How See's Candies Made Me Cry, 16 November 2012

Today is the only day I made an appearance in court this week.  It seemed best to me not to ride the roller coaster of hearing defense witnesses examined and cross-examined, and I really needed to catch up on dishes, laundry, and tickles with the kids (not to mention catching up on naps).

When I gave an outline of the trial in my last post, I rather hopefully stated that closing arguments as to guilt would be given today and that the jury would be able to start deliberations.  As sometimes happens, the defense was allowed to add a last-minute witness who is not available to testify until Tuesday the 20th, so today was a short day of testimony in court.  Hopefully, Tuesday will be the day for closing arguments, and maybe the jury can even come back with a verdict before holiday time at the end of next week ("Thanksgiving," for any readers not familiar with our autumn holiday tradition; it involves much eating).

So other than this morning, today was a fairly regular day.  I did homework with G, ate leftovers for lunch with the kids, and finally got the pile of clean clothes off the living room floor and into dressers.

Jay's dad--who's been in court all week long, bless his heart--needed some grandson therapy and wanted to give us a little break, so he took the boys before dinnnertime to stay at his house overnight.  Jay and I promptly kicked up our heels and went on a hot, steamy date!  Well...we thought about going on a hot, steamy date, but we ended up meeting at a greasy spoon restaurant between running separate errands.  The average age of the restaurant's clientele was about 125 years old, and the decaf coffee tasted like battery acid, but I got pancakes and Jay got buffalo wings and we could still sneak some kisses behind the menu, so it's all good.  (Besides, 125-year-olds are so adorable.)

From there, Jay headed out to guys' night, but I felt restless.  I didn't want to sit at home by myself, but I didn't want to sit and have a conversation with anyone, either.  Then I hit upon the perfect middle ground: the mall!  There I could be surrounded by people but wouldn't have to talk with anyone.  Perfect!

While at the mall, I detoured into a See's Candies store, because sampling a free chocolate seemed highly appropriate for my evening.  (You've forgotten by now that I had pancakes for dinner, right?  Good.)  While the lady uniformed in white and black behind the counter pulled out a maple bon bon for me, I broke out of my introverted mold momentarily and mentioned wistfully that See's always reminds me of my mom.  "Oh, did she used to work here?" the lady asked casually.  "No," I replied, "she just loved this chocolate."  The lady's face softened and she asked, "Is she still with us?"

My friendly smile quivered a little when I said she wasn't.  "Mine isn't either," she revealed gently, and asked if the bon bon was my mom's favorite.  When I said that actually, the milk chocolate-covered cherry was, she snatched up another candy wrapper and said briskly, "Well, I think you need one of those too, then.  You eat it, and you look upward, and you say, 'This is for you, Mama.'  You make that your new tradition.  You eat that cherry candy and say, 'This is for you.'"

Today may be the only day in my life that being handed a bag of chocolate made me cry, and it is very probably the only time that I'll get a hug from a See's Candies employee.  Then again, it may not be, because she told me to come into the store anytime I wanted to eat a candy for my mom, and she'd get it for me.  :-)

Personally, I'd rather go with dark chocolate, but this was Mom's fav.  She had a whole strategy of just the right way to take a bite and slurp out some of the syrup without dripping any of it on herself.

And this is what is so amazing about an unexpected life.  This morning in court I was feet away from a family member who has sided with the evils of the world, and this evening I was embraced by a complete stranger who is seeking out the joys.

I say "a complete stranger," but the See's lady isn't really a stranger at all.  She is a sister in grief--and who knows?  Perhaps the tradition she suggested I make will stick, and I'll continue going back for the cherries...and the hugs.

Court's In Session, 10 November 2012

Today I woke up around 7:30 a.m. after eight hours of sleep; was awake for three hours or so; and went back to bed, sleeping for another three hours.

When people ask how I'm doing after being in court all week, my standard response is, "Very, very tired."  People all react differently to intense emotional situations.  Some cry, some exercise hard, some need to be surrounded by friends, some need to hide by themselves, some get indigestion, some eat too much, some eat too little, and so-on.  I've experienced every one of those responses at one time or another, but my main reaction is physical fatigue.  I told my sister Claire this afternoon (after my nap) that I feel physically like I'm recovering from the flu, my muscles all weak and a little shaky.

Although I use pseudonyms and conceal specific geographic locations in this blog, I hesitate to convey specifics about the trial while it is going on, on the chance that some reader might somehow be connected to a juror or a witness and put two and two together.  The public defender (aka the defense attorney) already tried calling for a mistrial last week--denied, thankfully--so I don't want to mess with a touchy situation.  I can give details after it's all over.

