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Let’s Go To the Videotape

Posted on April 5, 2012 by The Dose of Reality

Forty minutes after George Zimmerman’s spokespeople claim that Trayvon Martin endangered his life to the point where he felt the need to stand his ground and defend himself with deadly force, he arrived at the police station for questioning.

Forty minutes after George Zimmerman’s spokespeople claim that Trayvon Martin beat his head into the concrete and broke his nose, he climbed out of the back of a police car, unassisted, in handcuffs, and walked unaided across a garage and down a long hallway to a room to talk with officers about the deadly shooting.

Forty minutes after George Zimmerman required treatment from paramedics so intense that it was able to take place in the back of a police car, he was seen on video without a trace of blood on his shirt or a scratch on his head.

Don’t believe me?

Let’s go to the videotape.

http://usnews.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/29/10915887-police-video-shows-george-zimmerman-shortly-after-trayvon-martin-shooting

I wouldn’t even have to be a nurse, but fortunately I am, to know that something about this does not add up. See, I happen to know that head wounds and broken noses bleed. A LOT. And, I also happen to know that paramedics don’t typically take chances with patients whose heads have come into contact with concrete, even if by some miracle on their shaved heads they don’t show outward appearances of injury, because there is always the possibility of an internal injury. So, paramedics don’t typically treat their patients who have been injured as severely as George Zimmerman’s spokespeople claim he was in the backs of police cars and send them on their merry ways.

And you don’t need to bother leaving a single comment about the other video tape, the “enhanced” version, because folks, my computer has Photoshop, too. I don’t know how to work it very well, but my girlfriend Lisa is a whiz with it, just check out what she did with my aged photo from the other day (brace yourself, like the “enhanced” version of the George Zimmerman video, it could shock you and make you wince).

Amazing what a few swipes of the computer mouse can do, right?

As an outside observer, as a mother sitting at home in her jammies, taking her girls to the movies, cleaning up dishes, toys, rooms, sticky faces and hands, this case is making me weary. And so very, very sad. Because with each passing day, with each hour going by with no arrest, I see the level of intensity of hate grow. These are the moments that either unite us or divide us, it really is that simple.

I want to scream out for justice, for just a chance to make this right, for just one opportunity for these parents of this boy, this CHILD, who only wanted to buy some snacks to watch a basketball game with his dad to not have his death be in vain.

I watch my girls, and I think to myself, we have to be better than this, because otherwise my girls are growing up in a world where children get shot in the chest simply for walking on a street. And I can’t accept that. I can’t live with that. I can’t support that. But if we don’t make a move soon, if something as clear and unarguable as the videotape is not enough, where is the hope?

I leave you with a few more powerful posts I read that provide additional insight into this subject, as there are many people right now screaming out for justice, and they should all be heard.

http://globalgrind.com/news/trayvon-martin-martin-luther-king-hoodies-mountaintop-michael-skolnik-blog (Michael Skolnik has been tireless in his efforts to bring attention to this case and has written such powerful words here that they simply must be shared).

http://www.mochamomma.com/2012/04/02/things-im-still-learning-about-race/ (Mocha Momma shares so beautifully her own experiences from childhood and includes a video at the end that moved me to tears).

http://www.knittingandsundries.com/2012/03/another-talk-to-have-with-my-son-who.html (Julie is a mother, who is struggling to make sense of this tragedy, just like the rest of us, only it hits closer to home for her).

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/post-partisan/post/zimmerman-video-is-the-new-zapruder-film/2012/04/01/gIQAx3QTpS_blog.html (Jonathan Capehart, who I think is an excellent journalist, writes a great column here about the video—the real one—and it is a must read.)

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/26/opinion/blow-a-mothers-grace-and-grieving.html?_r=1&ref=charlesmblow# (Charles Blow, who has been relentless in his coverage of this case, much to my admiration, breaks my heart here because he brings it back to what this is all about…a mother who lost her son).

Really 2012? Blaming the Victim? Really?

Posted on March 27, 2012 by The Dose of Reality

I remember back in 1988 when The Accused came out that there was a lot of controversy because the victim of the crime of gang rape in the film was most definitely not the picture of innocence. Had she somehow invited what happened to her based on her behavior? Were her cries of no and stop not loud enough to overcome the image of her short skirt and heavy drinking?

