Running....and remembering.

running....and remembering.
Current mood: forgotten

In light of my current disasterous situation - the impending move from my home, the lack of support and understanding from my children, and the soon-to-be undeserved large payments to my shameless and unconscionable ex....I decided to go for a run tonight. I figured it would help burn off some stress...and take my mind off of things for a bit.

Boy, was I wrong.

Taking off my from my house I had my IPOD tuned in to my favorite running music...Audislave's album "Cochise." Quite possibly one of the best albums of all time if I may say so. As I started out, things were okay....it was dark, pretty late to be running at 9:00 p.m. - but my neighborhood isn't THAT bad, so I figured what the hell. Actually, as I hit the first long stretch of deserted roadway, I was imagining what would happen if some asshole gangster decided to cross my path. There aren't a lot of shitbags in my neighborhood, but every now and then I come across one...and realize that East Anaheim isn't what it used to be.

And I start thinking it would be a bad idea for someone to try and jam me up for my IPOD tonight, since I'm carrying my brick of a cellphone/PDA in my right hand (which is, incidently, my striking hand) and I'm in such a shit mood - that I'm liable to kill someone with my bare hands if I get the chance. I'm imagining how satisfying it would be to come across some piece of shit asshole who thinks it would be fun to screw with the lone female runner at 9:30 p.m. - on a deserted stretch of roadway. And I'm relishing the thought of what a HUGE surprise he would be in for, when I unleashed all this pent up anger and fury on him - and kicked his fucking ass. I keep visualizing the swiftness in which I could wack him square in the nose with this large metal cell phone I've got a death grip on - effectually busting his nose wide open and stunning him - before I decide to deliver a full force kick to his nuts. I'm further playing out this little scenario in my mind, by kicking this fucker in his head as he lays writhing in pain on the ground....as I'm calling for Anaheim PD to come and rescue his ass and haul him off to jail.

Fortunately (or unfortunatley), I didn't come across any gang bangers, or trouble makers, or ner-do-wells, and my little violent fantasy didn't come to fruition. In fact, my pent up hostility got channeled into a full blown melt down as I hit the second mile....and saw the fireworks from Disneyland off in the distance.

Actually, the first thing I saw was a man and a little boy, standing on the freeway overpass - watching the fireworks. The same way I used to take the boys to watch them when they were little. That was always one of the benefits of living in Anaheim - you could always see the Disneyland fireworks everynight at 9:30. And I used to watch them all the time with the kids when they were young....

So I'm running southbound on Glassell, past this man and his son....and I make the mistake of stopping to look. First at them, then at the fireworks. And I see the past 10 years of my life all rolled up into this little boys face, and the wonder in his eyes at the fireworks, and I'm so sad and lonely all of sudden - and wanting to tell this man - this stranger - that this is the best it's ever going to get. Watching some fireworks on the side of the road with your kid. I'm so suddenly stricken with loss, and with this sense of melancholy and sadness....that I decide to just keep running. Away from the little boy, and the fireworks, and the memories of what my life used to be. So on I go.....

I run faster...and faster....until my heart rate monitor tops out at 196 beats per minute, and I'm sure I'm going to die of over exertion. I slow down....and then it happens. Just as the song on my IPOD clicks to the next one...."Like a Stone" - I come into view of the school where my kids used to have their basketball practices. Where I used to watch them and their team mates....and offer tips and help them with their lay-ups. Twice a week, never missing a practice - always hoping their Dad would show up, and thankful for their sake that he did (sometimes) manage to come. As the song played on, I walked over to the fence just outside the courts....and suddenly the floodgates opened, and the tears and heartbreak poured out of me. Given the exertion with the running, and now the full blown sobbing, I was having a hard time choking back the sobs....let alone breathing. Luckily, the loud gasping sound that I was making found no audience in the empty parking lot....and I stood there crying, and remembering - all by myself.

