The aftermath

One of the things that always amazes me about this whole experience, is how long the damn thing seems to dig it's claws into you for.
Going on year 3, and I still find it difficult to sleep at night.  I still find it difficult to relax and unwind, (admittedly I was somewhat uptight anyhow.)  I can't resist driving by my kids school and looking for them on recess, even though I'm too far from the playground to see individual faces.

All day every day, there is a constant litany of reminders of how things used to be.
I miss the accused, who was my best friend for 10+ years, and suddenly disappeared.  We had all of these inside jokes, all of these silly moments, all of this wonderful family time together.  On the days we woke at the same time everything felt RIGHT in the universe.  I miss his family, I had learned to love and respect these people, and every day I wake up, something reminds me of all I have lost personally, all my daughter has lost, all the kids have lost and even sometimes all the accused has lost.

I am grateful for what I have gained, my new husband is wonderful and takes good care of me.  The extra time to paint, or write or play music, or whatever it is I decide to do, is a welcome benefit of this whole shit storm. He spoils me rotten, but I know I'm not quite where I once was yet.  He feels like I'm running the household, and I feel like he is, but neither of us is really at the wheel, and that's not to say that the boat can't handle itself.  It just isn't directed much of anywhere right now... or maybe it's just directed everywhere.  We're floating on a thing and we have no idea where it's going.  That's both liberating and terrifying, and completely what we are doing right now; running around feeling both liberated and terrified.

I honestly feel that I am losing my mind much of the time now a days.  The anxiety attacks that cause my throat to close up, the tears welling up in my eyes and falling so fast down my face that I cannot even reach up to dry one before 27 appear in its place.

It's like the grief is an embodied thing, whose weight sits squarely on my chest from the time I wake up until the time I leave work, then it kind of gets off of me a little bit.  Just a little.  Like it's teabagging me or something, but it's no longer directly on my chest.

You'd think that'd make it somewhat easier to breathe, and it does.  But you still feel something is off.
And, truth be told, something IS off.

I find myself repeating again and again the same things... This is not as it should be.  Something is wrong, God I would give you all that I have to see my children one last time and at least say goodbye, even if I can't tell them why.
And these thoughts become my soundtrack throughout the day.  Usually around noon the "Not Good Enoughs" chime in with their hit "You Should Probably Just Jump off the Damn Roof Now." but after some lunch and nicotine that tune changes to their next famous hit "You Probably Wouldn't Succeed at that Anyway you Big Fat Loser."  Followed by the "Self Critics" single, "Why did you put your Ex in Jail where he'll die?"

It feels like a broken record playing in my skull every damn day.  Like I am doomed to a hell of same thing-ness.  The greatest hits of all my failures.  All at once, again and again.

Nothing new happens, and when new things do happen they are not always good things.  In fact, most of the time it's some bad thing that happens.  I just kind of feel like yelling at people and saying "Can't you see I am barely holding myself together as it is??!?! Do you think I really NEED to be dealing with your bullshit right now?"

But the cars in traffic don't really seem to care much.
They still keep hitting their brakes.
Even though I've gone plenty of places and moved well beyond this, I don't feel like I've gone anywhere at all.

Goodnight, Sweetheart

My Mother contacted me rather frantically on Saturday morning.  She explained that she had searched google on a gut feeling, (she does this from time to time, her intuition is on point).  She had found an obituary in one of the local papers.  It was for Paul's Grandmother.

So, to that end I am writing.

First, Jeannette, you were always so kind to me, taking me in as your own granddaughter in 2002 when I was just Paul's roommate.  You invited me to come to Thanksgiving dinner.  It was a typical Polish Thanksgiving, there was turkey, 'craut, kilbaska, football, and a house full of teenages and young adults.  There was no music, but there was plenty of sound.

I was not well recieved by everyone there; but that was mostly due to teenage cliques formed by the cousins.  I was made to feel welcomed by Jeannette and Frank, who asked me about my story, who I was and where I was going in my life.

By Christmas of that year, they had bought myself and my daughter Christmas presents, and taken me in as family.

