I don’t talk about it often anymore. It doesn’t rule over my daily life as it once did. But it’s always there, just beneath the surface.

The flashes of that day when a fire truck drives by and a lump forms in my throat and my eyes well with tears. The nightmares that come less frequently, but still haunt spasmodically sleepless nights. The feeling of my left eyebrow not being quite right. That spot on my right arm where I whacked it on the banister, dashing out of the front door while escaping an explosion with two toddlers tucked under my arms sometimes still gets itchy, even though there are no visible scars.

All of it, smoldering just beneath the ashes…

I’ve gone to therapy to discuss it at length. I take daily medication for depression in hopes that my brain will rewire itself back to the way it was before, knowing that the medication will probably just be part of my forever now.

And most days I’m fine.

My sense of humor is still intact, though there are still jokes I can’t utter aloud out of fear of complete misunderstanding and judgement. Like when I’m grilling and it flares up and I want to sing at the top of my lungs, “This! Grill! Is on FIRE!” in my best Alicia Keyes voice. I mean, c’mon! That’s funny! But also, no…

My ability to deal in reality over irrational fear has never wavered. The attention and care I am able to provide my family with has remained strong throughout this whole ordeal.

And then I open my email… “How to stop wasting money on one-size-fits-all insurance. Only pay for what you need…”

What I need? What I NEED? WHAT. I. NEED?!?!

I think you mean WHAT. THE….$&?!!!!!

In an instant, the smoldering ashes explode, ripping off every layer of protection I have carefully regrown over the last decade.

How many times must I unsubscribe or mark as junk? How often must I call and politely request that you permanently remove my email and street address from any and EVERY list you have other than your DO NOT CONTACT EVER list?!?! Seriously, who the HELL is in charge of THAT list? Because he should be FIRED.

The thing is, my criminal case was DIRECTLY tied to the civil side, which is a HUGE RED BURNING FLAG in my non legal opinion.

Eight months after the fire, insurance denied our claim. We prepared a lawsuit and filed it within the 12 month statute of limitations. Three weeks after we filed our civil suit, I was indicted for arson. The timing is more than a little suspicious and we had to stay our civil suit and focus on the criminal injustice.

After 5 years of purgatory, and 6 years post-fire, the deal made with the Passaic Country Prosecutor was that I would to have plead guilty (to a crime I didn’t commit) and neither Brian nor I could ever ATTEMPT to recoup anything from insurance in order for me to receive probation, a chance for expungement, and a promise that insurance would not sue us.

I should have requested that they not be permitted to HARASS me.

So…. What do I need?

I need for them to stop contacting me through any and all forms of mail. I need my TV and radio/pandora to automatically skip their false advertisements. I need for them to NOT exist in my hard earned peaceful reality.

I need a lawyer to represent me pro-bono who will light a match under the injustice system and demolish Big Bad Insurance for harassment, mental anguish, and punitive damages…

…Or a million dollars post tax (plus interest on full amount for 10 years) because that’s the estimated amount our home, property, and all of our belongings probably equalled but we’ll never know since they NEVER FINISHED investigating, adjusting, and itemizing OUR CLAIM!!!! That would be nice too.

And then I take a deep cleansing breath of fresh air, put on my smile, and start regrowing all over again…

#whatineed #burninhell #ptsd

There’s an old saying in the legal world that I am all too familiar with now: You can indict a ham sandwich. That phrase has been repeated to me by several attorneys over the last 5 years when everyone scratches their head in utter confusion and total disbelief at my reality. The point of the cliché is to show that our criminal justice system is severely lacking in actual justice.

Beyond a reasonable doubt is not something a prosecutor must prove before bringing a case to the grand jury, asking for an indictment. The grand jury process is merely a way for the prosecutor to ask whether or not there’s a chance, no matter how unreasonable, that the suspect possibly committed the crime in question. The defense is not generally present during the hearing and the prosecutor selects what evidence he wants to present. Exculpatory evidence, evidence that casts doubt on the prosecutor’s case, must also be presented, if the prosecutor took the time to properly investigate its existence. The grand jury may ask questions, often having no background or basic knowledge of the crime in question. They then have the task of handing down an indictment or not. If an indictment is handed down, the suspect is charged, and the process towards a trial begins.

Historically, prosecutors held themselves to a high standard, crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s to make sure a complete and thorough investigation took place before bringing the case to the grand jury. Not wanting to indict an innocent person was a high and moral standard. However, in recent years, a more laissez faire attitude has become the norm and many prosecutors leave the decision making up to the grand jury, with a shrug of the shoulders, “Well, it was enough to get an indictment from the grand jury,” shirking all personal responsibility. It’s easy to understand, in today’s hyper-impulsive and judgmental media frenzy, how easily a jury can be persuaded. Hence why you can now indict a ham sandwich… It’s quite unkosher.