Where did the time go? When did they become so grown that they no longer needed me? And why didn't I realize how precious and wonderful those afternoons at basketball practice were? It felt like he was singing about my life in that song....and every verse brought more and more tears, until I couldn't take it anymore...and again I started to run. Running....from the memories and the pain, from my fear of failure as a parent, from my life. Faster and faster I went, trying to escape the haunting sense of familiarity that only served as a reminder of what used to be. But no matter how fast I ran....or how loud I turned up the sound of Chris Cornell's voice drowning out my sobs, I just couldn't escape it. And so on I went....on a path filled with ghostly reminders of the past.

On past the riverbed trail, where Daryl and I used to ride our bikes. On past my parents old house - where the boys and I lived during the police academy - and where I could always go when I needed a sense of "home." Where the kids and I spent every Holiday before my parents retired and moved to Arizona in 2003. On past Rio Vista elementary school, where the boys spent their entire adolescence, and I spent every Monday and Wednesday and countless hours in between volunteering in their classes, or chaperoning field trips, or taking them their favorite Del Taco lunches (which always made their friends jealous - and them very happy). On past the park where they both used to play basketball with their friends after school and every weekend, where I took them from the time they were 3 and 4 to play on the jungle gyms and swings, where Douglas and Christopher got their first taste of independence walking to school alone for the first time in the 2nd grade (okay, so I cheated and followed them in the car taking pictures - but they never saw me). On past the cement steps and bleachers of the baseball field where I videotaped them and their friends skateboarding in the 4th and 5th grade - doing their little "ollies" and grinding rails that made them so pleased with themselves. On past the greenbelts of my condo complex, where they used to spend their days playing football, or tag, or throwing water balloons at their friends, on past the community pool where it seemed as though I was the only parent who ever took the time to take all the neighborhood kids swimming....where the boys used to beg me to take them "night swimming" because it was so much cooler to go to the pool when it was dark outside. On and on this journey into the memories of my past went....

And then finally, I was back at my house. A house which used to be filled with so much laughter, and love, and arguing, and life. Only now, it's empty. And as I stepped inside my back door, Chris Cornell's voice was still blaring in my ears...echoing the sentiments swirling in my head with the lyrics of "Shadow on the Sun." Which is equally prolific, and equally appropriate for my current state of affairs.

Checking my watch, I see I've finished the 3 mile run in my best time ever - and everyone who knows me knows how much I loathe running. I'm now thoroughly exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and mentally - just exhausted.

And as I start to end this blog with the words, "My run is done" - I realize that phrase has so much more meaning to it than a mere excercise reference. For 13 years I shared everything with two amazing boys, so many wonderful times, filled with such love and happy memories. But now it's someone else's turn to share their lives, and I'm no longer their "go to" person. I'm no longer a factor in any of their decisions, their hopes and dreams, their lives. So yes, hard as it is to accept, it would appear that not only as a nod to my recent workout, but as a parent as well......my run is done.

"Like a Stone"

On a cobwed afternoon
In a room of emptiness
By a freeway I confess
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go

In your house I long to be
Room by room patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone I'll wait for you there
Alone

On my deathbed I will pray
To the gods and the angels
Like a pagan to anyone
Who will take me to heaven
To a place I recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The wine was bled
And there you led me on

And on I read
Until the day was gone
And I sat in regret
Of all the things I've done
For all that I've blessed
And all that I've wronged
In dreams until my death
I will wonder on

Irish wisdom

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...

Drunk and Single.

Drunk and Single.

So. For all of you who think being single is so fun and exciting...who relish the dating stories I dole out so enthusiastically, and who wish you had the freedom and spontanaity that my singleness affords me...let me give you a little glimpse into the downside of being single. The murky dredge of lonely nights, and no one to go home to. It goes a little something like THIS:

I'm driving home tonight after work, after what was kind of a shit day at work because I spent a good 2 hours pretty much YELLING at a couple of fucking morons who decided they (and their attorneys) were going to use the police department and yours truly to fabricate some kind of child molest/child abduction bullshit to facilitate their own interests in some civil lawsuit they have filed against eachother....if it sounds convoluted, it's because it is...and why these two fucking assholes ever had a child together I don't know....but they are both in their 40's and 50's - so one would think they knew better. They didn't.

