A Matter of Panache: beer

When Justice Fails the Children: Kristy's Story by Debra Sanders

Letter to the readers of Kristy's story:

First let me thank you the many of you who have read some or all of Kristy's story so far. I so appreciate those of you who have written me comments both on the blog itself and through my email or website (http://www.debrasanders.com/).

Many of you have commented about what a painful story this is to read. And several of you have, in one way or another, indicated that it is just too painful and for this reason, you have chosen not to continue reading it. Until today, my reaction to this has been, "I totally understand," as I am well aware that for many it really is too painful a reality to confront. Often, I think it is too painful of a story to tell—which is why I have found myself posting erratically instead of daily.

It's easy to empathize with someone not wanting to put themselves through the paces of reading Kristy's story; and until right now, I have not done or said anything to encourage people to stick with me and continue reading.But, this morning, I woke up with something nagging at me. Something deep inside where I couldn't quite touch it, until I made myself breathe into stillness in order to see if I could figure out what it was. And when I discovered what was so deeply disturbing to me, I realized that before I write any more of Kristy’s story, I needed to write this letter to you, the readers. I needed to give myself the opportunity to ask you not to opt out of reading Kristy's story in its entirety.

The questions I have received most frequently are, "Why didn't anyone do anything? Why did everyone always disappear?" "Why did all those teachers allow themselves to be intimidated into submission?" For nearly everyone who has been following the blog, enormous outrage and shock seems to circle around this issue of adult abandonment that we cannot help but think is so wrong. So weak. And when we read Kristy's words and recognize it is not anger she feels toward the people who did not rise up and "save her," there is a sort of palpable heart-pain felt as her words label these individuals as angels--because to Kristy each one of these individuals was a potential angel- rescuer that her (all powerful) parents were able to drive away.

To some degree, I can offer readers an educated guess as to why/how this happened; how year after year as Kristy reached out in the only way she knew how, no one stood up to the challenge of finding out what was going on (see first FAQ/Synopsis blog). And my educated guess more or less excuses and rationalizes (our) behavior with logical explanations, not judgements. I have been very generous with not judging any of us for our failure to do what needed to be done to help a child.

But this morning, as I wrestled with what was nudging so relentlessly in the back of my mind, a thought catapulted through me and disrupted my equilibrium no less than if I had been blasted by a Taser; and the thought is this:

People turned away and capitulated to the pastor and his wife’s intimidation because the alternative was too uncomfortable; too horrifying. This itself is not a new revelation to me. There are some places none of us want to go. There are some realities too sickening, too terrifying and too challenging to our belief in the goodness of mankind and the power of God, to willingly wrap our minds around if we have an alternative.

In Kristy’s case, perhaps the alternative to wrapping our minds around the unthinkable was to avoid uncovering the atrocities; or at the very least, to find a way to discount them. Even with all my professional training, experience and willingness to stare down some of the uglier sides of human nature, there have been times that I found myself wanting to discount, or at least minimize, the truth behind the details Kristy revealed to me over the last 288 days of her life.

I think responding in such a way is an instinctive, natural response to truly unnatural acts of cruelty. Unless significant and conscious effort is made to square off with, and wrap around, certain truths, they will not emerge. That is, we will not allow the unthinkable to morph into anyone's reality, particularly our own.

Throughout our (multiple) daily correspondance over this last year, I had to frequently remind myself of how I felt when I was visiting the concentration camp, Auschwitz and saw Hitler’s blueprints for the systematic demise of a race of people. In one split moment, everything I fundamentally believed about what it is to be human was torpedoed, sending a once intact belief system scattered into a hundred different directions; and it was deeply, deeply disturbing.

At Auschwitz, there was no denying reality and all it implied because right in front me, right before my eyes, were actual blueprints proving the premeditation of Hitler’s intent. I suddenly was staring at blueprints that had been designed, and revised, long before the first person drew their last breath in his ovens.