May 20, 2011 was absolutely the most horrific day in my life. It began like any other Friday morning, with me getting ready to host a weekly Mommy and Me. However, minutes before my friends and their children arrived, I heard an explosion and I grabbed Jordyn and Max, and ran like hell, stopping only when safely on my neighbor’s front yard to call 911 from my cell phone. From her kitchen, moments later, I witnessed the flames, already pouring out of our attic.

The entire day is on a constant loop in my nightmares as it plays out in slow motion. The boom, the flash of heat, the carpet flying back, smoke detectors blaring, Jordyn running towards me, screaming in fear. Where’s the phone? I need to call 911. Grab your cell on the dining room table. Grab the kids. Run. Run! RUUUUUUN!!!!!!

The hours, days, weeks, and months that followed were no less harrowing, beginning with that night, when Brian and I met with the detectives who were investigating the fire. We both voluntarily went to the station to answer questions and help out as best as we could. After 2 hours of questioning Brian about the layout and contents of our basement, I was called in for questioning. For 3 hours I answered questions, hardly having anything to do with the events of the day. By the end, I was silently wondering what the hell was going on and if I needed an attorney. The statements Brian and I signed are mere fractions of the actual conversation/interrogation that took place. My fear was then realized when the detectives brought Brian back in to tell him, “Your wife did this. See if you can get her to confess.” After that, we immediately “lawyered up.” That was the exact moment I stopped trusting the police to serve and protect. That was also the only day, to our knowledge, the detective stepped foot in our home to investigate anything.

Over the next few weeks, as my belly grew full with Kennedy, we tried to deal with insurance and get to the bottom of what happened:

• We learned that immediately after the fire, the gas company had dug up our entire street and had found 2 gas leaks on our neighbor’s lines, one of whom had been complaining to them about the smell of natural gas for over a year.
• My phone records did not show the call to 911, though the police had a record of me calling in the explosion. We later learned that 911 calls do not appear on a regular cellular statement and must be subpoenaed.
• Our attorney hired a fire investigator and his findings were that the cause and origin could not be determined based on the lack of investigation from the detective. Basic protocol was ignored and experts were not called in to rule out possible causes. He hadn’t even obtained a record from the gas company. We examined pictures from the aftermath and were left with more questions about the detective’s lack of investigation and common sense.

Insurance was less than helpful and by August, it was clear that they were no longer even attempting to itemize our loss, or handle our claim. Other than placing us in an apartment, they were of no assistance and in September we were interviewed in an Evaluation Under Oath and waited some more.

In December, the insurance company offered Brian a deal: If I confess to arson, they will cover the claim for Brian and the kids. We had until January to decide, but we immediately refused. Our claim was denied, based on the falsehood that they believed I never made the 911 call, thereby committing insurance fraud. We filed a complaint with the insurance commissioner and hired a civil attorney to assist us in a lawsuit against insurance.

Weeks after we filed suit, which was almost a year after the fire, I was indicted for second degree, aggravated arson. The timing of the indictment, in comparison to the law suit is beyond suspicious, and due to the indictment, the civil suit was postponed, pending the outcome of the criminal case.

The prosecutor offered a plea at the time, which stayed on the table for the past 5 years: 3rd degree arson, non-custodial, mandatory counseling. In the legal world, that’s known as a sweetheart deal, and it is, if you’re guilty. If I took that deal it would mean freedom from jail, but it would also mean that I would be a convicted felon not to mention that it could allow insurance to pursue a case against me for fraud. No deal.

I was subsequently arraigned, where upon I posted bail, and have been enjoying the presumption of innocence ever since; another legal cliché that I could do without.

Over the next 5 years, my case switched judges 5 times, went through at least 7 prosecutors, and a trial date has been set and postponed no less than 4 times.

And that brings us to today, April 3, 2017.

Today, I will state under oath, that I started that fire, even though I did not. I am an innocent victim yet I will knowingly and purposefully make this statement in order to clear my name of a crime I didn’t commit. Today, I am making a deal with the devil.

After becoming the oldest case on the docket, for a myriad of reasons, the court has decided that my case needs to go away. So a new deal was brokered.

The term in New Jersey is PTI, pre-trial-intervention. The basic deal is that I plea to the crime and in 12-18 months, with good behavior, the case is dismissed and I can file to have the record expunged, as though it never happened. In addition to this, insurance will also be signing off on this deal, so that they cannot pursue me, and we can never recoup our loss. This is the Keyser Söze of all deals.

