Chapter 19 of my e book - "MacKenzie's Hope"

Mackenzie’s
Rimmer
Chapter 19
Strange Days
July 1, 2001
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I’ll be sending out our letters/pics for the 15th to you soon,” she wrote. “I need to prod Frank to start his letter as it takes him several days to get it done.
Good luck on meeting the guy, James. My friend Cathy was so busy in high school and college with studies - she was valedictorian in high school. Anyway, she had to work so much that she never had time for men, so when she became an accountant and was ready to “settle down” she had trouble-meeting men. She answered a personal ad. We were very concerned for her safety but she met Matt in a restaurant and they took it slow. They’ve been married ten years now! Their date was not without some problems, i.e.; he was late and she up and left, he called her at home to see where she was and she told him she didn’t wait for any man. He convinced her to come back to the restaurant. She had
already undressed and taken off her makeup and didn’t put it back on! He met the”real her” with hair in a ponytail, jeans; etc. Probably why things worked out so well, huh? Anyway, they live in Los Angeles now - too far away to see her much. Good luck.
Ben did enjoy Museum Camp. Sorry your grandmother isn’t doing better.”
Tara’s landlord called her that night about Tara’s neighbor’s many dogs and homeless kids hanging out. The conversation inevitably got around to Tara’s neighbor’s daughter.
Tara slipped and told her landlord that the neighbor’s daughter didn’t have a birth certificate and that she’d dropped out of school but had been working.
“Well, now your neighbor told me that the reason her daughter couldn’t go to school was because she had - what’s that thing where you’re afraid to leave the house -“Agoraphobia?” Tara asked.
“Uh, fear of crabs or something - “
Tara fought back laughter.
“No, it’s fear of leaving the house. It’s agoraphobia. But I’ve never heard that. And anyway, she goes to work so that wouldn’t hold up,” Tara said.
“Well your neighbor said something about how there’s too many crowds at school,” Diana said. “That that’s why her daughter had to quit school. Anyway who’s that blind kid?”
Tara racked her brain.
“I don’t know anything about a blind kid,” she said, truthfully.
It was hard to keep up with them all.
They said their good-byes and Tara had to laugh. For once the chaos around her wasn’t her own.

July 2, 2001
Tara had to get up in the middle of the night and get allergy pills and on the way home she saw Jamie walking down her street.
It was 4 a.m.
Tara immediately turned the corner and by the time she turned around Jamie had turned the corner as well and hadn’t seen her.
Tara breathed a sigh of relief. She knew eventually Jamie would find out where she lived but she sure didn’t want to run into her at 4 a.m. on a dark street. It spooked her every time she saw her.
She hated that she still haunted her this way.
That night she had a nightmare about her, of course.
That afternoon Susan came over and told Tara’s neighbor’s daughter to move the van, which was now open in the backyard and reeking of God knew what. She moved it apologetically to a shopping center parking lot with the help of a homeless guy and his dad. But Tara knew that wouldn’t last long and it’d get towed from there. Tara told the girl she only said something
because their landlord was going to evict them and that she’d been calling Tara wanting to know what the deal was.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to endure her complaining about us,” the girl said, feeling bad.
“I just don’t want you to get evicted,” Tara said.
Because Tara’s neighbor’s daughter was cute, innocent, and naïve, Tara often worried about what was going to happen to her and feared the worst. She hoped she’d be okay. But she’d be an easy target for someone dangerous.

July 3, 2001
Tara had a rough night that night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep. She had to get up several times, coughing and gagging and wound up oversleeping and being 40 minutes late to work. Luckily her boss was on vacation.

