How would you react if, in the midst of a heated argument, your daughter ran out of the room and stabbed herself three times in the stomach with a Bowie knife? This is what happened to me but wait there is more. Afterglow is my story, a mother's story. It begins at the funeral of my youngest child, Melanie. Page by page, I share the story of my early development, leading up to adulthood and two unsuccessful marriages. As my children grow, I learn that both my daughters have a genetic disorder called Ataxia. All during those volatile years I yearn for a foundation of stability for myself and my children. The Fates led me to spend a significant amount of time with a Seneca Elder who taught me many lessons about life. At the time, I didn't realize how significant these lessons would prove to be.

Afterglow

A Test of Human SpiritBy Jean Catherine Vaughn

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2011 Jean Catherine Vaughn
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-4986-6

Chapter One

I ask myself, "How can this be?" I sit in the front pew of Holy Rosary Catholic Church in Erie, Pennsylvania, apprehensively awaiting the start of the funeral mass for my youngest child. My husband is by my side; my children and their families surround me acting as the protective glue that keeps me cemented to my sanity.

This is the parish of my children's youth. Their religious and elementary school education took place on this block nestled within a working class neighborhood of tree-lined boulevards and older city homes. As I observe the familiar statues gracing each side of the sanctuary, everyday thoughts and images fill my mind providing fleeting relief from the reality of why we are here. I think about it being a typical summer day for Erie. Thunderstorms are predicted for later in the afternoon, well after the funeral will end.

I silently ponder over why the air is always so stale in church even though there are fans churning high overhead. I wonder if my children are reminiscing about their early childhood rites of passage played out within these walls. Does Wayne remember when the nuns were so pleased he played Stairway to Heaven at a school event while the young lay teachers sat in the audience remembering hearing this same song at the local hot spot? Luckily, it was an instrumental rendition with no words to reveal the meaning of the song. Does Ed remember trying to lower the flag on a windy day when all of a sudden he became airborne? Does Le`Anne remember her first day of kindergarten? Do they remember Melanie's first communion? I remember it all.

The priest is not someone we know from our past connection to the church. He asked what he could say about our daughter, Melanie. I told him we have a eulogy; we will say the words to honor her life. He sadly reveals he does more funerals then baptisms nowadays, revealing the signs of an aging neighborhood.

I turn around in the pew and notice the extended families of my previous two husbands. I spot friends from work, as well as friends who are on the same spiritual path. I also notice a few people I can't place. The combined spiritual presence of all these people creates a spiritual bond of love and support that I can feel, and desperately need at this time. I realize that the church acts as a broker to provide group support for our spiritual needs. Fortunately, any leftover negative feelings from my former two husbands have been expunged and oblation obtained. We gather here in peace to celebrate the short 23 years of Melanie's life.

As the people enter the church, an inspirational song is playing in the background. Everything seems surreal, unconnected. This is just a dream, right? I'll wake up and everything will be as before. But, I am awake and it's not a dream.

The Eulogy

Melanie's Uncle Jim reads the words written for this moment. He starts by saying, "These words are expressed by Melanie's mother.

Within the last month, Melanie decided to get a tattoo consisting of two dolphins riding the top of a wave. She was quite delighted as it was the first thing she showed us upon our return from France.

Hanging on the wall of my office is the Wildlife of the World calendar. To my amazement, the animal depicting July is the dolphin. In Native American lore, dolphin stands for manna, life force. We learn there is no limit to our reality. By changing the rhythm of our breath we can enter into other realities. Grandmother Moon gave Dolphin the job of being our link with the Creator.

Melanie came into this world during a full moon phase and chose to leave during another full moon phase. Perhaps Melanie has a special relationship with Grandmother Moon too. Perhaps she learned a new rhythm and opened to the light to enter a new and different place from the one she has known. Perhaps the dolphin is an affirmation of the new job our Creator has given Melanie.

May we all have the faith to KNOW within our hearts ... that our beloved Melanie ... has transcended the bounds and limitations of the human body to discover a new and different life free of the restrictions from whence she came. It is my belief that Melanie has chosen the role of being OUR link, that she will always be with us to guide us along our journey in becoming one with the Creator.

Because she was in the hospital, Melanie missed one of her major life passages, her high school graduation. It was difficult for her not to be present in person to receive this diploma of completion, difficult not being able to share the joy with her friends. Her latest life passage was to leave the Earth Plane. However difficult it is for us, we must accept her decision. May we feel her guiding us on our way. May she continue to feel our love. May this farewell ceremony stand as a tribute not only to her old life, but to her new one as well. May we all learn the rhythm and be open to the light of the Creator. I know God blesses our beloved Melanie. She will live in our hearts forever."