So why am I telling you this if it can all just go away? I am telling you this because, while I am eager to end this unimaginable nightmare, I honestly believe that it is my civic duty to let you know how unjust our system is. This is why innocent people confess. This is how the system is rigged to protect big business. This is what I honestly believe happened:

I think the detective was lazy and never did his job thoroughly. He then told the insurance company that I did it and they tooled us around for a while wondering when the police would arrest me. Insurance waited as long as they could, also never completing a thorough investigation, and wrongfully denied our claim. Once we sued them, they put pressure on the police to indict, claiming to be the innocent victim of fraud, knowing that once I was indicted they would be free and clear to never pay a dime because all of our finances and attention were now turned towards my defense. And they were right.

If I do not accept this deal, I am faced with the conundrum of going to trial and any remaining finances will be used to defend me. If I am convicted, I stand to receive a harsher sentence and longer jail time, after not accepting this deal, and appeals can cost two to three times the initial trial. Even if we win at trial, all of our finances would be depleted and there is no way we could ever afford to sue insurance, not to mention the additional years it would take to get through civil court, plus longer to see any money, should we win against them.

The irony is that as a middle class white woman, I am the least likely to get convicted, a privilege and statistic I am well aware of and do not take for granted. I am also well aware that we can pursue my defense and prepare for trial, knowing that a better deal or even a complete dismissal will likely occur as the trial date nears. However, by that point, we will have used up our savings and retirement and will again, be left with nothing to pursue insurance or rebuild our life with…

We do our best to protect the kids from the details of my case, but sometimes it’s just not possible. Last week, Jordyn overheard a conversation and as I was tucking her into bed she asked me, “Momma? Is this going to be done soon? Can you really just be done without having a trial or going to jail?” “I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “Our attorneys are trying to find out all of the rules on the new deal to see if it’s something we can agree to, but it might mean that I have to lie and say that I did something that I didn’t do.” “But if you won’t go to jail, then isn’t it ok to lie this one time?” “Well, that is something I need to consider. But how do you feel when I think that you did something wrong, even though you know you didn’t?” “Not good. Like when I get blamed for a mess in the playroom but I didn’t make it.” “Exactly. I didn’t do this, but I’ll have to say that it was somehow my fault.” “Momma? I won’t tell anyone if you have to lie. I just don’t want you to go to jail. Who would take care of us?” The tears streamed down her cheeks…And that’s when my decision was solidified…

The risk of not accepting this injustice is just too great.

So today, I am accepting a deal with the devil. God forgive me.

Dawn woke, like every other day, to the sound of Riley watching Blue’s Clues on Nick Jr. in her bed. Scott had already left for work but made sure their two and a half years old daughter was happy with her sippy cup of milk in Mommy and Daddy’s bed while Dawn continued to sleep for just a few extra minutes.

Dawn could hear Harrison in the baby monitor, breathing rhythmically, still asleep, so she quickly got up, took a shower and got herself ready for the day before helping Riley dress and tending to Harrison, who was now awake and happily jumping in his crib.

The house phone rang as Dawn was changing Harrison and she raced into her bedroom to answer and back towards Harrison’s room.

“Hello?” she answered. “Good morning!” Dawn’s mother greeted from the other end, “How are you?”

“Good! Just getting the kids dressed and heading downstairs for breakfast. Then we need to get ready for Mommy and Me.”

“Excellent! And what project are you planning for class today?”

“Eh. Just finishing up our alphabet pictures and then the usual circle time songs, snack, and free play. I’m hoping it doesn’t rain so we can play outside, but if not, we’ll just use the playroom.”

“Sounds great!”

“Yup. It should be good. Oh! We had a contractor walk though yesterday to put together an estimate for converting the alcove into a nursery. Should have the estimate next week.”

“That’s great, Dawn! How are you feeling?“

“Much better! No more morning sickness. Happy to be at the turning point. Hey, Mom, can I call you later? Harrison’s diaper needs a little more attention than I initially thought.”

“Sure thing, Dawn. Love you.”

“Love you too!”

“Woooo-boy! That is one full diaper, Bud!” Dawn exclaimed as she hung up the phone and changed Harrison. “Dat’s a tinky diapa!” Riley giggled, pointing to her brother and crinkling her nose. “It sure is a stinky diaper! Into the bin it goes!” Dawn laughed as she tossed out the diaper and lifted Harrison, giving him shower of good morning kisses on his delicious cheeks.

“Do the binky toss, Bud!”