Maybe sitting in the courtroom would be slightly less exhausting if it were as beautiful as this

However, I can tell you a few general things and some things about myself.

The trial will probably last until the end of December, taking into account time for jury deliberation, Thanksgiving, and a week off at the beginning of December.  There will actually be two separate periods of jury deliberation.  Here's the layout:

Week 1: The People (aka the Prosecution aka the District Attorney) present their case as to the defendant's (aka Jay's brother) guilt and premeditation.  This is the week I just attended, and in which Jay and his other two siblings testified.

Week 2 (this coming week): The Defense presents their side of the story Wednesday through Friday, speckled with testimony from rebuttal witnesses from the People.  Friday afternoon, both sides present closing arguments and the jury begins deliberations.

Week 3: The jury continues deliberations and hopefully returns a verdict.  They will be deciding on guilt/innocence and degree.

Weeks 4 and following: If the jury returns with a "guilty" verdict, everyone reconvenes (same jury) and the Defense presents their case as to the defendant's insanity at the time of the crime.  The the People counter with their witnesses, testifying to the defendant's sanity.  (As a quick aside, legal "insanity" is not the same as mental illness; it means the perpetrator was incapable of knowing what he was doing at the time.)  Then they give closing arguments again, the jury deliberates and returns a verdict of sane/insane, and everyone goes home.  Then, depending on the verdict of course, in January or February the judge will decide on sentencing.

It all sounds so dry when I type it out like this, but every minute in that courtroom is packed with electric tension.  "What is the jury thinking about?  Why is the defendant making that facial expression?  Will the witness speak clearly or break down sobbing?  Will the judge sustain or overrule this objection?  Will this evidence be compelling or be ruled irrelevant?  Are the people on the jury paying attention or just interested in getting through the process as quickly as possible?  How would things be different if this had all never happened?  Did this all really happen?"

And of course, it did all really happen, although writing about it somehow makes it feel a little less real.  I guess that's good for now, because there's absolutely nothing I can do to make the case go one way or another, nothing I can do to change the circumstances, and nothing I can do to make it all hurry up and go away.

I can, however, eat chocolate and take naps!  And go for walks and cuddle with my kids and talk with friends about my feelings and cozy up on the couch with Jay to watch movies.  And more importantly, continue to pray for peace and healing, because that's what we all really need  most anyway.

P.S. I am not attending court next week to listen to the Defense's witnesses.  Nothing about doing that feels healthy or productive to me.  So I'll have a normal week at home.  Well, as normal as can be expected...which isn't really saying anything at all!

Murder Trial Begins Tomorrow, 05 November 2012

Tomorrow is known as Voting Day for 99.99999999% of our country's population, but to my family, tomorrow has been named Trial Day.

It has been one year and a week since Jay's mom was killed in her home.  The only suspect there has ever been is Jay's youngest brother, who has been incarcerated for this whole time.  I have only seen the defendant once since the incident: he was shackled and dressed in orange, and I saw him across the courtroom during a preliminary hearing.  Tomorrow, he will be dressed in a suit, but he will still be sitting across the courtroom from me, next to his lawyer, whose job is to convince twelve total strangers that he is 1) innocent of the crime and 2) if he's not innocent of the crime, he was insane and shouldn't be held responsible.

I've never seen a trial before.  I've never sat on a jury; and to be honest, most of what I know about these things comes from Hollywood (a real reliable source right there).  But tomorrow, I will watch as Jay's other brother and sister are questioned and cross-examined on the stand about the last words they had with their mom and what they did and saw, and the next day I will hear Jay asked about the same.  There will be police officers, EMTs, and DNA specialists interviewed.  Through testimonies, the district attorney will be piecing together a picture for the jury of what happened, and the public defender will be doing her best to rip it apart.

My mother-in-law's last hours, minutes, and seconds will be discussed in agonizing detail.  And twelve people who are stuck on this case (witting or unwitting though they may be) for the next 6-8 weeks have to listen to it all.

Fortunately for me, I can listen to as much or as little of it as I want.  I've decided to make plans to attend every day this week, accompanied by a relay of dear friends, while other friends and family stay at home with my boys.  But if I want to, I can leave after the first 10 minutes of the first day and never go back.

So how do I feel about all of this?  Nervous.  The kind of sad that's a physical, dull ache behind the frontal lobe.  Braced.  A little queasy.  Preoccupied.  And so very, very, very sad.

