Lazy Summer Days??

I think not! These days are the days packed with activity from one moment to the next. One of my projects this spring has been ti create a relatively easy garden that would add color and we could harvest to save money on produce. Man, did I have my work cut out for me!

First I planted a bulb garden. I prepared a 6x4 area under he kitchen window in front of the house. The part that gets the afternoon sun and then ges blocked by a hill about an hour and a half before sundown. I really though this would be the best spot... Well it is. It has gone wild! I can't keep up!!! Going back a little let me tell you wha I did to increase the "wow" and ease. I had some gladiolas from last year still out there. So I just dug em up and mixed em in with a smorgasborg of other bulbs. Honestly, I can't even tell you what all is out there. The glads have bloomed and the freesia's (all differnt colors) and thats it for the bulbs.

Joy

It hit me today, August 30th 2009. Like a frieght train and so explosive you would have thought I had a heart attack. Luckily for me, I was at my son's school and it was almost sun-down. Me, Trace, Jessie and Ed the dog were the only people there. As I sat and watch the boys it made me smile. I thought to myself "what I wouldn't give to feel that kind of joy again". That's when the train crashed. I realized right then and there that I have never had that kind of joy. Ever. Sure, I have been excited and I have been pleased. But I can't honestly ever in my life remember feeling true and honest joy. Ever since I was a small child my heart has always been very heavy. I don't like to getting into pissing contests about whose life has been worse. So a lot of people don't know all of the things I have gone through. The pain that has been brought into my life by the very people sent to this world to protect me, is so immense that it is almost like a made up story. Most people in their life face one debilitating tragedy. I have lost count.

My very first memories from my childhood don't go any further back then 5 years old. I remember school and I remember the tree house in San Bernardino. I remember not being able to walk to school without my mom because some little boy had been cut up and thrown in the canal taht we had to walk over to get to our elementary school. I remember My dad getting beat up at a party. He apparently mentioned that someone's kid was a nice looking kid. He got the hell beat out of him and our car door got ripped off. I only remember this because he came into the room that my older brother Doug and I shared to hold us and tell us he loved us. I remember my Uncle Walter. He would visit from time to time and he always had this nasty stench to him. He had been in the army and always smelled like an old army cot. He collected Star Wars memorobillia. He babysat my brother and I from time to time. I always got to sleep in the same bed with my uncle. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized that his dirty hands had been touching me from before I could even remember.

I fast forward to the ranch in Newberry Springs where we moved to in the middle of my kindergarten career. My grandpa Herb had been diagnosed with some sort of lung cancer and the doctor prescribed him fresher air than what he was getting at their home in Fontana. I only have two recollections of my grandpa. He picked me up from the bus one time. And my other memory is of him lying in bed in the house at Rancho Shalom in Newberry Springs. He was connected to oxygen and looked like a skeleton. I know that I loved him. I know I did. But I watched him put his hand up my mom's shirt. She swatted his hand and laughed it off. I always thought it was normal. Because after all, its what uncle Walter would do to me.

When my Grandpa passed away I was 6. The family divided then and everyone was upset that Grandpa had died in a convelescent home rather than dying in peace at home. Everyone was angry at my grandma. From what I remember. We moved out off Harvard Rd close to where my uncle Walter lived. The house was huge and the rooms were wonderful. My mom was young and beautiful and had just given birth to my little brother Greg. She was sweet to us. She used to play the radio all day long and even watched CMT before it went to cable. I remember Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Ronnie Milsap and George Jones. They all make me think of my mom and our life at that time. We had barbecues and puppies and kites. Clean clothes, food on the table and a set of parents that were truly in love with each other.

We moved out to a place in Newberry Springs to be a Care Taker for an old man named Dale Tingle. This was when I remember my dad always being at the bar in Newberry. A place where as a child my brothers and I played under the table while my dad got wasted. I remember my dad being so drunk that he beat us with rubber hoses for smiling wrong. He was a very angry man when he was drunk. The best guy in the world when he was sober. One night while I was showering in the bathroom of the travel trailer that we lived in, I lathered myself up with ivory sopa while my mom was putting stuff away in the cabinet beside me. When my dad came stumbling through the door I said "look dad, I made it look like your shaving cream". He promptly ripped me out of the shower and beat the hell out of me. He then got in the car and drove away. He left us and we were so worried about him. He went to his Brother Matt's house in Fontana. He sobered up and never touched alcohol again. He came back to us and we lived happily again for a little while.

