Saying Goodbye To Our Precious Conversations

Alma Marie Davis

May 8, 1938 - January 5, 2020

In January 2016, I wrote the first blog about my grandmother entitled Precious Conversations. In it, I said, "I feel the clock ticking resolutely forward.  It's a cruel, grating tick."

The clock stopped January 8, 2020 at 10:25 a.m.

She passed away peacefully but unexpectedly. While we knew she wouldn't be with us by next Christmas, we weren't expecting it to be so soon. Sometimes death sneaks in quietly. 

When I wrote the first blog post four years ago, I explained, "...logic is my coping mechanism, and I've been thinking a lot about my perspective on what lies ahead.  So many diseases exist that could leave her suffering physically, in pain and fading away.  She could have to endure chemo and radiation for months/years. Maybe Alzheimer's is a way the rest of us can bear the burden for her.  She won't be aware, or so we hope, as her memory slips further. I hope we can carry the weight of sadness for her..." I pray that was the case for her. It's worth every ounce of sadness and grief if it means she didn't experience it herself.

The obituary was written, the service planned, and we met with the pastor who would conduct the service. He asked a question that broke through the numb feeling I'd surrounded my heart with since the moment my dad called to give me the news: Would anyone like to speak at the funeral about her? I didn't say anything, but my heart stuttered in my chest as I kept my lips firmly shut. By the time I made it back to the hotel, I felt absolutely sure I should say something, but I was terrified. Despite my pounding heart I spent time that evening writing the words I wasn't quite sure I could stand in front of others and say without completely losing my composure. In case you don't know, I'm a terrible introvert. And the idea of speaking in front of anyone made me want to crawl into the nearest hole and stay there. That very reason was why I did it. Because I felt like doing something very hard for her was the sort of thing she deserved. Rereading my 2016 post, I came across this line:

I can't change what's to come, so I can only change my perspective.

So that's exactly what I did—I changed my perspective. I decided I needed to do it, that I SHOULD do it. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't all that I wanted to say...but it was only about saying goodbye in the best way I knew how.

My mother later asked me for a copy of what I said. So, mom...this is for you:
I’m Jamie Elizabeth Davis. I am the oldest child of my grandmother’s oldest child, Terrie. It’s been my privilege to have my grandmother in my life for 42 years. As the oldest grandchild, I was the first, and she always told me I was also the first to call her Memaw…because I couldn’t say Mamaw or Grandma.

My middle name, Elizabeth, is after her mother who I was fortunate enough to have in my life until I was 13. I’ve always been thankful my parents gave me that middle name. Ironically, despite being born a Kenoyer, my last name has been Davis for almost 24 years. My husband, Wes, comes from a family of Davises. I always loved the fact I had the same last name as my maternal grandparents. But don’t worry, the family tree forks…

My children are obviously both Davises. And Papaw, the best part of it is my son, Caleb, will also carry on the Davis name and represent both sides of his family.

As a grandchild, I was fortunate to have the very best parts of my Memaw. She wasn’t responsible for raising and disciplining me because she had already raised her children. It was a lucky spot to have. So, thank you for going first, Mom, Julia, Sandy, and Chris—for paving the way. 

My Memaw and I shared a love of the colors yellow and purple. And she loved to tell me how I couldn’t say yellow when I was little, and it would come out “yeddow”. She told me that story so many times. 

There was a couple of years where both worked at Eastland Mall. I would look for her on my breaks or take Wes over there when we were dating to look for her. I absolutely loved the beautiful smile on her face when she’d see us walk into the store. She had such a beautiful smile. It was the sort you knew reached all the way to her soul.

My Memaw was consistent. No matter how chaotic my life was, I always knew she would be the same when I saw or spoke to her. That has always been such a source of security for me.

She was full of grace and had a rod of quiet strength. But I always knew she could be fierce if she needed to be. I never believed she was perfect, but I always believed she was sincere and had the best of intentions. 

I watched her as I grew up, and my grandmother had a way of loving and accepting people who came into her home without judgement. No matter who came to the house, which of us brought someone new, they were welcomed without question and treated well. I watched her care for people without expecting anything in return.

Memaw would wait at the door or standing in the open garage as you pulled away. She did that until she was no longer physically able to...Papaw, you were there as well. When I think about her, I often picture her standing there, waving, blowing me a kiss. Mom, when you stood at the door waiting as I backed out of their driveway last night, you reminded me of her.  

I called over the years, even at the nursing home, and tried to catch her awake though there came a time I greatly doubted she remembered me so I could tell her I loved her repeatedly just to hear her say it back to me. I treasured each one. 

Papaw, thank you for always being patient and chatting with me during those calls even when she wasn’t awake to talk to me. 

The relationship I had with my Memaw began when I was a baby, through my childhood into adulthood, and continued until I had to carry it for both of us. But it lasted because her love was unconditional…and because I pursued it. I didn’t wait for her to call first. I called her because I wanted to hear her voice, and I knew she thought of me even during the times we didn’t speak for awhile. 