I find myself still asking the question, “Why did this happen????  What good can possibly come out of this??  How does this tragedy fulfill God's greater purpose for the world?”  Honestly, I hope I find out someday.  But I guess for now I just have to keep taking it one day at a time, leaning on the things I do know, that:

• God dearly loves every person, but He lets us make our own choices—which sometimes hurt each other in awful ways.
• God is with me every second, and He weeps when I weep.
• There is a bigger picture, and although I feel like I'm in a little boat in the middle of the ocean, not even able to see over the waves, God can see the whole globe and cares for every person in it.
• My mother-in-law and my mom and countless others who love Him are with the person of Jesus this very second, safe and sound and in total peace and joy...and someday I'll be there with them.

But not today, and most-likely not tomorrow.  Tomorrow I'm going to be on a wooden seat in a small room, clutching a tissue and feeling sick to my stomach.  But I will not be alone.  No, I will not be alone.  And while the district attorney paints a picture of Jay's mom dying alone at the hands of her attacker, I know she wasn't really alone either.  Jesus was there, holding her soul in His loving, scarred hands, and He was weeping.

Twelve Years of Memories, 31 October 2012

Today I am thinking about my mother-in-law.  Today marks twelve months since we learned that she had been killed; and although she officially died on October 30th, the 31st is the day I began mourning for her.

Everyone grieves differently, and Jay was telling me that he didn't feel any particular extra grief approaching this date, but it helps me to take some time to sit down and remember her, so even though my brain would probably be better off in bed at this early hour, my heart needs to be here.

My first memory of Mom—as I called her from the first point I joined their family—is a bit fuzzy, to be honest.  I remember seeing Jay's family join him in our university dining hall for breakfast one weekend.  At the time, Jay and I were peripheral friends, belonging to the same Bible study but running in different social circles, but it was always fun to see families of fellow students.  The reason my first memory of Mom is fuzzy is because I was so shocked by how much Jay's dad looked and acted like him.  I can still see Dad standing by the salad bar, and me feeling slightly freaked out at their similarity.

The next memory happened about a year later, during our Sophomore year.  Jay invited a few friends to his family's home for a movie and snacks one evening, and amusingly, my memory of Mom is eclipsed by Jay's dad here, too!  At the time, I was “watching” Jay, trying to figure out if he had more-than-just-friends feelings toward me, and during the movie night his dad chatted me up a bit and enthusiastically pointed out how much the family dog seemed to like me.  (Real subtle, Dad, haha!)  But I know Mom was there in the background, making sure everyone was comfortable and well-fed.

Fast-forward about six months; and it's not that my next memory of Mom is fuzzy, it's that I don't think I actually saw her at all.  I was preparing to go abroad for a semester, and in the month before I left, I took a walk with Jay one afternoon to have a good long DTR (“define the relationship”).  It was about dinner time when we finished up our conversation, and he popped into his house for a minute before I drove away.  When he came back out he said, “My mom would like to invite you to stay for dinner!  She's cooking lamb.”  Although I declined the invitation, I felt incredibly warmed that she would think to include me in their family meal (and maybe I should have stayed—I love lamb!).

Memory Number Four again takes place in our university dining hall.  This time, Jay and I were not peripheral friends: It was the morning of our first date, which would be taking place that evening.  His family joined him for breakfast, and he invited me to sit with them.  Enter here my first memory of Mom's smile!  She smiled so warmly at me throughout the meal...she was so happy that Jay was so happy, and I was happy too, and I love remembering her happy beam.

Jay and I were engaged three wonderful months later, and that summer was full of taking turns driving to see each other on the weekends.  There were many meals Mom made for me during that time, and conversations about guest lists and bridesmaid dresses, and questions about apartment-shopping, and lots more smiles.  She looked beautiful at our wedding and I cherish the photos I have of her that day.

It would take many more paragraphs if I were to recount all my Mom Memories during the ensuing nine years.  She was there for  all the milestones: My senior recital, our graduations, buying our first car, moving to our first house, vacationing as a family.  Announcing to her the coming birth of her first grandchild is a highlight among firsts for sure!  Seven months later, she and Dad were at the hospital just hours after G's birth, and she became Nana.