It’s not that I was naive to this truth; I had studied history and I knew the statistics and facts. Its just that I hadn’t ever confronted it in such an indisputable (and personal) way before and therefore, I somehow managed to keep it as less than real. I guess I was able to intellectualize it and not internalize it, prior to staring at the calculated design of it.

I think in many ways this experience of having been presented with indisputable proof of a reality I would have prefered not to embrace, allowed me to challenge myself throught this past year with Kristy. I challenged myself to really listen; to hear and to feel the reality in the details Kristy was sharing without discounting, minimizing or trying to find a back door to go around them. Because on some fundamental level I knew I was hearing the truth, my challenge was to not turn away from it. To push myself to find the means to internalize this horrible reality and still maintain my faith in humankind.

In exchange for my fully accepting Kristy’s words and her realities, she came to trust me in such a way that she felt safe to introduce and share each one of her parts with me and as far as I am aware, I am the only one who has met and interacted with all the personalities within her. As a result of embracing each one of them, of listening to and hearing each of their stories, I grew to know Kristy in a way I have known few, if any, people in my lifetime.

We all have “others” inside. We each experience moments of being that little kid we once were, the poet we dream of being, the competent firecracker who accomplishes great things and the insecure and awkward adolescent who fears moving forward. Kristy’s "others" had a stronger presence within her than most people ever experience because only in becoming separately developed parts could they work together to collectively ensure her survival. And I wanted to understand each of them both as individuals and as part of the collective individual most people called "Kristy."

What I got out of this relationship was enormous. In one year’s time, Kristy gave me a gift of stunning dimension simply by allowing me to love her unconditionally and without judgement.

Kristy shared the tender, absolutely endearing K with me, along with the homicidal Vicki, the pragmatic but less than compassionate Andrea, the angry S, Daniel (the only boy in the bunch) and all the others who each had their own stories to tell, their own questions, their own role in ensuring her survival. And in time, each one of them honored me by asking my permission to be called, “mom.” In so doing, they allowed me the opportunity to be nothing other than the purest representative of mother love.

Kristy didn’t want me as her psychologist or as another person paid to help her. She didn’t care if I was smart or clever anymore (or ever, for that matter); and it was okay with her that I couldn't remember half of our conversations from day to day. All she asked of me was that I love her in the way most people’s mothers display love; to show her and share with her a little bit of what had eluded her all her life: the simple act of mother-love.

For a woman of multiple miscarriages and no children of my own, I assure you this was a gift of indescribable significance.

What I realized this morning is that I am not so "okay" with people opting out of reading Kristy's story. Too many times people have opted out of being involed in Kristy's life because the alternative-what we might find--was simply too horrifying.

I am asking you to honor Kristy by reading the entirety of her story with all its ugliness and all its horror. It hurts to read it; I know this. It is painful to confront the realities she endured. But stay with me and get to know not only Kristy's horrors, but her intelligence, her grace and her indomitable spirit. I don’t think, in the end, you will regret it.
If you are at all like me, through Kristy’s story, you will find pieces of yourself that join together to make you a better person, a richer individual, a more loving and forgiving member of our species.

All of this said, based on all of your feedback I will--to the extent possible--minimize the details of Kristy's story from this point forward. It’s clear you have the general idea of what she endured; and while I will not sugar coat her story, I will spare you as many sordid details of her life with the pastor and his wife as I can....so that you will stick with me and let the person that Kristy became unfold before you.

What do you think? Can you keep reading? Will you keep reading?

DS

Note: November 28, 2009

To my readers, I can only tell you this: I posted the above letter in July and due to many things which began to unfold and become clear to me, despite my plea to you all to keep reading, I had to stop writing. For my own physical and emotional health, I needed to back away, breathe and restore my own fortitude-- because as painful as this story is to read, I hope you can understand that it is equally painful to write.

I made a commitment to tell Kristy's story and I will honor that commitment. It is my hope to resume where I left off in the very near future. I am not quite there yet--not quite ready to go where I need to go to tell you the rest of the story--but I am closer to being there. Trust that I will honor Kristy in the only way I can, which is to find the way and the words to tell you what she is no longer able to tell you herself.