I sat in the floor next to her chair Christmas day and held her hand. One of the last things I heard my Memaw say to me was that she loved me. I told her I loved her about a dozen times that day, and she repeated it back to me in her quiet voice. 

Part of growing up is learning to say goodbye to the people we love as the cycle of life continues. But I was so fortunate to live at least half my life hearing my Memaw’s voice, talking to her, making memories, and hearing her tell me she loves me.

I know I will see her again one day. Her love for Jesus was evident in the person she was…and IS STILL, and one day I will hear her tell me she loves me again…and this time, I bet she will say it first. 

I almost didn't make it through the last two lines. I prayed many times before that moment that God would let me get through it so I could give her the tribute she deserved. I held tight to the faith He would as I choked back the grief lodged in my throat and finished.

I wrote a second blog post in October 2018 called More Precious Conversations. I wanted to forever remember a conversation we had on the last evening I spent with her in her house:

"She stroked my hair when I laid my head in her lap. She told me she loved me, and at one point she said, 'I love you, Jamie Elizabeth.' I will never forget that.  I've recalled it a thousand times already. Before I left that evening, after my aunt and grandfather had her tucked away safely in the hospital bed, she told me she loved me again. She looked so small, and as I walked away, I wanted to run back, hug her, and not let go."

Someone gave me food for thought while I was in Indiana. She said it's better to ask people how they are in that moment during something like this. It stuck with me, and I've used it repeatedly since then. In this moment, I am heartbroken. In this moment, grief bubbles up in random moments and burns my eyes with unshed tears. Some moments I can't keep them from spilling over. Some moments I look at her pictures and want to sob because I can't call her. I know a time will come when remembering brings more smiles than tears. I'll look forward to those moments. Until then, I'll just keep living in these moments. Because I'm not sad for her, I'm sad for me...my family who are all hurting. Because...

I'll gladly endure the sadness of it means she doesn't have to...

This Isn't Goodbye

Subtitle Option: Opinions Are Like Buttholes

You might be curious about the optional subtitle, but you'll have to keep reading in order to find out why. 😉

Fair warning, incoming personal life stuff. Ew. If you've read my previous blog posts (HERE if not), or follow me on social media, you know I'm a diehard introvert. Sharing in depth details about my personal life honestly doesn't occur to me most of the time unless I feel like it pertains to a conversation with someone in the moment. When I have to explain things umpteen times, I feel like my energy reserves are being drained beyond belief. So let me apologize ahead of time if you're someone I should've filled in by now. It's not intentional, it's nothing personal, I've just had my hands full with a (more than) full time job and half my family leaving. I told Wes I was going to take care of it in one fell swoop with a blog post. So, here goes...

In March of this year, Walmart went through another round of their famous layoffs at the Home Office. They are sneakier with it these days to avoid media backlash, so they just go a department at a time now instead of hitting everyone at once. Am I a little frustrated with them? YES. I'm human. But we aren't going to bash Walmart. They provided us with a great life for nearly 12 years. Period. That's the end of my thoughts on that. Keep in mind, opinions are like buttholes...

Long story short, Wes was laid off. His department was hit, and he was one of the people impacted this time. He's avoided so many of the cutbacks over the last decade, and this was just his—and several others—time.  I'm very thankful we have a paid off house, and my own business was capable of sustaining us while he looked for a job. 

After some misleadings, a million applications, and lots of interviews, he landed a new job a few weeks ago at Century Link. He was hired to be the Director of Talent Development North American Operations. Yay, right? Well, the job is in Louisiana. Always a catch, isn't there? The problem with that is our youngest just started her junior year in high school. She's in a special program through her school where she goes to the local culinary college every day for classes before being sent back to her high school for core classes. If we move her, she loses that program, and it's a great opportunity for her. Not only that, but it's less than ideal to move a child midway through high school if you can help it.

Part of being a parent is sacrificing for your children. Sometimes what is best for them is hardest for us, but it's part of our job to set them up for the future in the best way we can. Obviously, the children have to contribute to their own success, but we can provide the opportunities and pray they take full advantage. So that's what we're doing.

We have a game plan. Wes's new job is about 6 hours from here. Caleb goes to school about 3 hrs from here—the halfway point. We're planning to meet one weekend each month in Conway. The bonus is we shouldn't have to go more than a month without seeing Caleb. Wes hopes to eventually be established enough in his job to come home once a month to work for a few days. Katlyn and I will go down there if we have a chance with days off from school now and again, but we can't be gone too long at a time since we have 3 cats—2 of which are crazy kittens. (How on Earth did I end up with 3 cats? Oh yeah...*cough*...Wes...)

Now for some clarification...

Wes was in the Air Force for 7 years. This is not the first time we've been apart. Wes came to Arkansas before we did so he could begin his job at Walmart and I stayed in Texas to sell our house. This isn't our first rodeo. Does it suck? Oh yeah, it does. Do we like it? No, we don't. 

Is it the right thing? Yes, it is.