G—and later Z—adored their Nana, and she them.  She watched G during the day once-a-week while I worked his first year, which reminds me of one of the things I appreciated so much about her.  Although Mom obviously had her preferred way of doing things and held her own opinions, she never told me what to do, or how to change my parenting.  Watching G during the day and then later having the boys over one night a week, she was always extremely conscientious in honoring our parenting decisions and techniques.  Meanwhile, she delighted in watching the kids grow, and her sparkling laugh would bubble over when describing or hearing about their latest antics.

As her only daughter-in-law, it was my privilege to do little things for her, too.  She loved it when I cooked for her.  :-)  We had dinners at our house every so often, plus the occasional lunch I'd whip out for her if she happened to be running errands in the area.  Mom and I really bonded over food.  Jay and his Dad were in it for the conversations, sometimes forgetting to notice what was on the table, but Mom and I shared an appreciation for good food.  When she cooked for me, I made sure to voice my enjoyment, and when I served her, she made me feel like a gourmet chef!  “This looks like it could be in a restaurant!” was her highest praise, and words that I treasured.

And then I was there for some of her milestones: Their new custom house, 30th wedding anniversary, the birthdays and deaths of a number of her close family members.

But as many memories as I have of Mom, she beat me by having the first memory of the two of us.  A few years after Jay and I were married, Mom shared the following story with me.

“It was your first semester of college, and Jay took us into the dorm to introduce us to people.  In the dorm lounge, you and two other girls were sitting next to each other on a couch.  Jay told us your names and we moved on to the next thing.  The next year, when Jay sat with me and said, 'Mom, there's a girl at school I think I could be very good friends with,' I saw that couch with the three girls on it in my mind, and Rachel, your face lit up in my memory and I prayed, 'Oh Lord, please let it be her!'”

Mom, I cannot believe how blessed I have been to be called your daughter.  I so wish we could have had more firsts and seconds and thirds together, and I hate that we have lasts.  Thank you for loving me so much, even before you really knew me or knew how I would fit in your family.  I'm so glad you will always be part of mine.

Boyfriend? 04 October 2012

Today my husband had a deposition with a police sergeant and a district attorney, and my six-year old confessed that he kissed a girl.  Just a normal day, right?

As strange and heavy as it is to be involved in a murder trial, it's the kissing story that's making me reel a bit, to be honest.  Yesterday, when I picked up G from school, his teacher pulled me aside to tell me that G had been talking about kissing girls during recess.  When I broached the subject with him, he cringed and refused to talk about it.

But--O miracle of having a two-parent family--Jay was able to coax the story out of him during dinner tonight by first asking G if he was embarrassed to talk about it (he said he was) and assuring him that we wouldn't think "bad-silly" thoughts about him.  Then G smiled and said there was a girl at school who "hated him" but that he liked.  (!!!!)  And he kissed her.  !!!! "What did she do?" Jay prompted casually.  "She pulled away her arm."  This here mom breathed a sigh of relief that it was only an arm kiss, at least.  G continued, "She didn't like it because her daddy said she couldn't have a boyfriend."  !!!!!!!

He continued that sometimes she liked being around him and sometimes she didn't.  Like when they participated in a learning station during class, she enjoyed being with him, and they cuddled.  (I wanted to interrogate, "What do you mean, cuddled???" but I kept my mouth shut.)  But later she didn't want to be around him.

Jay talked about why he could kiss me--"because we're married"--and I piped up that it might make the girl nervous if G talked about kissing with her.  "It doesn't make her nervous," G retorted confidently.  "She just doesn't like me."  Then Jay led a discussion that every little and big boy should hear, and suggested that maybe G should find out what kinds of things she likes and then do those things.  My eyes widened a bit when G rattled off what kinds of things she likes to eat and how she plays, but I'll choose to perceive this as him innocently inheriting my gift of observation, rather than being a stalker in the making.

I have to admit, G was awfully cute as he smiled and talked about this girl, and as he giggled about the things he did around her.  And to be perfectly honest, I remember pretending about kissing boys when I was his age, but I certainly didn't try to kiss any of them for reals!  Come to think of it, I deliberately avoided the occasional affectionate advance.  But I had no qualms about chasing said boys around the lawn.  I better quit before I bare too many quasi-embarrassing facts.

My take-away from this is that it's good to know I have a little boy who participates in his social environments, who feels safe talking about his feelings and actions around his family, and is willing to listen to suggestions about behavior changes.  Yes, those are good things.

One last Mommy thing to add:  Little Girl who spurns my charming son's playful affection, someday you're going to look back and say wistfully, "I really liked that boy G."

