When I first wrote about Brett Reider here I had just seen the documentary BRETT KILLED MOM: A SISTER’S DIARY on HBO and I wanted to write about my feelings and also to encourage everyone to watch what I thought was a very important film. I wasn’t even thinking that other people, who were, like me, wondering what had happened to Brett, would be searching the internet and coming to my site for answers. I posted what I had been able to find out here. I was saddened by the site that stated that Brett had committed suicide. I wanted a happy ending for this young man. As much as I wanted to know the truth I never imagined that I would receive an email from Brett’s wife Sara. She had heard about my site from a friend and wrote to let me know that not only is Brett alive, he is married with two beautiful boys and another baby on the way.

 

 

 

 

I emailed her back expressing my gratitude for her taking the time to not only contact me, but for providing photos so that I could see for myself that Brett now has a beautiful wife and two darling little boys. I also asked her if she would mind if I wrote a little note on my site stating that Brett was OK. I promised not to use any of the photos and to respect their privacy as it was clear that they have moved on. To my surprise she kindly gave me permission to not only pass on the information but to post the photos as well.

 

In Sara’s own words (I will place them in italics to make it easier for you, the reader, to differentiate between her words and my own),

“Brett and I just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary. He turned
30 this year. I am 37. We have two boys - Gavin (3) and Garrett (1). We
also have another (of unknown sex) on the way. Our oldest, Gavin was
diagnosed with Autism at 13 months old - so our lives revolve around
that. Parenting an autistic child is very challenging. Brett is a
wonderful father and Gavin has come along way because of all of the
time and attention Brett is able to give him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Brett just lives a normal life. We moved from Nebraska to the coast of
North Carolina and he enjoys his anonymity. The documentary was filmed
when Brett was 16 years old - and they still air it now and again. We
did ask for them to put a written update at the end - but they never
responded and Brett has no rights or control over the program.”

 

 

 

“…we have received thousands of emails, letters and phone calls over the years
with horrific stories of abuse. Some similar to Brett’s - some much
worse. It really gets to be too much sometimes…because it is so sad
how common it is and can be very depressing. Brett also couldn’t
possibly respond to them all - which is why he doesn’t.”

 

“We are grateful to all of the people who have reached out to Brett over
the years - many of whom wrote the parole board and were critical to
his early release. We would like everyone to know this. We would also like for people to know that our focus now is on our son and advocating for Autism awareness. It truly
consumes our life.”

“We really aren’t hiding – we have just moved on and have so many other things to deal with now.
Hopefully, people searching from here on out will find your site and be
able to get the information they are seeking.”

 

Sara also let me know that Brett’s sister, “Alissa, is married and also has two boys aged 2 and 4″.

 

Sara also closed her email with a link to a website dedicated to autism http://www.generationrescue.org/

 

I myself have a nephew with autism and I have seen first hand the time and effort my sister and brother in law have put into making sure that their son lives the best life possible.

 

For me, this whole experience has been a lesson in hope and the ability of a person to not only survive horrifying abuse suffered at the hands of the ones who should ultimately protect us, our parents, but to rise above the idea that the cycle of abuse can’t be broken by going on to become wonderful spouses and parents.

 

My sincerest thanks to the Reider family for not only sharing this information and these photos with me, but also for allowing me to share them with the thousands of people who have been searching the internet to find out what happened to Brett Reider after his release from prison.

For those of you who have commented or emailed me with your stories of abuse please know that you are not alone. So many of us unfortunately share this common bond. If you are currently in an abusive situation don’t be afraid to ask for help. If you are out of the abusive situation but still finding it difficult to deal with the pain and/or the low self esteem that often follows there is help out there for you too. So many suffer in silence.

11/21/07 Edited to add that Brett’s wife Sara saw that people were curious about Brett’s current occupation, and she wrote me to say “Brett is a construction foreman who works on multi-million dollar projects.”

 

 

 

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my cousin is here on a visit from Australia. This is his first visit to this country and I wanted very much to help him have a nice time while he’s here. When I asked him what he wanted to see while he was here, the only thing he said was, “Snow!” Actually, he later asked me if I could help him find rugby on TV and after I pointed out ESPN I had no idea how else to help him, so I suggested he go to a sport’s bar. Off topic! Kinda.

Tomorrow we are going to drive until we can find snow. My kids think this is funny, but I reminded them of their thrill of snow, and tried to explain to them that yes, he’s 29 years old, but he’s never seen snow at he wants to and dammit it he spent 19 hours on an airplane to come here and see snow I will find him snow because it’s a dream of his and I believe in dreams. We are never too old.

Wish us luck.

My mind has been positively racing as of late, but I’ve felt unable to write it down because my brain moves too fast. At times like these I wonder if maybe I am bipolar but I don’t say anything because this drug thing? It’s getting so old. I honestly don’t feel that I can have a journal all about me and my depression and anxiety. It’s boring even for me, the subject matter. I could go on about the cold I can’t shake and how I feel dead inside right now. I suppose the Paxil has kicked in. I feel empty. Is it normal to have the reaction that you’re somehow dying inside? I resisted the doctor’s orders to put me on medication in 1986. I thought that it was important to feel, but it was all so overwhelming. I caved in 1993, and it’s been on and off since then.