Tara heard back from the girl in the recovery group for sex addicts and the girl gave her number out, too:
“Where is it exactly that you live?” the girl asked. “I’m from New York.
I agree with you 100 percent about it not being accepted to be bisexual and I feel EXACTLY the same way you do about even gay people not accepting it and that is the same as people judging them for being gay. We can’t help being the way we are any more than they can,” she wrote. “I do find it very confusing though and wish myself that I could just “choose.” I have much more experience with men and mostly date them, however I
feel like there will always be this curiosity with women. Well, more than curiosity because I have been with women also. I guess I mean that I feel I will always be drawn to them also. But I feel like either way I will never really be satisfied with either sex. My therapist says that maybe when I go through withdrawal it will become clearer. Have you found this at all?
In the meantime I can’t force myself to “know” or drive myself crazy looking for an answer. Maybe it is just something I have to accept. I agree with what your friend said about not meeting a quality person till we have quality within ourselves as well. But it is hard to know that and really know it in your heart. Still the more I work this program I am able to recognize that to be true. I get really down on myself for different reasons mostly because I am still involved with my doc but ‘One day at a time’, right? Anyway, as always nice to know I’m not alone!”
Tara wrote her back:
“I did drive myself crazy for awhile trying to choose but now I’ve just said I’m not going to worry about it,” Tara said. “I personally don’t see why it has to be either or and I think people have the capacity to love both.
Therapy hasn’t helped me choose yet but maybe one day. I’m really not worried about choosing though. I know one person in recovery from this addiction said being bi was just being active in your sex addiction and that you’re not really bi but I don’t that I go along with that. I think society including the recovery community puts pressure on people to choose, like it’s so important or something. Kind of like those boxes that you check as to whether you’re black, white or whatever. It’s like you have to be something definable.”
Tara later got an email from Chelsea, suggesting that Mackenzie get genetically tested for Dwarfism since an employee of hers had a granddaughter who was recently diagnosed after being misdiagnosed as a preemie. Chelsea said it was often misdiagnosed as other things and since Mackenzie was only 16 pounds and almost a year old, maybe it’d be a good idea to have her tested. Tara passed the email on to Veronica then obsessed about the possibility that her daughter could be a dwarf on top of all her other ailments. She asked a few doctors she worked with what they knew about the diagnosis and none of them had a clue but
suggested she talk to a doctor who’d be there tomorrow.
She emailed her friends and family and asked if they knew anything about it and no one did. But one friend emailed her a link for “little people” who had all kinds of information on it that Tara read and forwarded a copy to Chelsea for her employee’s granddaughter. Tara hated that Chelsea had even brought it up although she knew she was just trying to help.
Tara emailed the contact person for the Little People’s link and asked what they thought she should do regarding testing for Mackenzie (if it was warranted based on her appetite and weight history and current continual problems eating). A couple of people told her not to worry, that they’d known kids like Mackenzie who were small and they were just little, that was all.
Now Tara kept picturing certain photos that she’d gotten over the past ten months of Mackenzie and tried to visualize anything she might have missed before that would give Dwarfism away. Suddenly she “saw” in her mind’s eye things that she never thought twice about before like her short legs. She spent the rest of the day,
worrying, praying, and bargaining with God not to let her little girl be a dwarf on top of everything else.
She knew a guy who worked at the grocery store she frequented who was a dwarf and she’d seen some in her life. She also knew that they got made fun of on the radio and were seen by some as “less than.” She wouldn’t let that happen to Mackenzie if she did wind up being a dwarf.