Anyway, both these assholes got me so riled up today making false accusations against eachother, and trying to use the system (and me) to further their own agendas...that by the time I got out of work at 5:30 - I was in SERIOUS need of a fucking drink to mellow me out. No really. If there had been a bottle in my office, I'd of cracked it open at 5..I was so frustrated. People are so fucking stupid....and refuse to listen to reason at times...it's like I have to deal with god damn 6 year olds. WTF?!?!?! GROW THE FUCK UP YOU MORONS. Sorry...I'm digressing.

So. I get in my car to come home....and as I'm driving I'm thinking of who to call - that might calm me down....Jen's not home...Sandy is busy with house stuff....Vicki is training to beat the shit out of the god damn steroid driven American Gladiators (don't worry - she's just gonna run under their legs)....so I'm coming up with a blank. There's my guy friends...but I just saw them yesterday, and they're probably still hungover....besides, they can't offer the kind of ego-stroking, mushy-sensitive, sexually charged, self-worth validating, stimulating conversation that I'm really looking for.

And as I'm pondering my lack of options, I get a call from some guy who I know is interested in me....but alas, I couldn't be less interested in him. He's nice, but just not my cup of tea. So I chit chat for a few minutes...then find an awkward "out" of the conversation....something to the effect of "yeah - I don't know about getting together because I've really got alot going on" - which I'm sure left him thinking "WTF just happened?" You got blown off buddy....that's what just happened. I didn't feel too bad actually...and I erase the exchange from memory even before I'd hung up the phone. I know. What a BITCH.

So then I decide that the perfect sounding board for my misery is this other guy - who I dated briefly last year...who is super cool...who I still consider to be a friend....and who is probably just as miserable as I am. Well, he's got drama at least...so he can sympathise - right? And it's true that misery loves company.....so I sent him a text...and I wait. As I'm driving in the ridiculous traffic of SoCal...waiting for a response so I can blah blah blah all my fucking angst away to this guy....it suddenly dawns on me that he very well could be banging some hot chick right now - and is not about to stop to answer my text message. Which only adds to my frustration and sense of isolation. FUCK.

So I send a second (increasingly pathetic) text....requesting a response to the first. SHAZAAM. Like the heavens unfolding....I get a dingity ding on my piece of shit cell phone....alerting me to an incoming text. Only it's Dana. Shit. Wrong fucking person. Am I the only person in the world that HATES IT when you are hoping to hear from someone, hoping when the phone rings it's gonna be that person...and then when the phone rings you get so excited you'd think you hit the fucking California Lottery? Only to look at the incoming number and see that it's someone else?!?!?! It could be your mother, your best friend, your kids...but at that moment you actually LOATHE that person for calling you while your'e waiting patiently for a call from some other dipshit. Damn it I hate that. Develop some fucking ESP and know when I'm waiting for a call from someone else before you go texting or calling me. JEEZUS.

So I discount Dana's text...and continue driving 10 miles a fucking hour in LA traffic....waiting to hear back from someone who I'm hoping is going to allow me an outlet for all this pent up frustration and angst I'm dealing with.

Then it comes. And I'm very releived I at least garnered a response from this guy - because he's a notorious non-responder. But the text is something to the effect of..."sorry - I've got alot going on" - so he doesn't feel like talking or hanging out. Ah...KARMA. Isn't that just what I told Joe Schmo on the phone? Yes - you asshole Shannon - it is. And suddenly the irony and the tragedy of this fucking situation has come full circle and slapped me in my arrogant and egomaniacal face. That's what I get I guess. Payback is a BITCH (just like yours truly).

