Betty Jane

I remember the day so vividly, June 26, 2004 changed everything…

I woke to the knocking on my bedroom door and managed to open my eyes enough to see the alarm clock that read 5:00 am. My senses came to life after hearing my cousin JW say it’s not good get up and come next door. Next door was my grandparents house, I got up, found some flip flops and walked down the drive over the little bridge that connected my yard with my grandparents yard and around the front to the door behind JW. I walked in turned right into the living and walked to the dining room to see everyone surrounding my grandmother in the hospital bed she had sleep in because she could no longer get up the stairs. I’ll never forget the noise he her gargling and the blake stare she had on her face. I held her hand and told her I loved her as we all came the realization that this was the end.
Within a half hour the ambulance arrived, no lights, no sirens. I curled myself up on the far corner on the couch closet to the window where a end table held a picture collage I made for Gram I gave to her the past Christmas. I held it and never let it go for the rest of the day. I watched as she was taken out of the house through the living room the way I walked in just minutes before. It was all surreal.
We all got up and followed behind in a three vehicles, Gramp went with Gram in the ambulance. We arrived at the ER where she was in a room by herself. The doctor came and hung his head low after just a glance. He gave her something to quiet the gargling and too remove the pain. They then transferred her to a single room big enough to hold the family. Throughout the day visitors of her closest friends and other family members walked in and out. We told stories that made us laugh, that made us cry, but most of all made us remember who we could never forget.
She held on until midmorning. We were in the middle of a story when Gramp said “I think she’s gone.” The monitors went blank with straight lines and loud dial, the nurse came in and stated the time of death. Gramp was holding her hand has he put is head down and sobbed just for a few minutes. We all did the same. The tears only lasted a couple minutes, we stopped and said she knew it was time to go. We shared the stories she needed to hear before she left and she did so in the presence of family and friends.
That didn’t end our day when she left. We stayed at the hospital for most of the day. One of my cousins way on her way and we couldn’t tell her while she was driving that Gram was already gone. Around 1:00 pm she came to hospital where my Aunt met her at the door and stopped her before going into the room. She didn’t need the words; she already knew why. We all sobbed again for a few minutes, before she could go in the room she let it all out before she entered. She went over to Gram and said “I love you.” Our stories continued for most of the day before eventually we started to take shifts in going home.
It was time to go home, we have all yet to shower, get dressed, and process what happened. I couldn’t go without saying goodbye. I didn’t cry but the tears formed. My mom had her arm around me as I stood on my grandmothers right side. I kissed her forehead and said I love you. She was so frail and cold, her forehead seemed large, her hair thinned from her cancer treatments, hers cheeks sunken in, pale, and her eyes were closed. Although this was one of the last times I saw her physical body this is never how I remember her. I still never let go the picture frame I made her. As we walked out the room we said to each other “she would never say goodbye so see you later Gram.”
Once we got into our SUV I just held the frame in my hands and my head pressed against the glass staring out the window. I don’t think I ever say anything outside as my eyes and mind were clouded from that realism of what happened early that morning. She was gone.
We pulled into the driveway and I went straight to my room and got out this box. This box contained my memories of life on paper, I kept cards, pictures, things, anything I wanted to keep for the rest of my life was in this box. I took out all the pictures I had of Gram and put them all on my bed and then I crawled onto my bed made myself into a ball, held the pictures on my chest and cried. The first time I really myself sob over what happened. I just needed the time to let it go and thats what I did for an hour before I felt strong enough to get up and finally take a shower and get dressed that day. That day changed everything.
The next few days were a blur. The funeral arrangements started to be implemented. She already had planned. During this time I clinched to my writings, its how I coped, its how I expressed my feelings because I didn’t want to talk about it. The night came of her wake. It didn’t surprise us but we were still amazed of the people she touched and how many people came to show her the respect she deserved.
The next day was the funeral. It was in the church we grew up in going to when she was able to bribe us with breakfast at the New Friendly Restaurant. There were so many cars along the road with people walking into the church. Flowers that people sent were spread out among the church because there were so many. We went and sat in the front row and the service began.