When all of us got together on holidays, we'd talk about old stories, how Detroit used to be, what Paul was like as a child.  Easter of 2005 I was very ill after having Evan, and she happily held the baby and made sure I sat and got rest.

She was the matriarch of the family, and as such did all of the planning for get togethers.

I was shocked and saddened to hear this wonderful human being had moved on from this plane of existence.  I am very sad I will not have a chance to mourn her passing with the people I considered family.  But I know it wouldn't be right.
I sent flowers and a card, because that's what you do.

My dear former and always family:
I love you, I hope some peace can be found in the fact that Sweetheart is no longer suffering.  You are all beautiful people, and I see aspects of her in each and every one of you.  As you go on in this new chapter, know my heart is with you, just as it always has been.  I am deeply sorry for your loss, and I hope someday I see you all again.

Goodnight, Sweetheart.  Rest well.  We all look forward to seeing you again.  <3

My Response to the Allegations made against Jared Fogle

No one knows but Jared what happened with those children, so before we all blaze in with our pitchforks and torches... Let's let the law men do their work. Having said that, here is a message for Katie Fogle: who has already responded with a brief statement:

"Obviously, I am extremely shocked and disappointed by the recent developments involving Jared. I am in the process of seeking a dissolution of the marriage," Katie said in a statement. "My focus is exclusively on the well-being of my children. Neither I nor my family will have any further comment on the matter. I appreciate respect for my family's privacy during this difficult time." 

You know in your heart the truth of the matter.  Just stay quiet, tell the denial to take a back seat for a minute, ask "Could this really happen?"
If you answered yes, get out now before CPS starts asking questions, follow the following steps:


1. Leave, do not have another word with Jared.  This is going to be the worst and hardest part for you.  This is someone you loved and trusted with your life, your best friend.  It will be the hardest thing you do, and you'll have to keep doing it, but, for the sake of your kids, KEEP DOING IT.

2. Do not allow anyone who is associated with your soon to be ex husband to watch the kids on their own for even a moment.  Not overnight, not at all.  Trust me, it may seem like a nice idea to get away from this nonsense, but considering what happened to me, you'll spend the rest of your life kicking yourself if you do allow it.

3. Cooperate with CPS but take NO SHIT.  Do not let anyone browbeat you into admitting to something just to get them to let you alone.  Be blunt, be honest, be short, follow whatever suggestion they give you and do not complain about it.  If they pull in other family members, let them call you the horrible things they are going to, but then refute LOUDLY.

4. Have your children talk to a children's advocate right away, just to make sure there is nothing more serious going on.  Don't wait.  It'll give you piece of mind.

5. Breathe, hang in there.  You weren't in a place to know all of this yesterday.  Don't blame yourself, this isn't your fault.  Some people are just wired differently, and sometimes they short circuit.  You couldn't have known on your first date, you couldn't have known on your wedding day.  Your life will fall apart, that's a given.

I pray that you, too, learn to make a mosaic of it.

Nameste,
Danielle.

This is my story

I am Daniel Ryan

I am in utero

I hear voices singing “Danny Boy”

I am Danielle Rene

I have entered the world screaming and the color of a blueberry

I do not wish to be here, not this way

by my own terms,

but not on the terms of those around me who wear

masks and hair caps

screaming “She’s not breathing”

Frantically removing the ties from around my neck

the umbilical cord tightly woven

around my blue neck.

I am Dee

I am 9 months old

I have expressed to the young girl a few doors down that my

“Name is Danielle but you can call me Dee.”

and thus my nick name

I am Dee

I am 5 years old

I have been taken to specialist after specialist

until one proclaims “dyspraxia nervosa”

and I do not know what that means

my parents look gravely at me

but tell me they’ll help

should it ever come to pass I need it.

I am Dee

I am different from the other children

I take every statement literally

I worry constantly

I think I am smarter than everyone in my class

but I can’t prove it.

no one gets me

no one understands me

I am left to my own world

my imaginary friends accept me, with their crazy name

“koo koo” and “Quiche”

I can’t remember them now.

But I remember their names

As clear as my own.

