This weekend was crappy. One teenager in a shitty mood sucks, two will find me thinking of leaving on a Greyhound.

The weather was nice, however, meaning no rain for a change. I got a lot done despite the door slamming by the aforementioned spawn. I even cleaned my house in my wedding dress Saturday due to a lack of clean laundry. It was a perfect mood lifter as the neighbors were all out and every time I took the dog for a walk or the garbage out they commented on my appearance. It almost made me want to paint my face and wear a pair of fuck me pumps as well.

My weekend was brightened by a present from a woman in California.

Maggie is nine months old now. She is no longer my tiny puppy, but she still crawls onto my lap. She asks that no one notices the fact that she brought yet another rock in from outside, leaving this one beside her on the couch. She’s had a thing for rocks since I first got her, and I don’t need to hear another scary story about that friend of your sister whose dog had to have a rock surgically removed from its body and it cost $10,000. I’ve already heard that story several times and now I fear not only rocks but my savings account balance as well.

Itty Bitty is no longer so itty. Now I can call him Big Bitty, B. Bitty , Puff Bitty, P. Bitty etc. I hope he starts a successful rap career soon. Note the very light sprinkling of catnip on his head. He has just discovered the joys of the herb. I blame peer pressure from the older cats.

I awoke Sunday morning to Maggie’s cold nose gently prodding me, this is her way of saying, “Hey get up! I need to go pee.” It was around 6:30. After she had been outside and I had brought her in to prepare her breakfast I remembered that I was out of coffee filters. I was thinking about using a paper towel and cursing myself for not buying one of those reusable coffee filters when I realized that it was so cold in the house I could barely stand it. I went and turned the thermostat on 68 and eyed the couch. Maggie jumped onto it and curled herself into a circle. I decided to join her with a blanket and snuggle up until the house warmed up. Of course I fell asleep.

A few hours later there was a furious banging on the front door. Maggie was barking and spinning in circles and in my confusion I thought that it must be the mailman delivering a package. I always think that I am getting a package, even on Sundays, because I am self centered that way. I stumbled to the window to peek out; I am a paranoid sort who doesn’t open the front door often. I saw my next door neighbor with her two little girls. At this point she was screaming, “911! 911! 911!” I opened the door and she yelled, “Our house is on fire! It started in the basement and it’s spreading to your house. Evacuate now!” I don’t remember what I said to her. I slammed the door in her face and ran to Polly’s door and pounded at it yelling for her to get dressed and get outside. Next I ran to Nathan’s door and did the same thing.

My kids used to ask me if there were a fire in our house and I could only rescue one of them, which one would I rescue. I hate questions like that; there’s no way for a mother to answer them. I always stated that I would rescue them both. The truth was I always knew that it would be Polly who would need to be rescued and she proved that yesterday morning by following me around the house asking questions. “Why do I have to get out of the house? What about the cats; where are the cats? What is happening?” Nathan listened to my instructions clearly without questions. I ran upstairs to wake Alex. He had worked the graveyard shift the night before and was fast asleep in our bed. “Get up!” I told him, “The neighbor’s house is on fire and they say it’s heading for our house!”

He mumbled, “Why do we have to live next door to such stupid fucking people?” and slowly rose from our bed and sauntered out of the room. I was confused and having a panic attack and I literally spun around in a circle trying to figure out what to wear. Not in that “I have a job interview way”, but in the “I am wearing a nightgown what should I do?” way. I pulled on a pair of sweats underneath my nightgown, thinking that was faster than taking everything off and starting over. I grabbed my coat and saw Alex peeking out the window. He was quite literally sauntering around. I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t running. “You need to calm down”, he said. I grabbed my purse thinking it had everything I needed, money, bank cards, cell phone, cigarettes, tampons, lipgloss, medication for a major panic attack…

We all ended up on the sidewalk in front of our houses, waiting. Alex looked around for flames and sniffed for smoke. My neighbor is chatty under any circumstances; a fire is a whole new world of talk. Speaking a mile a minute she blurted out that she loaded her dryer, turned it on, later smelled smoke and went to her basement to see that her fuse box was on fire. I reassure her that she did the right thing. Her mom walks out of the house, comments dryly on the fact that the fire engines are taking so long, saying, “It’s a good thing the house isn’t on fire or anything.”

I laugh, too loudly. I wonder if it’s OK to smoke while the neighbor’s house is on fire. I finally break down and pull one out. My neighbor sighs, “Oh thank god. Can I have one?” We all light up, except the kids.