July 4, 2001
Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant this 4th of July compared to last year’s miserable holiday.
She remembered the house parents took the residents out for ice cream and to Trinity Park to watch the fireworks and how everyone stared at them as always.
At the ice cream parlor one of the residents who’d had her baby in June made a face in the window as they were leaving and tried to scare the people who were staring. All the residents laughed. As obnoxious as the resident was, Tara had to laugh.
For once the residents had the last laugh when gawked at.
When they got to the park to watch the fireworks, there were no nearby bathrooms so a group of them had to walk across huge boulders from one end of the river to the other than hike up a steep hill to a restaurant to use their restroom.
The other residents weren’t too happy about it but took it all in stride as they headed across the slick rocks behind the crowds of people doing the same thing. The difference was the residents didn’t have much balance because they were pregnant and had to hang on to each other while kids played and splashed around beside them and adults just merely stared.
Tara, however, was completely furious about the whole thing and cursed the male house parent who didn’t take into account when parking the van about the location of the rest rooms and the fact that the residents were hugely pregnant and didn’t have much strength to walk far.
When they made it back to their seats and settled on their blankets on the steep hill overlooking the river, a group of people gawked at them and whispered for what seemed like an eternity.
Tara started doing what she saw a resident do once and some other residents now joined her. Every time the crowd would stare she’d stare them down. Once she did this, they quickly averted their eyes.
Then the residents followed suit and made sure that every time some onlooker whispered something about them, that they knew they could hear every word.
They managed to run off several people this way. Anything not to be gawked at like some science experiment. Tara hated that aspect of being a birth mom.
They were able to get rid of the rest of the gawkers when Amy, the one who made all the baby blankets,
lifted her shirt so as not to flash her breasts and drew a smiley face on her
stomach complete with hair. Never one to balk at a challenge, she proudly thrust her stomach forward unbeknownst to the house parents who would’ve reprimanded her, and smiled at the gawkers who quickly gathered their things and moved to another area.
But not before Amy and another resident made sure they could hear them say, “See that guy sitting next to us? (Motioning to the male married house parent who sat next to his wife, also a house parent) He’s the father of all of our kids!”
It was great. A real victory for the women.
Luckily the house parents knew nothing about it, just teased him about it later by implying that they should have said something like that to the crowd.
He would’ve been so embarrassed, particularly since he and his wife were Mormons.
Then when the fireworks finally started they all realized they were in a bad spot and wound up barely able to see them.
Towards the end of the display, several residents had to go to the bathroom but couldn’t find one close and started urging the male house parent to pack everyone up so they could find a bathroom by car.
By the time they finally got out of the parking lot the residents were very uncomfortable and about to burst their kidneys.
He stopped at one store and the bathroom was out of order. Another store wouldn’t let the residents use the facilities. And another store had a long line.
He wouldn’t stop anywhere else, just drove the long way back to the dorm with several angry pregnant residents in tow.
He’d barely pulled up in the drive when the piled out and ran into the dorm.
Tara was glad she didn’t have to go because she would’ve jumped out of the van a long time ago.
“No man is going to keep me from going to the bathroom,” she said.
Fast forward to 2001. Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant!
She called a gay male friend of hers and told him about the James/Jake, the guy with two names and they exchanged dating horror stories.
“I don’t know what it is but I attract the most screwed up people,” her friend told Tara. “If they’ve got something wrong with them, they come to me.”
“I know what you mean. I see the bum radar still works,” Tara said and he cracked up laughing.
He told her about his most recent blind date that a friend of his set up against his wishes.
“What was it like?” Tara asked.
“Honey, I wished I was blind when I walked in the restaurant,” he said and they laughed together. “He was round. Very round.”
She smiled to herself.
”Of course I should’ve known when my friend kept saying, ‘But he’s a real nice guy, but he’s a real nice guy,’” said her friend.
“Yeah, that’s like saying she’s got a great personality or a great sense of humor,” Tara said.
He laughed.
“Hell, four of the five guys I’ve had dates with are in prison now,” he said.
“For what?” Tara asked, surprised.
“Dope.”
She told him all about her Internet dating adventures, recapping some he’d heard about.
“Man, there was a momma’s boy, an alcoholic, and an idiot,” she said. “And that was just one of them.”
He laughed.
“And that was just one?”
“Yeah. That guy from London.”
“Oh yeah,” her friend said, amused. “I remember him. Do you ever hear from him?”
“Oh yeah,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “He emails me all the time and keeps trying to get my new number but I won’t give it to him. I’d rather have a root canal with no anesthesia than have a conversation with him.”
He laughed.
“Because you have to spell out everything, even simple things,” she explained. “It’s so frustrating.”
He told her about a mutual friend he ran into recently that kept trying to get him in bed but he knew he was a player so he didn’t bother with him.
“He’s got the biggest ego,” her friend said. “A friend of mine went out with him and said he wanted to jump out of the car but it was moving.”
“Yeah, he’s had the hots for you for a long time,” Tara said.
“He’s very charming but also very perverted,” he said.
“I think I’m getting too old for this shit,” Tara said. “There’s nobody out there.”
“There really isn’t, Tara,” he said, knowingly. “I’ve just decided I’d rather be by myself than mess with all that. I’m better company.”
His latest boyfriend kept canceling plans so he told him “Later.”
“He was always saying he’s going to do this and he’s going to do that and he doesn’t do anything,” he told Tara.
“Yeah, everybody’s screwed up in his or her own way,” she agreed.