Of course we've asked ourselves a hundred plus times if this is the right thing to do. We have our pros and cons list, we've discussed it at length, and we came to a decision based on what was best for our daughter. Because that's what parents do. I don't think I need to explain we don't love it, but we'll make the most of it. We have more reasons than just our daughter, but this is enough to clarify our decision, and I'm tired now, so...🤣🤣🤣

*bats eyelashes* 

The weekend the boys left was not the highlight of our less-than-stellar year. We drove to Conway to move Caleb back into the dorm Saturday, drove back and got things ready for Wes to leave, then he left Sunday. Losing both of my boys within 24 hrs left me with an extremely empty house...and a hormonal 16 yr old girl. *whispers* Send help.

This isn't goodbye. 

We've done this. We are veterans to long distance living. Heck, we spent the first three years of our relationship living in two different states. We seem to cycle back to the long distance thing periodically in our marriage, so we can hack two years of this again because it's what we need to do right now. If we absolutely hate it, and it gets too hard, we'll figure it out then. No one is forcing this on us. He's more than capable of living in an apartment and doing his own laundry while navigating a new career in a new place.  I'm more than capable of taking care of our house and mowing the grass and handling whatever comes up with single parenting. (And screw me if it's not always something.) We're all "growed up", and this is adulting. We aren't saying goodbye at all. This is just a see ya later and an extended business trip, you might say.

Now about that subtitle...

As people are wont to do, we've had a myriad of opinions about this situation. Most people are supportive and understand why we're going this route, but we've had those select few who want to crap all over it and doom our marriage and future with their naysaying. We don't want to hear that negativity. This is challenging enough. Remember that thing your mom used to say about, If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all? That's the case here for us. We have this. Neither of us have it harder than the other one. We both have our individual difficulties, and neither of us have it better or easier. But this isn't an impossible situation, and both of us are up for the task.

Questions are totally fine...awesome...fantastic...happy to answer. It's only negativity that's not welcome. It's as easy as that. 

Ugh, yuck, feelings...

Yes, I'm sad—we're sad. My house feels incredibly empty. Knowing he isn't just gone for the day or a business trip is sad. Caleb being gone is sad. They are my best friends. BUT...all of that sad is just a temporary thing in an adjustment phase. Katlyn and I will figure out our new normal—whatever that is—and I'll work on parenting and prepping her for life in the remaining two years she has in high school. I need to teach her to drive. *whispers* Send more help. She's 16 now, so we started Day 1 of our new "normal" with me introducing her to a FRIENDS marathon and playing Minecraft. Now she'll understand all the jokes and references we've made her entire life. 

Now for the subtitle...I leave you with my personal bit of wisdom. You ready for this super eloquent bit o' awesome?

Negative opinions are like buttholes. We all have one, none of them are pretty,
and no one really wants to see them.

Please don't feel offended if you're someone I should've called and I haven't shared more about all of this "lifey" stuff with you already. Wes is MUCH better at sharing than I am. I am a better listener than sharer. Just ask Ella...she teases me constantly about not sharing enough. You win, Ella...see, I'm sharing! 

How Do I Say Goodbye...

I had to put her bed on my desk so she would let me work.

We didn't tell very many people she was sick.  We wanted her last days to be filled with love and as much happiness as we could give her. We knew there would be time to grieve, and we didn't want to spend our remaining moments thinking of what was to come.

January 31, 2019

The diagnosis of lymphoma and kidney failure was not something I was prepared for as she sat trembling in my arms in the noisy vet’s office with the strange smells and sounds she hated so much.  I think I was in shock at first, asking questions mechanically, listening to the vet apologetically explain to me it was the beginning of the end. I choked back tears and held as tightly to them as I could because I knew if I loosened my grip even a little, I wouldn’t be capable of stopping them. It was my job to cope with it the best way I could, to be strong for her. And when the vet informed me it would be up to me to decide when it was time to let her go, I knew the burden was even heavier. How can I make that decision? How can I decide when she no longer wants to be here? How can I pick up the phone and make the call asking for the appointment where she wouldn’t come home with me again? How would I place her in the carrier knowing it would come home empty?

My favorite coworker

And so I brought Annie home with medications and decided to love her as much as possible for however long we had left together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. We began the undetermined amount of time with an ache in our hearts. The vet said it could be a couple of weeks or a couple of months. Every day that went by, I tried to tell myself we'd turn those weeks into months...maybe the months into a year.

After her diagnosis, Wes said he didn't know how to describe the feeling.

I do. It felt like a piece of my heart splintering ever so slowly. The more it went on, the more it pulled away, leaving a jagged edge. The only way I knew to cope was to wrap it tightly so when it finished splintering, I could it hold carefully and keep it from poking holes in the rest of my heart. Because I lost a piece of myself, and I know I can't get it back, so I have to learn to live without it until the memories bring more smiles than tears.

Hope has a place until it's no longer viable...and so we made the most of our time until hope ran short and reality crept in.

I always loved this photo of Annie. She frequently laid like this.