She requested to play Amazing Grace. She would always ask me to play it on my guitar, it was one of the only songs I knew and it had always been her favorite even. We stood and sang the song and I remember staring at the floor having a hard time lifting my eyes. Most of us got up and said something, some stories many us laugh, others made you cry but I couldn’t find my tears that day not until I got up to the podium and read this poem named “Gram do you remember?” I didn’t sob or really cry but the tears held in the corners of my eyes fighting the urge to fall. I looked out and saw so many people, the pews were filled with close family and friends, the back of the church acted as a standing room and many were standing next to each other just trying to fit into the church. This was really my first time speaking in front of so many people but I knew my ability to read off a paper didn’t matter that day. So I read my poem and the last two lines is where my tears couldn’t fight anymore and fell. “Gram do you remember when you would say “I love you” and I didn’t aways say it right back. I do, and I can tell you now I love you so much and that’s a fact.” I stepped down and took my seat in the front pew.
We all knew she wouldn’t want us to dwell on her leaving so instead many people got up and told stories that made us laugh because she was full of life. Her ability to make someone smile was effortless and to make them laugh was just as easy. She would dress up on Halloween and my birthdays when I was younger. She was Barney, Minny Mouse, she was part of the Perry Girls, she played on the golf course just for the for the social game because we all knew Gram couldn’t hit a driver. She did hit a car once off of number nine tee and broke their windshield. They weren’t very happy about it but everyone else got a good laugh. She didn’t care about her game and how terrible she might have done, she went for the social life and to laugh at herself. She taught us that sometimes you just have that, laugh at yourself.
Her and Gramp lined danced and had the greatest outfits for it. She had a whole room in her house dedicated to clothes and shoes that you could barely open the door and the best part, most of the clothes still had price tags on them. She had a room full of halloween outfits that all the grandkids including myself would play with and dress up in. She was known as the Avon lady and had enough Avon boxes to build another house out of cardboard. So many stories we could tell but the one story we ended the service with was the night before she died.
It was the happiest she had been while fighting cancer. There were so many lows she fell off the couch once when she was by herself, she rarely got off the couch, she was weak and frail, but her lowest point was when she could no longer get up the stairs and needed a hospital bed because she lost all independence. It took the place of the round dining room table in the back corner of the room. When the table was there we always fought for the back chair because it involved crawling under the table. She was laying the bed and we were having a the best time. The one thing I think all of us will remember is the Klondike bar she wanted. Gramp always had ice cream and Klondike bars in the freezer in the garage. Food wasn’t the same for her since her chemo and radiation therapies but all she wanted that night was to eat a Klondike bar and she did. Her best friend just happened to stop by along with a few others. She knew her life wasn’t going to get any better than that night. It was her last party she had and one we will never lose sight of.
Gramp never left her side. Gram always took of everyone including Gramp for so long and when he had to return the duty he did so with pride. She was embarrassed by it but in our family embarrassment doesn’t last long as we are open with everything. One of the request she had when she was sick and staying at home all the time because she was too weak to go out was to have a cat. They had a couple of cats before, Kate, she lived to be 16 years old and then there was Jake, he used to watch the Price is Right with Gramp everyday at 11am by staring at TV as he laid in front of it. So that’s when KJ came about she named him after Kate and Jake together. She wanted a cat that would talk to her and she got one that never shut up. He was full of personality just like her. He laid by her side, entertained her, and was the friend she needed at times. When she past away, he never left Gramp’s side and today that’s where he remains.
The stories of her could fill the pages, she was an amazing lady and today when people say I remind them of her all I can do is smile because there is no one else I’d rather be like. For the people that knew her understand how she touched others and the spirit she left behind. We often refer to the freak accidents that would only happen to our family as her finding a way into our lives from another world.
What does this have to me and my story? Well basically everything but that’s another story…
To be continued.