So on I drive....or should I say crawl.....another 30 minutes in the shitty (now Orange County) traffic, with a knot in my throat, feeling like I'm about to start crying for no good fucking reason - only to get home to my empty old house. With no one there to listen to my shitty-day tirade....and no one around who wants to talk to me (except that guy I'm not interested in) or make me feel better about being alone and overworked and totally underappreciated.

Fuck it. As this long rambling blog has probably indicated...I've decided to drown my sorrows in alcohol and sad country love songs. As a serendipitous footnote to the emotional commute from hell...as I pulled into my driveway and got the last text from my friend...thanking me for being "so cool and understanding" about the fact that he doesn't want to talk to me - this old 1980 song by Johnny Lee comes on the radio.....HOW FUCKING BRILLIANT AND IRONIC is the timing of THAT?!?!? God, that's just priceless. Que the soundtrack to the last fucking 10 years of my life.

Yeah...I guess I'm looking for love (understanding, friendship, support and company) in all the wrong places. Tou-fucking-che'.

I'm having another vodka cranberry and pouring my ass into bed. Tommorrow's gotta be better than this.

Disturbed

Disturbed.
Current mood: crushed

I'm not even sure what to write here - my head is so convoluted with random thoughts and stress it's hard to make a clear point. But let me just say this about my job....

Investigating sex crimes and specifically INTERNET sex crimes is a lot more intense than merely looking at porn online. Yeah sure, I've seen just about all the different kinds of porn out there (don't ask - because no, I'm not a fan)....but I investigate CHILD porn. There is nothing illegal about hardcore porn or bondage, or fetishes or even the nast bestiality and scat vids you see. That stuff is mildly interesting...in fact, to me - it's not interesting at all.

I investigate and track child pornography. Porn that has children. REAL children. I say this, because I am continually amazed at the naivety of individuals (citizens AND police personnel), who always ask "are they REAL kids in the videos or the computer generated kind?" No people.... These are real kids. Sometimes infants, or toddlers, or 8 or 9 year olds. I'm not talking about your 16 year old school tramp who's making videos of herself masturbating and posting it on YouTube. I deal with babies. Young kids who are subjected to the most heinous and unimaginable sexual acts one can think of. You wouldn't even think it's possible for a grown man to have sex with a 1 or 2 year old...but it is. And I've seen it...over and over and over again.

I guess I might be reaching some kind of breaking point with this new case I'm investigating. Because quite frankly, there is so much CP for me to review, that I can't even begin to wrap my mind around it. I can't fathom the depraivity of a man who would seek bondage and torture videos of 3 year olds. Who relishes videos that have audio, so he can hear the victim saying "No daddy....no" as she is forced to do the most disgusting of things to her father. Who writes in his emails the foulest sexual desires - directed towards 6 year old boys. And although this case is large, with International ties - not too many people are lining up to help me. Because quite honestly, every other agency who investigates this filth is just as overwhelmed as I am.

I didn't even really understand what child porn was when I started this assignment a few years ago. I though it was the 14-16 year olds who were maybe being molested by an uncle or something....and aperhaps a few nude pictures were taken of them. My thoughts on it back then remind me of the saying "ignorance is bliss." I wish I didn't know now....what I didn't know then.

But as these cases roll in, one by one, you start to become immersed in the culture of child rapists and pedophiles. It's a sickening feeling. I can't describe it even. When you start to realize how many of these children are out there, and you start to recognize their photos and videos and know their names and series titles. You start to realize how many homes this is occuring in....where children are routinely raped and videotaped for the pleasure of their abuser. The images and videos are haunting.....I can't imagine what these children endure. Although I've seen it on their faces....they are so young....and yet they look like ghosts. Their stare is vacant, and I know (from speaking with sexual abuse victims) that many of them are simply checked out of reality.