April 8, 2019 
How can I decide when she wants to say goodbye?

I didn't realize she'd show us, but she did. It wasn't as hard to figure it out as I thought it would be. I knew last night, watching her, petting her, feeling the piece of my heart pull away just a little more...I knew it was time.

So I spent the day with her like we did most days. She napped in the shifting patches of sun, then curled up in my lap, purring when I rubbed her ears. I cried intermittently. As much as I hate to cry, I didn't hold back this time. I couldn't.

April 9, 2019
How can I say goodbye to my constant companion of nearly 15 years...my best friend?

Such a pretty girl.

There is no easy answer to that question because I'm not still not sure how to say goodbye...even though she's gone.

I held her while she slipped into a sleep from which she'd never wake. It happened so quickly—too quickly.

The dangling piece of my heart finally broke away. I finished wrapping it tightly, and I left it with my sweet Annie Sue.

Annie warming her paws.

Right now I'd give anything for her to stand on my keyboard and send random texts or sit next to me and meow—demand—until I move the computer to make room for her. I'd give anything for her to wake me up at 3:00 in the morning, meowing at the back door for no discernible reason. I miss her perching on my chest and bathing me until I wake up and rub her ears. I miss her trotting down the hall to follow me to the bathroom. I miss the way she'd sit in front of the fireplace and warm her face, stretching her paws and gently kneading the metal curtain.

Her favorite spot while I worked.

I still look for her to follow me every time I leave the room. I keep wishing she would come around the corner, talking to me and demanding I sit so she can curl up in my lap.

As a diehard introvert, I’m so particular about the humans I spend time with, and that sweet little girl was my best friend, my constant companion, my coworker during long hours working from home...my partner in crime. She wasn't my pet, I was her human. She loved me even when I felt entirely unlovable.

Someday, the smiles will come before the tears, the memories will be sweet instead of leaving the emptiness in my heart and highlighting the cold spot in my lap and next to me while I sleep. Right now they are so very sharp and leave me aching and constantly swallowing the knot of pain that lives in my chest and tries to work its way into my throat.

How do I say goodbye? I haven't quite figured that out yet.

I miss you, Annie. I'm lost without you, I love you, and you took a piece of my heart with you. Thank you for loving me more than I deserved.

Always stealing my chair.

Your chair is mine, lady.

About two minutes before she climbed the Christmas tree...again.

Don't let her fool you, this was always intentional. 

Sunbathing while I got ready.

Working on our last morning together.

Thank you for loving me, Annie.

Annie Sue Chicka Chicka Mow Mow
May 18, 2004 - April 9, 2019

     

More Precious Conversations

October 2018

Nearly three years ago, I wrote the original Precious Conversations blog post. Some may say nearly three years is a long time, and I should be thankful. Of course I'm thankful. That goes without saying. Well-meaning individuals say things like, "At least you had her this long." or "You were lucky you knew her at all." Let me just say...don't measure experiences. Each person's experiences and emotions are their own. Just because your experience was different, or you had less time with a grandparent, doesn't mean it hurt more. Be kind and think before you make those comments to anyone about anything, well-meaning or not.

I started this post my last day in Indiana. I went to spend time with my grandparents knowing my grandmother would be moving to a nursing home. I knew I wouldn't finish that day. I needed time to process, a couple of weeks later I revisited and finished.

In a couple of hours, I'm heading to my grandparents' house to spend my very last afternoon with my grandmother, my Memaw, in her home—the only home I've ever known her to live. The weight of this feels like it's crushing me from the inside. It hurts to breathe, and the tears I've kept at bay all week keep threatening to overflow despite my staunch effort to stem the tide.

It will be just her and I for a few hours today. I'm sitting with her while my grandfather and aunt go to a meeting at a nursing home. We all know it's time.

Alzheimer's is a thief. 

She's 80 years old...but she's regressing more into a childlike state as time passes. She can no longer walk on her own; it takes two people to move her even a short distance. The simplest tasks are no longer simple.

My grandfather's health is compromised. Two arteries are 90% blocked, and a faulty heart valve adds to the foray. Doctors are not willing to do surgery because the risk to his life is too great...greater than the risk of the ticking time bomb of stroke or heart attack. He can't continue to care for her and give her all she deserves. Watching his heartbreak trying to accept it's time was brutal. I told him he is brave, that it takes far greater strength and courage to admit you need help, to make this decision, than to continue struggling. He's doing this for her not to her. It's true. He's done a wonderful job through so many health issues for a long time. He's been her champion.

On the day I post this, she's tucked away in the nursing home. It's the right thing, but it hurts. I'm heartbroken I'll never pull up the folding chair next to her recliner and look at my favorite photo album, attempting to coax a response from her. I'm heartbroken I won't walk in from the garage door and see her sitting there. Reality says my own grandchildren won't know her. Alzheimer's stole that.

Time is a thief.

Their 64 year anniversary is the 16th of October. Sixty-four years, four children, many grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren...but a million memories. No matter how much time steals her memories, my own will always conjure this image. So many holidays,  playing in the upstairs bedroom growing up, the immaculately kept kitchen...