The Summer of 2005...

I went to Upward Bound, an early college program the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school (summer of 2005). For our english class that we had we were given a book of Maine poets which for me was great (I really started to embrace poetry), I really enjoyed this idea. While at Upward Bound and going through this book of poems I marked three of them that stood out to me…

Burning Her Past - Thomas Carper

He would have her. But she had herself,
In part, locked in a chest of drawers. The key
Was on a ring hung from a kitchen shelf
In plain sigh, so could not with secrecy
Be hidden away, or lost. And so she knew
When he possessed it, when his hands attacked
The boxes with the photographs, and threw
The letters to the floor, and than ransacked
The farthest corners; when he made the fire
And sent the life she had before they met
Violently into it--as if desire
For him would let her willingly forget
All that was not himself, simply because
No trace remained of anything she was.

Mirror - Richard Foerster

Stepping from the shower,
I find you scrimmed, deep
Within that simpler dimension,
Peering through cataracts
Directly out of me.

Is it my future, this
Distortion, or merely the haunting
Past, or what sense tells me:
The palpable divide
Between flesh and ash.

O, to erase every
Last aspect of you
With one overarching gesture
And stand for once in clarity,
Naked and wholly alone.

One the Head of a Pin - Edward Nobles

Through the thin
Needle
Of an eye,
You can prick
The darkness
To discover
Blood, and
Eventually,
The splinter
That cripples
Your heart.

The full moments
Sink, the oldest
Collapse, the skies
Fall down,
Christian Little.

Faith
So small, it fits
In the pocket,
In a tulip, in the
Hold
Of an ear. Hearing
Shut down, sight
Invisible
And the mouth
Stopped up
With no light.

The ghosts
Are not. Holy ghosts.
Not tears.
Dancing and
Darkness and…

The soul
Is something. Must be
Something. At least
A dream
In a small, thin
Box. You cannot
See, but feel
Its buzz
Die when you
Block your heart’s ear.

Discover
Something. Discover
This: How can we
Trick you
Into your self,

Dear life?

At 15/16 years old this how I viewed my life. This is how I saw my life through the words of other people. This was a summer after my grandmother passed away (for those that knew her would understand the impact she had on people). I started writing for her when she was sick with pancreatic cancer thinking I was always writing about her, but unconsciously I wrote about being abused. I didn’t realize this much later. (One day my dad found two poems and asked if they were about him, this is when I knew I wasn’t writing just about Gram but I was writing about him). Those poems:

Like a smile to a frown,
Like the king losing the crown.
Like a twinkle to a tear,
Like a dream turning to a fear.
Stop in to say hello,
You only see a halo.
Hello turns to goodbye,
Tears come down and you cry.

Fears hide behind my face,
I’m alone in this unwanted place.
My heart wounded by a dream,
I’m hurt but no one hears my screams.
I see the tears from my eyes,
Again no one hears my silent cries.
I cant even speak of how I feel,
My tears, my screams, are they real?

I thought it was crazy to think that when I consciously thought I was writing about Gram that unconsciously I was writing about my abusive childhood. She was the one person I could tell because she was gone (believe if she was here she would of taken this into her own hands) but I was telling someone. It’s like when cops going to a call on domestic violence and they ask the victim “well why don’t you leave” people ask “why didn’t you tell anyone” for them it’s simple for us (people who have gone through it) it’s not. I did tell someone (no one said they have to alive).

My writing spiraled into a dark place because I started to realize what was happening to me was wrong. My writing was dark but I wasn’t and sometimes that’s still the case but now I can bring light upon myself knowing that I’ve helped other individuals see their darkness. Today I have a tattoo on my left shoulder with the symbol “Angel” and the initials BJG for Betty Jane Garriott with wings coming off. She told me she would always be looking over me and that I know is that case. The spirit of someone can be so strong that they can bring the darkness to life and that’s what she did and I hope to past that onto other through Breathe the AIR. Rest in peace Gram, you are always missed.

When I grow up...

I’ve always known I wanted to be an occupational therapist since high school. When I started Breathe the AIR I had a hard time figuring out how the two were going to meet. (I mean I didn’t want to have two separate careers) In a pervious post I addressed this as well and now that I’m one year closer to graduating I’m one more year closer to figuring out my life goal.
Currently we are working evaluation in class starting with an introduction that goes something like this… “Hello my name is Kayla and I’m going to be your occupational therapist today, have you ever had OT before? … No? Well let me explain what OT is an what we are going to today…” I understand the importance of learning OT in all domains; pediatrics, acute/subacute care, rehab, mental health, and so on and so forth. I become frustrated at times because I now know what I want to do. I figured out how to merge my two roads (OT & my non-profit) together into one cross country highway.
I know I want to work in mental health which is one of the more challenging domains of OT because we have to prove what we are doing is different than a psychologist or other counselor. It usually comes down to payment and insurance claims. It will be nice to get paid but honestly I want to this because I know its going to make happy and that its the only job for me. We have theories to follow in practice but I have my own theory…

