It's been some time since I last posted anything to my blog. Kept it hidden for my own venal reasons. This will be the third and final post to my blog on the topic of home invasion robberies. Since my last post there was a horrible crime committed in Connecticut. The Wm. Petit family was murdered, raped & set on fire in the sanctity of their own home. Men with guns. How I hate those words. Moral men with guns is one thing. We call them cops. But just 'men' with guns has every American endangered.
The damage a #HIR wreaks upon a family is sudden, loud, violent, bloody, surreal, you are terrified for your kids & spouse. But even if you survive, the damage is just as real as death. I wish there were a 'god' to help us. But there is not. If we are made in 'his' image, then 'god' perpetrates these violent acts upon 'his' people, whom he loves above all else.
They asked Dr. Petit if he was glad he was alive and he gave the pat answer, but the real answer was in his eyes. He'll never feel safe anywhere for a long time. I don't even feel safe in a new home, in a 'god' fearing small town, a quiet neighborhood. No. I still have a .45 on the premises. And I ditched my husband. Now I practice with that gun. I want to be ready. If it happens again, I will be ready. They will drop in the house. They will not get away. it is self defense. My home. Their bad. I'll flip the tables on the perps.
So it follows that i trust very few people. When I was in hospital for a month getting ready for my kidney removal, it was very hard to even trust the nurses, doctors, priests, parents, friends. I felt like I was finishing up the dying part of the breakin at the hospital. "You want to give me the last rites, mom? Ok fine." "Any priest will do, right," my mother tentatively inquired. "No, mother. We're going to give these people a show. Get me a Greek priest."
It was, even though an atheist, a magnificent bit of theater. Incenses, holy water, saintly relics, purple, lots of purple and that strange tongue. He circled my body several times. It was mysterious. I didn't know what was happening, really. It made my mother happy. It would've been a rotten time to ruin it for the audience and scream from the mountain top that I was a big, fat atheist. By this time, in #ICU, no one was listening to me unless I ASKED for a holy man. I should've asked for a Rastafarian. Imagine that.
I hated my husband for years. After all the robbery happened because he didn't shut a door. That's sneevy, though. There are plenty of other things to be mad at him about. A home invasion robbery is like a hurricane, a tsunami, an act of god. You know your life will never be the same. We had a 9 year old son. After everyone was patched up at the hospital, had it not been for the apartment I had in Lodi, my young son would've had to spend the night where the trauma began. But he was spared that.
NIck, my ex husband stayed a few safe, peaceful, blissful days in Lodi, but had to go back to the Stockton house where he dope was growing. And I think that is where the fissure occurred. Josh would never be able to VISIT his dad at his dad's home anymore according to the my son's shrink.
We tried to make the marriage work with two different homes. But that didn't work out. As the 'season's' of growing require the adamant attention of the gardener. As my son grew, he saw this as a choice his dad made because he did not want to see him. So Josh decided not to see his dad.
I was just all fucked up forever. Energy. I barely have enough to get out of bed, do the housework, cooking, teaching, cleaning the yard, shrinking my son. He is 16 years old now. Today his dad was over with some art he made for me to look at. There's no one else in his life that know that much about art. Josh had not spoken with his dad for 2 years. My son just has trouble with males in his life. Any male. The one male who was supposed to be able to save him from ANYthing, his father, was over come, pistol whipped, shot, beaten, dragged ... but TODAY, he invited his dad to Xmas Dinner.
That's the trouble with psychiatry and children. Until their brain ages to 25 years old, it is very difficult to treat them: with meds and or therapy.
My husband and I are not reconciling. Josh will always be suspicious of men, because of the 'men with guns' who broke in. And me. I have serious trust issues. And they make me feel safe. And this is the first time in my life that I've felt this way.
(conclusion, Part 3)
The damage a #HIR wreaks upon a family is sudden, loud, violent, bloody, surreal, you are terrified for your kids & spouse. But even if you survive, the damage is just as real as death. I wish there were a 'god' to help us. But there is not. If we are made in 'his' image, then 'god' perpetrates these violent acts upon 'his' people, whom he loves above all else.
They asked Dr. Petit if he was glad he was alive and he gave the pat answer, but the real answer was in his eyes. He'll never feel safe anywhere for a long time. I don't even feel safe in a new home, in a 'god' fearing small town, a quiet neighborhood. No. I still have a .45 on the premises. And I ditched my husband. Now I practice with that gun. I want to be ready. If it happens again, I will be ready. They will drop in the house. They will not get away. it is self defense. My home. Their bad. I'll flip the tables on the perps.
So it follows that i trust very few people. When I was in hospital for a month getting ready for my kidney removal, it was very hard to even trust the nurses, doctors, priests, parents, friends. I felt like I was finishing up the dying part of the breakin at the hospital. "You want to give me the last rites, mom? Ok fine." "Any priest will do, right," my mother tentatively inquired. "No, mother. We're going to give these people a show. Get me a Greek priest."
It was, even though an atheist, a magnificent bit of theater. Incenses, holy water, saintly relics, purple, lots of purple and that strange tongue. He circled my body several times. It was mysterious. I didn't know what was happening, really. It made my mother happy. It would've been a rotten time to ruin it for the audience and scream from the mountain top that I was a big, fat atheist. By this time, in #ICU, no one was listening to me unless I ASKED for a holy man. I should've asked for a Rastafarian. Imagine that.
I hated my husband for years. After all the robbery happened because he didn't shut a door. That's sneevy, though. There are plenty of other things to be mad at him about. A home invasion robbery is like a hurricane, a tsunami, an act of god. You know your life will never be the same. We had a 9 year old son. After everyone was patched up at the hospital, had it not been for the apartment I had in Lodi, my young son would've had to spend the night where the trauma began. But he was spared that.
NIck, my ex husband stayed a few safe, peaceful, blissful days in Lodi, but had to go back to the Stockton house where he dope was growing. And I think that is where the fissure occurred. Josh would never be able to VISIT his dad at his dad's home anymore according to the my son's shrink.
We tried to make the marriage work with two different homes. But that didn't work out. As the 'season's' of growing require the adamant attention of the gardener. As my son grew, he saw this as a choice his dad made because he did not want to see him. So Josh decided not to see his dad.
I was just all fucked up forever. Energy. I barely have enough to get out of bed, do the housework, cooking, teaching, cleaning the yard, shrinking my son. He is 16 years old now. Today his dad was over with some art he made for me to look at. There's no one else in his life that know that much about art. Josh had not spoken with his dad for 2 years. My son just has trouble with males in his life. Any male. The one male who was supposed to be able to save him from ANYthing, his father, was over come, pistol whipped, shot, beaten, dragged ... but TODAY, he invited his dad to Xmas Dinner.
That's the trouble with psychiatry and children. Until their brain ages to 25 years old, it is very difficult to treat them: with meds and or therapy.
My husband and I are not reconciling. Josh will always be suspicious of men, because of the 'men with guns' who broke in. And me. I have serious trust issues. And they make me feel safe. And this is the first time in my life that I've felt this way.
(conclusion, Part 3)
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