That week was a gift.

The last evening I was in Indiana, I went back to their house with my aunt. She stroked my hair when I laid my head in her lap. She told me she loved me, and at one point she said, "I love you, Jamie Elizabeth." I will never forget that.  I've recalled it a thousand times already. Before I left that evening, after my aunt and grandfather had her tucked away safely in the hospital bed, she told me she loved me again. She looked so small, and as I walked away, I wanted to run back, hug her, and not let go. I might be *mumbles* years old, but when I hug her I feel like a child again

I know there will be a time she doesn't remember me, and I know that time is coming quickly. Even during this trip she struggled to remember my name.  She would refer to me as "her baby" when I talked to her, and I would tell her I would always be her baby. I reminded her I was the oldest grandchild or her oldest child, and that gave us something special. I gave her the title of Memaw when I was too little to say Grandma and didn't quite pronounce Mamaw, so Memaw she became...and Memaw she is. I'm afraid I'll never hear her say my name again, but I left that house with my heart so full it hurt.

I'll guard the memories.

When Alzheimer's finishes stealing the rest of her memories of me, I'll guard them, I'll hold them close, and I'll cherish them enough for both of us. I stand by what I said in the first Precious Conversations blog post:

I'll gladly endure the sadness if it means she doesn't have to, and I'll look for joy in the conversations we have.  I can't change what's to come, so I can only change my perspective.  Doesn't mean it's easier - just that it gives me a purpose rather than pointless sadness.

I love you, Memaw. You have a piece of my heart now and always.

Summer 1992. Check out that hairdo of mine. SO funny!

December 1998 holding Caleb days after he was born.
I love this picture so much.

August 2015

August 2015

August 2015

May 2016

May 2016

September 2016

November 2016

I look incredibly tired (I was) in this one, but it's still beautiful of her.
October 2018

I Am Not A Victim

I work in an industry where writing words like “attempted kidnapping” and “jumped out of a moving car” trigger thoughts of mystery, thriller, and action adventure stories with powerful plots and exciting characters. In my world, I’m the reader, editor, business manager, and book pusher experiencing things through the mind of the author, not the actual person in a story.

Not this time.

This time I’m front and center in a truly surreal situation. I’m struggling to tell the story because I still feel outside of it. Disconnection from an upsetting event allows me to view it from an objective standpoint, and compartmentalizing is my favored coping mechanism in most emotion-filled instances. I dislike drama, so telling a dramatic story about myself is difficult because I want to temper my words and refrain from making people think I exaggerate using sensational descriptions. I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises…

Emily is more than just one of my clients.  We talk, text, or FaceTime nearly every day, and we were meeting in Miami for a business trip. With innumerable things to discuss and plan, we were taking the opportunity to meet in person for the first time. Grasping at the chance to escape winter, we made reservations and waited with anticipation. The night before my flight, a “wintry mix” (screw you, winter) hit our area.

10:30 p.m. February 10^th

I received a text saying my first flight was cancelled for “crew reasons”. *sigh* Phone call to American Airlines secured me a new flight.

2:40 a.m. February 11^th
My eyes popped open hours early, and I checked my phone for the hundredth time. My flight was still on time—YES!

4:30 a.m. February 11th
It was time to leave, but my car was stuck in the garage because my steep driveway sported a slick coat of ice. Wes and I made our way down to his truck without killing ourselves and were forced to wait as the stubborn ice adhered to the windshield. A few minutes later we cautiously pulled away from the house knowing a challenging trip loomed. It was a pretty short trip. Long story short, we slid down the first hill and landed perched halfway in a ravine. Ironically, a danger sign prevented us from hitting the bottom. (Insert picture) The uphill quarter mile walk in the dark without a coat was fun. Fun details: No coat, 18 degrees, pulled my suitcase up an icy hill. At the time I remember thinking, “Wow, that was scary.” I had no idea I’d know true fear before I slept again. Oh yeah, I missed that flight, obviously. *sigh*

11:10 a.m. February 11^th
Another phone call to American Airlines, and my new flight was due at 1:50 p.m. and would arrive—wait…no, never mind. Flight cancelled. New plan, fly out at 6:30 p.m. and arrive at 12:30 a.m. The tricky part was my layover was VERY short, and if I missed it I was stuck in the airport until the next day.

9:30 p.m. February 11th
The flight left relatively on time, and I hit the ground running—literally—and dashed through the airport. I had NO energy, was in an accident that morning and only slept 2.5 hrs the night before, but I stripped off my hoodie while I ran, pushing my suitcase, and carrying a backpack. I wheezed my way skidded to a halt at the gate literally ONE MINUTE before boarding, but I made it and knew I would be with Emily in only a couple of hours.  

12:30 a.m. February 12^th
I’d been awake for 22 hours, but I was IN Miami! YAY! I was cautiously optimistic, but when I look back at the texts as I stood waiting my turn to exit the plane, it gives me a chill.