I see these videos and images, and the frustration I feel with not being able to locate these kids, to help them, to save them...leaves me feeling like a failure, and totally helpless. Not a position we in law enforcement are used to....and not one that is easy to deal with. I can only think of a few other times in my career that I have felt this alone with regard to work stressers. There's nothing and no one at home to balance this mess with some normalcy.....some understanding. And the sleepless nights and inability to shake what's going on in my head is really taking its toll. Where do you go to find solice when the demons you are running from face you every day you report to work? I just don't know anymore.... I looked at 833 images of CP today, and another 67 CP videos - all in about 3 hours. But there really aren't enough hours in the day for me to try to identify and find these kids.....and lately since I can't stop thinking about them, why even come home? The only comfort is knowing that many of them have either been previously identified, or are adults now and no longer being abused. But then there are the new victims....the new CP series and videos....and where are those kids? I keep looking for them....at work, online, even in faces in the crowds....but so far...nothing.

No one wants to talk about Child Pornogrpahy. No one wants to know what it is, or what it looks like. It's ugly. It's mankind at it's very worst. It's more revolting and unnatural than any other crime out there....and it is the least talked about. People don't talk about it because they don't understand what it is, but I do. Myself and all the other investigators that work these cases...we know what it is, and what it looks like. And how it is the foundation for so many other crimes in society....drug addicts, prostitutes, gang members, thieves, rapists, child molesters.....people that lack that internal moral compass that dictates right from wrong. People that never stood a chance because someone fucked up their heads so badly when they were kids, that for them to have a normal life is next to impossible. So few of the child victims I've dealt with will have normal lives. Most of them will be so screwed up from their experiences that they will never recover. And I can't help them. All I can do is put these monsters in jail for the rest of their lives, and save future victims from enduring the same fate.

Part of me wishes I could show one of these videos to everyone I know...or put it on the news so society realizes how truly tragic and horrific it is. So maybe people will see what it is that is so important about these cases, and what is so terribly wrong with our society. But I don't want to expose anyone to those images either.....images that leave you sleepless and unsettled, with knots in your stomach and chaos in your head, images that make you look at pictures of your own innocent children in a different way...in a bad way. They just had the Las Vegas case on the news, of the 3 year old who was raped and the video of it found in the desert. As horrific as that case is, I know that it still doesn't resonate in most peoples minds....because a normal person just can not picture a 3 year old being raped. You simply can't wrap your mind around that thought or image. I know this, because until I saw it - I couldn't either. Until you see it, it's still remains an abstract idea.....

Unfortunately, it's not abstract for me any longer. My head is filled with things I wish I could purge, but will never be able to. I've seen the worst of humanity.....and it has robbed me of something that I don't think I will ever get back.....faith.

It's the smallest of things, that make me happy.

It’s the smallest of things, that make me happy.

There really should be a category on this blog feature for "kids" - because it seems like I write a lot of blogs about my boys!

So, I got to see Douglas play football for the first time this week. He has been the starting receiver for his schools JV team, but I missed the first 2 games. He's always played basketball as a little kid - so seeing him play football was a real trip. He was on the team at his old school for two years, and only got about 2 minutes of play time (btw - coach Marrujo is dumb). But now he plays for a different school, and is the starting receiver and cornerback. This poor kid played practically the WHOLE game! But he was pretty good - even with my limited knowledge of football, I think he did really well. Although they lost by 1 point in the 4th, it was a good game (they won their first two, so they are 2-1 now).

Alright, so the best part of seeing the game (aside from hearing other strangers on the sidelines talk about how good my son was) - was when Doug was coming off the field after a play and saw me and his Dad standing on the sidelines. I thought for sure he would ignore me, and just go stand with his team. But he actually came over to where I was standing! I was amazed. This kid always acts like he is mortified to acknowledge me in public, and is always telling me not to "embaress" him (who me?) - and yet, that wasn't the case this time. When he saw me standing there, and made eye contact with me - he walked right up to me and had the same look he used to have when he was a little boy - that "did I do good?" look. I wanted to run up and hug him I was so proud of him! But I didn't (it nearly killed me not to). Seeing that look on his face, that look that seaks validation and acknowledgment - made me realize that no matter how big and how "grown" he may act, he will always be my little boy. He asked me if I saw his play, and saw him run the ball - which of course I did. I could tell he was excited that I got to see him play finally, but of course he was trying to act cool. But that look...that look on his face gave him away. <3

