Remembering Earth Mission

by Sharon Riegie Maynard

  Suddenly, he felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. He doubled over and his vision blurred. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. A moan came from a place beyond this physical body. And pictures came. Visions? Dreams? He could not say. His head swirled, and the bile came again, and he reached to sit in his chair. A woman. Some long-ago time. Just like before but this time he was holding her. Rocking her. He felt her limp, unresponsive body. Cries broke loose from the depth of his Soul. It radiated throughout his body. And then all he saw was blackness.

  Staggering to his bedroom, he sat down on the bed. Holding his head, closing his eyes he tried to comprehend what was happening. He had seen her face before. It was always the same face. But he had never before felt the pain. He saw himself hold her body close to his. An overwhelming sense of loss welled up leaving a gaping wound, an aching emptiness. This was no delusion.

  CHAPTER 10

  I’ll Be There for You

  Rory had not slept much. For hours, shaken and helpless, he had lain awake with the vision clear in his mind. He realized that this pain had been with him for a long time. Buried. After tossing, unable to push away his sense of loss, he had gotten up. As he straightened the scattered papers and placed them in his briefcase, he knew that this pain had driven him into a career of helping and counseling. Toward morning he must have dozed off because the phone woke him.

  He reached over. His digital clock read six a. m.

  "Hello," he cleared his throat and waited.

  "Hello, Rory?" His police friend's voice sounded tired. "Sorry to call you at home, but there was rape last night, and I wondered if you might see the young woman. She's twenty-three, extremely traumatized and not speaking. Her parents are very concerned."

  "Why, sure, Tom. It happened last night you said?”

  “Yeah, a college student on her way home from a late night at the campus library. Don’t usually get involved, but I thought of you right away,” Tom responded.

  “It’s the soft heart that beats beneath the blues, my friend,” Rory joked. Then he became the professional. “Have her parents call my office. I'll tell Nora to schedule me some time." Rory liked Tom. He was a good man and had suggested the Center to others.

  "You may have to make a hospital call. The young woman is still there," Tom said.

  "I'll do it."

  "Thanks, Rory. Sometimes we win. This is one that I hope we can turn around." And the soft-hearted police officer with the strength to walk in extremely rough places hung up.

  Nora had made arrangements for Rory to visit with the young woman's parents before he went to meet her. They were distraught, blamed themselves, and didn't know what to do. They were appreciative of his expertise and welcomed his offer to visit with their daughter.

  As he entered her hospital room, the young woman had turned her face turned toward the wall. Rory sat by her bed. She was quiet, her eyes closed and her body lifeless.

  Rory gently spoke.

  "Gerri. I'm Dr. James."

  There was no response.

  "I am a friend of Sergeant Palmer, the officer who helped you last night. I have talked with your parents and would like to help you in any way I can. I do not know your pain.

  How can I? But I am so sorry for what happened to you. I am here for whatever you want or need from me."

  Gerri heard his words. Her mind tightened. I will not relive last night, she thought. I will not tell anyone about those eyes and the ripping pain. Never trust this world.

  His words went unanswered. There was something about her that was very familiar to him, and his heart went out to her. He sat quietly in his world as she was quiet in hers. He felt the remnants of last night’s pain in his gut. He breathed into the tight muscle and sat for over an hour. Finally, he rose. He touched Gerri’s small hand. "I will be back. You are not alone, I promise. I will be here to help you walk through this experience."

  Gerri held back tears as he walked out of the room she heard, “Myra, I promise from the depth of my soul to be there to help you through Earth’s density."

  An old memory, a wish?

  “Myra," Gerri stopped. Myra? Where had that name come from? Familiar but why?

  Again, the name, "Myra, I promise from the depth of my soul to be there to help you through Earth’s density”.

  Where did it come from? Gerri didn't remember, and yet it calmed her heart.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Message in the Pain

  Could she do this?

  Pam showered and changed into clean clothes. She was beginning to feel safe in this place they called the Center. Was that smart?

  A soft knock at the door and Dr. James come in.

  “Hi,” he said. “How about going to my office for our talk? Is that okay with you?”

  She smiled and nodded. They walked down the hall together, and she thanked him for being there.

  "It has been so long since I have let anyone see me cry," she began.

  "I appreciate your willingness to let me be there and to risk sharing your emotions," Rory responded.

  He opened his office door and stood aside as she went in.

  “This chair is the best in the room,” he laughed and signaled for her. She sat down, and he sat close by on a smaller sofa.

  He asked about her needs. Did she want to contact any family members? What professional help had she received? Did she know what she wanted next?

  She looked thoughtfully into his eyes.

  Rory felt a strange mixture of sorrow and gladness. It was like meeting a long ago friend; seeing that the years had not been kind. He knew she had experienced pain. With difficulty, his professional mind moved that personal feeling aside. He wanted distance and clarity for this woman.

  For Pam, it was as if she weighed him, sensing something that eyes did not see. Then, making a decision, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and began.

  "Dr. James, my life has been anything but easy. I have often said it had been unjustly cruel. There were times when I cursed and raged at God for giving me breath. But, there has been much that I have learned. I have seen visions that encouraged me not to die. I understood reasons for my situations, at least partially.