I am Dee

I am 12 years old

I received a letter from my parents at 6th grade breakfast

saying how proud they are of me.

saying “the doctors said you’d never write, run, ice skate…”
“look how wrong they were!” they say, pleased.

I think, “Do you know how hard that was for me?”

“Do you know how hard I worked at that?”

I am simultaneously proud and alienated.

Santa, the Tooth Fairy and now this?

How do you follow that up, Ma?  

How do you follow that up, Dad?

I am Aisling Violet

I am 16 years old.

I have just left Special Ed.

I am Wiccan, a poet, an artist,

a debater, a fencer…

I stand strong on my own two feet

I turn my heel when things are not right

I fix what I can, I accept what I can’t.

I am very much alive but dead inside.

I am Dani

I am 18 years old

I play tag at midnight with my friends

I go to the movies

I play laser tag,

anything to keep me away

from home

with the constant litany of poor me

the constant chatter, the constant arguing which leaves me hiding in my room sobbing

and writing

I have retreated to my own world.

and now I am leaving for points unknown.

I am leaving for the Sault.

I will not return.

I am Danielle Dunne

I am 19 years old

I am in the hospital

watching the clock on the wall between feedings of my baby girl

I am still a child

and I have a child.

I have become everything my husband to be wants me to be

I have no individual identity

I do not stand on my own two feet

I stand on his and allow him to lead.

I am Danielle Renee Brown

I am 22 years old

I am a battered woman

I am finding my strength

I have no vehicle of my own

I spend my time with my daughter at home

Trying to educate her as best I can

and show her this behavior from a man is not acceptable

that she’ll be stronger than me

I survive on one meal a week, that my daughter can eat the rest of them

I binge when food is available, then do not eat for a week.

I have started yoga, I have started classes even though

I am told I will never be allowed to have more than an associate’s

I am not happy, but I am coping

I see no other way.

I am Danielle Renee Dunne

I am 24 years old

I have moved in with my college boyfriend

we have a dog and 8 pet rats

we are both majoring in Journalism

we work at the student paper

we both have our identities,

and when I cannot stand on my own feet he offers me a cane

he saved me

he drove in the middle of the night and saved me

all the way to Toledo.

We are so very happy.

he is my soulmate

we remember our past lives together

have relations at least twice a day

I am Danielle Renee Domanski

I am 25 years old

I was married in March, our son was born in April

my life is so happy and full

I cannot believe this is real.

This is my dream come real

My daughter is a bit needy, but my children are perfect

the neighbors downstairs scare me

I hear echoes of my former life from below

and I want to reach out but…

my life is so full and so beautiful.

I cannot bear to look away, it may change and…

I may wake up and realize this was all a dream.

I am Danielle Renee Domanski

I am 32 years old

I have four children.

I can’t believe I have four children.

Seriously, when the hell did I get four kids?

Who said this was ok?

Where is my husband?

Where am I?

Who is this man sleeping next to me?

Where did my knight in shining armor go?

is he really a retard in tin foil?

How will I drive these children around?

And my husband, how will I transport him?

On the roof of the car?

He can’t drive or anything, barely knows his name half the time

and what’s this now that he’s been molesting my daughter?

Who’s life is this anyway?

I WANT OUT.

But he’s in there somewhere.  My knight, my handsome keeper

He’s in there somewhere.

Where are you, Paul?  Where did you go?

My name is Danielle Renee

I am 34 years old

He’s in jail

I put him there

and there he must stay

my bed is empty, and I am so lonely and sad

looking and the memories of lives long past and wishing

for one more kiss

and one more dance,

and I cry all of the time

my sons are gone

my daughter I only see when I drive

to the other side of the state

I have taken in some college girls to ease my pain

but nothing helps.

I am Dani

I am a fuck bunny

use my body

for I am worthless

there is nothing to me anymore

my soulmate might as well be dead

and here I am, still alive, still out, still breathing

I had to do this, to protect my daughter.

forget I mentioned my daughter

just make my worthless body worth something

fuck me

allow me to pleasure you

for that is all I am worth.

I am Danielle Renee

I just am.