I called her as I walked through the airport and searched for the taxi stand. I walked out the nearest exit and quickly realized I was in the wrong area, so I went back inside and found signs leading the way to the taxi area. When I found the correct place, I hung up with her.

Whoa! Hang on, don’t go anywhere, it isn’t over. If you’re still with me, do you remember the descriptive phrases in the beginning? Those are coming. In fact, you could title the next part Terror in the Tropics or maybe Taxicab Traitor, and this is the point where I mentally pulled away in order to tell the story. In fact, my hands literally shook on the keyboard typing this because the untapped emotions struggled to break free from the box where I neatly packaged and tucked them away. I’m okay...or I will be. You know why?  I’m not a victim...but I nearly was. Of what exactly, I don’t know, but it was bad, regardless.

I wasn’t scared to leave the airport alone at 12:30 in the morning. I was cautious, but I was determined to finish the trip and finally hug Emily. I’ve never needed a taxi before, but people use them every day, so it wasn’t a big deal. I followed the signs to the stand and found a lone taxi driver waiting.  I approached his car, and he rolled down the window and just stared at me. I asked him if he was available, but he just stared for several long seconds before asking where I was going in stilted English. I gave him the address, and he repeated it back to me one word at a time and nodded. I was already uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to be the idiot who let a language barrier deter me. He got out and tried to put my suitcase in the trunk, but something told me to refuse and insist I keep it with me. I listened to THAT inner voice, but I ignored the one telling me not to go with him. I didn’t trust myself, and that was a huge mistake. I thought I was merely nervous about the late hour and his lack of English, and I didn’t want to be THAT person, you know?

He finally pulled away from the curb and left the airport. A few minutes later he asked if I had cash. WTH? He was suddenly fluent in English. Yes, he had an accent, but he was communicating JUST FINE. He spent a couple of minutes trying to talk me into paying him cash and wanting to take me to an ATM.  I told him I wanted to use my credit card because I only had $20 on me. He kept insisting he needed cash and I made a big show of searching through my bag and finding a $20 tucked away. I knew the fare should only be around $35, but he told me it was going to be a lot more money, and I needed to use my credit card at an ATM. I told him I KNEW how far it was, and I could not do that with my card. He wanted to know why, so I lied and told him my card didn’t allow it. He stopped talking completely again and went back to pretending he couldn’t speak English, hear me, or understand me.

I climbed in, and he spent a couple of minutes fidgeting in the car, not speaking to me—just sitting there and messing with the windows and air conditioning. It was so hot inside the car, and it smelled as though he chain smoked inside. I've asked myself so many times, "Why didn’t I get out?" The answer is pretty simple: I did everything right. I followed the signs in the airport, went outside  the correct door, and found a taxi waiting. I told him where I needed to go, and he nodded after repeating it back to me.  Of course I wish I'd climbed out again, but why would I believe anything was wrong? I did everything I was supposed to.

At some point I told him he was going the wrong way, and he asked the address again.  He (fluently, mind you) told me that wasn’t the address I gave him. That asshole repeated the address back to me before I got in the car at the airport. He knew.

I have a weirdly in tune sense of direction, like a pull in my chest, and I couldn’t shake the apprehension building within me. Everything felt wrong. I called Emily and started talking loudly about where I was, how long it should take, and making sure he knew someone expected me. I knew my tone of voice wasn't normal, and that was my intention.

The true shift from nervousness to fear happened for me when she asked me if I felt safe...and I told her no. No, I wasn’t safe. She asked me where I was and told me to pull up GPS on my phone. I put her on speaker (intentionally) and told her we were on I-95 She immediately responded we should NOT be on the interstate and told me to make him get off. The GPS showed he was getting further away from my destination. He was going the wrong way, and no matter what I said to him, he refused to talk to me.  I tapped his arm, and he ignored me and eventually pointed to his ear like he couldn't understand me.

**Typing this forces me to view this in a way I haven’t yet. My heart is racing, my hands are shaking, and the veil between that reality and this one is so thin I can smell the fetid atmosphere in the cab and feel the terror wash over me in a cold shower of dread. I want to stop, tuck it neatly away, and stay in my protective bubble…but I won’t. Screw him, I’m in control.**

Everything I’ve read or been told about situations a woman might face says to get loud, get aggressive, use extreme and foul language, and don’t go quietly. Make yourself too much trouble to be worth whatever they intend. In a part of my mind, those reminders kept flashing, and I started yelling. I’ll sensor the rest of what I said language-wise, but I told him I did NOT feel safe, and he better get off the highway NOW. Use your imagination for the rest, but rest assured I told him exactly what I wanted in undeniably clear language.

He ignored me. I screamed at him to pull off at the next exit. He moved over like he was going to get off then moved to the far left lane of the highway.
He was playing with me.