My Grandma had somehow met his amazing old lady that lived all alone out in the middle of nowhere in an oasis that she and her husband had created out past what was Whiting Brother's at the time. The woman was loaded but you could tell that her wealth came from the sweat of her and her husbands brow. She had a house that they made out of adobe bricks. A split level home with a music room. In the music room was a giant gold harp, a piano and a violin. It was such a warm and beautiful place to be. Outside she had paved trails that led like a maze through the mesquite bushes. I could go on and on about how amazing this place was. It was just what we needed. She paid very well and gave us a 2 bedroom 1 bath trailer to live in. All my parents had to do was make sure she was ok and do landscaping. It wasn't very long after that our world fell apart. The money was so nice to have that the drugs came easy. Of course first it was pot. Then they started doing lines of cocaine on the table in the kitchen. Parties would rage all night. My uncle walter came and stayed in a travel trailer. He gave the best gifts so it seemed a fair trade for me in my childish mind. I kept his secret he bought me a cabbage patch doll. Give me a break I was 7. What the hell did I know. No one else seemed to notice and I didn't even know it was wrong. Child molesting was rarely ever talked about way back then. When Mrs. Orcutt passed away her son Wren let us stay at the property as caretaker's. What a big mistake. My parents by then were into speed. The fastest way to hell. They sold everything we had, and everything she had. Her harp. I remember. That was big deal. How awful. It probably went for 20 bucks back then. Into the hands of some crackhead desert rat. I remember my parents got taxes back that year. They bought my brothers and I bicycles. What a huge treat. 2 days later they took them and sold them. No apologies. No holding their crying children. No feelings whatsoever. But hey, we had Walter. My little brother was so small. I can't remember but I believe he was still in diapers. I know he wasn't in school yet. My parents would stay up all night and sleep all day and we would miss the bus all the time because they would be too screwed up to get up and take us. One day the principal and the secretary made a visit. My brothers and I were way out playing in the dried up lake bed too far for my parent's to have known if we were faced with any danger. The principal found us and asked us where our parents were. Of course we showed them. When the secretary stepped into our living room I thought she was going to start crying. Our house was filthy. There were dishes on the tables, dirty clothes everywhere, papers and garbage throughout the house. I tried to wake up my mom and she yelled at me. Then the principal woke her up and she didn't even indicate any type of embarassment. She promised them that she would clean up and get us kids to school on time. It was short lived. My parents began fighting. Incessantly every single day. They would hide out in the bathroom. When friends would come over they would hide in the bedroom. When Walter would invite me to his trailer they were oblivious. So was I. When my parents finally got busted for stealing and selling all of Mrs. Orcutts belongings, we were taken in to state custody and sent to foster home. By the grace of God himself my Uncle Al and Aunt Lori stepped in. and we went to go stay with them. I was in 3rd grade at the time and it was the best year of my life. We had clean clothes and stories before bed. We had consequences to our actions. We had the authority in our lives that had been stolen from us by speed. We had love. Unconditionally and truly. They never made us feel bad that they had to take care of us. They accepted us and loved us. My parents were released from jail and moved back out to Dale Tingles property where they lived in an unfinished house that was constantly under construction. This is the first time that Walter didn't live with us or come to our house. Life was good again. For a while. My dad had began building me this beautiful doll house. He framed it out with mini 2x4's and was so careful about the whole project. He made my mom multiple jewelry boxes. An item that I would die to have right now. One day his drunk friend came stumbling through the porch area where my dollhouse was. He stepped right on it and kept walking. This man has no idea how that moment has effected me my whole life. It was like he stepped on my happy home and killed it. We moved out to the other side of Newberry to stay with my Grandma in the house down the hill from Lake Delores. My parents were doing better. Not 100% but definitely better. I spent 4th and 5th grade at Yermo elementary and we moved back to the other side of town right at the end of 5th grade.