The fire engines finally pull up, no sirens. Maybe sirens are reserved for those who live in nicer neighborhoods? Once things are clearly under control my neighbor apologizes for beating on my door like that. “I really thought that it was going to spread to your house!” “It’s OK”, I try to reassure her.

Back inside my house Nathan goes back to bed. Polly goes to pour herself cereal in the kitchen, and Alex is wide awake. Waking up someone who works graveyard is always a difficult call, but I thought that this time was easy. It didn’t even occur to me not to wake him. He asks me, “Did you look out the window before you woke everyone?”

Of course I didn’t! I was thinking that time was of the essence, for fuck’s sake.

Alex asks me if the neighbor’s husband was home. “No, he wasn’t” I remember her mentioning that he was out of town. “If he’d been here, none of this would have happened. Women blow things so far out of proportion.” Alex claims.

Now I am pissed. I tiptoe around all day so as not to wake him. I really believed that this was an emergency.

As he heads back to bed he says one last thing.
“Next time wait until the flames are licking the house to wake me.”

Oh don’t worry, I think. Next time I’ll wait until they’re licking your feet, and then I’ll think about it.

Is this a gender issue? Did I overreact? What do you think?

I haven’t been writing about Nathan much, have I? I have been waiting, and watching him quietly lately. He is doing much better in regards to keeping calm when he is angry. He is excelling at his new school. I never thought I’d see the day. I almost feel bad admitting that, but I had given up hope that he would make it through school. I just kept trying to find a place that would work for him, and we did. I told him that he would succeed (even when I didn’t believe it anymore) and that I would never give up on him for as long as I live.

He loves his teachers at the new program. His grades are so high and his test results are outstanding. I always knew he was smart, but I couldn’t get him to believe it. Now his teachers have told him and he believes them. He is making plans for college. He wants to be a pharmacist. I have no idea where that came from but I am still sitting in awe over the changes from this time last year. He talks about his future with a positive outlook.

The other day he walked up to me and just wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. I was feeling a little down and he sensed it. He is taller than I am, a mustache growing on his upper lip. I was blinking back tears when he let go of me and he asked me what was wrong. I told him that I was happy. He rolled his eyes and said, “Girls”.

Over the years, with both of my children, it has been a series of them holding on to me and then learning to let go. I used to call it the ,”I hate you; hold me” stages. I find myself wondering if it continues on as they become adults? I find myself wondering who I am, besides a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister.

Yes, the holidays are over, and have been for awhile, but I have been so caught up in the aftermath that it was painful to even think about typing when I could be napping.

My house is still a mess; there are still pine needles clinging to surfaces even though I recycled the tree on Tuesday. I have gained three pounds because everywhere I turned there was yet another plate of fudge, or cookies, or a glass of brandy (thanks, Mom).

The week before school let out for the Holiday break Polly was given a name for her secret Santa, the boy she was supposed to buy little things for and slip said items into his locker. The name she received was a twelve year old boy, one who liked skateboarding and chocolate, or at least that is what she could gather from talking with his friends at recess. I took her shopping to buy things for this boy, but seeing how I had a problem giving him five days of candy, I begged her to find other gifts. A new skateboard was a little outside of the price range I was willing to enter, so I asked if maybe he would like some of those little techdeckdudes. Nathan used to collect them when he was younger. Polly was adamant that they weren’t cool anymore as she shot me the “you are so tragically unhip” look. After going to store after store I felt as if candy for five days straight might be the best idea after all. I didn’t even give this much thought to my own childrens’ gifts for Christ’s sake. I learned a few things about kids on our voyage. You can’t buy a twelve year old boy a stuffed animal, but uglydolls are “in” right now. Polly also selected a large plastic ring with a hideous purple stone the size of an eyeball because they are called “pimp rings” and it’s cool to wear them. Pimp rings? Who knew? I was glad when we were done.

At my daughter’s school they have banned candy and soda from the premises and from all sack lunches taken off campus. That means that if Polly notifies me at 7:15 on a school morning that she needs a sack lunch because they are going on a field trip and she forgot to tell me I can’t fumble in the fridge and grab a can of Sprite to put in the sack with her hastily made sandwich and crudely chopped carrot sticks because it will be confiscated. I have a serious problem with people telling me how to raise my kids. Have I mentioned this? Probably.

On the last day of school before the holiday break I arrived to pick her up and saw immediately a fire engine and two police cars. As the over-reactor that I am, I immediately thought that my daughter had been hurt. She came out of the school with a sour look on her face and her hand across her heart as if she had been injured, or maybe she was doing a half assed rendition of the pledge of allegiance.