Harrison tossed his collection of pacifiers into his crib and toddled down the hallway towards the stairs. Dawn returned to her room and stripped her bed before opening up the safety gate and heading downstairs with the kids for breakfast.

Once the kids were strapped into their seats and eating, she headed to the basement to quickly move the clothes from the washer into the dryer and start the load of sheets. The phone rang upstairs so she ran up the basement steps and into the kitchen.

“Hi, Scott,” she panted to her husband, “What’s up?”

“Just calling to say good morning. You were up late last night. Everything ok?”

“Yeah. I was just talking to Hope and printing out everything for Mommy & Me today.”

“Is Hope stateside? How’s she doing?”

“Yep. She’s in LA for a few days. Flies back on Monday. She’s good. She has exams coming up but I know she’ll nail them. They moved her up to first class!”

“That’s awesome! And are you set for today? Who’s coming?”

“Just the normal crew. I have a few things to do before everyone gets here but I’m pretty set. I’m just ready to be done with this alphabet project so we can move onto more creative projects.”

“Oh! I gotta go. I have a call coming in. I’ll call you later!”

“Ok. Love you! Bye!”

“Love you. Bye.”

“Who is coming today?” she thought and checked the evite RSVPs on her cell phone again. She took a few minutes to mindlessly scroll through Facebook before placing her phone on the dining room table, next to the alphabet craft material she had set out the previous night.

Dawn continued getting the house ready for her friends and their children who came each Friday morning for a little Mommy & Me class Dawn led. She was excited to get back to the weekly sessions after canceling more than a few during the first trimester of her third pregnancy. Fourteen weeks in, and the fog and constant queasiness was finally lifting. She loved the second trimester.

After cleaning up in the kitchen Dawn turned on The Hunchback of Notre Dame for Riley and plopped her on the couch to watch so that she could finish up her chores.

Her final chore was taking out the trash and recycling. As she was heading back up the deck stairs and into the dining room through the sliding glass door, Dawn scooped up Harrison, who had followed her outside onto the deck.

She walked into the living room and placed Harrison on the floor before beginning to remove her sneakers. She was ready with a few minutes to spare.

As Dawn began sliding off her shoes, there was an explosion and everything started moving in slow motion at the speed of light.

Smoke detectors were blaring from everywhere. A hot rush of hot air blasted past her face, blowing the carpet in the living room back. Dawn turned toward the kitchen and continued turning, looking for the phone on the shelves next to the television, knowing she needed to call 911. It wasn’t on the cradle. Smoke and ash were filtering out of the vents that flanked the TV wall. Riley was running towards Dawn, screaming in fear. Harrison, still at her feet, was crying.

She took 4 steps through the kitchen and dining room door frames, grabbed her cell phone, turned around, hoisting both kids into her arms and ran like hell out the front door, slamming into the screen door and banister on the front steps. She didn’t stop until she was on the front yard of her neighbor’s and began dialing 911.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“My house! My house! There was an explosion!” Dawn was incoherently screaming to the operator.

“Okay, Ma’am. You need to calm down. I can’t understand you. You said your house…”

“Yes!” she wailed, taking a deep breath. “There was an explosion. I think there’s a fire. I see smoke. My house!”

“Okay, Ma’am. Are you out of the house? What is your address? I’m sending emergency vehicles there now. Is there somewhere you can go to safely wait?”

Dawn’s neighbor AnaLucia rushed out to help her and the kids, ushering them inside her home as Dawn dialed Scott at work.

“This is Scott.”

“Our house!” Dawn sobbed as she walked toward the kitchen in AnaLucia’s house. Looking out of the window, flames were pouring out of the rafters above their bedroom. “Our house! It’s gone. It’s all gone!”

“I’m coming home,” Scott said.

Dawn watched in shock as the fire trucks and volunteer fire fighters began to arrive. There was a man in jeans and a white t-shirt running down her driveway to the back of the house and back to the front again calling for the hoses. Smoke filled the sky.

Dawn’s phone starting dinging. Texts from her friends starting coming in. “I can’t get to your house. The street is blocked. There must be an emergency near by.”

“It’s my house. My house is the emergency. My house. It’s all gone,” was all she could text back.

She sat down on AnaLucia’s front steps to call her parents. The sirens were so loud, yet mumbled in the background of the noise inside her mind. She didn’t even know what to say. She called Rivka, her best friend. “I know you’re at swimming with Peyton but my house is gone and I don’t know what to do. My house is gone. It’s all gone.”

She walked out and stood on her neighbor’s yard, still holding a shoeless Harrison while AnaLucia held Riley. The neighbors were starting to gather around and watch.