If a woman is raped, even in a short skirt, even if she has in the past possibly behaved in a less than upstanding manner, is she any less a victim of the crime of rape than a nun wearing a full habit?

I guess I ask because I hear Sybrina Fulton, the incredibly articulate, dignified and graceful mother of Trayvon Martin speaking of attempts by law enforcement to paint her son as some sort of reckless youth, who practically invited a man to pursue him with a loaded, deadly weapon. She said, “They killed my son and now they’re trying to kill his reputation.”

Here are the indisputable facts in this case:

A man called 911 to report what he believed to be a suspicious person in his neighborhood.

911 took a description from the man and then asked him if he was following the person.

The man said yes.

The 911 dispatcher said unequivocally, “We don’t need you to do that.”

The man, who was armed with a 9mm handgun strapped in a holster to his waist ignored the police order and pursued the person anyway.

At some point, the man got out of his car to confront the person he considered suspicious and at some point an altercation resulted.

The person he considered suspicious turned out to be a child armed only with iced tea and Skittles, and he was shot in the chest by the man.

These facts, which are not in dispute by anyone, suggest that the man who pursued, shot and killed an unarmed child (one who was doing nothing wrong at all) should be arrested.

You are not allowed to go around shooting people, much less children, right?

Now, you may say, there may be mitigating circumstances. Maybe there are additional facts we do not know. You may very well be right, but all of that is what occurs when there is a trial.

That is the entire purpose of a trial.

Each side presents their case, and a jury weighs the evidence (all of the evidence) and renders a verdict based on that information.

But that is not the standard for arresting someone.

The person who threw flour on Kim Kardashian’s fur coat was immediately arrested, and the person who shot and killed a child is free, with no charges filed, still in possession of his weapon, as if nothing happened at all.

In and of itself, this is mind-boggling, but unfortunately this story gets worse.

On top of these facts, now, the police are actively trying to sully the reputation of this dead child. They have leaked that the dead victim was caught with pot and suspended from school the month before he was killed. This is the sort of thing I would expect a defense attorney to do. It makes me personally uncomfortable, but during the course of a trial, it is expected that a defense attorney has to present some sort of defense. Often that includes painting the victim in the worst light possible. The police, however, smearing the reputation of a minor child to the press is despicable. I can only conclude they are part of this “blame the victim” campaign to make their own inaction seem more palatable.

Honestly, whether or not Trayvon Martin was caught with pot a month before he died has nothing to do with the TRAGIC events of February 26th. Whether or not he was wearing a hoodie, whether or not he looked like a fresh-faced youth or a sullen teenager, whether or not he walking or running down the street to get home to watch basketball with his dad, the facts remain the same. He was a child carrying Skittles and iced tea, in the rain, who by all accounts was doing nothing wrong, and was pursued and gunned down by a man told by the police to stand down. A man who was never even arrested and still has his gun.

As a mom, I stand shoulder to shoulder with Sybrina Fulton, and I ask for all mothers to remember who the real victim is here.

Being Motherless: Reflections After a Year

Posted on February 15, 2012 by The Dose of Reality

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February 15, 2012. One year later. The date reads the same, except for a difference of only one number; but, what a difference that one number can make. If that two were a one, I would be back there, on that day; but, instead I am here, where everything has changed.

Death is totally in the numbers. The time on the clock was 12:29 p.m. Her blood pressure stats were changing on the monitor, from hour to hour, 99/63 … 67/30….The phone number from the nursing home the day she got sick lingering on my caller ID. 704.… And of course, the exact date on the calendar when she died. 02/15/2011….

There are the numbers of the days that slip into a count of the weeks, which amount to the passing of months – starting at a crawl but before you know it, fly by at a run. And pretty soon you arrive at a year. Before too long, not having a mother anymore is no longer your first thought upon waking. It becomes, perhaps, your second or third thought, until it hits you mid-morning or even mid-afternoon. Then, on some months, the 15th slides right on by and you realize later; oh my, it was ten months ago yesterday, wasn’t it?

As the countdown clock of 2011 wound down, I began to feel a strange melancholy ache about leaving this dark year behind; because, as much as I was ready to begin anew, it felt as though that switch in year meant I had to permanently leave my mother behind.