I remember back to when I was happy

and alone

in my bedroom

when the only world I had to understand

was my own

and I remember

and I understand

and I live there.

I am moving away from this hell hole

that was my dream

turned perfect nightmare

I am Danielle Renee

and I really really really don’t want to fall for you

so I am going to pretend to pay half attention to your words…

but then I realized you write in a way that I enjoy reading

you write how my heart feels

and so I tentatively look into your eyes and

FUCK.

I am Danielle Renee Dunne, Again.

and this is my continuing story.

I have restarted my life so many times now

that it seems strange to continue from last save.

but here I am

continuing.

Save points corrupted, but happy for the first time in 10 years

still lost

still finding my way.

with my new love beside me

my new husband sleeping soundly

as I attempt to sleep

and find myself restlessly dreaming again

of the adventures we’ll have tomorrow.

I am completely and wholly myself, with all the former lives mixed in, for better

or worse.

I am.

I'm pretty sure I'm drowning, but I have to.

A lot of folks try to save me from drowning,  and not too many of them realize that I must in order to grieve.   It doesn't make me happy,  either.   It is what has to happen though. I have many things in my life that fulfill me and make me happy,  but there is an emptiness to all of this,  a sort of post apocalyptic settling of dust that comes up around me.
Sometimes though,  I just need to feel empty.   It's not about drama or sadness,  it's about processing what has happened and continuing the journey forward though the depths.
This doesn't mean I do not have my down days,  I do,  like anyone else.   There are days when I miss him still,  which conflicts me greatly because I am still somewhat angry about what happened.

There are gifts in the depths though.   My daughter is a strong young woman and she'll just keep getting stronger with time and experience. This doesn't make her experience any less terrible or traumatic, it just lends credence to the continuing lessons of the world.  I hate that my daughter has gone though but I love the strength she's gained...  Small blessings.
When you find yourself in these impossible situations you look for the helpers like Mr. Rogers always said. This is the way we process.

I have worked some insane hours at work this week,  had a terrible couple of days,  featuring 14-18 hour days of me bringing work home.
And all I could think of, as I used to in the times before is how much my family was depending on me. This time though it was my daughter and step kids that I thought about. Everytime I thought of walking out the door,  I thought of them.
Also I've started planning my new tattoo.  It is the equation for entropy. It symbolizes my son,  Evan. For Dan,  I want to get a traditional heart with a banner,  but instead of saying mom,  I want it to say Mum,  because that's what he called me and always changed my mii name to on our wii.  For Tom,  I simply want to get the name "Tom",  but looking like it was drawn on in green crayon. He loves to put letters together and make words,  Tabbers loved to write his name over and over again and his favorite color was green. It still is I'm told.
It's odd to talk about them in past tense.
I wish I could just make sense of this.

It's ok

The hardest things are not the things you'd realize right away.
I talk a lot in public about how my daughter is coping and about how various family members are dealing with our loss.  This is my place.

Sure, I think every parent at some time or another thinks, "I should get away from here." Some fantasize about just an hour, or a week away from their kids, some longer.  My fantasy was a day or two in the woods completely by myself hiking.  Only the skill of my wit and outdoors training.
Spoiler alert on how that would have ended: I have no outdoors training to speak of.  I am a pack a day smoker, do not remember to hydrate myself or feed myself on a regular basis, until I get sick or pass out.

I think one of the hardest things about this whole scenario is that there are not training manuals written for it.  There are no self help books for it.  You are alone, out to sea, grieving.  When people talk about their kids, (which most parents do, and most folks in the work force now a days ARE parents,) you are stuck deciding if you want to tell them that you have kids, or not.  And they'll ask the kids ages, and you stumble on it because you haven't seen them in so long.

Over time, their names and birthdates become marks on a page.  There are no pictures, and the best you get are pictures from your facebook from 3 years ago or more.

And sometimes you'll break down and tell these co workers all you have experienced, and they stare at you, mouth agape, not sure what to say.

After a while, you try to help them and say "no one knows quite what to say about all of it, but really I'm ok.  I'm coping."  You comfort back.  You've been living this for so long now that you are numb to it.

