Today My Name Is Billie

by Neile Parisi

  In the spring, I planned the Great Egg Drop, another experiment-driven activity. Each student designed a contraption to hold a raw egg. I would go to the top of the school and drop off the contraptions, and we would witness whose creation kept the egg whole, amidst screams and squeals. This became a favorite activity for everyone—an annual event. It was just wonderful to participate in all this science.

  The months passed by, and one day, the principal called me to her office. She said the town had decided to have a memorial service, and the mayor, police chief, and fire chief had decided to honor some heroes and present them with awards for their bravery. I was one of them. I wasn’t expecting this, nor did I want it. I had left it all in the past now, and didn’t want to dredge it up again; but she insisted that it was proper. I really dreaded this event and wasn’t sure if I wanted to participate. Mrs. Baxter said it would make everyone content, especially the parents. They would let me know when this would take place, and until then, I would just carry on as usual. And so I did. I continued to help teach science classes and do my regular job performing my janitorial chores.

  One night, as I was locking up the school and securing all the rooms and lights, I had a flashback of Danny Ray yelling at me, “You’re gonna lose your job. We’re gonna sue.” It upset me terribly, and I didn’t know what to do about it. That night, I had a nightmare about the fire and Becky Sue dying. For a moment, I thought, “Why didn’t Danny Ray die instead of her?” I know that was an awful thing to think, but it was truly how I felt for a long time until I forgave him. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect. The bad feelings and nightmares continued, so I decided I had to talk to someone about it, especially if I was going to survive going to the memorial service. I decided to ask Dr. McClain to recommend someone.

  CHAPTER 27

  Counseling

  I WANTED SOMEONE who wasn’t from Easly. I wanted to see someone out of town, and to be private about it. The doctor told me about a wonderful woman who lived in Greenville, about a half hour from Easly. I called her the next day and made an appointment. I thought I was healed, but according to Coralee, I wasn’t. I made regular appointments to see her. It was enlightening and healing. She took me through all the loss again. It was painful. I felt like a failure again about losing my husband, my career, my second husband, my family, and then Becky Sue. She helped me see that these events were in the past, and that I was free of all of it. It was not my fault. I could do what I wanted, and no matter what anyone said, I knew the truth. She taught me forgiveness again. I forgave Danny Ray, his family, Mr. Anderson, God, and myself. It was a long process. She would give me homework each week so I could progress.

  Previously, even though William and I had gone to counseling, I still thought people sought out counseling were weak, and failures. There was such a stigma attached to it. I didn’t feel that way anymore. In fact, I thought everyone should go to counseling, because everyone has something that they are dealing with and need help with. Each week, I would report back with my homework in hand. It was always a writing assignment to help me grow. She asked me to write a letter to Danny Ray, then to my ex-husband, then to Mr. Anderson, and finally, to myself. After I read them to myself and to her, she had me burn them. I secretly wanted to send the letters to all of these people, but Coralee said that would defeat their purpose. The burning ritual was supposed to help me let it go.

  I still hadn’t completely forgiven them yet, but I did the writing each week, and talked to her for many hours. Sometimes, I felt like it was hopeless, but at other times, I thought, I can do this. I’m going to overcome it. I could feel I was getting stronger. I didn’t tell anyone I was going to see Coralee. I felt ashamed. I thought I was weak, and that she was right that I needed more help. I committed to continue to see her until I felt whole again. There were so many areas to cover.

  “Did you have a problem with your parents?”

  “No, I loved them and got along with them.”

  “Do you still hold onto your abusive first husband, and the awful way he treated you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Don’t you feel that you deserve to be happy?”

  William had said that if I ever left him, no one would ever marry me again. He was wrong. Why wasn’t I worthy? Then I thought about my second marriage, which had also ended quite sadly. It wasn’t my fault. Maybe it was true I didn’t deserve to be happy; but then I thought about Jonathan. He thought I was worthy and deserving and loving, and wanted only good things for me. So I was okay. I knew that if someone could love me, I would make it.

  My therapist taught me you should treat everyone as if they are experiencing a tragedy, and 95 percent of the time, you will be correct. She taught me not to measure myself by other people’s successes, but to compare myself only with my progress. She said I always set myself up for failure because I compared my weaknesses to other people’s strengths. She said to look at how far I’d come in just a short period of time.

  She taught me that in order to achieve inner peace, I must learn how to forgive. These were the hardest and most important lessons to learn. I swore that I would learn to forgive. I swore that I would do my daily affirmations, and start each day with prayer and positive thoughts. She taught me that it was okay to grieve. She said to cry when I needed to, to scream, shout, lie on the floor. Sob in the shower. Be still. Run. Walk. Create. Live my truth. Share without fear. Release my pain. Breathe. Be courageous. Throw away the map. Wander. Be real. Be compassionate. Read. Seek friendship. Be vulnerable. Never fear being broken. Even broken crayons still color beautifully. And aren’t we all broken? She also said I must be willing to leave the life I had planned in order to find the one that was waiting for me.