My mom wanted me to see a psychologist after she found my notebook about being sexually abused. I went for her because I knew it would help heal her but I knew I didn’t need to go. I have nothing against psychologists they help plenty of people but I knew she wasn’t going to help me more than I could help myself. I remember one exercise she made me do about closing my eyes and seeing my past (blah blah blah). I closed my eyes and saw the back of eye lids and made things up to humor her but really, why are making me relive my past instead of helping my present or future? I don’t believe you have to relive what hurt you in order to learn for it or move past it. So when told me to close my eyes and that she would close hers too, I kept mine open and that only lasted a couple of weeks before she finally said I didn’t need her help. Now knowing what the field of occupational therapy is I would of rather saw an OT (not that I believe I needed help because I found my own healthy coping strategies).
An OT can provide so much more than a psychologist in situations of abuse or neglect. The profession prides itself on being client centered or in other words gets to know their client before treating them. They want them to feel comfortable, safe, and not as if they are on a time clock (I would normally stare at the clock in my sessions waiting for the minutes to tick down). They build relationships with the people they work with to help address the goals that the client tells them are important. OT is fun, helpful, and you see results. It’s creative and has the motto of living life to the fullest (the perfect motto when someone might not see the light at the end of a dark tunnel). So what am I going to do when I grow up? I guess I am a grown up and feel like school is taking over and although if I could sprint to the end I would it’s long distance run. One day I’ll be an occupational therapist.
So what does all of this have to do with Breathe the AIR. One day I’m going to open my own advocacy center (hopefully more than one) and have array of services to offer but one of them will be occupational therapy (helping others see their future when they might be able to see their present because of their past). I’ll have my own practice doing what is most important to me, sharing my voice with others in hopes they can find theirs. I’ll introduce myself as “Hello, my name is Kayla and I’m going to be your occupational therapist and together we are going make a difference.” That difference will be up to the individual because not everyone is given a choice in life but they can always choose what to do with it.

Riding for a Voice Fundraiser Initial Info

I will be heading to Calais, ME August 11th to finish the details of the fundraiser, as of right now: Registration for a couple riding on a bike is $35 and for a single rider or a car/other vehicle is $20. Registration will take place outside of Karen's Main Street Diner from 830am-10am on the day of the event. We will then ride to Lubec and stop in at Cohill's Inn for a drink and door prizes. Then the ride will take us to the Chowder House in Eastport where there will be a BBQ filled with drinks, door prizes and other merchandise to purchase as well. For those who plan on participating please fill out the form with the link attached. This is a preregistration form to gather t-shirt sizes and to see how many people will be participating. You do NOT have to pay now, you will pay at registration the day of the event. For any other questions please email me at letyourvoicefly@gmail.com. Hope to see you there!

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The wonders of Water

I’m sitting in this awful class talking about the Clean Water Act in relation to a case study we were presented with about the Appalachia community. This community is drowning in dirty water to some up the case study...you are probably wondering why I’m talking about water, well lets face it we can’t breathe under water without a oxygen tank. Breathe the AIR is all about letting go and taking the weight off of you when you let your voice fly. Water is strong, gentle, but if you can’t swim, don’t tread water.

Before the weight was lifted off my chest, my lungs weren’t filling up with water, but I still felt like I was drowning. They were filled with the past, the awful memories (the ones had), confusion, and fear. Finally when I got that slap on the back pushing the crap out, my lungs began to clear up, it took time but now they cancer free of the past.
I learned to swim when I was three years old, swimming was never the issue. I was forced to keep a secret, one that anchored me down to the deepest and darkest places in the ocean. To me it’s ironic that the deepest part of the ocean is below that of the Dead Sea, if only my anchors could float as I would in the “Killer Ocean.” These anchors weren’t to keep me from moving but just weighed me down.
Keeping a secret is hard. Even the petty school girl secrets about who likes who are hard to keep but when you are keeping a secret that changes the whole dynamic of your life, where do you start with that? Well I started with paper, my words were the heaviest paper weight one could ask for, not that I know too many people that ask for paper weights but you get the point. My point...my words were strong.
How do you say that your dad raped you lightly? You can’t. Now you know my anchor, but now you know I threw it all over board and let it sink. So be like water, be gentle and strong, gentle enough to follow the natural paths of earth but be strong enough to rise up and reshape the world. I hope that my throwing my anchor overboard that it made it dent in this earth and that I will be change in the world...