Check back. I will return.

********
Readers:
If you are up to date with the story, simply scroll down until you come to the newest entry. Please do not pay attention to the dates, which I had and have to manipulate in order to reverse the scrolling (if there is an easier way, by all means, please let me know).

IMPORTANT NOTE TO ALL READERS:

If you are easily triggered or upset by first person details of physical, sexual and/or emotional abuse, it is recommended that you either skip over marked sections or read them in the presence of a trusted therapist or friend with whom you can effectively process the information. I will always try to clearly note when a section is coming up that contains particularly graphic and/or detailed information.

No information is included for the purpose of shock value and none of Kristy's words have been altered either in content or spelling, punctuation or grammar. If I have included information, it is because I have felt that it is imperative to include it in order to tell you her story.

I will not include graphic details or information in the Synopsis/FAQ blogs, so if this is a better way for you to follow her story, it is made available to you and is always clearly identified as a Synopsis.

I thank each one of you for taking the time to read this blog. Perhaps as a result of your reading it and passing it along to others, it will find its way to individuals with the money, talent, and the passion for justice to conduct an appropriate investigation and to seek answers to the many questions which remain unaddressed.

For Kristy, I hope this comes to pass. It's the only thing I can do for her now.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Weird Facts, Selling Oneself and Speaking in Mexico, by Debra Sanders

I know all my blog fans (all six of you!) have been chomping at the bit to know how my debut in Denver turned out. I apologize for keeping you all on edge, but as most of you know, I had to be in Mexico for eight days for my debut in the workshop world. Yep, that's right. I was scheduled to be a workshop presenter for the first time since the accident. At the Fourth Annual San Miguel de Allende writers and literary conference. Todd Gitlin was a keynote speaker. Was I nervous about this?

Does a camel hold its water well?

Before I tell you about Mexico, let me tell you two quick things. First, did you know that it's illegal to drink beer out of a bucket while you're sitting on a curb in St. Louis? How about that for a strange fact! I mean, apparently in St. Louis, you can sit on a curb and drink beer out of a shoe or a boot...even out of a bottle. But drink it out of a bucket by God, and get ready to do some jail time.

Buckets of beer aside, the other thing I need to tell you about is Denver...just a quick update. How did I do? you all ask..well, lets just say I was never meant to be a business woman. Self promotion is NOT comfortable for me. It just isn't. I don't think people should have to pay to read what I wrote. If they read it and like it, let them donate to the Debra Sanders Save Her House Foundation (DSSHHF); and if not...well, let them pass the book on to someone who might like it.

So, uhm...okay, the truth is, I gave away more books than I sold in Denver.

Moving on...

In Mexico, I sold all the books I took to sell and only gave away two! Never mind that I only took ten and that I discounted them for students taking my workshops!

Speaking of Mexico, you know what? Mexico deserves a post all its own. Seeing as how in the blogging world posts are supposed to be kept short, I think I will end here with another strange fact and give you the update on Mexico in its own space. It's quite a story!

Weird fact #2: Just like fingerprints, everybody's tongue print is individual. Especially interesting about tongues is not so much that we wag ours as the fact that a giraffe has a 21 inch one and clean their own ears with it!

LOL. Glad to be back on US soil. Check back for the story on Mexico!

And, as always, remember that a little panache can go a long, long way!

Till the next one,

Debra
ps if anyone out there can clean their own ear with their own tongue, please let me know!

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When Justice Fails the Children: Kristy's Story by Debra Sanders

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Thursday, February 26, 2009

Weird Facts, Selling Oneself and Speaking in Mexico, by Debra Sanders

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When Justice Fails the Children: Kristy's Story by Debra Sanders

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Thursday, February 26, 2009

Weird Facts, Selling Oneself and Speaking in Mexico, by Debra Sanders

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