I immediately asked her what was going on, my mind on all of the emergency vehicles, and she dropped her hand as she wailed, “My secret Santa bought it for me!” There on her chest was a button that said “I Love Porn.” I put my hand out and she gave it to me and as she was so afraid of the consequences of this silly button I couldn’t get her to calm down enough to tell me why the front of her school was surrounded by emergency vehicles. I swear she acts like we beat her, which we never have, at least not yet.

Once she realized that she wasn’t in trouble she told me what had happened at her school that had required the 911 phone call.

Since candy is forbidden, and many kids had candy due to the secret Santa event, a boy had skated off to a locale that he thought was safe from the prying eyes of the administrators and teachers. The particular boy had received a gift of candy cigarettes. He had one in his hand and as he stood on his skateboard he lifted it to his mouth to take a nibble. The vice principal came out and without listening to the boy protest that is was only candy, she called the police to report that she had a seventh grader smoking on school grounds, and so they came out to lecture the boy about the evil dangers of smoking as he stood there with candy between his pointer and middle finger, complete with a red tip that may or may not have looked like it was on fire. The whole matter reeks of overreaction to me. The matter could have been dealt with without Police intervention.

Christmas went well and as easy as it could have been to get myself sucked into the family dramas I did not. Alex enjoyed his present, (NSFW) a Fleshlight, and we all ate good food and relaxed.

Next on the agenda is Polly’s homework. She was supposed to read one novel which is a piece of cake for her, and write an essay on, “the ramifications of action figures on today’s society.”

As much as I wish I could speak to her teacher about this assignment, or just write it myself, Polly has begged me to not intervene.

I suggested that she use as a subject her 15 year old brother who played with action figures for years. He would hate me for saying this, but he also played with dolls, and I never tried to stop him. It was only when he started making friends at school and they came over to play at our house that he was mocked for the fact that he had an assortment of dolls in his toy box. He claimed that they were his sisters and it made me sad that he felt that he had to hide the toys that he had once enjoyed so much.

I can’t find my camera. Alex was the last one using it and I dare not wake him because he has to work tonight.

Happy New Year and thanks for reading.

After several attempts at using the timer on my camera to take a photo of myself and ending up with results ranging from my deranged killer face, the oh my god is my double chin really that big?, the DUI mugshot, the half blink and the no, I am not stoned, why do you ask? Polly came in and offered her assistance. She still wants to be a photographer and I applaud her efforts. She has now started giving directions while shooting. “Don’t look at the camera! Smile! No, not a fake smile, a real smile! Suck your stomach in! Arch your back! Let’s get some animals to pose with you! It’s not supposed to look posed, but pose!”

I was beginning to wonder if maybe watching America’s Next Top Model with her had been a big mistake, although she never did tell me to “Bring it” or to “Look fierce.”

I finally couldn’t take anymore and thanked her as she went on her merry way. I looked through the photos and the only smiles that looked genuine were the ones where Maggie and I were goofing around so I selected this one. No doubt Tyra is going to have to send me home this week. I am no longer in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.

Hair by Tammy using the “Can I skip a shampoo today?” method (answer is no) and also the this is what happens when you need a trim and your color touched up but you’re too cheap to pay for it. I also had a stocking cap on today because I am tired of being cold. Kudos to Hat Head for the help achieving this style.

Makeup by “Who’s Got the Time”with a special addition of Blistex Fruit Smoothie lip balm that came as a gift with the purchase of a Stridex product.

Teeth appear courtesy of Camel cigarettes, coffee and my dental hygienist who WAS dropping a hint when she told me bleaching was half off for the month of November.

Black T shirt and underwear by Hanes , with special thanks to Jennifer Love Hewitt . I only wish she’d said, “So what if I have cellulite? Fuckers!”

Paint on sleeve of shirt by Ralph Lauren in a color I can’t remember the name of, but the room I painted (as a job for a woman who will only use Ralph Lauren paint) with it looked like pottery clay when it was done.

Jeans (not pictured) off of Ebay in the style cheap with a size of I think these will fit! only to find out that they are too big and I need to get a belt, some suspenders, or gain 20 lbs. .

Dog: One of a kind original German Shepard complete with overbite.

 So, riddle me this; If my Mom bought six cubic yards of gravel and asked me to lay it six inches deep in a space 14 ft. by 16ft., how much would I have left over when I was finished?

If you answered, a lot! you would be correct. I never did do the math on it because my mom had already ordered it and had it dumped in her driveway before she asked me so I figured why ask me now?