OT + Breathe the AIR = A positive future.

Once I finally hacked up the history that was lodged in my throat and was able to breathe, I came to the conclusion that my past was not going to define who I would be who I am. I also thought that other people needed to hear this as well.

When I decided to start Breathe the AIR I was finishing up the missing puzzle pieces from transferring to a different university. Not all of my class quite fit together so I need a few more. I was going to school part time this semester simply because thats number of pieces I needed to move forward, I was about to enter my hardest semesters in college, otherwise known as junior year of occupational therapy.
Time management had to become a skill in order to accomplish everything that I set myself up to do. It was much harder then it sounded like but now that I’m in the professional phase of this 5.5 year entry level Master’s program, I started to wonder how I was going to be able to tie my two separate lives at the time together…
Not everyone understands the concept of occupational therapy, OT is much more than what people give it credit for and there’s no universal definition of what it is. Throughout this horridness junior year, I’ve learned a lot (which I would hope I would do since I pay QU $40,000/year) and have been able to discover a link between my organization and my career choice. OTs can really work with any population it just comes down to payment and for the time being I’ll worry about that when it comes time.
I made the decision that I will be going into a metal health setting so I can merge my two lives together. Mental health is a challenge but one I’m willing to take on. The American Occupational Therapy Association recently launched a position paper on how OT can be used to treat those who have been trough domestic violence, well sexual abuse is on the same spectrum as DV. Perfect, AOTA is already making strides to what I hope is a new development by the time I graduate.
School is no joke, and attempting to keep up with my organization while taking 18+ credit semesters is a juggling act, and I admit I can’t juggle but I guess when you are throwing multiple objects in the air while catching and throwing them I can manage school and a non-profit. It may be not be with grace (I’m clumsy) but it’s always about the journey right?

Breathing...essential to life.

Although I have plenty of studying to do with finals right around the corner, my thoughts that feel the need to be put on paper never pick very convenient times. I found this the night before I spoke at Calais and Woodland High Schools: 

I thought it describe what I’ve been trying to do perfectly.  As many know, I’ve created my own non-profit and named it Breathe the AIR (abuse, incest, rape) with the motto of “let your voice fly.”  

This quote made so much sense, I started thinking, metaphorically I held my breath for 7 years.  It took me 7 years to let me my voice fly and even then it had to be pushed out of me but once it was I guess you can say I haven’t shut up.  

I was laying in bed one night unable to sleep a little over a year ago and decided I was going to start my own non-profit.  It had been over 6 months since the sentencing of my biological father, he was found guilty on 18 counts of gross sexual assault, I testified.  But back to the non-profit, I some how came up with Breathe the AIR, I think because I finally felt like I could breath, this huge weight was lifted not off my shoulders but my chest, freeing my body to release everything it had to build up inside.  I then decided the motto was “let your voice fly” partially because who has never thought of flying and second I believed that my voice would travel and reach people that needed to hear someone else’s story before they shared their own.  Hey, it worked, after only speaking a couple of times, I had victims of abuse telling me that they believed they were now survivors.  This is music to my ears. 

The whole mission behind my non-profit was let others know that it is okay to breathe and to release whatever they built up inside.  Are you still holding your breath? 

It was 7 long years that I held mine.  The last couple were particularly hard because I was older 15, 16, 17 years old, I knew what was happening was wrong but I thought that someone else is worse off than me, and I was afraid.  I didn’t want to be judged by being the kid that was abused so there must be something wrong with me.  I now know that was never the case, I was manipulated by someone I should of been able to trust, it happens in most cases.  I could ramble off statistics but for anyone that has heard me speak you will know I will never consider myself a number.  I know that numbers tell a powerful story but I can also tell a powerful story without them.  

I don’t believe this is an appropriate time to tell that story but one day it will all come together.  So instead, I hope that Breathe the AIR will taking off flying and some how I grow wings and can keep up.  Are you still holding your breath? Come breathe with Breathe the AIR.