  The most important thing I gleaned from our sessions was that I had to time my grieving and sadness. She said I had the right to scream, yell, cry, and vent, but I had to set a timer for ten to fifteen minutes, and when it rang, I had to get up, stop my crying, and do something else. This practice helped me the most, because I had to force myself to do something positive. I began to set the timer less and less, and began to automatically stop by myself.

  In the beginning, my bouts of crying were gut-wrenching, body-shaking sobs. There were oceans of tears. My throat hurt from crying, and my voice was hoarse. My eyes looked like scarlet roadmaps. My world went black. My vision narrowed to only a tiny slit of color. The rest was darkness. The crying started immediately. Eventually, I experienced different ways to grieve, but there were never stages. I cried myself awake. I cried myself to sleep. I mostly cried in the car, where no one could hear me. I cried driving to the store, and in the store. I also cried a lot in the shower, where my sounds were muffled by the rushing water. I cried. I cried often and a lot, and didn’t give a damn how much, or who heard me. I was angry with anyone who questioned why and how long I cried. It is different for everyone and every situation. There is no timeline for grieving. It takes everyone a different amount of time and a different method to survive. Don’t let anyone tell you to stop and move on. Only you will know when to proceed.

  I read somewhere that grief is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go. I’ve also learned that grief really never ends, whether it is a loss of a person, job, a career, or a marriage. It just changes. It’s a passage. It is not a place to stay, nor is it a sign of weakness or lack of faith. Rather, it is a sign of love. I’ve also learned that when I am sorrowful, I look in my heart and see the truth, which is that I am weeping for that which was my delight. How blessed I was to have the things that are now absent from my life. Some never experience any of them.

  Each morning as I mourned, I realized that it is a reawakening that things were different now. Coralee said if I held on too tightly to the past, I wouldn’t be able to grasp the future. I was learning to let go. I
t was a very slow process. William Wordsworth said it best: “Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.”

  I had forgotten all that remained behind for me to enjoy, even though there had been significant loss. Grief, if used correctly, can be a gift that presents an opportunity to heal and grow; but I do suggest counseling. I couldn’t have gotten the most from my precious life without it. Before I went to counseling, I felt sad and alone, and really couldn’t move forward. It saved my sanity. I had to learn to find meaning in life again while treasuring the memories.

  My mom gave me inspirational quotes almost daily, if not from the Bible, then from her favorite literature. I really loved this one: “Whatever you are facing today, keep going. Keep moving. Keep pressing on. There is a victory on the other side.” And a powerful one from James Patterson: “Everything I loved was taken from me, yet I did not die.”

  I knew that God had not promised a life without pain, but He did promise that He would be there to give me strength to make it through the darkest days. I believed this without a shade of doubt. I knew that we can chose to learn and grow, or wilt and perish. I chose to grow. My mom said I was a strong woman and could make it through anything. “Just look at you now.” There were days when I believed her, but mostly, I succumbed to the inner voices that came from Satan: You won’t make it. You are not strong. Give up now. Why bother?

  Everyone will offer suggestions on how to move forward, but again, there is no timeline. I’ve learned what not to say to people: “You are in a better place. It will all be okay someday. This must be the lesson that will catapult you to new happiness. It will be easier and all fade away someday.” No, it won’t! You must follow your own mind and heart, and you’ll know when you are ready. I was grieving so many losses: my job, my career, my husband, my children, and my life. I had to learn that I needed to find something to do that would bring me happiness.

  Teaching had provided that joy in the past. I filled my time by being around students, but now, that wasn’t enough. I discovered pastimes I loved: writing, painting, jewelry, and crafts. Lastly, I learned that I would never forget what had happened and that was okay. Why would I want to forget? I had learned a lot from the experience, but now, I had to find the new me. I was like a phoenix rising from the ashes of my broken life. I had to embrace the new journey I was embarking upon. My favorite quote from Coralee was: “So far, you have survived 100 percent of your worst days. You are doing great.” Coralee referred to a chart showing the points that you receive for specific incidents in your life. The more points you receive, the easier it is to have a mental breakdown. For instance, a death is worth ten points; a new job, eight points; relocation and a new home, eight points; etc. I had racked up enough points to have a mental breakdown, so I was grateful that I was in counseling with Coralee.

  I thought about all the people I knew who needed counseling: Becky Sue’s parents, Daniel Ray, Mr. Anderson, all the families of the students who had died—actually, everyone. I continued to meet with my counselor for six months, and then one day, she said, “You are graduating today. This is your last session. Call me if you need me.”

  I never called her again, but I think of her often. She, along with my mom, helped my soul survive. After each session, I would return to school and life renewed, refreshed, and alive. I could see progress—real progress. The nightmares stopped, and I slept well for the first time in years. I no longer needed medication to sleep. I could drown out the sad voices of the screaming children.

  My mom said once you experience or see a tragedy, your mind and soul will never forget it or let it go. She was right. You just hide it or disguise it, but it is never really gone.

  I started to compare myself to only myself, and I understood what Coralee had meant when she said, “Now go live, and practice the things I’ve taught you.” And so I did. I was ever so grateful for the gift of forgiveness.