She cried. And stopped. And cried. And stopped. Trying to be brave for the kids. Trying to be ok. Trying to be strong.

The paramedic came to take her blood pressure. It was understandably high. But she was fine. She sustained a large bruise on her arm, probably from running into the banister when she fled the house. But that was it. She and the kids were fine.

An ambulance pulled down the street and Dawn and the kids were escorted inside to wait. AnaLucia asked if Carlos, her husband, could pick up anything for her or the kids. He was already on his way and stopping for diapers and wipes for Harrison. What else did we need?

“Um. No. We’re ok…actually, yes.” Dawn realized that she had nothing. No binkies for Harrison, no sippy cup for Riley. They didn’t even have shoes on. Her wallet, her car keys, the diaper bag. She had nothing.

She glanced out of the rear ambulance window just as her chimney fell on top her car.

It was all gone…

September 12, 2018

Dawn’s day started like any other: alarm clock blaring, hitting snooze an extra time, and slowly stumbling out of bed and into the shower before the kids and sun rose.

When Dawn stepped out of the shower she heard the faint beep of a smoke detector battery nearing its end.

“Great,” she sighed, as she wrapped her hair in a towel and went to investigate. She climbed onto her bed and gingerly stepped into the nightstand thinking, “Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall,” as she reached up to try to pull the detector out.

“Super. It’s stuck,” she thought as the nightstand wobbled a bit. “This is all I need. To fall and knock myself out so that the children will find me dead on the floor with a smoke detector in my hand, naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around my head. This is not how I planned to begin the 10 days of repentance.”

After finally unhooking the smoke detector and removing the battery, she left it on the nightstand and got dressed, making a mental note to have Scott replace it that night.

The rest of the morning, though rushed as usual, went off without a hitch and Dawn was able to get the kids to school on time.

As she drove to her appointment to have her car serviced, a morning dove swooped down. In the milliseconds she watched, she knew the bird would expertly avoid her car.

Unfortunately, the dove didn’t seem to notice her presence and flew head first into Dawn’s windshield. Dawn sadly watched in her rear view mirror as the bird ricocheted over her car and landed on the road behind her.

“This year’s not looking good for forgiveness for me,” Dawn’s thoughts again trailed to the upcoming Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur, “God I hope I make it into the book of life.”

After returning from her service appointment, Dawn went out back to check on her garden. As she walked down the deck stairs, she passed through an unseen web and, allowing her irrational fear of spiders to take hold, tripped down the remaining steps, landing her ass-down on the ground with a twisted ankle, a flash of her life, and looking up to the heavens asking her family members for some understanding as her heart raced with adrenaline.

Dawn hobbled back inside and upstairs to her office. The garden would have to wait. She’d just take it easy, ice her ankle, and finish inputting school directory information and working on the PTO kickoff fundraiser she was chairing. “That way, God forbid I don’t make it to Yom Kippur, at least everything can still go on without me,” Dawn giggled, amused at the absurdity of the day so far.

When it was time to leave for school to pick up the children, Dawn walked into the garage and was overwhelmed by the smell of gasoline. “What the hell?” she thought, as she opened the garage door to allow the vapor to escape.

Now it was starting to get real and Dawn’s earlier amusement turned to fright.

Dawn climbed into her car, put her key in the ignition and stopped.

She flashed back to the fire and everything she and Scott had learned about natural gas, gasoline, flammable ingredients, and ignition after that horrific day. Everything she never sought to know was forever etched in her long term memory.

Dawn now knew that gasoline in liquid form does not ignite, but the vapors do as her unrelenting fear latched on with an unrelinquishing stronghold.

She stepped out of the car, shaking, her stomach inching towards her throat. She walked outside and dialed Scott at work. Her call went straight to voicemail which meant that he was in a meeting. Tears started forming as her eyes burned with fear.

She went back into the garage and sat in her car for what felt like an eternity, trying to convince herself that turning the key would not spark an ignition of flames.

“You can do this. You can do hard things. You will not blow up. You will be ok. Dear God, please let me be ok.” Dawn spoke aloud to herself as she held her breath and turned the key…

The kids and I moved back in with my parents in February, 2012, after insurance had denied our claim from the fire.

Jordyn was 3 1/2, Max had just turned 2, and Kennedy was just 3 months old.

I was nervous about how it would all work out. My mother and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. We’re so completely opposite and yet, exactly the same. Seriously, how was this ever going to work?

Mom & Joe got the house ready before we moved in. They got Max an adorable toddler bed. Little drawers were ready for the kids’ clothes. Closets and cabinets were cleaned out: for clothes, for food, for toys…for what little we had, they provided a space and a place.