I swear, that moment is frozen in my mind now - and I will never forget it. I'll try to remember it whenever he decides to act like a grumpy teenager. I'll remember and know that deep down - no matter what, he's still my baby. It's amazing how the smallest of gestures, a look, or a few words, can convey so much. My son.....for all his attitude and bravado...still loves me and wants my approval.

And that one sheepish look on his face is all it took to make me happy.

The boys, life, and what's important....

So, the boys are outside tossing around the football - and I'm suddenly inspired by the perfection of this day. The house is a mess, I'm still in sweats and a ponytail, the laundry needs to be done, gotta fix Daryl's bike and clean the patio - but this day is awesome so far. I can't recall a day this good in a while.

It's the simple pleasure of hearing the kids laugh and watching them play. Or having an UN-forced conversation with them. Douglas talking about why he is a better receiver than a QB, or Daryl telling me without hesitation that Douglas has a better arm than he does....it's the nicest, most heartwarming feeling ever. My boys - for all their many, MANY moments of obnoxious, rude behavior - are really good kids at heart. I think all things considered, I did alright with them.

Today Daryl was encouraging my attempts to train and run B2V. He could of easily scoffed at my 12-minute mile time (he can run it in 4:55), but instead he told me, "well that's really good - at least you can run two miles." I was very touched by his positive attitude - and immensly happy that he isn't acting like he hates me anymore (December and January were ROUGH months for us). Now, with him living at his Dads, it seems like when he's here with me - I have my old Daryl back again. The sweet, kind, always willing to laugh and joke around kid - that I love so much. Gosh, he's really terrific. And when he's at his best - it brings Douglas out of his dreary, anti-social, 16-year-old shell. To hear them joke around together and talk trash to each other - might not seem like much, but it's just the best feeling ever.

I snapped a picture of the two of them this morning. Douglas had gotten into Daryl's bed with him, and they were watching TV (The 40 Year Old Virgin - lol) and looking at their yearbook together. At 16 and 13 - the fact that they are still so close and comfortable being near one another - amazes me. Doug was mad I took the pic (of course) - but it's a great reminder of how much they love each other. My boys. They have my whole heart wrapped up inside them - and can bring me to tears with the simplest of gestures.

I'm reading that book - "Tuesdays with Morrie" - and it's a real tearjerker. Very sad, but very profound as well. It's reminded me a lot about what is important in life - and what is not. Having my boys happy, having wonderful friends and family who fill my life with love and laughter, and having a sense of higher purpose - are really the only things in life that give me true satisfaction. Everything else is secondary. Everyone should read that book (and the 5 people you meet in heaven) - and take stock of their lives. Too many times we forget what is important....and life just seems to pass us by without ever leaving much of an impression.

Alright, enough rambling about how perfect this day is....I still have much to do and I have to go and nag Douglas to do his homework before he hooks up his new PS3 (he paid for it himself with money he'd saved over the past 2 years - so I'm very impressed with him meeting his goal!). Daryl has promised to help me "work out" with the weights in the garage, so that will be fun......ahhhhh life....it is only as good as you believe it is. And at this moment, I know that MY life - is pretty darn perfect.

Rainy days.

Rainy days.
Current mood: lonely

The first real rainy day of the season should have started off better. It had all the makings of a perfect morning - no work, no alarm clock ringing, a comfy bed, good company, very very snuggly....but a 7:15 a.m. call from a DA ruined an ideal morning. Questions on a case, emergency victim relocations, gang threats, search warrants - not the way I wanted to start this day. But here I am. Caught in the midst of the life I've created for myself. Too much work, too many people to please, not enough hours in the day. Full time detective, full time college student, part time mom, sometime friend, often times a total stranger to those I love. So many roles to play......when all I want to do is lay in bed staring out the window at the rain.