We moved into the pink house on Mountain View road. About a quarter mile from where my Grandma lived and my aunt and uncle lived in the house in front of us. I was happy to live close to my grandma still but Walter had somehow made it back to her. I was 10 going on 11 and had seen movies about "touching" and telling our parents. I didn't have the courage to tell my parents what I felt I was letting him do. I was and have always been so ashamed that I let him do those things. I remember that he lived in a house off of National Trails Highway where there were tons of chicken coops. I remember him making my brothers sleep in the living room and him taking me into his bedroom. Making me lie down with him. It was the first time he had done more than fingers. I remember crying and him not stopping. I was probably 9 years old. What a mean and terrible monster. I remember the next night mouthing "help" to my brothers. They didn't do anything of course, they were children. It went on until I was twelve and started being "too busy" to be home enough for him to get near me. I was always at Somer's house and far away from my own. My parent's drug use got worse and worse. They couldn't stay out of jail. My dad couldn't keep a job and my mom was a welfare success story. She managed to work the system amost my entire childhood. Our house quickly turned into the same type of house that we had when we lived at the Orcutt Ranch. We were lucky to ever have clean clothes let alone clothes that were in style or without holes. We were never forced to bathe and half of the time we didn't have electricity or propane to bother with grooming needs. Shampoo was a joke. I was lucky enough to get to wash my hair with dish soap that my might have recieved in a government food box given out at the community center. I still didn't tell my parents about what Walter had done. I feared that my mom would deny it and my dad would believe it. Thus either tearing my parents apart or my dad going to jail for killing him.

My Story

I want to write down the story of my life. My perception of certain events that have shaped my world and the person I have become. Mostly, I want to put my life into words for my son. Growing up our ancestors stories were told and retold and passed down through generations. Because of the way my family has turned out, I can't really offer the same to him. He won't have anyone to tell him about his ancestors because he doesn't have anyone besides me in his family who is with him often enough to tell him things. He doesn't have aunts & uncles and brothers and sisters and cousins to pass stories around with. He has them, he just doesn't have the luxury of a close family and not for lack of my trying.

I cannot stress perception enough... My facts may be misconstrued because I am telling the story from my memory and the way I think things have happened.

I was born in San Bernardino California in July of 1978. My parents were a happy young couple who had already had my brother. My dad worked for my Grandpa at the Top Hat Cage Company in Fontana California.First we lived on Cherry Street and then we lived on Eucalyptus.  The house on Eucalyptus was pretty cool.  It was right on the road but there were two houses and a back apartment.  We also had a massive tree house my dad built even though we were so little we could barely get into it.  The house in the front was a friend of theirs and he had all of the luxury items of a bachelor pad.  The tapestries on the wall, the dark velvet furniture.  The leather and wood bar.  It was a fun place for a little kid because everything was so soft. 

Our house had a big living room a small kitchen and 2 bedrooms.  Our bedroom was huge and we had our own bathroom and our own beds. We were taught to tie our shoes in that house and brush our teeth.  The house was always clean and my mom and dad were passionately happy together. 

The apartment behind us is where some young guys lived.  I remember only going there once and they were all crazy drunk.  It was funny to me because they were being loud and crazy.

Our tree house was in a big tree that partially hung over the sidewalk outside our fence.  I remember sitting up there with my dad and watching people walk by.

We also walked to school back then. Our house was about 4 blocks from the school and my brother who was in 1st grade was my guardian when we walked to Kindergarten.  Could you imagine letting your 5 and 6 year old walk to school in Fontana these days?? No way!  About halfway through the school year a little boy was abducted near the school and his body was cut up and thrown into the canal that we had to walk over.  After that happened the older boy next door walked us to school. 

The Pain blog

I have many blogs, for many reasons.  Chasing the Shae is my pain blog.  When I am looking at my dashboard I barely will move my eyes down to look at the title because I know that is the pain blog.  I write things down.  Post em and then don't have the heart to reread them.  Even if I know there are errors. 

So if you are reading this and wonder why y blog is so out of order and sporadic.  This is why.  Pain is hard to confront.  Pain is difficult to see without re-feeling those feelings.  I know stuffing it down is bad.  But you do what you gotta do when you have a million other things to do.

What every family with a Missing Person must know...

I am writing this from my own experience having been in that "world" for 6 years and having a resolution, although not the one I wanted.  I also am in contact with other people who have missing loved ones.  The following list are things that I see, looking back, and wish I had known.  They are also things that I see still happening to people right now. So here goes....

Be Cautious to who you give your personal information

A person who joins searches for your loved one doesn't get automatic "family" status.  These people who so fervently insert themselves in your search can be overbearing and manipulative.  It can be their way of getting some notoriety or getting to feel like they are contributing.  The latter is not so bad, but still be careful. If they know too much about you, it starts to crowd your personal life and give people access to places in your life they haven't earned.

There is some sort of "war" going on between some organizations that are supposed to be helping families

Stay away.  If you have one Organization Director bad mouthing another... don't join in.  Your focus should always be on your missing loved one and the facts. Period.