We pulled into the driveway on a rainy Sunday and began to unload. It was awful. How can I be back here again? How am I supposed to live in my parent’s basement as a married woman with 3 small children? How can I get by without Brian and his rocksteady support during the week? Will Jordyn and Max be alright sleeping 2 floors up from me? Who will help them when nightmares or stomach bugs strike in the dark of night? Will they be ok without Daddy? Will I? Will Kennedy recognize him when he comes “home” on weekends?

It was an adjustment at first. We all needed to get into the rhythm of a new routine. We needed to find the right groove.

The “rules” for Bubbe & Zayde’s needed to change because we weren’t just here for a holiday or a weekend visit. Certain food items needed to be tossed except for really real special occasions. Jumping on and off beds and sliding down the banister would have to be curtailed.

It was frustrating. I felt like there were times I couldn’t parent my own kids the way I wanted. I felt like Mom was over stepping her boundaries and trying to parent for me. I felt like I was being watched and judged. And that I was doing the same. I felt like we were invading and taking over.

I held my breath when Mom reprimanded my children for acting out. I was pissed when she rewarded them with cookies for no reason whatsoever, knowing that once the sugar took effect, bedtime would be a nightmare.

I was relieved when she called to say that I was on my on my own for dinner and bedtime, free to do it all my way. Yet, when the time came, annoyed that she wasn’t there to help.

And exhausted…my goodness, so unbelievably, bone tired, exhausted.

And so was Mom. In addition to working a full day, running an entire agency, she was helping Jordyn and Max at night when they woke in fright at 12, 2, 3 & 5am. And she was getting them dressed and fed in the morning so I could tend to Kennedy. And taking them to school. And helping with the evening routine of dinner, bath, books and bed.

Mom and Joe traveled to the shore on weekends not only to give us our own family space but also to catch up on their own, well needed, rest…

As the year went on, it became easier. There was a fluidity and rhythm that took over. There was an understanding and a sense of comradery and support, both spoken and silent.

Routines became routine. I learned to loosen my reigns and learn from an experienced pro. Mom learned some new school techniques and added them to her expertise. There was patience, understanding, respect, and bonding.

Weekends were spent doing family things together. Time became a valuable treasure. Communication was imperative and open, (and technologically advanced). We learned the true meaning of quality.

Mom and Joe have gotten to see the kids grow up before their eyes. They have seen Kennedy grow through each stage from newborn to toddler. Mom potty trained Max and painted Jordyn’s nails. They garden together, take long walks around the ponds together, feed the horses together, laugh & sing & dance together, play & tickle together, have grown together, and have made so many memories…together.

I am so very glad that during this uncertain time, we have had such an amazing opportunity and incredible experience.

Thank you, Mom & Joe, who helped make your house our home.

It was 10:30pm and Dawn had just finished changing Riley and stripping her bed. She was now sleeping in Dawn’s mother’s office after having an accident in bed. Riley was 4 1/2 and had NEVER had an accident since she potty trained herself just 2 months after her second birthday.

Dawn wondered if it was because the sitter forgot to have her go before bed, or because she was too tired from not napping to wake up, or if the fire drill at school today literally scared the piss out of her.

It was a surprise fire drill so although Riley was supposed to get advanced warning, none was given today, for whatever reason. At pick up, Riley’s teacher told Dawn that Riley was terrified but was able to calm down very quickly and was very brave.

Dawn knew that over time and as Riley grew, she would learn to handle her fear and initial shock from that awful sound. But Dawn also knew exactly what she feels because every fucking fire alarm does the same thing to her.

It brought her back to that moment. That goddamned moment…and Dawn relived it…with every blaring wail of an alarm or siren, she was back in the living room of her house grabbing Riley and Harrison and running like hell because something wasn’t right…

So who knows why Riley had an accident Dawn was sure it was just that: an accident. But as a concerned mother, she’ll wonder and worry for the rest of her life…

Dawn and Scott stood in the kitchen, sipping on red wine, both of them still reeling from last week’s court appearance. With the case being kicked back to Esposito, it was definitely going to trial unless a dismissal was handed down from the new judge. This fact had hit them both like a ton of bricks but it was the first time Scott realized that this was not going away and that the worst case scenario was a real possibility.

“How am I going to do this without you? Who will braid Riley’s and Madison’s hair? Who will help the kids with homework? Who will take Harrison to hip hop?” His voice trailed off…

The look on his face spoke volumes as he realized the magnitude of just the daily physical aspect Dawn’s absence would have, not to mention the emotional impact a “guilty” verdict would mean for the children.

