Goodbye Sun: Loss Reflection (Repost)

Follow the link to read a tribute to my mother Susan Pittmann for her October 31st birthday.

Dear Mom,

Thank you for all that I am. I hope that you are proud of me. 

I will always love you. 

Cynthia

Re-Post: Dear Mom

Recently, author Marianne K. Martin wrote an article,Double Edged Blessing, which touched me deeply. In it, she mentioned the letter that I wrote to my mother on her birthday. It's going to be her birthday again (October 31). I'm re-posting this letter in honor of  her birthday.  


Thanks, Marianne, for helping to spread our message about the humanity of all people and working to end hate crimes against the LGBT community. (Please follow the hyperlinks to follow up on Martin's books and visit the Pittmann Puckett Documentary web.)

Oasis Reflection: It's October again.


Halloween is Susan Pittmann, my mother's, birthday. When I see pumpkins, black cats and witches, I think of her. Why would that be a concern, you may wonder. You see, she was murdered in a hate crime 18 years ago by our neighbor, Jim Brooks. (I wrote about the murder.) Since that time a lot has happened around her story. Isn't it strange how a life can continue in some way even after it passes? Every October brings with it a time to reflect, whether I want to or not, about that tragic event. I thought I would just go ahead and write about it here, on my 100th blog post.

Dear Mom,
I turn to you on this day because I am compelled to embrace your life. You are the door that has led me on so many life journeys. I want to thank you for your strength and open mindedness. Do you remember that you once told me that I could have benefited from a mom who was more sensitive? I want you to know that you were enough, and that I did not need any other mother.
You were a strong straightforward person- a woman bound to accomplish, an entrepreneur, and a visionary. We had our differences. You liked having a practical vegetable garden and I loved growing flowers. You liked painted properties and I liked painted canvas. You were tough and I was sensitive. You were a 'people person' and I was somewhat reserved. Let me be clear about your insight, Mom, you were wrong because you were exactly what I wanted and needed. You taught me to toughen up, and I'm still learning that lesson from you.

Do you see that book cover I posted here, Love in the Balance? It arrived in the mail last week. It has a character, Evonne, who is loosely based on you. And the scene of the murder trial, news reports, the sentencing of Mr. Brooks are all factually correct. Some of it sounds like it came right out of the TV news reports, "Our top story tonight is the double murder this morning of two local women at their home in a quiet rural neighborhood...It is unclear whether the murders were the result of a boundary dispute. The women were in the process of installing a fence separating their property from that of the suspected killer." There is one mention about a daughter, Jenny, who spoke to the reporters and at the funeral. Her words make people understand that her mother was a loving mother, grandmother, and friend-and that living a lesbian lifestyle does not mean that you are someone who is separated from the normal embrace of family life. That message is what I try to share as well. I think you would like the book. It's about self-acceptance and celebrating life.


I found out about the book because the author, Marianne Martin, was interviewed by the film maker, Brian Alexander for the Pittmann Puckett Documentary- yes, there is a film being made about you and your partner's murder, and how it mobilized the gay-lesbian community into action. Did you know that the Michigan organization you founded (with others), Affirmations, is still going strong? It serves as a community and support center for people who are discovering and/or celebrating their sexual identity. There is an art gallery named after you, too, and I copied the dedication for you:


The Pittmann-Puckett Art Gallery was founded in memory of two of Affirmations founding members and strongest supporters, Susan Pittmann and Christine Puckett. The couple was killed in their home by a neighbor in 1992.


I went to Michigan last March to be interviewed for the film. It was a powerful experience, and I felt as though I could say all that was important to me about you and your murder. I hope the film is seen by many people, and that it continues to expand and open the perception of those who are narrow-minded. While I was there, I was able to visit the Pittmann-Puckett Art Gallery. I was proud to know that your presence continues to be felt within that organization. I particularly appreciate that an art gallery was named after you (and Christine). Do you remember that the first college class I ever took was with you? And it was art history?
I am strengthened by the memory of how you lived your life. Your graduation from Wayne State University at 50 years young-as you would say-continues to inspire me to strive forward regardless of artificial age limits. Thank you for showing me how to change and become strong enough to obtain my goals in life.
Just before you were killed, you told me that you were proud of me and how I lived my life. Mom, I hope I always make you proud of me. I hope my life reflects the best of your legacy. I will always love you.


