Stay with What You Know

from MY TURN Taos News, January 2006

In the wake of the tragedy that rocked our community on of the cusp of the New Year, I have some reflections I’d like to share.

As we waited to see what would become of Caleb French in those first few days after he apparently killed his mother Peggy and stepfather Joe, I noticed a collective impulse to fill in the emptiness with a storyline. We were all talking to one another, speculating about what happened and why, passing on what we heard about mental illness, drug use, parenting choices. Some of what we shared with one another was accurate. Some was not.

I truly believe that this urge to make sense of the senseless is human nature. It is difficult to sit with the unknown, painful not to have an explanation for tragedy. So we grasp for the thread of a story and try to pull reality back into some semblance of order and meaning, even if, as is the nature of story, we elaborate and invent a little along the way. I am as guilty of this tendency as anyone.

But I may be a little less inclined to give into it. This is because I am the victim of innocent but harmful storytelling. A little over four years ago, my beloved daughter Jenny was killed in a car accident just over U.S. Hill, just after midnight, just before Halloween. She was fourteen. She was driving my car. She was alone.

Within days, I heard an astonishing variety of stories about how my daughter had died and, more significantly, why. Most of them were untrue. Some people were telling each other that Jenny was drunk or on drugs; the toxicology reports showed no trace of substances in her blood. Some said Jenny intentionally killed herself; I will never be sure about this, but I do know that Jenny was in a state of bliss that last night. Others claimed that Jenny and I had a fight and she took off angry in my car; our relationship was especially sweet those final days and one of the last things Jenny said to me was, “I love you, Mom.”

What is true was that Jenny had a psychotic break three days before she died and it took me a while to figure out what was happening. What is true is that I was trying to get her to the hospital that night but I was alone and she tricked me and jumped into my car and drove away to her death.

What could I do when I heard these hurtful “facts” about my family and our loss? I tried not to care. I still try, even now, when I continue to hear about erroneous speculations that have turned into stone with telling and retelling. But I do care. I feel frustrated, even violated sometimes. Yet I blame no one. I understand how hard it is to resist that impulse, how much it hurts to sit in the fire of mystery.

Yet I plead with us, the community of Peggy, Joe and Caleb, to hold the souls of these dear friends with the utmost respect and gentleness, and to tend the hearts of their closest loved ones with even greater consciousness and care. Release the story. Stay with what you know to be true. I saw Peggy in Cid’s the day she died. She called out to me. We wished each other a happy New Year. Her clear eyes penetrated mine. I taught Spanish to Caleb and his brother Jesse at Taos Valley School when they were little boys. Peggy was a significant healer for me when I was diagnosed with a life-changing illness twelve years ago. Joe was an icon of sustainable living.

There. True things. They do not fix what is broken. But they ground the chaos a little for me and they do not accidentally hurt anybody. Let us be aware, then, of what comes out of our mouths as we struggle to shake off the trauma of these deaths and heal as a community. I know our intentions are loving and true.

Mirabai Starr is a mother, a grandmother and a certified Grief Counselor with Golden Willow Retreat, an emotional healing sanctuary in Arroyo Hondo.