For my daily consciousness to no longer be in the context of my mother died this year, but to have to now be my mother died last year; or, knowing one day, sooner than I think, it will be three years ago … five years ago … ten years ago … infinity years ago….

In my mind’s eye, all this passing time seemed to make losing my mother matter less; because, I knew the world at large would see it as less of a loss, once a certain amount of time had gone by. So many people might think, she died last year; well, really then, shouldn’t you be over that by now, shouldn’t you not feel the fresh raw grip of gut-wrenching sadness that you will never talk to your mother again, now that a full year has passed?

Because you see, death is also in the people you leave behind. The ones who show up and the ones who don’t. In addition to everything else you have to process, you have to process the little discussed truth that, with one singular death, there are going to be what is termed in the psychological textbook for grief, “secondary losses.” Or, in other words, the heartbreakers. These take the shape of the people who can’t turn and face with you the depth of your pain and the monumentality of life change that has just happened to you. The people you loved and trusted and thought you knew, before death. But then, after death, become someone you didn’t really know at all.

Life becomes that simple. Your life before death. Your life after death.

But there are always the ones who do show up, and show up in ways that will make your heart hurt with their love and support.

On Monday, February 14th, 2011– Valentine’s Day no less – I sat alone in an ICU room after having made the decision to have my mother taken off life support; knowing that, as impossible as it was for my head to understand, the next several hours of my life would be spent waiting for my own mother to die.

And then my friends came. Like a flock of support. They arranged childcare, got their husbands home from work and dropped whatever they were doing to be at my side, so I did not have to sit alone in a room, watching a monitor.

My own husband instantly stepped up and assured me that our children would be fine, that he would do whatever was necessary – including the last minute errands for Abby’s preschool Valentine’s Day party the next day – and made me feel filled with his love.

And my sister, the only other person who was about to endure exactly what I was, got on a plane and flew for hours – and made it in time to be together at our mother’s side. It was fitting, really, because sisters are like that, you know – at least the good ones anyway. They are just there, always. And in the end, through the final hours, minutes and seconds – while my mother’s heart ebbed – it was the two of us, alone, in the dark ICU room, in the pitch of night, making more than one off-color joke. And then, still, just the two of us after the sun came up the following day and we stood for the final time with our mother, holding her arm oh-so gently, as she passed away.

In the days following her death, I was blown away, and still am, by the outpouring of support and love I received from people, near and far. I cannot tell you how amazing it was to receive emails and cards and calls from people with memories and offers of help or just kind, genuine condolences.

My mother’s brothers, my beloved uncles who I adore, flew across the country and assisted me and my sister in cleaning out her room at the nursing home and her closet at my father’s home. And as they have done for my entire life, made us laugh and just feel better, for even tiny moments. My mom’s very best friend in the whole world, my second mother, called daily and we felt her love stretch across the miles.

There are the people who think to ask every few months, randomly, about how I am feeling and there are those who remember on the big firsts, like Mother’s Day, to say, “I know this must be hard for you.” And because I am human, and we humans like to focus on what we don’t have rather than on what we do, I forget sometimes to think more about those people than the ones who don’t make those calls to me, who don’t ask those seemingly simple questions. But I have learned that family is not only made by blood, but by those who surround you in times of triumph and trial.

*****************************************************************************

Death is in the moments. The order of Chinese food just days after her passing that somehow contained lo mein, even though no one had ordered it. Except, that my mother ordered lo mein every time she ate Chinese food.

Or in discussing how to pick the right place to scatter her ashes, when me, my sister and my uncles almost simultaneously began talking about a small picture that used to hang in my grandmother’s house; one where my mom looked so young, happy and peaceful. A picture none of us had ever discussed with anyone else before, yet we all managed to bring up at that exact moment.

Life contains very few decisions that feel perfectly right, but deciding to scatter her ashes in the park where that picture was taken was one of them.

Or in the moment, a few months later, when we learned that the park was closed for the summer – but my uncle getting special permission for us anyway – then realized that is how she would have preferred it … private, with no strangers. We could practically hear her saying it.