  CHAPTER 28

  Life After Easly

  I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLE to be loved again, and to feel safe and okay with who I was. I was wrong…so wrong. Jonathan made me feel special. He erased the pain and shut the long chapter of suffering for good. He took an interest in me as a person. And I didn’t just feel like a person again—I felt like an attractive, sexy older woman. It took years for me to share with Jonathan what had happened to me with Daniel Ray. He never asked questions. He figured when I was ready, I would tell him. He didn’t know the public humiliation and private agony I had suffered. He cried with me as I poured out my soul and story, sparing no details.

  He understood, being a retired police officer, a sergeant, and, later, a detective. He had worked on cases that dealt with false accusations, and saw the devastation and pain caused by the lies.

  Jonathan was not shy about his opinions and willingly shared stories of his life and answered all my questions without hesitation. He had learned to stuff down his emotional pain, especially that involving his wife. He never gave up or complained. He was like a real-life Job in accepting his lot in life, believing that the Lord knew best and would direct him for good. He just didn’t quit. He was so different from my first husband, whom I had both loved and feared. I didn’t fear Jonathan; I only loved him. His enthusiasm and warm personality softened my fears, and his dynamic boldness made him unafraid to broach controversial subjects. That quality endeared him to me. After losing his wife and questioning his life, he learned to no longer fear anyone else’s criticisms. He only feared the Lord.

  We did share a love of the Lord, but our understanding was quite different. He had been raised with the Southern concept of a God who should be feared. I had been raised with the knowledge of the Lord’s unconditional love for me, and therefore, I loved the Lord right back. We did share a passion for reading the Scriptures. On our darkest days, we both turned to the word of the Lord for solace. He would often leave notes with references to scriptures that brightened my day.

  When we discussed what had happened to me, Jonathan said he would have leapt across the table in DCF court and strangled my lawyer and the investigator because of the way they were treating me. He said he would have protected me. He was sad that I had to go it alone, and he was incredulous that I had been scammed in that way. The principal should have been fired, and the kid should have been arrested. Jonathan said, “That’s what happens to kids when their parents don’t control them. They end up thinking they are so powerful that they can control other people’s lives, and they damage themselves and the innocents in their path.”

  He had worked with troubled youth in a no-nonsense program. They would detain the offenders in jail overnight—partly to scare them, but mostly to educate them on prison life. He tried to persuade them to choose another path so that it was not their future. He was very successful, and many young people had thanked him for his caring and help. Prison life in the South was very different from other areas of the country. There were no “gym memberships,” college programs, dinner choices, or craft classes to attend. There was hard labor, along with long work hours and lousy food. It was completely different from the prisons portrayed on television.

  All along, I thought he didn’t know about my past, but Jonathan said he heard people talk behind my back. Everyone had an opinion about me. He ignored the rumors and watched me conduct my life, and knew I was not only a good person, but that I was honest, and couldn’t be the monster child abuser I was accused of being. I just couldn’t be guilty of the things they talked about. He formed his own opinion of me, and it was a good one.

  I was embarrassed when I found out that he knew everything. Mr. Detective had watched me, followed me once, and decided he liked me. He worked at the local Piggly Wiggly and always helped me with my groceries. He didn’t need the money; he just needed to be with people. His grandchildren went to our school, and he would ask them about me. He received good reports, and decided to ask me out. It took me months,
but I finally relented, and was so glad I did. He was the best. I thought, “Could I allow myself to be happy?”

  At the same time, it was easy for me to trip into the bottomless pit of the past and fall into grieving mode again. The bad memories were sudden and sharp, and could overtake my mood and consume me. They needed to stay buried, but how was I to accomplish that when they could be unearthed so easily?

  Jonathan started talking about marriage again, and I started to listen seriously this time. My mom wanted me to move back home. She had also lost track of my two sons. Fourteen years had passed, and they had to be pursuing their dreams—which didn’t include me. She had sincerely tried to keep in touch with Philip, but he poisoned our sons’ minds and badmouthed me, so they, too, lost interest in ever seeing me again.

  This was damaging for my mom. She was their grandma, and she loved them deeply. They started to ignore her cards and letters and never returned her phone calls, and she knew it was over. My grandma used to say, “When I get old, please don’t toss me aside in a corner like an old shoe.” But that’s exactly what they did. I wanted karma to take over. I wanted them to feel sorrow and be disgusted with their own behavior. They could treat me that way, but not their grandma.

  My life demanded procedure and order rather than catering to personal feelings. I hadn’t decided what to do. I could stay in Easly and marry Jonathan, or I could return to my home and live with and take care of my mom. She did need me. She was rapidly approaching ninety and wasn’t as healthy as she had been. After all, she took care of me by constantly supporting me. She was always there for me. Do I stay at the school and continue to pretend I am a teacher? How long would that last? Do I try to make a go of it with Jonathan? Or do I go home? I had caused my mom to age rapidly, because she was always stressed out about me and my situation. I imagined she would have lived her life differently if I had been settled. I used to tell myself that I gave her a purpose in life. That was quite selfish, but it made me feel better—and less guilty.