She and her friend took food over to a friend of hers and joined them for a cookout. There were five girls but they were headed back to Six Flags for the rest of the day.
Tara was quiet when the kids were there but as soon as they left she joined in conversation. It was easier for her to bitch and moan about jobs and money than it was to have a normal laid back, conversation with people she didn’t know.
Tara met her friend’s friend’s live-in boyfriend, a body builder and some other people and they all ate and talked about unimportant stuff like weight, cars, kids, sex, and money.
They were laughing about a guy they knew who got drunk and tried to give them his car. He had a reputation for getting wasted and trying to give his stuff away.
“Oh, I’m going to mess with him the next time I see him and tell him we really need that car and where’s the title,” someone said and they all laughed. “I don’t understand people like that.”
“Well you gotta understand alcoholics,” Tara’s friend who was in recovery explained. “They’re up and down and they get drunk and don’t know what they’re saying.”
The body builder shook his head and laughed, not understanding.
Tara stayed as long as she could then asked her friend to take her back to her car at her friend’s house because she was tired.
“Were you uncomfortable with them drinking?” her friend asked, knowing Tara was in recovery.
“No. I don’t get uncomfortable unless somebody gets drunk and makes a pass at me or is belligerent or something,” she said.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s why it’s hard to be around my brother-in-law. That’s what he does,” her friend said.
“Yeah, my step dad and other relatives would always do that,” Tara said.
“Neither one of my parents drink. I never had it around me really.”
“Oh both my parents do. It’s all in my family, my mother’s side. That’s all they do. I grew up around it,” Tara said. “They used to have parties in the basement every Saturday night. We had a bar in the house.”
Tara showed her friend pictures of Mackenzie. Her friend didn’t know about Mackenzie.
“You get to see her?” her friend asked looking at the pictures in her wallet. “She’s beautiful.”
“I saw her in April. But I get videos, letters, cards, emails,” Tara explained.
Tara didn’t go watch the fireworks that night. She lay in bed as her dog barked at them and thought about Mackenzie and what she thought of them.
Was she scared? Impressed? Excited? In awe?
She pictured herself holding Mackenzie and saying, “Pretty” as she pointed to the fireworks.
Another holiday she had missed out on but she was still glad Mackenzie was safe and well cared for.
That night Tara dreamed abort her dad, that he was after her and kept trying to hurt her but she kept escaping him.

July 5, 2001
Tara had a rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep.
She talked to Susan who told her about her 4th of July spent with a depressive woman and her care-taking son who was also Susan’s daughter’s boyfriend. Susan felt sorry for him and said she was going to start spending time with him. The woman was overmedicated according to Susan and was dating a manic-depressive man who was also on a lot of meds.
“He makes you look like you’re totally balanced,” Susan said. “I mean, you are totally balanced but you know what I mean.”
Tara just took all this in and didn’t say much, just agreed it was sad for the kid. Being manic herself, she also empathized with the mom and boyfriend.
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“Thanks for the forwarded message (about getting Mackenzie tested for Dwarfism). She’s been tested for everything known to man I think,” she wrote. “No, I seriously don’t know about Dwarfism specifically, but I’ll check with her doctor. Height wise she’s right on target, it’s just the weight. A lady at our church was sickly - had some heart surgery and still weighed only 18 pounds at two years of age. She’s a fine weight/height now but she keeps reassuring me that Mackenzie will play catch up.
The doctor told us all the genetic tests were fine as were all thyroid levels so (yeah right) to quit worrying. The cystic fibrosis, neuromuscular tests - everything is negative. I think the reflux just went undiagnosed so long and we were practically force feeding and every time she swallowed it hurt, but she didn’t really cry, just pulled
away from the nipple so we weren’t picking up on it. Anyway, I think due to our aggressively trying to feed her we inadvertently helped her develop an aversion to food. She associates eating with pain or discomfort so just doesn’t want to do it. Poor thing. But they keep reassuring us that she can overcome it, it will just take time. We continue to do the play therapy and one day it will really kick in and she’ll eat us out of house and home. I’ll tell her the stories of us all worrying about her eating when she’s 25 and dieting for her wedding dress! By the way - I plan on you being at her wedding!!
I worked all day long and really missed the kids. They had a great day with my nieces though and probably didn’t notice I was gone. (I) Took care of a 17-month-old who ate flea killer and was one sick kid. I came home and checked all the cabinet locks to make sure they can’t get into them. What a nightmare for that mom! Had another sick kid with asthma. For an adult hospital we get toooo many kids. We usually ship them quickly to the Children’s Hospital.
Our church is having its “Sharebreation” for the church and neighboring houses for the 4th. Frank is working so I’ll go with the kids. The good thing about having two
kids and being alone - they don’t really expect you to cook or clean up as you’re looking after the little ones. Lazy, huh? I’ll take some pics for you tomorrow to get developed for the 15th.”
We got your bookmark today. I love it and so does Mackenzie. She hugged the blue bear bookmark and slobbered on it a little. I put it up on her dresser. Thank you so much. Sorry about the job being taken but the right one for you will come along.”
That night Tara ran into Jamie but didn’t say a word. Jamie looked like crap but was flirting with some old guy and had to be the center of attention.
Tara was irritated and went home.
Tara felt like she was on a dry drunk. Her friends couldn’t reach her emotionally. She was just full of anger and resentments at herself and at everyone.