Then, the moment of realization that the bag of trash you so haphazardly threw away in a trash can at a hamburger stand on the side of a mountain road actually contained her extra ashes; and the realization that no one would have loved that story more than your mother.

Or, that night at dinner, on my mother’s first birthday … without her, when her very best friend in all the world – in her very best blond moment – punchily, quasi-ordered a dessert on behalf of the dearly departed birthday guest with a request for the wait staff to sing Happy Birthday. And then, the staff showed up at the end of the meal with a piece of cake and a song ready. We all laughed until we cried at how we had been joking when we suggested it. But again, no one would have loved that story more than my mom.

And then, all the moments in between, the day to day, you watch life somehow go on. The checkbook still needs to be balanced; the kids still need to get bathed or be driven to school, and the grocery store still needs to be visited. But then, sometimes, out of the blue, out of the waves they call grief, a giant fist appears out of nowhere and delivers a knock-out punch to your soul; and it cries out, “Your mother is dead.”

It can be as simple as a song on your iPod that reminds you of the time when she – who would immediately turn off the radio when she got in a car – tried to argue that she loved music more than the average person. Or the first time that you see Tom Hanks on David Letterman and your hand reaches for the phone to tell her, because he was her biggest Hollywood crush.

Then there are the profound moments like when your daughter looks at you with tears brimming over the edges of her big blue eyes and says, “No else loved me or listened to me like she did.” And you know that she is right.

So here I am. It has been a year. I don’t feel like I have crossed a finish line or won any kind of trophy, and I certainly don’t feel like I have achieved any sort of closure. I definitely don’t feel as though time has healed anything, because all that I feel time has done, for me, is pass by.

I still carry my grief with me. It is a part of me now. My grief is made of irreparable loss, of pain, of memories of red flashing phone numbers, the surprising grittiness of ashes, a hamburger stand on the side of the road.

If I learned anything, it is that no one can be prepared for a major death, and time can’t fix everything. All time does is allow you to find a way to accommodate grief, like a sudden and permanent limp that doesn’t stop you completely but will forever alter the way you move through the world.

Imitation Is the Highest Form of Flattery

Posted on February 1, 2012 by The Dose of Reality

I love discovering other blogs that blow me away; making me immediately do things like feed my children entire plates of leftover Christmas cookies and put on 3 million hours of Barney, just so I can read every last word written on the blog. I fear if I don’t absorb it all in one sitting, the words might disappear before my next visit.

I tend to be that way about things that I fall in love with. I am not satisfied to have a sample or a taste, or to wait patiently and come back later for more. If I read a book by an author I like, suddenly, I find myself on Amazon buying every book they have ever written. Or if I watch a TV show that I did not start watching from the beginning, I must go back and find every last episode ever aired so I can catch up, as though the TV characters cannot possibly exist without my knowing every single detail about their lives.

The problem, or self-respectfully “challenge,” with someone like me when I fall in love with a blog is that I tend to forget when I am reading that I don’t actually know these writers, because their words feel so true and so real.

I find myself thinking about them when I am loading the dishwasher or taking a shower (Ewww gross people, not like that; only because it is where I do my best thinking, DUH!), and I want to write them and say, you know what, we should totally be friends, because you get me and I get you, and pink puffy hearts all over the place. Except … oh yeah, I don’t actually know any of you.

But because I learned to share back in 1980, when my parents brought home a 2nd child and suddenly the house went from being all about me to all about how to keep my sister from losing her mind or temper (maybe I am projecting the problems of my own house here, I am not entirely sure), I want to share with you a few bloggers who have made such an impact on me.

Check them out, though, please don’t check them out so hard that you forget to come back here, too, because you know that would be totally lame. Like introducing a friend and it’s all “hey, the more the merrier, table for three” to suddenly you hearing about them having salad on the side, because … well, you know “you don’t like vegetables.”

So, without further ado, here’s some of my favorite “other” blogs:

An Inch of Gray: I will admit that I did not discover Anna’s blog until after her own personal tragedy had it explode onto the national scene, so to speak; so I give you fair warning before you even click above that you should have boxes (note the plurality of the word box) of Kleenex next to you when you begin reading. It is interesting because unlike any book, I read her blog backwards, as I suspect you will too and it is just so well-written, it is impossible to stop reading.