  "I have shared with no one even a portion of what I have experienced. And yet, something tells me that you will listen, you are to know, and in the telling, I will continue my healing. My question to you is, 'Are you willing to listen?'

  Rory heard her question and with no hesitation answered. "Yes, I am willing."

  Pam leaned back, searching her thoughts. Where to start? She had never tried to put her experiences into words or even into a sequence. What would come first?

  With her eyes closed, Pam began.

  "Ten years ago I was a senior in high school. I loved school. I had a lot of friends. It was my place of safety away from a frightening life at home. No one knew that my stepfather was not the gentle, kind man that he presented to the community.

  "Three months of school remained before I was to graduate. I planned to work at my part-time job during the summer and start college the following Fall.

  "I had been accepted at the perfect school for me. It was out-of-state, away from my home with courses that excited me."

  Pam shifted in her chair.

  "It was after school on a Friday evening; I had a lot of homework and was scheduled to work full shifts over the weekend. Mom, Dad and I had eaten dinner. I cleared the table and helped Mom with the dishes. She was very quiet. Her silence was always a sign that Dad was in one of his moods. Mom had been with him since I was two, and had learned to stay out of his way when he was 'on edge' as she called it."

  Pam's voice drifted with the memory. Then catching herself, she came back to her story.

  "The man I called Dad was my stepfather. My genetic father had left before I was born. My stepfather owned the local lumber yard. Everyone saw him as a pillar of the community: everyone's friend, someone they respected. But that was not what we saw at home. He had a
cruel side. At home, he would explode at the slightest upset. It might be something a customer had done in the yard; orders that were difficult to fill; overtime to meet deadlines. Anything we did or didn't say could set him off.

  "He would beat my mother where no one could see the bruises. She was afraid of him, made excuses, blamed herself and pretended to the world that everything was great.

  "He started hitting me when I was little. He told my mother that God made the man responsible for his family and that he would sure as hell make me know right from wrong.

  "And so, regularly, for twelve years, I watched as he beat my Mom. I learned to cower and hide from him. But I still got my share of 'training.'”

  "When I turned fourteen, he became more verbally and physically abusive to me. As I matured, he made cruel remarks about my body, degraded my school achievements, and the abuse increased.”

  "My senior year was especially hard. I got a part-time job. That helped. It kept me away from home. Staying on top of my studies as well as my work schedule while my stepdad's abuse escalated took all the energy and focus I had.”

  "That Friday," Pam stopped, searched her thoughts and then, breathing deeply, went on.

  "That Friday, he ranted through the house quite a bit. I had lots of much homework and thought I could stay out of his way as usual. After dinner and the dishes, I had folded the dishtowel and gone to my room to study when I heard him stomping down the hall. I walked over and closed my door.

  "The next thing I knew, he had crashed through my door, stormed with his face blazing. He pulled me away from my desk by my arms. He threw me on the bed and shouted about being disrespectful and slamming the door in his face. He yelled, "You'll never do that to me again!” He began to hit me. I rolled and twisted to move out from under him and get away from the blows.”

  "My stepdad was angry. That was not unusual; what happened next shocked me. I don't know exactly how it happened. He held my hands together. As I twisted, trying to get him off, he began yanking down my jeans. He snarled that he would teach me who was in charge and give me what...”

  Pam choked on the knot in her throat.

  "…what I had been asking for," she continued hoarsely.

  She cleared her throat and murmured, "And then he raped me. I screamed and fought, but it did no good."

  Pam sat with her eyes closed.

  There was a long silence. Dr. James sat quietly.

  "My life ended that night," she whispered.

  Rory reached over and touched her hand.

  "After he left my room, I lay on my bed. I wanted to die. I clenched my fists and screamed at God. I had tried so hard and fought so long, for what?

  "After they were asleep, I packed a few clothes, took what money I had saved and left. I couldn't go to friends. My father was very respectful in our town. I had no one. Who would believe me? I knew I would never go back home. I hated him; I hated God, and I was angry at my mother."

  Pam leaned forward and cried softly with the memory. It was no longer an ache for what had been; it was the pain and sorrow for what she had never had, a safe and loving family.

  "I screamed that I would never be taken advantage of again. From then on, I decided what I would do and what I would not do to survive. I may even have been a fugitive. I didn't know if my parents were looking for me if the police would be after me, and so I left our town. Over the next year, I found my way to other cities. I met people within the homeless communities. I heard their stories and observed their lives. I questioned my life and many times I wanted to die.

  "You know the life of the streets." It was more a statement than a question.

  Rory nodded.

  Pam waited. Then, she spoke again.

  "My life made no sense. It was survival, existence, and for what? Others around me were the same. It seemed as if the weight of the poor, the sick, and the unhappy was increasing so rapidly that the world would soon fall into a bottomless pit, everything black, ugly, and dead.”

  "About two years ago I felt that I was at the end. I absolutely didn't trust God; didn't trust people. But I had learned to trust a part of myself I called ‘Shadow’. It was a voice began hearing in my mind. Shadow had told me whom to watch out for, where to go next, and how to find food. This voice, it felt like a "he," had reassured me when I felt alone. At first, I thought it was just my mind playing with my own ideas, but somehow, the voice I called Shadow felt different. I couldn't figure how I would have the insights that came, and stronger than me.”

