-put out feelers for musicians (we have only Ian at this point.... need drummer, bassist, piano, others if wanted...)



aaaaaaaaaaand that's all i can think about right now. lemme know if you think i missed anything.

tear

tearing through the street

hair flailing

wailing the tunes

pounding the wheel

trying to stop shock waves

receiving perceiving

infesting her mind

with impossibilities

looking up

searching for

the moon

bleeding moments past

stumbling away

from fluorescent color

and into a landscape

of memories

choking on

pointlessness

hopelessness

and what fors

sobbing for every sob not made

crying for every lesson not learned

justice not served

story not told

salt water flows from her eyes

home

to the ocean

rolling seething

under a moon so constant

in unconstancies

in knowledge

in wisdom

overwhelming

it's beams

tear into the ocean

too.

forgotten truth

truthfulness

hangs at the gallows

suffocated

choked

and broken

a value forgotten

it fades

as mist at dawn