Your daughter,


Cynthia "Sue"-included for you, Mom xxoo


PS. You will be happy to know that the Hate Crimes Bill was signed into law just three hours ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To order Marianne K. Martin's books:
Love in the Balance
Indelible Heart

Please click on the hyperlink on the sidebar (rainbow Michigan) to visit Brian Alexander's web page: The Pittmann/Puckett Documentary.

Autumn's Leaving

Oasis Feature: Goodbye's Returning

I'm back from Michigan, and am still processing the astonishingly vivid autumn week. I decided to take an intentional walk down Memory Lane, and found a richly intense source of personal history. I highly recommend the experience of living in your own memoir by re-visiting the people and places that impressed themselves into your memory at an earlier time in your life.

On Memory Lane, I visited Apple Charles' orchard, and discovered a former high school friend is Apple Charlie. I walked through a pumpkin patch, and remembered the great pumpkin, and our farm fund raising activity where all proceeds went towards the purchase of a new motorcycle for the Pittmann girls.  I strolled the Parkview cemetery grounds while Brian Alexander filmed for the B roll that will be shown during the credits for the documentary. (This film is being made about my mother and her partner and the events surrounding their murder.) I met up with Lillian L., one of  Mom's motorcycle buddies, who still rides at 80 years old, and had a delightful lunch filled with her entertaining chatter. I went to the scene of the crime, rather, our farm house, and met the new owners who generously showed me all the changes they had made to the interior of the house.  I returned to our first house on West Point street in Taylor where I lived with my family until I was three years old. Located behind the house, I discovered Mom's Siesta Motel has been converted to a business office building where people siesta no longer. I walked around the corner to Mack's Shack, which is now Kelly's Bar, and remembered the first time I passed for eighteen, and reflected how once when I was sixteen years old I sat at the bar and had a beer with my father. I felt so grown up.

Courageously returning to these specific locations of my personal history reminded me to embrace the past, which includes as they say both the bitter and sweet. Join me as I share memory moments in the next couple of posts in the Oasis Feature; Goodbye's Returning.

The Thing Is

by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love. © BOA Editions, Ltd., 2002.

Embracing Sadness?

Studying Memoir Under a Cieba Tree (Mayan Kapok/Tree of Life)

Oasis Moment: Dealing with Loss

Grieving doesn’t have to be a process that keeps us rooted in our thoughts of fear and sadness. For the moment we might feel despondent, but by expressing and coping with our true feelings, we face the sadness head-on. Daily Om 


The above quote comes from the Daily Om web-log,that was founded by Scott Blum author of Summer's Path and Waiting for Autumn. 
If you ever were curious about how people who are "spiritual but don't call themselves religious" might think, these books are a must-read. Both are incredibly imaginative, insightful and connect to experiences and thoughts I have also pondered. 

A Death in the Family

My young brother-in-law, Joel, died last week. He was still in his thirties, not always healthy but death is a shock whenever it arrives. When my father died of diabetes complications at 49, I stayed in a kind of shock for years. When my mothered was murdered at 55, it was a shock. When my niece died in a car accident at 17, I was shocked. And now this death is no exception. Age doesn't matter. I'm just shocked by the finality of death. I have trouble feeling when I first encounter the news of death. I become quiet inside and observant outside. I'm treading water out in the middle of the funerary sea. 

All the death details and surrounding dialogue feel unreal when the shocked-state is in place. I remember the words, "He's in a better place," repeatedly sounding, but I'm not so religious anymore. Besides, those words never spoke to my heart anyway. I remember the last time I saw him in the intensive care hospital ward, he had trouble breathing and couldn't talk. Just before I left, I said "I'll see you later" and he nodded affirmatively. He wanted to live. He loved life. He loved to laugh. He held no grudges and didn't complain. He was a journalist and editor who celebrated my children's triumphs in writing, bringing them a little local fame and boosting their self-confidence. I appreciate his generous and considerate heart.

Feeling grief is difficult

In Blum's books, though they are spiritual fiction, he talks about the psychological process of embodying your feelings and allowing them to be fully felt without bodily resistance. I think I have more "embodied feeling work" waiting for me when I'm ready. Encountering deep feeling is frightening. 

I think most of us cope with loss by cushioning memory with distraction.

Some of my distractions?