She is me, or you, or your best friend, or the mom in the carpool line, or the lady in the grocery store; she is us and it resonates off the page. This is what makes it feel so real and raw and at times too close for comfort, because all you’ll come away thinking about is, “if it could happen to her….” and then you’ll cry some more.

And I know you are thinking right now, but Ashley, why would I want to go and read something that will make me sob into my hands? All I can say is that you won’t “want” to read it, but you should. Because sometimes, lately, especially at that certain special hormonal time of the month when my children are fighting like little honey badgers and I just wish for some peace and quiet, I find Anna’s blog and I cry (Like I am right now). And while I don’t embrace my children’s noise, I am grateful for it.

Raising Colorado: Meet Zakary, AKA ZDub. She is … well, a she, which totally rocks; although, between you and me, I would imagine it was actually really pretty hard most of her life, especially on all those first days of school when the teacher’s eyes would naturally go to the boys in the room as she was calling the roll but I digress…. This mom is HIGH-larious y’all and I don’t mean anything by that other than the fact that she lives in the Rocky Mountains!

She, too, had a pretty crappy 2011; nothing the likes of Anna, so no need to break out boxes of Kleenex when reading this blog – although you may, at times, need a few on hand for your laughter and perhaps a few tears. She, too, is totally like us. I definitely feel like if I ran into her at the grocery store – besides it being totally weird since we live thousands of miles apart – I would definitely take her out for a beer and compare parenting notes.

Do these kids make me look CRAZY?: So this one is a little different for me because I actually know Tara in real life, which is clearly as close to knowing a celebrity as I am going to get … seriously, Angie, we have friends in common girl and you still don’t call me?

Tara, in case you did not already know, is kind of famous, even before she started writing her column, The Quiet Side of the Door, for Modern Parent. The exciting part is that I already followed her original blog before I met her in real life; so when our paths crossed, I got to play it super cool and be like, “Oh yeah, what was your name again? Sara?” Instead of all, “I have read EVERY SINGLE POST OF YOURS, EVER!” How in the world would that get me invited to her house for dinner?

Here is my favorite thing about Tara’s blog; she absolutely knows how to mix the funny with the real in just the right combination. I can go from laughing out loud at her to nodding so much it makes my neck hurt, while also crying. So I encourage you to check her out because she is pretty awesome, and I can say that because I know her!

Rants from Mommyland: It isn’t like these ladies need any plugs from me, obviously, as they have more readers than they could possibly ever need, right? Although, is that even possible? Is there a finite number of readers, and then you as the writer are like: “Nope I’m good, I couldn’t possibly take one more reader, but thank you?” I doubt it.

That being said, these woman are ridiculously funny and ridiculously famous, so kudos to them for not losing the funny along with the fame. I would so be that person, I just know it! The thing I love about Kate and Lydia (not even their real names but they keep using them anyway) is that they also pull off just enough of the tugs-at-your-heartstrings kind of posts that I can cry over there.

I don’t know if you have noticed this yet, but I am apparently a bit of a masochist, so crying really works for me. I laugh, I cry, the earth keeps on spinning, the dishes sit in the sink, the laundry sits unfolded, and all is right with the world.

From Grind to Whine: My friend in New Jersey writes this blog and I have known her for a long time, all the way back to when our oldest children were clumped on a couch together having a play date. One of the best things about Stacey is that she, like me, is a tell-it-like-it-is kind of person who, also, always looks for the funny; so I enjoy reading about her adventures in mommyhood. She does totally great mom things like bake her child a Pokemon birthday cake, so we are different enough that I am often inspired by her too … and jealous. Let’s be honest, I am jealous.

One of my favorite parts of being a blogger – because I guess that is what I am now, a blogger; even though, I mostly still feel like a mom sitting around in her jammies just writing words down hoping that someone will read them and respond with “Yeah, I get that, I hear you lady, that is what I think, too”– is that I can be connected in some small way to people all across the country, some I know and some I don’t know. I can share their lives and it makes me feel, at the end of the day, a little less like this is all just some random ride.

I leave you with this video, delivered by the amazing Kelly Corrigan, who wrote two of my very favorite books of all time, The Middle Place and Lift; because she says what motherhood is all about far better than I think I could ever actually say it.