Although it appeared Jim was having a hard time speaking, he continued by saying, "These words are expressed by her Aunt Karen: In a perfect world, there would be no weeping because none of our loved ones would ever have to leave us. There would be no more pain. There would be no such disease as Ataxia trying to limit the voices of my beautiful nieces.

Everyday there would be sunshine and happiness, but even a little rain can give us a beautiful rainbow. Sometimes life's disappointments and tragedies can make our lives richer and more complete, no matter how hard they are to comprehend.

A perfect world would be boring and everyone knows how much Melanie hated to be bored. Melanie can look down on us now and be with whomever she wants, whenever she wants, and she never has to be bored again. She will be way too busy keeping track of us while she has found the ultimate perfect world."

* * *

Never in all those years of attending church and its numerous school events did I ever envision returning so soon to bury my youngest child. It's astounding how life plays out with its roller coaster twists-and-turns and its high-highs and low-lows. Not only does it take my breath away and jerks me to and fro, it also tests my spiritual beliefs to my vibral core ... my very soul.

Journal Entry–July 10, 2004

Two days after Melanie's burial. I sit here with the copies of the death certificate in my hand. They read, "Melanie Jean Rosthauser died July 2, 2004." How does one begin–at the end with death? Or the beginning with birth? Or are both the same? The end of one way and the beginning of another.

Our Loved Ones

We cry with joy when they arrive. Why do we cry with sorrow when they leave? Do we cry for them ... or us? We only feel our sorrow. We do not truly know what goes on in the hearts of others. We may fool ourselves into believing we can read the signs. If so, I need new glasses ... bigger bifocals.

Intuition

It is said that it's the most difficult to help those closest to you because you are too emotionally involved. Grandmother Twylah Nitsch couldn't help her son. I couldn't help my daughter. What benefit is it to help others with their pain and suffering if you cannot help your own? Melanie would not confide in me. She refused to open up as to what was going on inside. The stab wound–even IT refused to open up. Instead, she died of massive internal bleeding. Till the end; no, even in the end, she kept it all inside.

A small amount of blood was shed on the outside. A minute indication of what was taking place on the inside. This is the way she chose to live her life–and to end her life.

How did I get to this moment? The Sages say we plan our life before we arrive on this Earth Plane. If so, why would I choose such a difficult one laden with numerous pain-filled challenges beginning with my childhood?

Chapter Two

My parents met while working at American Bridge Company during World War II. My father was too old to go to war and my mother was a Rosie-the-Riveter working on LST's (Landing Ship Tanks) for the war effort. He had already experienced a full life and I believe he must have been in a mid-life crisis at the time of their meeting. Hell, if the truth were known, he must have had raging testosterone his whole life! Skeletons in the closet revealed that he had been married several times (not sure if he ever divorced) and had several children with several women. These lost children eventually searched him out to obtain family medical history or to satisfy their curiosity surrounding their biological father. We never knew when another "sister" would pop- up. The housekeeper even became pregnant by my father. In fact, this "sister" is only nine months older than me!

Dad was deemed a genius by his business partners who attended his funeral. We lovingly referred to him as the "mad scientist." It's true. He was very intelligent. Men, like my father, can't be subjected to the day-to- day minutia of life; their minds are too focused on the "what if" of science. Marriage could work if they marry a strong woman to compensate for what they lack in everyday living skills. Unfortunately, my mother was not strong. Aunt Ethel, Dad's sister, shared her opinion that Mom was a woman child who never matured beyond the mental and emotional age of thirteen. What she needed was a strong man to take care of her, perhaps a father figure, since her father died when she was young. I believe the marriage of my parents was a mismatch from the start. So why did they marry? She was pregnant with me. I was the first of five children to this wife. He was 43, she 21.

Family members said my mother loved being pregnant, as it brought attention her way, something she desperately needed. What she didn't possess, was the physical and emotional stamina needed to raise all these children. After work, Dad would sequester himself in his lab. For the most part, he was inaccessible as a father. He was the strong silent type. She was the drama queen, always fighting with the neighbors.

Like all little girls, I probably drew attention wherever I went. What I remembered from those first years is mother calling me a "Jezebel." Even though I didn't know what it meant, her tone suggested that I had earned this wicked name. When frustrated with my saucy behavior she would pronounce, "Who do you think you are, the Queen of Sheba?" I didn't even know who the "Queen of Sheba" was, but I liked being compared to a queen!

To my mother, I was the child who ruined her dreams of the future. Throughout my entire childhood all I ever heard was, "If it wasn't for you, I could have married so and so ... if it wasn't for you, I could have gone to ... if it wasn't for you, I could have been a contender." She blamed me for all of her unwise choices. I was an innocent child who took on this mantle of guilt at an early age. It ate away at my self-esteem, my confidence, and undermined the core of who I was. I failed to develop a foundation of truth for myself; instead, a hole developed in my spirit.