July 6, 2001
Tara had another rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep plus Tara’s neighbors were making noise about something.
She wound up going into work an hour early just because she couldn’t sleep.
She got an email from James/Jake telling her his real name was James Hamilton but he sometimes used the pseudonym Jake Burns.
What, did he think he was James Bond or something?
She wrote back asking him why he used an alias and never heard back from him.
“Sounds like a load of crap to me. Leave it alone. I’ll see you soon,” the guy from Boston wrote Tara when she emailed him about it.
She got an email from her sex buddy who told her his ex was stalking him and driving him nuts. Tara told him she ran into her ex, Jamie, last night and said they should set them up, that they sounded perfect for each other.
“Yeah, they can beat each other up!” he wrote back.
Tara told him about James/Jake’s response about his two names.
“He’s not worth meeting if he can’t even give you his real name,” he said.
Tara insisted that any rules against dating handsome coworkers were clearly written by people who hadn’t gotten laid since Moses staggered down the mountain carrying a couple of scratched-up stones.
That afternoon her post adoption counselor called to check on her.
“I’m still mad at myself for not being able to be a mom,” Tara told her. “There’s three women at work who are having babies and they’re in their 20s. They’ve got the husband, the house, and the whole thing. It’s just not fair. Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“You know until you forgive yourself, you’ll stay stuck,” her counselor told her.
“I know.”
That night Tara tried yoga for the first time in some 15 years and liked it. She did before going to bed and it relaxed her. She could see getting used to this.

July 7, 2001
Tara stopped by Susan’s in the morning and they were baby-sitting their six-year-old nephews.
“We have to meet the next person you’re going to date beforehand,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“You don’t understand,” Susan chimed in. “Tara had sex recently. Tara’s a confessed sex addict and has been for years. She can’t just not have sex.”
“At least let it be with a woman next time,” her girlfriend suggested.
“Well, let’s see the last two women I was with were Jamie and Bonnie. So what does that tell you?” Tara said.
Susan’s girlfriend was familiar with both.
“Good point,” she said, sipping her coffee.
“Anyway, I’m not worried about it. It’s not like I’m out there trying to meet someone,” Tara said.
That night Tara went to a birthday party and saw some friends she hadn’t seen in awhile. Luckily Jamie wasn’t there. Only four people were celebrating. There were usually more.
Tara went home and watched an inspiring movie by herself; one that the critics didn’t like but a couple of her friends told her was really good.
She wound up liking it a lot and didn’t know why the critics didn’t care for it.
Her mom left her a message and told her there was no change with her grandma, that she’d been moved back to the nursing home and was terminal, that it was just a matter of time when “it” happened.

July 8, 2001
Tara’s mom called that morning and told her the same news about her grandma.
“Are you taking care of yourself?” Tara asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
Tara knew she was just saying that to appease her.
“Did you get the last pictures I sent of Mackenzie?” Tara asked.
“Yeah.”
Tara gave her an update on her progress and her mom just said, “That’s good” and nothing else.
It was clear she didn’t want to talk about her newest grandchild.
Tara stayed in all day because she didn’t have the gas to run around and it was so hot out. She wound up taking five naps from depression.
That’s why she didn’t like staying in all day, because that’s what she always wound up doing, despite her
best intentions to work on her place, give the dog a bath, clean; etc.
That night Tara dreamed her dad was after her again and she woke up rattled. She had been screaming in her sleep.
She hated that at 35 years old he could still get to her in her dreams if not in real life.