It's my Dad's birthday today - which doesn't make things any better. I drove right past the cemetary - didn't even stop. It's been years since I went - even though I drive past it pretty often. Hey - at least I wave - and give him the "hang ten" sign (but it's "shaka" now Dad, no one says "hang ten" anymore..:). Leaving flowers at a cemetary seems silly to me. I doubt my Dad would be offended, I don't recall him ever visiting his dad or Daryl there too often either. Cemetary's are for dead people - not the living. What do you say to a headstone in the rain? I miss you? I wish you were here? Did I turn out OK? I wish you could watch the boys play football - or see me graduate next year. Or meet a guy I'm dating, or walk me down the aisle one day. I wish you cared enough to stay healthy - if not for yourself, than for me. I hate that you gave up. Just what exactly do you say to a headstone in the rain? Nothing that you can't say to the air all around you. And that you don't think to yourself - almost all of the time. I'm sure he knows (knew) all those things anyway. It didn't make a difference.

Thirteen years is a long time - but today, it feels like just yesterday. The last conversation, the last time I saw him - it's so vivid. I have pictures of that day - him and Douglas, sitting on my couch.....looking so happy. He had just fixed a broken leg on my table, and taken my trash out for me (Dad's are great). Douglas was only two and a half at the time, but he let him help hold the tools. It was so sweet. A great moment to be frozen in my memory forever. Funny how life changes so quickly. I remember getting the phone call from his friends at the hospital a few days later. They were playing basketball after work and my dad collapsed.....and then I knew. I was at work at the time - and I just knew. The doctor wouldn't tell me over the phone, told me to get there as soon as possible - but I knew it was too late. You can tell these things - and I wasn't even a cop back then. Some sick feeling in the pit of your stomach tells you, "things are not going to be okay this time."

Funny, I never turn my phone off now - waiting for the next call like that. Will it be my kids, my Mom, my Nana, my brother, one of my friends? It's only a matter of time before it comes. I turned my phone on vibrate the night Jen was in her accident - and had she been killed I would have never forgiven myself for missing the call. Bad news travels fastest via cell phones. I keep it on now, no matter what. Rarely does a call go unanswered on my phone....I'm usually dreading the worst. My Dad was the one that called me and told me about my cousin Daryl's car accident. Over the phone. I was only 19 years old at the time....not ready for something like that, and certainly not ready to hear it that way. How do you tell someone over the phone that someone they love is dead? It's not right. I think I told my Nana about my Dad over the phone too - how horrible. I should apologize for that - 13 years later. But I was in total shock - still at the hospital and 8 months pregnant with my Daryl. Dealing with his horrid ex-girlfriend who wanted his wallet and money asap., with the notifications, all the while avoiding his body because I couldn't bear to see my Dad all blue and intubated. I'd rather remember him the way I last saw him....at the house, with Douglas...fixing my table and hanging out. Yes, death brings out the worst in people. Always. I've had to make death notifications at work a few times. It's heartbreaking. It leaves you so empty, and so void of anything at all to say that might comfort someone. Wait, wait, I'm digressing.....

I don't even want to go to work - don't want to write these papers for school - or start on the search warrants I need to write. It's never enough - there's always more to do....I just want to sit on the couch and watch a movie with my boys - or hear them laughing - or see them smile. I gotta get outta this mood - being alone in the rain is a recipe for disaster. Especially on this day. The boys aren't home till Friday - at which time I will forego any stupid arguments with them, and just tell them how much I love them. Life is too short for stupid fights over stupid things.....what difference does it make if their room is a mess, or they don't brush their teeth enough? Or if they get C's instead of A's and B's.....in the end, it just doesn't matter.

Maybe I'll go for a run in the rain....there's got to be a positive side to it. Hey, at least no one will notice that I'm crying.....:)