Before

After

The reason for the gravel is mom is having a shed delivered next week. I thought this was not so exciting until I went with her here . I can’t find a picture of the exact model she ordered, but it is so cute. It even has its own little front porch and dutch doors. Now I really want a shed all my own. Jane was recently writing about having difficulty writing at home, and since I have been dealing with the same issues here, I have decided that if I get a cute little shed and have it wired for electricity I will be able to sit in there and write and write. It will be the room of my own I’ve been waiting for. Of course it won’t happen and even if it did Polly would be knocking on my dutch door whining for me to play Life with her or to take her to the mall and Nathan will be asking me how much cash I have on hand and by the way, would I go to the store and pick him up a Snickers, and Alex would laugh at me as I sat in my shed and pouted as the dog scratched at the door, because he knew the whole time it wouldn’t work out the way I wanted it to. But a girl can dream.

Last week I moved the large wooden play structure in my mom’s yard because that is of course where she wanted her cute little shed placed. The tuffshed man said we (me) needed to shovel up all of the bark mulch because it would lead to sinkage. I thought that he said shrinkage and then I remembered that Seinfeld episode about what happens to penises in cold water and I giggled like a twelve year old boy. After I had done those tasks I filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow load with gravel and pushed it up the slope to the area and dumped it. My mom’s yard is huge, something like a half acre, and she wanted the shed at the back of the lot. She came out to cheer me on occasionally by telling me how much weight I have lost in the past few months.

The cool thing about working at her place is when she tells me to go and grab a bottle of water from her fridge and I return with a nice cold beer she doesn’t care. Plus, she lets me bring Maggie, and Maggie loves to play in that yard so much that she runs and runs in circles until she can no longer run and every night she sleeps straight through without asking me to take her pee at 3:30 a.m.

One more thing: My Notify List has been disabled so that I can go some tagging and editing with sending heaps of e-mails out to the two people who signed up for it. I am not sure if I should even bother with it even though I love those two people who signed up, even though I don’t know who they are.

My daughter just walked into the living room and told me about twins at her school named Libba and Elan. “Oh”, I asked, “are they identical?” “No Mom”, Polly replied in that voice that screams You’re So Dumb!, “he has brown hair and she has blond.”

I didn’t even ask which was which.

Timberline Lodge

The title is a comment that my mom made to her four teenagers frequently as she was raising us. With my dad gone I know it was very tough for her. Is it bad that I used to snicker at her comment, as I was usually high when she said it? That is the only anti-drug information we received, except for Nancy Reagan and the “Just Say No” campaign.

It occurred to me that I never wrote about my trip to find snow with my cousin Peter, who was here visiting from Australia for the first time. He had never encountered snow in his life and it was on his list of things to do before he dies, so I wanted to make it happen. I happen to have one of those lists myself. The photos had been sitting on my desktop waiting, but I’ll admit that things ended oddly with Peter. He is gone now, but I’ll still write about our trip because it was fun.

Peter, taking my photo as I took his. I just noticed he’s giving me the finger. Fucker.

We drove up to Mt. Hood the day after a blizzard. I was expecting him to be excited, but I guess I underestimated that excitement due to the fact that he is 29. As soon as we could park somewhere where there was snow he wanted to jump out of the car and play. I was ready to be hit by a snowball or two, but holy shit, 29 years of waiting for a snowball fight came flying in my direction. I ended up turning my back to him because I was worried he would ruin my camera which was hanging around my neck. He finally jumped back into the car, ready to drive further up to Mt. Hood. I stood outside stomping my shoes and trying to shake the snow out of my hair and brush it off my coat. Also, to be honest, it had filled my bra and gone down the back of my neck and I wanted to shake off as much as I could before we got back into the heated car and it melted. The silly guy, he was watching me through the car window, and he jumped out and put his arm around me, asking if I was OK. I laughed and said that I was just brushing myself off a bit. He said that he thought I was angry with him and I was having some kind of tantrum. You know the foot stomping kind?