“I’m not moving back in with my parents,” Scott sighed, “I’m going to have to hire an au pair. I don’t even know how to do that,” his gaze became distant again, as if lost in a wood…

“I know,” Dawn whispered, tears welling in her eyes, “I know.”

“Well,” Scott snapped to, “I was hoping this would be a celebratory trip at the end of this, but fuck it. Should we just go to Disney World?”

“Well, why not?” Dawn asked, managing a weak smile, “I should get to take the kids to Disney. I should be there for their first time. And unfortunately, we just don’t know if that will happen if we wait.”

The truth was, as excited as Dawn was, Scott’s sudden decision to take such a big family trip on a whim was extraordinarily unlike him. She knew it meant he was scared and preparing for the worst. It meant he had finally been beaten down enough to know what she’s known all along…His overt admittance that his precious system doesn’t work was possibly the worst blow to Dawn’s hope in the past 4 years.

The last time Scott made such a fast financial decision was almost a year ago. He and Dawn were discussing the future and why he saves the way he does.  He was preparing: for the trial, for the kids, for the future… But after living in the basement of his parents home for over 20 months, Dawn had reached her limit.  She calmly explained that it was time to move on in their personal lives, as the case and trial seemed to be stuck like a skipping record, and waiting was no longer an option.  He asked if she new an agent and Dawn made 1 inquiry to her friend and local real estate agent.  That weekend they walked through 5 houses, bid on one, closed and moved in within 6 weeks, thanks to her friend, her in-laws who watched the kids on overtime and helped paint and assemble furniture, and IKEA for being so very affordable that they could actually furnish and decorate an entire house…

Seriously, it took Scott over 5 years to propose, 4 years to buy a new car, and months of mental back and forths to book family vacations.  Scott was a saver, not a spender, so when he booked the vacation, including a top resort hotel, and the flight within days of the conversation and mentioned that they will need to dip into savings, Dawn knew this was the beginning of the end and that she better put on her happy face and enjoy the rides, because after this trip, shit was gonna get bumpy…

Court was postponed from January 4, 2016 to the 25th due to the backlog that is our judicial system.

So we arrived today, on Harrison’s birthday, while the rest of the northeast is digging out and salting after the mess Jonas left in his wake. I feel salty knowing that my in laws will be the first to wish him a happy birthday upon waking. It should be us, but we had to leave long before both he and the sun rose, and can only hope that they will build the snowmen and forts and make birthday memories with him that should be ours to make.

Of course we gave ourselves enough time to arrive before court is open, giving space for the unknown: traffic accidents, backups, icy road conditions. It’s a long drive for what is usually a short appearance. The only time we were ever late for our scheduled appearance was on a day that the roads were so bad that court was delayed and then cancelled after we arrived. But the website says no cancellations or delays have been reported, so here we are.

We wait for Paul, our attorney to come and update us on the status of our gas expert report. We have been waiting for this report for over a year. Apparently the report is complete and needs only the expert’s signature to make it valid and ready to be filed. According to the expert’s office manager, he is wonderful in the court room and never misses a trial, but his office management skills are significantly lacking and she apologizes for the delay. Our attorney has hesitantly issued a subpoena for him to bring the report today. If he fails to appear, we have to ask for one more continuance until next month. The chance of him showing up is slim, as it is 8:56am.

Yet his lack of presence matters not because when the courtroom doors open at 9am and we enter to sign in, there is not one single prosecutor present. The rows begin to fill up with defendants, victims, family members, and defense attorneys. One attorney looks as though he has aged ten years in the 6 weeks since we last saw him. Yes, after 4 years we know these faces all too well.

There’s an air of familiarity in the court room, like stale smoke. It reminds me of my late uncle’s old apartment. Most of my “comrades” are dressed to unimpress in torn sweats and jeans that hang well below what is appropriate. A few defendants are dressed with old school respect, something our present society is seriously lacking.

Once a few prosecutors saunter in, court begins. The first case called sends us into an immediate recess as the prosecutor and defense request to conference in the judge’s chambers. So we wait while our attorney tries to contact the prosecutor on my case.

However, there seems to be confusion as to who that may be. An email has surfaced that states that as of Fiday, my case was kicked back to the previous prosecutor, Esposito. It doesn’t really matter because neither are present.

Court resumes and recesses and resumes and recesses again. Is it now 10:30am and we are still waiting for any prosecutor to make an appearance on our case…

Our attorney finally finds Esposito and they meet in chambers: Apparently the major crimes and arson units have split, and the previous prosecutor, Moreno, kicked the case back to Esposito because Moreno now heads up the major crimes division which no longer includes arson.