When in truth, on the inside you feel like running back to your office and crying.  You gulp down that slight moment of unexplained asthma; that feeling you get just before you break down into a hysterical fit where you can't breathe.  And you choke, cough, and move on with your day.  You hope no one notices your mis-step.

No one wants to see you sad.  No one wants to see you cry, but that's all you can think to do in that moment.  However, you are at work, in a cube farm where every conversation is overheard.  You play the fun girl, you play the party girl, you get involved in all sorts of work place politicking because you aren't afraid to make an ass of yourself.
ANYTHING to distract you from that asthma.  Anything to stop the pain momentarily.
You tell your boss you have comp time, (because you do) and you leave inexplicably in the middle of very average, very normal days, because you just can't today.

And your psychologist tells you it's just a "situational depression" But, the situation is still going on in the periphery of your life.  It hangs over you like a cloud.  But you are an ADULT damn it, so you are going to adult so hard that no one has ever seen such an adult.

But then, the sadness sneaks in again, and you try to find another distraction.

Just save it until you can deal with it, or until the situation clears up.  But it never clears up.  It is in a lot of ways worse than the death of a child.  At least then, you know there is no possibility of running into them with their new parents on the other side of town.  You don't worry about why the adoptive parents need a police escort and wonder silently if someone has been threatening them or your children-- sorry, their children.
If someone is dead, they can simultaneously be the safest they'll ever be, and also the most unsafe.
They are not alive anymore.  There is no possibility of reunification.  I could get a call tomorrow that the adoptive parents have had a radical change of heart, and my hiatus is over.
I could get the call next week, next month, next year.... or I could never get it.  Limbo, and not the fun kind where you dress in Hawaiian Luau gear and lean under a stick.

I mean yes, as far as I know my kids are healthy and safe, but like any mother I worry when I'm not around.  I don't see them, there are no pictures up on facebook anymore, I'm blocked from any of their other social media, (they shouldn't have any at their age, but they do, but again, I'm not their parent anymore.) 
I have literally NO contact, no way to know if they are ok.  The best I get is when I write to the accused and he tells me how they are doing... because he gets to talk to them on the telephone.
Yes, that's right, the pedophile ex gets to talk to his kids on the phone, but I don't.  

I don't dare alienate him if I ever want to hear about ANYTHING going on in my kid's lives.

If I want my daughter to be happy and healthy, I am not supposed to speak to him, even her superficial knowledge that I have contacted him makes her very upset, she often acts out after finding out about it, (whether or not I tell her, she knows.)  

I have not yet contacted him since the case is over.  I don't want to start it up again for my daughter.  I feel worse for her than I do for myself at this point, those were her brothers, and she loved them more than anything.  Sure, they got on her nerves, but she really truly felt they hung the moon.

Before you shout how unfair it is... because no doubt, it isn't fair, remember something important.  Shouting that it isn't fair doesn't suddenly make the fair police come out and make things equal and correct.  Being fair doesn't mean justice gets served.  Being fair is a judgement.  What you judge fair I may not judge fair.  Justice, like all of the best things in the world, is subjective.

No vote, no world leader, no higher ranking officer can make this right.

I could write to the President of the US and he couldn't do anything to help.  It just is.  And, believe it or not, that's ok.

I miss my sons.  I cry for them every day at least for 5 minutes.  I know however that this has happened for some reason that I won't understand until several years in the future.

I just have to be patient and wait...Any day now...Any day now.

The things that take you by surprise... A song you used to listen to with the kids in the car comes on unexpectedly, sometimes it triggers a pain in your chest and a deep crying fit, sometimes you smile and think of the past, a time when all you needed to do was turn around to see the smiling little boy in his car seat.

It's ok, this happened for some reason.  I must be selfless.  My kids need stability more than they need me.  It becomes a mantra.

It's ok.  It's ok.  And believe it or not, over time, it is ok.  We are playing our roles in fate.  And for those who do not believe in fate, what has happened cannot unhappen.  I can't just wish this away.  So we come to the same mantra.

It is ok.