Reading fiction at Borders drinking Earl Gray-er Tea

Mom and daughter bonding over a homemade honey and oats facial mask

Capturing a funny shot for my Twilight fan, Miss A

Confession. I have laughed inappropriately while waiting for death to arrive. It's like a dark humor enters my body, and I forget death and grief. I hope that I don't offend anyone with my behavior. I have seen death up close when it feels far away. It's just a shock-adaptation. I remember it when it happens- a kind of coping humor. True, I also distract myself with study and focused work where I block out all thought, I think. But then I realize I'm talking about death and loss to my poor happy fresh-faced freshman students. Bummer! I also need plenty of comfort time such as bonding with family, reading fiction or about comfort food and cooking it, immersing myself in nature, and, yes, laughing.

How do you go through difficult times of loss?

The Ceiba tree rooted in life as we are while living

The ceiba tree (or kapok) in Mayan cosmology was considered to be the tree of life that connects earth to sky, or man to the divine. They left notes with requests at the base of the tree, and poured rum around it, ‘feeding’ the muse. Trish and Rob MacGreggor- authors of The Seven Secrets of Synchronicity .

Joel Villanueva Reyes

May your journey be peaceful. May your family and friends feel surrounded in love and support during this time of your passing.

Maternal Moosings

Oasis Returns: A few notes on life, change and mothers

Espresso coffee with warm milk taste better than Mr. Coffee's rushed cup.

Do you start your day off with coffee? I can drink a pot of "American" coffee without getting "the jitters" while consuming two cups of Yaucono espresso could send me over the top. I usually get up early in the morning and put on the coffee- first thing. Though I have cut down my intake of coffee, I continued to drink a cup of coffee in the morning. (Haven't you been thrilled with the news that coffee could have some health benefits?) My motto: Healthy eating in moderation! Isn't that sentiment a contradiction coming from a lifelong vegetarian? I still like a bit of butter and cheese but lately, I prefer higher quality dairy products and avoid eggs.


This morning, I listened to the roosters crow and chickens squawk while I walked to the front gate of Green Oasis Finca. I have just planted a white rose bush that was given to me by nearly grown daughter, Miss A, which I, in turn, dedicated to mom because it was the anniversary of her murder on May 5. I found the physical act of digging deep into the earth and planting this ever-blooming floribunda rose, Summer Snow, the perfect way to connect and disperse this heavy laden grief that burdens me around Mother's Day. I feel refreshed and ready to get on with life. I just need a little sip of coffee, love from my family, and the company of blogging buddies to keep me thriving. I have appreciated the continued visits to my quiet Oasis blog, even though I feel like this black and white Holstein. Look at that face!
I have discovered that "girl cows" do have horns. And that in women, they hide under the surface until about the age of 50 years or so. My own horns are showing! Or rather I'm feeling a bit edgy-and it's not from the coffee. My daughter is soon off to college, and I feel strong pressure coming from that impending change in both of our lives.

My lovely daughter just finished this painting, yesterday.














Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that most counts. So when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will! Hope Floats


Amber's Sun 5/2010

Goodbye Sun

Today, October 31st, is my mother, Susan G. Pittmann's birthday. She has been gone now for 16 years and 5 months, and I miss her dearly. She enjoyed the fact that she was born on "the Witches" day-and this blog- Oasis Writing Link(OWL)-is named in honor and memory of her. Mom was killed by her neighbor, James Elwood Brooks...why? Brooks was deeply offended by the public display of affection between Mom and Christine Puckett. Some say there was a property line dispute over the construction of a privacy fence but why did they need to build a fence? This question points to the truth, Mom and Christine were killed because they were lesbian lovers who were bold enough to get married and kiss in public, i.e. in the front yard within full view of all the neighbors and the passing cars on Middlebelt Road!

Brooks was not a stranger to me, our family knew him for years. He used to drink too much but he quit; he was angry and lonely. Frequently, he was lonely more than angry and I felt sorry for him. Once he shot our pet chicken, Chicken Little, because she was trespassing on his property. I was not afraid of him, though; I just thought that he had a temper as we used to say in Michigan. As a child, I reflected, I had a temper, too. Once I ran to his house when Black Beauty, our Labrador retriever, was locked in the backseat of our car. She must have gotten in when we opened the doors to go into the house. I remember I had a feeling that she entered while I was taking my time getting out of the car. It was that feeling that led me to discover where she was...I desperately tried to call Mom and Dad who were at work but there was no way to contact either of them. Brooks said the only way to open the door was by breaking a window, I tried but I couldn't. He said that the dog looked dead anyway. His lack of action was disheartening. Black Beauty, a gorgeous reject from a seeing eye dog school, died from the intense heat and lack of air. I saw her rolled up in a comfortable circle on the floor just waiting for her next car ride. (I know that sounds like a sad country song.)