I imagine that you, my reader, have to have a shelf life of how long you can pay attention to listening to some woman on the internet drone on about a depression that can’t be cured. I have been looking for other subject matter.

My Mom asked me recently what I loved to do; what I wanted to do with my life. I told her that I’d never been as happy as when I worked as a volunteer feeding the homeless.

“How are you going to make money at that?” was her reply. But that wasn’t her original question. She asked me what I loved to do. I like to feed the hungry. It might sound silly but it is such a simple and complex thing, removing hunger from someone’s life, even temporarily. I have been on both sides of it; having dealt with a severe lack of food both as a child and as an adult and it’s amazing what a meal can do to really fill someone.

“Hold tight. We’re in for nasty weather”

Yesterday I was grumpy. Polly was being her usual chatterbox self and I felt as if I needed some quiet. She doesn’t understand. She can’t understand. I ended up getting snappy with her and I feel guilty about that. The dog doesn’t like to go outside when it’s raining. That has been a struggle, this being Portland, Oregon and all. So yesterday I was doing the dishes and she shit all over the carpet. Diarrhea. It was my fault, because she should have been in her crate, but I wanted to let her out to roam the house a bit. I took her out and then came in to clean the mess. The whole house smelled and I couldn’t find any incense and I wanted to crawl into bed and hide. I was uncertain as to whether I needed to make a cup of coffee to perk me up, or perhaps have a nice relaxing cup of herbal tea? I considered taking a walk to the store to buy a bottle of wine. Maybe that would relax me?

I remembered how when I was a kid my Mom used to put a pot on the stove with water in it, and cinnamon sticks and cloves. She would simmer it and the whole house would smell wonderful. I grabbed a pot, filled it with water, dropped in some spices and then threw in some vanilla and a good dash of the lemon oil that I bought last year for some cookie recipe. I put it on the stovetop and went back to the dishes. I heard a sound, turned my head, and Woosh! The whole thing was on fire. I stared at it in disbelief for a second. The top of the pot was covered in flames, under the burner was on fire and flames were licking the wall. I put it out as quickly as I could. The kids came out of their rooms.

All that feng shui crap about not having fire across from water suddenly made sense. While you’re doing the dishes the whole house could burn down. After the fire was out Nathan looked at me and said, “Well, at least it smells better in here” and went back into his room.

The smoke detectors went off as I was wiping the black marks off of the wall above the burner. Alex came from upstairs where he had been sleeping, looked at me, turned around and walked back upstairs without asking me what I had done.

I grabbed my coat and walked to the store in the rain. Once there I decided that I wanted to have a beer. I looked in the cooler and they had Budweiser, Corona, and Heinekin. “Heinekin! Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!” I remembered. I smiled and bought the Heinekin, forgetting that it loses its good flavor on the ship over from Holland and always tastes nasty to me.

On the walk back home the rain stopped and I saw a double rainbow and I felt better. Not great, but better.

She used to have a site at http://www.misanthropic-bitch.com

If anyone knows if she’s still writing somewhere drop me a line or leave me a comment.

Thanks.

Tammy

livedtotell@gmail.com

Before I decide to watch the news, I have to decide whether or not I am emotionally ready. Years ago while watching news coverage of the Tiananmen Square Massacre I began to cry. Alex was seated on the couch next to me, and he asked me why I was crying. “You don’t know any of those people”, he said. I was shocked and at that time wondered if perhaps I feel things more than most people, or if he feels less.

When I started to read about Asa Coon and the Ohio school shootings I sadly wasn’t surprised to see that they listed the fact that he was a “Goth” who wore a trench coat and liked Marilyn Manson’s music before they listed his previous suicide attempt while in a mental health care facility, the fact that students had tried to speak with the principal about threats he had made but she was always too busy, or the mental health facility’s diagnosis of bipolar disorder and their suggestion of further evaluation.

At times like this it’s not hard to think of Columbine. “See”, people can say now, “all of the boys listened to Marilyn Manson and wore trench coats.” If a violent video game connection can be made it too will be used. Some might check if Asa came from a broken home, if he suffered abuse, if he was breastfed. There has to be more to it than that. Andrew Kehoe killed 45 people in Bath Township, Michigan in 1927.This would obviously have taken place before the advent of violence in the media. I can remember after the shooting in Columbine someone asking Marilyn Manson what he would say if he could talk to Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. “I wouldn’t say anything. I would listen”, was his reply. I think the same holds true here.

While it’s easy to make this a case of violence in the media, or mental illness left untreated, that’s too easy. I honestly don’t think that you can blame one solitary factor or combinations thereof to explain why some people snap and kill others and/or themselves and others do not. Yes, there were warnings signs. Yes, obviously something should have been done to help Asa Coon before this event. But I don’t think you’ll find the answer to his troubled mind in his favorite musician. Does anyone even know that Seung-Hui Cho listened to Collective Soul?