Polly was along for the trip, and she seemed utterly bored until I mentioned that The Shining had been filmed up at the lodge. She perked right up and asked why I hadn’t mentioned it sooner. When we went in and looked around there was a restaurant (two, I think) so they wanted to eat. We went and sat down and the waitress took forever bringing water and our menus. I saw that the food was pricey and before I had the time to say to myself, “You are about to spend $20. on a salad.”, Peter had declared the menu ridiculous. He said he’d rather eat at a Subway on the drive back home and I didn’t care, because I was wet and tired, not hungry, and if he’d asked if we could get a couple of rooms and stay the night I probably would have shrugged and said, “Sure.” Sometimes the meds work a little too well, methinks, but I figured it was his trip. I’ve been to Mt. Hood countless times. I must admit that if I spend any amount of time in a bar, restaurant or store I always feel as if I should drop some money. We ordered cocoa and Peter grabbed the check before I could and then I tried to argue with him about who would pay until he finally relented and told me to leave the tip because they don’t tip much in Australia and he didn’t know how to do it. We then went to the gift shop and I really wanted to buy myself a stuffed St. Bernard because we had one when I was a little girl but I was good and I kept my purse closed.

After we left the lodge we walked around for awhile before getting back in the car. More snowballs, more photos, except I actually hit him a few times. I thing he let me though because my arm? I’ve been told by my husband that “I throw like a girl”. Whatever! I am a girl. And, I’ll never play catch with my husband again.

We stopped at Subway for sandwiches that we ate in the car because Peter can’t have anyone look at him while he eats. This guy, he is related to me! I don’t like eating in front of others either.

Next we headed off to Hood River and then on to Multnomah Falls. I used to have a friend from NY who used to laugh at our little Multnomah Falls because he grew up next to Niagara Falls and I never felt like I had a witty comment but hell, at least we don’t have to suffer through the winters they have in Buffalo.

No one was interested in hiking to the top of the waterfalls, and once again I didn’t care. Been there, done that. My Dad always dictated what we did on every family outing and if he had told us to hike to the top of the falls on hands and knees over hot rocks or broken glass we would have done so without so much as a whimper. Now? I’m pretty calm about things 99% of the time and the rest? I am hoping that no one will notice my anxiety before the Klonopin kicks in.

On the drive back Peter seemed elated to have experienced the snow and I was happy that I had gone along for the ride. A few years back I was afraid to leave the house. Look at me now, taking road trips and all!

Peter let it slip while driving; there was something else he wanted to do while here in America. He wanted to see a bear. I thought that I had heard him wrong at first; then I did the next thing. I promised to take him to the Zoo the following weekend. That is a story for another day. I’ll upload some photos and call this finished.

Multnomah Falls

For the first time this year, I had two children who didn’t want to celebrate Halloween with me. Last year Nathan and I were moving my Mom out of the house she had sold and into her new apartment and so my sister Monica took Polly trick or treating. This year Polly wanted to go to a friend’s house to pass out candy and Nathan wanted to go with his girlfriend to help her take her little brothers trick or treating. I had always heard how fast it would go, those years with the little kids, and to cherish those moments while they lasted, but I don’t believe it really hit home until this year when I knew they would rather be with their friends. So I let them go.  I stayed home with the puppy Maggie and the cats. Alex had to work so we had the whole house to ourselves. I baked an apple rhubarb crisp. Maggie waited for me to drop peels as I worked on the apples, the way way she waits when I peel potatoes. We played fetch in the backyard in the dark, with nothing but the back porch light to go by. I thought of my kids over the years in their different costumes. Nathan was a clown, Barney,a clown again, Batman, a skeleton, Superman, Darth Maul, Zorro, Darth Vader, Scream, Leatherface and an assortment of masks that could only be described as yucky, or scary. Polly was Pooh Bear, A Bunny, a Princess and then came years of different variations of the princess theme. She was a ballerina princess, an ice skater princess, a fairy princess, a Glinda the good witch princess. Every year a princess, and I let her just go with it. Alex would wail,”A princess again?” and I would just shake my head at him to be silent. Then one year she announced she wanted to be a cheerleader. A dead cheerleader. That was a fun year because I got to go back to the way I wore my makeup in the 80s when I created her face. Most of those years Alex was unable to go with me to take the kids trick or treating because he had to work. Two of those years I was unable to go because I had to work, and for a baker, Halloween spells the beginning of the hell that is the holiday season. The first time Alex took the kids trick or treating while I was working I cried while I loaded sweets in and out of the oven. By my third year at that job I said to my supervisor before Halloween, “I’ll be in late Halloween night!” and she wasn’t even bothered by that.

Two groups of kids in costume were all that showed up at our door. When Nathan came home he said that there weren’t many kids out in the neighborhood he was in and predicted that Halloween as he used to know it would be dead within three years. Polly had a good time passing out candy, but she seemed to miss having some to eat ,because she wanted to go to the store to buy some. No one wanted apple rhubarb crisp. Maybe next year I’ll have made a friend or two and I’ll have someone to hang out with.

 

 

 

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.”