Betrayal

the ripping apart at the seams

We’ve all felt it — that ripping apart of what we thought we knew.

For me, the most recent ripping happened seven months after Glen had died. I got a text accusing me of something I hadn’t done. I remember standing in the kitchen early in the morning looking down at my phone, trying to understand what I was being accused of.

I texted back, “I’m not sure what this is about, but no, I didn’t do that. Can we talk this through instead of texting?”

The person replied yes, so I called them on the phone.

When I talk to someone on the phone in my house, I talk to them in the bathroom because that’s where the wifi is best. The router is next to the sink, so I stand next to the sink, where the connection is good. Sometimes I can move closer to the tub; lean into it as I stand on one foot, my other foot curled around my ankle.

That is how I was standing that day — on one foot, the other around my ankle — when the accusations began. When the shaming started, and the punching down, I unwrapped my one foot from around my ankle and put it on the ground, because I couldn’t keep my balance while trying to understand what was happening. Why the punching was so hard and so low.

When the call finally ended, I was lying on the floor. Sprawled out and wrung dry.

From that lying down place, I got on the phone again and called a friend; told them what had happened. Said, “Can I come over? I can’t be in the house by myself right now.”

“Yes,” she said. “Come now, right now. I’m here.”

I didn’t change out of my pajamas or pull back my hair. The only thing I did was brush my teeth, get Lolo in his harness and then into the car. I drove to her house where Lolo and I stayed for many hours until I was calm enough — back to myself enough — to go back home.

A few days later I was talking to Julie, our grief counselor, about what had happened. I told her the story in a brush it if off way; a try not care way; an I need to keep going way.

But she stopped me, Julie did, and what she said was in the realm of:

“Wait. Slow down. What happened was a betrayal, and that is going to take time for you to heal from. Don’t override it just because it’s uncomfortable. Don’t go too fast to get it done quick. Tell me what happened, then tell me again. The telling is the beginning of sewing back the stitches, of the seam that has been ripped.”

~

I am speaking about betrayal — the breaking of a contract and a violation of trust — because our country.

The shaming and the punching down.

The ripping apart at the seams, and the ripping apart of lives.

Again I am on the bathroom floor. Lying there and wrung.

My friends — like your friends, or maybe like you — are talking about losing their jobs; some who’ve had these jobs for over twenty years. How the loss of their jobs is so painful, so impactful on their lives, families, and days — but even more so — more painful, more impactful for the people and the land that they have served:

The families and the children; pregnant mothers and new born babies. Teachers and schools. Illness and disease. And the water. Making sure there’s enough clean water for all of us to drink.

The crushing loss of their skill sets and their work. Their calling, which is to make our world a better place for us all. The ripping out of these seams, for generations and generations.

My heart like your heart, is breaking and then breaking again.

When I read about Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia, who I know you’ve read about too. Or Alfredo “Lelo” Juarez and Jeanette Vizguerra, who maybe you haven’t. My heart again, because the families and the people. The ones who’ve been taken and the ones left behind.

I know that we cannot be afraid right now, but I am.

So I am saying it and will keep saying it, because maybe in the saying we can together and somehow, sew back the seams.

~

If you know someone who is afraid and vulnerable in regard to I.C.E. in Colorado, here is the hotline for them to call if there is a situation where they need to know their rights and get support to stay and stand strong:

1-844-864-8341

They can call as the situation is unfolding so they are not on their own.

~

When the clouds came out like this, from across the valley, Glen would say, “Look. It’s our dragon tail.”

xo,

Jo