When I think about it, the plain truth is that my parents should never have had children. I used to say that we were wild weeds growing up, but later changed it to wild flowers as all of us came to blossom despite the poor emotional soil and lack of that fertilizer we all need in abundance–LOVE.

Chapter Three

It was the summer of 1960; ninth grade was now completed. Dad's other sister, Aunt Ruth, was now living in Erie and invited me up to visit for a few weeks. The main attraction of this touristy water town is a sand spit that extends into Lake Erie called Presque Isle or as the locals call it, "the peninsula."

For me, it was love at first sight. I had seen lakes before, but never like this one. The expansiveness of not being able to see the other side took my breath away. Lying on the warm sand listening to the waves gently lapping onto the shore lulled me into a blissful alpha state. It felt like home. Not the house I live in, but HOME.

All too soon, it was time to return to the noise and daily chaos that was generated by my younger siblings. I hesitantly approached my aunt and asked if I could live in Erie, as I couldn't bear the thought of not being close to this magnificent inland sea. A week after starting tenth grade, her response came. Gaining my uncle's permission and my grandfather's agreement to pay for my upkeep, I happily moved to Erie with the thought of never returning.

However, the Fates had something else in store. It was now the summer after tenth grade and I was spending a weekend with my family back home. My cousins were to pick me up on Sunday, but it never happened. Once again, I was stuck in this hellhole; nothing had changed ... except me. I was not wanted in Erie, not really wanted at home, as I would just be another mouth to feed. I was just not wanted! It took twenty years to work up the courage to question why I was sent back home. Was I too bad, too much to handle, why ... why ... why? A gentle smile passed across Aunt Ruth's face as she replied, "You don't know? It was nothing like that. Your father and uncle got into an argument over who was going to claim you on their income tax return. Your father won, so you were sent home." Therefore, I was deemed a business transaction, nothing more.

After graduating from high school in 1963 and spending an enjoyable summer with my friends, it was time to prepare for my first official job starting in September. Where are my fall and winter clothes? They were stored in a large paper bag that sat beside my small doorless bedroom closet. Without these clothes, I had nothing ... absolutely nothing ... to wear to work. Mom finally confessed to throwing them out. She thought they were garbage ... I ... don't ... think ... so. Hell, the whole house stunk of garbage; my room was the cleanest in the house! Then, other things would suddenly disappear like my jewelry, make-up, etc. Coming home from work, I would find my perfume emptied, bath powder sprinkled all over the dresser, personal items disturbed or broken. She blamed my brother. Imagine, with three younger sisters, she placed the blame on my brother, a young boy who would have no interest in such things!

The assassination of President Kennedy changed the nation and it was a year of change for me also. My boyfriend was drafted into the Vietnam War and I wasn't happy in my job. And as always, Mom was on my case. If I would chose a neighbor's house for my date to pick me up in peace, my mother would lay in wait, yelling out the door so my date could hear, "What's the matter? Are you ashamed of us? Aren't we good enough for your date? Remember, men only want one thing!" Yes, I was ashamed. Not because we were poor or garnered hand-me-down furniture and received food baskets during the holidays, but I was ashamed of the way she behaved. I knew if I were ever to get married, I would have to get out of that house.

And get out is what I did! With trepidation, once again I turned to Aunt Ruth and asked, "If I paid room and board, could I return to Erie?" The answer was yes. This time, control was in my hands. I was paying my way. No handouts.

Within two weeks of moving, I had a job and things were going just fine. Then, uh oh ... there it is again ... that nagging inner voice proclaiming, "Jean, you are not happy in what you are doing, what are you going to do about it?" What am I going to do about it indeed? I wished to share an apartment with a female co-worker, but felt I wasn't making enough money to fully support myself ... pay rent, utilities, food, etc. Therefore, I took the easy way out ... only it wasn't.

I met my husband at work. He was in engineering, I worked in accounting. After a year, we were married, three months short of my twentieth birthday. On the day of the dress rehearsal, I sat on the front porch and wondered how to get out of this marriage. I knew it was not the right thing to do. He was already beating me. My family turned their heads on the matter, which made me think I deserved it, that the fault lies with me. After running through the list of people who came from out-of-town, caterers to be cancelled, the amount of money already expended, and the receipt of a special blessing from the Pope, I knew the blame would be placed on me, not on the one who beat me. Uneasy about my future, I proceeded with the wedding.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Afterglowby Jean Catherine Vaughn Copyright © 2011 by Jean Catherine Vaughn. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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