My Son, the Pirate-Knight, 18 September 2012

The great thing about thrift stores ("charity stores," if you're not from around these here parts) is that they are thrifty.  This morning, Z and I dropped off G at school and started on a treasure hunt.  (Quick rabbit trail: We stopped at a seed store first, where I bought poppy and sweet pea seeds and diatomaceous-earth dust, which apparently "tears apart" the bugs who eat it, according to the shop keeper.  It's organic and it kills bugs--no oil involved--so I'm for it.  As far as the flower seeds go, I love the thought of them magically blooming in my front yard in the spring.  It might actually take magic for them to bloom, since I currently have no place prepared to plant them.  But I have a handle on the pest control, so I'm still ahead.)

A great thing about thrift stores at this time of year is that they have racks of costumes and shelves of accessories, ranging from padded Pooh Bear toddler outfits to adult-size Darth Vader suits, and everything in between.  While I searched for potential birthday gifts for G (hey, he won't know it's been used), Z discovered his own treasures.

When I turned around from pawing through a rack, there was a 3.5-foot tall pirate staring at me, complete with three-cornered black hat, plastic cutlass, and huge grin.

His weapon of choice basically looked like this

Throughout the rest of my browsing, Young Pirate followed me around in his garb; I think he didn't poke any of the other shoppers with the sword.  Before leaving, his eye caught two other treasures: One was a plastic knight's helmet and the other a heavy sword (still plastic, but much more substantial).

The sword he found was slightly shorter and slightly more plastic than this image, but not by much

Z immediately decided that G should receive the pirate hat and large sword, while he would keep the cutlass and switch to the helmet.  But Rachel draws a line on bringing home weapons that could break the other weapons already at home, so I said "no" to that but "yes" to the pirate hat, the cutlass, and the helmet, adding a total of $2.37 to the pile of practical things already in my cart.

"Oh, your total is just a few cents away from qualifying for the $10-off coupon!" the unwitting cashier pointed out.  "Do you want to grab something else?"

Sigh.  Did I buy the 10-cent plastic farm animal sitting on the counter?  As if drawn by an unstoppable force, I fetched the barely-plastic $1.99 sword and added it to the pile.  "Well Z," I conceded, "I guess G gets his sword after all!"

There is something truly delightful about a small child smooshed under a plastic helmet, calling out brashly, "Here's your sword Mommy!  Try and get me!  I'm wearing a helmet so you can't, haha!"  How could I resist?  I grabbed the black pirate hat and the Scary Sword and we began the battle.  Of course, it's impossible for Mommy to win, because if she thwacks a leg, it grows back; and if she gets too close, she's declared captured and hauled off to jail (AKA the bench in the entryway); and if she tries to escape, she's bound with invisible chains.

Z in his "knight cap," as he refers to it

Eventually, I switched sides and joined the Allies, just in time for G to arrive home from school and claim his rights to the new toys.  I sauntered out to the driveway to meet the carpool--oh wait!  Was I still brandishing a sword and sporting a pirate hat?  Giggles from the interior of the van and a smile from the driver revealed that I was.

To end this seedy tale I fast-forward to bedtime tonight.  I went to the living room to find Z, who stood slightly-hunched over with his hands inside his pajama pants.  Before I had time to even imagine what he could be doing in such a position, he straightened up and pulled his hand out from under the waistband...with a cutlass as long as his legs following!  Being a mother of boys, I'm sure I will be shocked many times over the years, but nothing had quite prepared me to see a 2.5-foot sword--hilt and all--rise out of the recesses of a small boy's pajama bottoms.

Methinks that any day which includes pirates, knights, and giggles is a good day.  And now a good-night to ye, mateys!

A "First" Birthday, 13 September 2012

Today I made it through another First.  Today was my first birthday since Jay's mom passed away; it was my third birthday since my mom died.

For those of you who have had close relationships with your moms, I don't need to explain the significance of little traditions that paint a birthday--the phone call with your mom singing Happy Birthday, or being served a dinner of your favorite dishes, or a card being pressed into your hand. Having a birthday when some of those elements are missing is disorienting and--for me at least--sad.

And yet it's still fun to have a birthday and be treated with extra hugs and gifts and cards, so the day is a very mixed bag of feelings.  One moment I'll be dancing around the room to some tunes and then next moment I'll be crying when I receive a phone call that isn't my mom.

Tomorrow I hope to write about the ways I "mothered myself," to borrow a psychological term, and made the day into what I needed it to be.  Since this is a blog about mostly today, I just wanted to write this quick note tonight to say that I made it through today...and I am still able to look forward to tomorrow.