Brooks occasionally threatened to shoot Cin-Cin, my French alpine 4H show goat, especially when she slipped out of the corral to contentedly enjoy the fresh green leaves off of his young apple trees. He threatened to shoot often but usually, he controlled himself by calling the police or reporting us for some imagined (or real) minor infraction. Ironically, he was reporting Mom and Christine for animal abuse. He shot at Mom's dogs, Arrow and Ms. Pitt, for trespassing. Ms. Pitt -yes, she was a pittbull-had a thyroid condition that slowed her down; she was heavy and not much of a wanderer so Mom kept her inside of the house most of the time. Brooks was shooting at Arrow and reporting Mom to any authority he could think of while passing more and more time at the Orchard Grove restaurant and bar. Shocked neighbors encouraged his rage at the lesbian women over at the Pittmann place. I imagine them questioning, "What happened to Sue, anyway? Wasn't she married to Richard all those years?" They would try to reason, "I always knew there was something weird about her; she rode a big motorcycle, you know. I heard she went all the way to Alaska on her bike; she's such a showoff." The grapevine reports that Brooks shared his plans to kill Mom and Christine down at the Grove where he would receive ongoing sympathy and support for his distressing viewing situation. He was going to kill them; he told the neighbors. He was going to kill them; he told Mom and Christine.

Brooks was not always a man of his word; he had a record of temper, not commitment. In the kitchen where he would sit and drink coffee, he had a gun-a hunting rifle-behind him. He had a couple of rifles in the corner and a shotgun as well. I imagine him sitting there at the table, rage pouring over his skin while he thought,"It's not natural ...those women together like that; it's just not right." Decisively, he got up and went to the property line; he crossed it and confronted Christine who was working on the fence posts.

Mom told me that Christine had a camera and was trying to take his picture while he was on their property; maybe she did snap a picture. Who knows? Brooks and Christine exchanged words and he went back to his house, pointed a rifle from the kitchen doorway and at a distance, shot Christine. Mom was calling 911 when Christine was shot. I heard the recording, "He shot my worker!" she said. The police operator tried to get details; address, descriptions-anything to keep Mom on the phone. I heard a sound like a phone falling to the ground and that was all. Mom ran out to help Christine who was face down in the grass. Brooks walked to our circle drive with his shotgun. With the strength of metal and gun powder, he faced my mom. She looked directly at him, courageously stood in front of him, while he lifted the gun and shot into her. She was so close to him that the bullets made a dollar-sized hole in her body; the blood poured out quickly and she was gone.

Sometime during the event, probably after Brooks killed Mom, he walked up to Christine and shot her directly in the back. Then he got into his car, backed up, and sat there waiting for the police to come. When they approached him, he didn't try to escape, he just said, "It had to be done." It had to be done. When you shoot wounded animals; a horse with a broken leg, a dog hit by a car, or a litter of puppies infested with maggots; you might say, it has to be done. When you kill two women who loved each other; and you are James Elwood Brooks or the community that supported him, you say; it had to be done.

Mom was 55 years old and Christine was 36, I think. I know it was May 5, 1992, Cinco de Mayo in southern California, when I heard the news. My sister, Linda, called me at work- the US Department of Defense, Naval Consolidated Brig, Miramar, and said, "Mom is dead." I replied, "Mom is dead? How do you know? Tell me, are you sure?" Someone called her, a cousin, I think, and said your mom's been shot. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I was going to see her soon. I had my airline ticket and her new baby granddaughter, Amber, too; we were going to be there. She's not dead, I thought. But she was...her body was gone and I was too shaken to feel her in any other way.

Sue Pittmann was powerful. Her presence cleared the space of doubt around me and made me sure I could do anything. I am so proud to be her daughter. When the sun set on her life; it set in my heart and I knew I had to be strong on my own; I had to go on without a powerful mother lighting the way for me. I think I'm fine. Today's Mom's birthday; how glad I am that she was born. Happy Birthday Mom and thank you for my life.