  "I didn't always listen. I found that when I didn't, I was sorry, I got into trouble or missed something."

  Pam sighed.

  "Are you getting tired?" Rory asked.

  "Yes, a little."

  Breathing deeply, Pam realized that she was more than a little tired.

  "Actually, I am very sleepy. I wonder if we could talk again tomorrow. I appreciate your willingness to listen. Just being able to put these past years into words has been so helpful to me. Thank you for that. I think I would like to lie down now and we can talk more another day."

  "You have covered a lot of ground tonight and, yes, tomorrow would be a good time for me. What about we check in right after dinner?" Rory suggested.

  Pam nodded as she rose and smiled as Dr. James stood and opened the door for her.

  "If you need anything tonight," Rory said, "ring the buzzer by your bed."

  She nodded as she turned and walked down the hall.

  He sat for a few minutes contemplating the day. First, Gerri, the young woman at the hospital and now Pam. Two young women in pain because of the actions of extremely aggressive, abusive men. Where would these two women's experiences take him?

  CHAPTER 12

  Out of the Shadows

  The next morning Rory left home early so that he could stop by the hospital before he started his office appointments. He had called and checked on Gerri last night. The nurses said that she was still not responding. Her doctor had hoped to release her to go home today but wanted some counseling support available to her.

  Rory pushed through the hospital's front double front doors and strode down the hall to the elevator. As he rode to the third floor, he thought about this young woman. What was there about her that felt so familiar? Technically, she was not his patient, but he knew that he would be there for her. The elevator doors opened.

  As he turned to walk down the hall, a voice inside his head screamed, "Get to her room, get there now!" The voice's urging was so shocking that for a second he was stunned. Then, he started to run down the hall, aware that others were looking at him. Although this had never occurred to him before, and running in the hospital would be viewed as bizarre, he did not care. He rounded the corner and almost ran into a tall, blond man coming out of Gerri's room. Their eyes met. The look in the man's eyes told Rory that something was not right. Rory felt a blow from some unseen hand blast into his stomach; the old vision flared in his mind.

  The young man ducked into the stairs, and Rory sprinted into room 316.

  Gerri was lying curled up in bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her sobs muffled by the blanket. Rory slowed his pace and sat in the chair by her bed.

  "I'm here," he whispered.

  She made no reply, and he merely sat. He touched her hands, and it was if her pain cried itself through his body. Despite herself, Rory's presence penetrated Gerri's wall. She heard his voice and raised her eyes to his. As their eyes met, she knew that right now, at this moment, she did not want to be alone with her pain. She wanted to be in the safety that this man radiated. Gerri reached for him and leaned into his arms. As his strength folded her, she knew she was home. Rory held her for a time that was beyond this moment, this rape. It reached back to a woman's limp body, to loss, and to grief. Rory was conflicted. His heart told him to let her be in the safety of his arms, and his professional mind warned of its danger. Rory's heart won, and he held her. Danger flared and asked if he was ready for what more this woman would crack o
pen.

  Then he moved her into a space on the bed and listened as she recounted the events of the morning; the man who had raped her had suddenly appeared in her room. Dean was his name. She told Rory of his threats and his assurance that he could find her no matter where she was. She could feel hatred tinging his every word, and she shook with fear.

  "Gerri, there's nothing this man can do to you. There are laws, and I am here. He will never hurt you again." He lifted their hands and gently kissed her fingers. A shock went through both of them. What was he doing? From where did that response come? Why was it so natural, so familiar?

  Rory cleared his throat. "I want you to listen to me." He held her eyes with his. "I am here, and I am not going away. Do you hear what I am saying?"

  Gerri nodded her head.

  "Are you ready to talk to the police? If you are, I could call my friend, Sergeant Palmer."

  "Would you stay while he is here?" she asked.

  "Yes," said Rory. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  "Then, I am ready," she whispered.

  After staying with Gerri for the significant part of the morning as Sergeant Palmer asked questions, Rory went to his office. He was committed to her. Nothing would move him away, and it made no sense in this logical, trained mind.

  When his last client had left, Rory drove to the Center. After eating and visiting with the staff members, he went to his office to meet with Pam. He made a quick call to assure Gerri and was ready when Pam knocked on his door.

  "Come on in," he called.

  She came in. Looking refreshed, she settled into the soft overstuffed chair.

  “Are you ready for more?" Pam asked with a smile.

  Rory returned her smile and nodded.

  Pam shifted her body, seeming to scan the wall as she sorted her thoughts. Then she took a breath and continued her story.

  "One day, about two and a half years ago, I woke to the despair of another day alone. I was at a shelter. You can't rest much in shelters. You always have to be on guard to protect your bundle and even your life. All the night noises, snoring, nightmares, constant movements of other people, make it hard to sleep. Then you have to be up at 5 in the morning and out on the streets by 6:30 with another day that is just like the one before. You panhandle or pretend to keep busy doing nothing.