The most unnerving aspect of the change in prosecutors, besides the fact that this is the seventh change in prosecutors, is that Esposito has lied about speaking to his supervisor about the case and is honestly, a bumbling idiot, from what I have heard each time he speaks in court. The upside to this, is that hopefully the jury will see that too, should this go to trial. Unfortunately, after being a stuck in the system for so long and binge watching “The Making of a Murderer” I have little faith in jurors, and none in the system.

Anyway, at around 10:47am, I was finally called to the stand and it was decided that we will leap forward and return on February 29th for what I hope is the last status conference. We left the courtroom at 10:49 and that was that…

I am hopeful that our expert will have signed the report by our next conference and that our motion for dismissal and all expert reports will be officially filed, so that we can we can begin the pre-trial paperwork for the third and final time. We are looking at a July – September trial, though I am not holding my breath…

Again, thank you for your continued support. We’re on our way home to celebrate what is left of Harrison’s birthday…

“It was too long ago…but it was just a moment ago” (The Legend of Bagger Vance)

When I think about the past year and all we’ve been through, that is exactly how it feels.

We were living the dream: a beautiful house we could afford, 2.3 kids, literally. I was able to stay home with the kids for now, an annual family vacation, good friends and great neighbors…

Then it all went up in flames.

The events of May 20, 2011 replay in my head constantly. It was horrifying. And the way we were treated subsequently by authorities and then by our insurance company have made the past year even more horrific. It’s a constant nightmare while I’m both asleep and awake…

However, as trying as this year has been, I not only have a life to get back, but also a life to live.

I have 3 fantastic kids to take care of, though I often think they are taking care of me. I have a wonderful husband, whom I unfortunately only see on weekends now due to living arrangements. But now our weekends are truly quality family time.

We have found this year, that we know what true friends are and the importance of family. Thank goodness we have such a fabulous support network.

We’ve certainly learned what materials are true necessities and what we can live without. Due to a complete lack of storage, clutter isn’t an issue. In fact, it’s been a great lesson on giving for the kids: with each new toy they receive, they choose one to donate to those less fortunate. I also only buy them a few outfits. We wash and rewear everything until its worn out and must be replaced.

This year has taught me to not judge, because what works for you may not work for another, and honestly, you have no idea what the back story is, so back off.

This year has taught me that it’s ok to be picky. I have limited space so I only take what I need and love. (And please don’t ever offer items to those in need that aren’t in tip top shape: I cannot tell you how many broken toys and stained clothes we were given to us in the beginning, though most donations were in great shape.)

This year has taught me that true friends are few and far between so hold on tight and check in on them more often than you do.

This year has taught me that no matter how small you think someone else’s problems are compared to yours, to that person those problems are HUGE so be there for them the same way you want them there for you.

This year has taught me that when catastrophe strikes most support is needed well after the flames have been put out, and although the immediate support was appreciated too, most people shy away now, unsure of what to say or do. (Just checking in from time to time would be lovely.)

This year I’ve leaned to complain less and appreciate more.

This year, although the tears have been plentiful, the laughter keeps me going so I try to find the funny… sometimes it’s harder than others.

This year I yell more and take more deep breaths. This year my kids are allowed to put me in time out for raising my voice…it’s only happened twice since initiating the rule…

This year I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner and, although I rarely have actual dessert, Moscato is my favorite wine.

This year I say thank you and mean it to those who give me gifts that are completely useless in my current situation bc it really is the thought that counts.

This year I ask people for what I want and tell them what I need because let’s face it, there aren’t too many mind readers…

This year I’m a constant guest in other peoples homes and I’ve learned that as welcoming as others are, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to cook in my own kitchen with my own stuff again.

This year, we are in temporary housing situations and planning for the future is really hard, but we do our best.

This year, we could care less about the news, election and world at large…especially gossip about celebrities, reality stars and local idiots…we have our family to take care of.

This year we put our family’s needs first, no matter who it may offend.

This year I don’t have time for those who don’t have time for me, but say the word and I’ll make it.

This year I’m not interested in making new friends but will gladly reconnect with old ones.

This year I am grateful that I have 3 healthy and happy kids and although they have their moments, they truly are phenomenal and I know I must be doing something right.

This year I do not take for granted that my family is all here and healthy. It could have been very different.

This year may last another 3 until its all sorted out with insurance and another 3 beyond that to rebuild because of construction permits, codes, and red tape…

This year will hopefully become a blip on my radar screen of life, but for now it’s a big effin blip!

This year, I just want to go home.

This year happened just a moment ago…