There are always people who want to poke holes in your story

Ignore them, and if they must have an answer, simply explain to them, that the story will constantly change and there is nothing you can do about it.  People will always be giving you good/bad information and as a family member looking for a loved one, you will always want to check any info given.  If someone else can't see the confusion of that, they should just be ignored.

Don't feel like you have to post your loved one's info on only one organization's site

You might feel like you "owe" someone loyalty in your search.  You don't.  They are in business to help you.  If they make you feel indebted... then they are not doing their job correctly.  I can't stress this enough.  There are very many organizations out there and most work together, which is wonderful.  But they mostly all have a different hook.  One org does physical searches while another pays for them.  One does Billboards and another does emotional support.  They are all equally fantastic and useful.  So don't limit yourself out of a false sense of loyalty.  Again, your focus is not their comfort, it should be on your loved one. They aren't going through the same thing as you are (well most of them aren't).  So their comfort is provided by themselves.

Don't allow your information to be repeated in an untruthful way

ALWAYS double check what an organization or news story wants to post about your story before printing.  Press releases and Missing Person's posters should always include the facts and be spelled correctly with proficient grammar.  No one will take a story seriously if a person can't take the time and respect to get the information right.  You are not required to allow anyone to pass out incorrect information on your behalf.

Do not, under any circumstances, allow an organization to Nominate you to be a volunteer for them

If you ask to be a volunteer, that is fantastic and this world could do with more of you.  But when you are going through such a traumatic experience, the last thing you need to do on top of that is have to feel like you have to go out and search for everyone else.  I know, how harsh this sounds, so hear me out..... When you are working a full time job and taking care of your family, all while looking for your loved one, the last thing your heart needs is to be filled up with everyone else' searches.  It is one thing to be an advocate and get others messages out.  By all means, please and thank you.  But to have to physically exhaust yourself over someone else' "nomination" is unfair and exploitative. You need to focus on your loved one.

Be gracious and kind

Folks need to be reassured that you are thankful for their help.  You don't need to shower them with accolades or push their message to the media.  A simple thank you is far more easy for someone in your situation to deliver than a grand gesture such as certificates, flowers and immense media coverage.  It is exhausting and true souls will understand that and be grateful that you aren't getting over stressed to the point you can't focus on your loved one.

Give yourself a break

Not everyone is strong enough to take on such an endeavor.... You probably already know what I mean.  You are probably the only person in your family fervently searching for your loved one.  I have been there.  I used to be so hard on myself and so angry at the rest of my family.  Looking back, I had every right to be angry at them, but not so hard on myself.  But my anger didn't get me anywhere and only made me feel worse.  It didn't push any of them into action.

Do not let an Organization director or chairperson treat you badly

No matter what the circumstances are..... No one has a right to treat you like dirt, or call you names.  No matter what.  If this happens to you, don't engage.  Don't reply.  Send that information to the police and to everyone else that you have joint contact with.  There is never any instance where a professional should treat a victim's family members badly.  Ever. You don't owe them anything and should not allow them to make you feel badly when you are already going through enough.  Even if you started it, they should be professional and ignore it.  You are going through a rough enough time and need understanding, not a meany beating you down.  I am not saying you have a right to start stuff with someone, just saying that the professional should not allow for the conversation to progress.

The MEDIA is a great tool

But don't let yourself become a mediamonger.  Someone whose soul purpose is getting their story to the media, rather than actually looking for their loved one.  When your goal of having your loved ones story be the most popular, you can lose a lot of valuable actual searching time.  You need those minutes.  Nancy Grace won't give you that time back, CNN certainly won't.  When you worry more about the pose you are making in the picture, than if the truth of the message is getting to the targeted people (locals who might know something, law enforcement, and helpful organizations), then you need to take a minute, regroup and get back on task.  If people recognize you more than your loved one... it's kinda messed up. Focus on the facts... Not the amount of hits your story gets.


You can take these tips or leave em.  They are from my personal experience and had I known, I would have navigated the "scene" much better than I did.  I would not have allowed myself the frustrations that I endured that I could have been placing on looking for my mother, rather than petting someone's ego.

I hope this helps some of you with what you might be struggling with inside and not sure how to express it or handle it.
 There are so many fantastic organizations out there and I hope you can get all of the help that is available to make your journey easier on you.  I also hope that you remember this is not about anyone else, but your loved one.  If you keep your focus you will be ok.