Sorry I haven’t been able to update; I’ve been the sickest I’ve been in ages. I’m finally feeling like I may be coming back to the land of the living tonight. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I just drank an iced coffee with a shot of espresso. I never do that this late in the day but I needed a kick to help me get some work done.

My illness started with food poisoning, and once I had ridden the porcelain god for a night, the cold from hell crept up and kicked me. Actually, I think it was the flu because fever, chills, body aches, oh my. Whatever. I am done for the whole season I hope. Oh, and if you are sniffing something in your fridge and wondering if it’s still good maybe you should just throw it out. I can’t believe I needed to learn that lesson again.

I just got done cooking a real dinner for my family, one that involved chopping and preheating and sautéing etc. I have been turning a blind eye to the food situation the past few days as I stayed sweating on the couch. I was actually relieved that they are now old enough to fix themselves something for dinner if need be. Sure, that might be a bowl of cereal or Macaroni and cheese from a box, but a few days won’t hurt them.

I made this for dinner tonight from chocolate and zucchini.

It was a huge success. I ate a bean burrito. Sometimes I feel a little left out as a vegetarian, but not often.

Le Poulet de Muriel

1 large free-range chicken, about 2 kilos (4 pounds)
1 tablespoon olive oil
Fine sea salt, freshly ground pepper
1 large head garlic
1 organic lemon, cut in four quarters
4 sprigs of fresh thyme
2 sprigs of fresh rosemary

Rub the skin of the chicken with olive oil, sprinkle it with salt and pepper on all sides, and place it, breasts-side up, in a clay pot or cast-iron cocotte large enough to accommodate it. Peel the outer layers off the head of garlic to separate the individual cloves — don’t peel the cloves themselves. Arrange the cloves, lemon, and herbs around the chicken.

Put the lid on, slip the pot in the cold (not preheated) oven, and turn the oven on to 150°C (300°F). Bake for three hours, or until cooked through (if you have a meat thermometer, insert it in the inner part of a thigh: the chicken is done when the thermometer registers 82°C / 180°F), basting the chicken with its own juices every 45 minutes or so.

Transfer the chicken to a cutting board, carve the different serving parts, and transfer to a warm serving dish (pour very hot water from the kettle into it and let stand as you cut the chicken). Transfer the juices, herbs, and cloves to a gravy boat, and serve immediately, with green beans and mashed potatoes.

Recently, I have found myself gripped by a story The Oregonian has been covering about a woman named Lovelle Svart; a woman who was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer five years ago. I am usually not a big reader of the local newspaper, but for some reason we have been getting one delivered to our house every morning for free. My mornings start out even earlier than they used to now that I have Maggie. When she wakes up she has to pee immediately; that means there’s no time for me to use the toilet or to (oh how I miss it) linger over a nice cup of coffee while the whole house is still asleep.

Having a puppy means that I also have to be careful about the clothes I wear to bed, or the lack thereof, because I may have to run out at an ungodly hour in a see through nightgown because I’ve misplaced my robe and it’s awkward enough that I met my new next door neighbor when I flew out the door with a puppy on a leash as I was pulling on jeans that I’d yet to button or zip. He smiled and nodded in hello, and I nodded, no smile.

Now I have come to expect my free paper every morning. My mom guessed that they might be doing a free trial and soon they will contact me and say, “Hey didn’t you like that. Don’t you want to sign up?”

Here in Oregon we have legal doctor assisted suicide. I have voted many times on many different issues. I take the matter seriously, doing research if necessary, and thinking carefully before I cast my vote. I have even called my sister Monica over ballot measures; asking her advice about one or two that I’ve read over and over again and I still can’t figure out, only to hear her flipping through her voter’s manual and saying , “Yeah, I don’t get that one either.” My mom usually offers the helpful “If it raises taxes, vote against it.” As far as the matter of doctor assisted suicide I didn’t have to think about it long before deciding that I agreed that it was not my place to tell terminally ill people they should have to go on suffering if it is their wish to end their lives. I have seen people who were dying from cancer and it is a horrible thing to witness.

I have thought about my vote off and on over the years. I have wondered about the people who filled the prescription and actually used it. Through Lovelle’s account, I was able to hear the story of a dying woman who decided to fill her prescription for the medication that would end her life. She made a statement, “I am not brave.” I think that judging the suicide, assisted or otherwise, of someone who is dying isn’t a place I would even dare to tread. Nor do I care to. I do believe, however, that by letting us into her life as she neared the end of it, Lovelle was undeniably brave. Whether people agreed with her or not, she brought death and dying right to the front page and opened up communication about a subject that remains largely taboo to many people. She sparked controversy and debate and for that I thank her. I highly recommend checking out the link to the story, no matter which side you’re on in this controversial issue.