I grew louder and more hateful. He kept glancing at me with the strangest look on his face. Looking back, I know I saw an internal struggle in his eyes—could literally see the indecision on his face. He wasn’t sure if he would get off the highway...but he wasn’t expecting me to get aggressive and was deciding what to do next. Emily and I were talking the entire time, and she was a rock. She heard every word and tells the story far better than I do, as a matter of fact. She told me to get his medallion number, and I looked around until I found it. The inside of the cab was so DARK. Things weren’t illuminated very brightly, but I finally found and read the number to her. When I did, I saw him look at me, his eyes wide.

But he didn’t get off the highway.

I repeated I did NOT feel safe, that I wanted him to let me out. I kept screaming at him to get off the highway, and he mumbled a couple of times.  I pointed to the next exit, and he started to move to the right then pulled away again, asininely saying, “I missed it.” I didn’t realize I COULD scream as loud as I did when the next one zipped up. What I said wasn’t remotely nice, but for some reason he finally took an exit.

Keep in mind we passed several exits with me screaming at him, telling him I would call the police, Emily on speaker, and all the while I could see the GPS going further away from her.

7 minutes away…
8 minutes away…
9 minutes away...

At some point during the ride I took off my seatbelt, put my backpack on, and clutched the handle of my carryon suitcase. I was completely terrified, but I wasn’t panicking. I knew I couldn’t. Hope bloomed when he finally took a ramp, but it didn’t last long as he didn’t stop at the first place I pointed to. Then I saw three gas stations to the left and told him to let me out NOW. For a split second, I thought he would pull in and it would be over.

He didn’t.

He passed the gas stations and moved to the left lane, never coming to a complete stop but slowing to go through the intersection. I kept screaming everything I could think of at him.  He argued with me and told me it was okay because he’d take me. 

I wasn’t getting on the highway again. I wasn't, but he wasn’t letting me out of the car. I fumbled with the door, but I couldn't get the door unlocked. I finally managed to get my fingers around the lock, yank it up, and while the car was rolling I started to open it. Looking back at me wide-eyed, he yelled about me not paying him. The opportunity to distract him dawned on me, and I was still clutching the cash in my hand (no idea why, I just was), so I threw it at him.  As he took his foot off the pedal and slowed, I grabbed my suitcase and jumped out of the car. I realized later he said, “Ma’am, are you alright?” like I was a hysterical female, but it didn't sound sincere. It was rude and hateful sounding. As I jumped out with my things, I dropped my hoodie on the ground. For some strange reason, I stopped to grab it, and the only real reason I have is because I wasn't letting him keep one piece of me—not one piece.

BUT I WAS OUT OF THE CAR.

Emily asked me if I was okay or what was happening...it's hard to remember anything in that moment other than the overwhelming relief I was out of the cab. I was out...I was out...I was out...

It was a little after 1:00 in the morning, and I was walking through Miami in a dark neighborhood towards a group of three gas stations, but I was out of the car. Emily was still on the phone asking me what was happening. I remember wanting to sob in relief and almost letting go of all the pent up fear when I gushed something about jumping out and walking away from the intersection towards the gas stations. I could see the lights on and just wanted to get inside. That gas station beckoned to me like an oasis in the desert, but when I pulled on the handle, it was locked. The man just looked at me. I’m a woman outside at night, with a suitcase, and he wouldn’t let me in. I walked over to the window and told him I really needed to come inside, that something bad happened with a taxi driver, and he said, “What, do you want to call the police or something?” Now, you might be inclined to argue he didn't know who I was or why I was out there at that time of night. It's possible he thought I was part of a plan to rob him. You know what?  I don't care. He didn't offer to call the police, and he didn't want me to call the police.

He wouldn’t let me in.

Instead of arguing with him, I turned around and started to cross the parking lot, heading toward the next station across the street. As I started to step into the road, a car pulled up in front of me. At this point, I wasn’t even afraid. I was in shock, but I wasn't afraid of who was in the car.

Because I was out of the taxi.

When the window rolled down, something amazing and beautiful happened. A woman asked me if I was okay because she saw part of what happened and came to check on me. I never saw her while I was jumping out of the car, but she circled around in the middle of the night because she saw something wrong. She could’ve kept going, minded her own business, but she listened to the voice telling her it was wrong and came back. Her name is Dawn, and she’s my other angel.  Emily was my first.

(In a text after the incident, Dawn told me the story of how she ended up on her way home at such a late hour. All I can say is God put her exactly where I needed her, and I'm thanking Him constantly for it.  I thank Him for her, and she ranks up there with one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I'll never forget her.) 

We moved back against the building, and she got out of her car and listened as I quickly explained what happened.  Emily was STILL on the phone with me, and Dawn assured her she would not leave me alone again because it was a very unsafe area. Emily wanted to send a Lyft for me, but we needed a physical address since I didn’t have the app on my phone. Dawn lived around the block, so she gave Emily her phone number and said she would take me to the front of her house and wait until they arrived.  Emily assured me she could track me every step of the way.

