A relative died this week. I wanted to write, “a relative of mine…” then decided that was redundant. But, just to be clear, a relative of mine died this week. Terri died. My oldest niece. At 58, Terri is just a few months younger than my little sister. In fact, for many years, Terri and said sister, Lydia, were like having two younger sisters. It was framing my relationship to Terri in these terms that I realized the disconnect I feel between the space that Terri once held in my life, to the distant impression that she holds now. How is it that someone once so prominent in your life, can fade into something less than a shadow?
I saw Terri this past fall while traveling thru West Virginia. We met for maybe two hours on a park bench outside her apartment. She didn’t look well then, so her dying this week wasn’t a total shock. Terri was one who enjoyed poor health, my mother would say. She said the same about Terri’s mother, my oldest sister Nancy. Nancy was also afflicted with a host of ailments requiring a myriad of medications. Until she died ten years ago. Terri has been the grieving daughter ever since.
When Nancy gave birth to Terri back in 1964, I was seven years old. Terri’s father was a married man named Tony C. Nancy was sure Tony would leave his wife for her, but he never did. Terri was born into this world labeled, “illegitimate” to her “unwed mother,” Nancy.
Terri had a deficit balance in Life from Day One.
When Terry was still a baby, Nancy married a boy from the neighborhood, Doug Dickerson. Everyone knew the Dickersons. And everyone knew that Doug Dickerson suffered a traumatic brain injury when he was twelve and was run over on Pecos Street by a Safeway truck. He suffered from seizures and was considered a bit slow. Nevertheless, he and Nancy married and Doug took to parenting Terri in a much more responsible manner than many of us expected.
But Doug wasn’t emotionally mature enough to handle the pressures of married life, especially married life to my sister Nancy. He found a way to resolve some of their arguments was to stop taking his epilepsy medicine. The inevitable seizure distracted Nancy from whatever issue they were having and the problem was solved. Or so Doug believed. Three or four years later, Doug had had so many self- induced seizures that in a meeting with the family doctor and clergy, a divorce was recommended. They divorced amicably and Doug continued seeing Terri on weekends as her dad.
A few years passed and Nancy found love again. This time to Don Mitchell. Nancy was over the moon smitten with this man. When Terri visited Doug he told her that,her “if your mother marries that man, I will kill myself.” Terri begged her mother not to marry Don. Nancy reassured Terri that her daddy was hurt but he would get over it. A few weeks later, Don and Nancy are married. Soon after, Doug has a seizure. This time, when he falls, he hits his head wrong. He dies five days later.
It was under these circumstances that Terri was to start a relationship with her new step dad, Don Mitchell.
The next several years were very tumultuous. Don was a recovered alcoholic. Two more children were born, Ed and Rob. Somewhere between Ed and Rob’s birth, Don fell off the wagon. I want to add, “and resumed drinking,” then realized that would be redundant. But if you aren’t sure which wagon Don fell off, it was the drinking wagon. The family moved from Denver to Omaha to Des Moines back to Denver. Don lost his job. Don got violent so Nancy left with the kids. Don apologized so Nancy moved back with the kids. Repeat. At one point, Nancy flees Don and goes to West Virginia to the safe harbor of her old high school best friend. Don follows them there, gets sober - - for good, this time - - and they resume their marriage. During this time, Terri grows from tomboy to butchy teen, to full on lesbian young adult. She acuses Don of sexually molesting her. The truth was never determined one way or another.
In her early twenties and living with one of her first serious girlfriends is Houston, Terri is grabbed late at night from a 7-11 parking lot and taken to the bare bones apartment of two brothers and repeatedly raped by these two men for hours. They removed her clothes and carved on her stomach with a knife. Terri still had these scars many years later of this night. She tried to escape but they caught her and abused her even more violently. In her testimony in court she said she remembers lying on the carpet in the room without furniture. On the wall over her head was a picture of Jesus and on the other wall, looking straight at her, was a picture of a young girl in pigtails. A school photo, maybe.
Terri was eventually able to escape. She ran and ran in the dark, totally naked. A man on his way into work spied her clutching a dumpster and called out for her to stay there. He did not try to approach. He called the police and she soon was rescued. But she was never the same. She slept for whole weeks on my mother’s couch. Head under a blanket. Sometimes we’d stare at the blanket checking for breathfalls. She slowly worked her way out from under the blanket, and back into the world. But she was never able to have a healthy relationship. She wasn't able to hold a job. She was always getting hurt on the job. A Worker’s Compensation claim. And doctor visit after doctor visit wouldn’t be able to treat her pain. Eventually, and more than once, she convinced a surgeon to remove the nerve in question. A handful of years later, Terri was too disabled to work. She qualified for Social Security. She’s been in the system ever since.
In more recent years, I saw Terri in 2003 when I visited Nancy one afternoon in West Virginia. Terri was there for the visit. Then I saw her again when Terri surprised us all by coming to Colorado for my mother/her grandmother's 90th birthday. I saw Terri again, and for the last time, in late September of ‘21. I wrestled mightily if I wanted to even do that visit. I wish I could explain why. I’m super glad now I decided to visit her. I kept our conversation upbeat. I tried to find the positive in every hurt Terri brought to surface. I glossed over her words. I didn’t reveal anything deep and personal about me. All elevator stories.
But we visited. And when I left, I was sure to tell her that I loved her.
What I wish I could say to Terri is, how sad her sad life makes me. She never was given a fair shake. Never once. And I will always wonder why.
Hoping you’ve got it easier now, sweet Terri. I love you.