It was hard getting in Dawn’s car, but I knew I couldn’t stand there outside the gas station and risk calling attention to us. I climbed in her car, and we pulled away near the intersection where I jumped out. Dawn pointed out he was still hanging around, and when I looked over, his car was still there. A couple of minutes later, we pulled up in front of her house. Emily, every patient on the phone, told me the name of the driver coming, the kind of car, and how close he was. When I saw the Lyft car pull up, I knew I had to get in, but I’ll admit I was scared. I think I might’ve asked Emily if it was really okay, but she calmly reassured me it was. At one point she told me she would get a Lyft ride to come meet me and take me back so I didn’t have to get into a car alone, but that was an important moment for me. Even in my shocked frame of mind, I remember thinking I wasn’t weak, and I wasn’t going to let that taxi driver make me feel that way. I was capable of finishing what I started.

I knew Wes was waiting to hear I was safe, so I created a conference call and added him in with Emily..  He texted a couple of times during the ordeal, but I was multitasking with watching GPS, talking to Emily to stay connected with someone, and screaming at the driver. I couldn’t bear to hang up with her even once I was in the Lyft ride. I very briefly explained what happened, assured him I was safe, and explained Emily was on with us too. Apparently, he tracked my phone when I didn’t answer the texts and saw I was at a Mobile station somewhere in Miami. He asked if I was okay, but he was so quiet while Emily and I explained everything. I knew he felt helpless, and for some stupid reason I apologized for not calling him sooner. Don’t ask, I don’t even know why. I was sorry he was worried, sorry for scaring him, sorry for…*shrugs*

I will never forget the moment we pulled up in front of the house where Emily stood waiting for me. The moment I saw her face illuminated in the porch light is burned into my mind forever. I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, and I don’t think I’ve ever hugged someone so hard. I finally knew I was safe.  When I told her I have never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life, I absolutely meant it—still do.

I wish I could tell you the police came to my rescue and found the guy. Why lie at this point? I went inside with Emily and called 911 only to be repeatedly transferred and forced to tell the story SIX TIMES before someone begrudgingly wrote down a few details and said they’d “look into it.” Each of the six officers said it was the responsibility of another jurisdiction. No one agreed where the crime actually began. They wouldn’t send an officer to take my statement because I was in the wrong district for every officer I spoke to. 

No one was coming. 
No one seemed even remotely concerned. 
It could be someone else next.
No one cared.

I get it, okay? I understand what jurisdictions mean. I understand officers are overworked, underpaid, and stretched so thin. I get they are out there dealing with lots of crimes in a large city.  But you know what? I don't care. I was terrified, and I kept trying to make them understand it could happen again to any other woman. Not one of the people I spoke to in those many transfers showed me the smallest ounce of concern or compassion. I gave up, deflated and let down by the people who we're taught to call when we're not safe. So when people ask why I didn't call the police while I was in the car, the answer is simple. Emily was my lifeline. I couldn't hang up with her, and I had nothing I could SAY to the officers. I didn't know where I was other than watching GPS and knowing I was on the highway going the wrong way. So no, I didn't have faith they could help me, and I obviously wasn't wrong. When you're terrified and shaken, you don't care about jurisdiction—you just want help.

I don’t know what the taxi driver intended to do. Did he plan to take me to an ATM and try to force me to withdraw money so he could rob me? I don’t know. He had plenty of places to get off the highway and do that if so. He was going somewhere specific, but I have no idea where. Did he intend to kidnap me when he picked me up at the airport? I don’t know. Did he intend to take me somewhere with more people like him and do God only knows what?  I truly don’t know. He was weird from the moment I climbed in his car, but I was trying to tell myself not to be judgmental, not to make assumptions about someone based on a language barrier.

I should’ve listened to my instincts, but who would think a taxi driver outside an airport wanted to harm you in any way?  Before you ask, yes the cab was legitimate. Everything inside was what you expect to see right down to the credit card machine on the back of the seat. I know there are 100 other things I should’ve done, but until you’ve been in a situation like it you truly don’t know what you’ll do.  I survived, and that’s what matters. I can already hear some people say, “I told you so.” about being a woman and traveling alone. I’m not going to stop, and I’m not going to let fear rule me. I learned valuable things about myself. I’ll be back to Miami too. Yeah, that’s right, Miami was awesome. One guy doesn’t represent the entire city, so I'll be back.

I didn’t stop shaking for hours after it happened, and I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes it replayed in my head. Images of his eyes glancing back at me, the fear of what if, asking myself what I should’ve done differently…they burned through my mind and coiled in my stomach. I didn't sleep for days. It may be awhile before sleep comes easily. 

From sliding into an icy ravine (Did you already forget?) to grabbing Emily for the first time and hanging on tight, the remaining two days were filled with wonderful memories. We made the most of every moment together. We strategized, made plans for the next few months of our business, and decided we were planning another trip later this year.

That’s right, I’m traveling again as soon as the next need or opportunity arises. Why? 

Because.
Because I’m pissed.
Because screw him.
Because he can’t steal my independence.
Because I didn’t panic, I took back control.
Because I refuse to be afraid or live in fear.
Because my gender does not mean I’m weak.
Most of all...

Because I am not a victim.