July 9, 2001
That day at work three women Tara worked with getting baby showers after work in the break room. They were all having girls and for two of them it’d be the first time they’d be moms. One of the women delivered last week so they were holding her gifts for her. The break room was filled with food, gifts, packages, and desserts. The table overflowed with gifts. It was like Christmas.
Tara told herself it didn’t bother her. She remembered the showers the residents at Gladney got consisting of journals, figurines, and bath products.
It was a nice gesture, Tara thought when she found out they held baby showers for the residents, although at the time before she found out what they gave, she didn’t understand how they could possibly have showers when
they didn’t have any use for baby gifts since the adoptive parents furnished those themselves.
Tara thought about the magical mobile that Mackenzie had over her crib, a bright, multi-colored spectrum of shapes and features that spun around on the ceiling. Mackenzie loved to gaze at it until she fell asleep. Tara saw this on the last video she received.
She was so grateful that she could see her so happy and peaceful.
She remembered her old boss and a former resident at Gladney telling her, “You’re so lucky. At least you get stuff and you know what’s going on.”
Tara tried not to bring good stuff up to the other birth moms she knew who she knew didn’t get any or not many pictures or videos, emails; etc. She didn’t want to make them feel bad. And she felt bad for them.
She told Veronica many times that Veronica was rare to furnish all of this for Tara.
Susan was surprised to hear that Tara was so privileged. She said she just assumed that all the birth moms got the same information.
Tara wasn’t going to be able to see her counselor again this week because of money and she hated that. She really needed to see her.
Tara hadn’t had romance in a long long time and told herself she didn’t miss it.
She got an email from the woman she’d been corresponding with via the Internet from the sex addict support group:
“Once again I agree with you 100 percent. I think anyone who’s not bi himself or herself can’t judge people who are. It might be related to the addiction and it might not but that’s really not for anyone else to judge. I still feel a little ashamed talking about it though for my own
reasons relating to family and religion (my family’s religion that is). But I’m practicing talking more about it with people in the program when I feel comfortable. There is one person I talk to a lot on the phone from the program and she is very accepting so I was able to tell her about a situation I had this weekend where I was intriguing with not one with two women. But then when I was emailing someone else from the group who doesn’t know that I am bi, I just kept referring to them as “people” being careful not to include gender. It’s funny because basically everyone I’ve ever told has been okay with it but I just always get nervous telling new people and I know that’s my own shame around it. I liked your analogy about it being like having to check off race…it reminds me of something I just read that was posted to the list about looking in between the black and white for the rainbow.”
Maybe Tara was just a “head in the sand Ostrich” and was in denial about so many things. She never asked boyfriends about their exes. She had been known to dump boyfriends via email and she didn’t apply to her top choice college just to avoid rejection.
Her method of dealing with difficulties was to hide and pretend they didn’t exist. She knew avoiding all conflict did nothing but make her problems worse. It was said that confronting her crisises would help her realize that not every tremor was a guaranteed earthquake.
That afternoon Tara took her dog to a new park, a really tiny one with brand new playground equipment. There was no one there, and as the two of them walked around, Tara thought about the playground where had Mackenzie’s Placement.
“I should’ve picked this one,” she thought. “It’s more private.”
Ironically an attorney Tara used to work with as a child advocate lived on the same street as this new park. She remembered when the attorney told her that the judge loved her after Tara testified in a termination of parental rights trial. It was easy back then for Tara to be so over-zealous and judge moms so harshly when she wasn’t a mom yet. She had testified in two court cases resulting in victories. Back then she got a natural high from it. Now she didn’t regret what she did but had a little more sympathy for them.
Susan called that night and said her daughter was giving her problems again. She could hear her arguing with her in the background and felt bad for her. Susan’s blood pressure had been up for three days and everyone was worried about her.
She told her they were going out of town that weekend and asked Tara to house/pet-sit again. Tara never minded even though Susan saw it as a favor to her. Susan didn’t know that it was a refuge for Tara, a second home.
That night Tara had dreamed she was having an affair with a married guy she knew and woke up at 2:30 a.m. In the dream she felt terribly guilty and wound up ending the affair.
Maybe Mackenzie didn’t really need to meet her one day after all, Tara thought, as she got herself together for work which she was running late for.

July 10, 2001
Tara found out on her lunch hour that she bounced a check and that her oil gasket in her car was leaking.
More bad karma, she thought.
The mechanic told her since his boss would charge so much for her to get it repaired, he could just come to her house and do it for $50.00.
She was immediately suspicious as he gave her his business card and told her to call him when she got paid in a couple of days.
“I wonder what he wants in return,” she thought as she drove away, trying to block the image of having sex with him out of her mind.

She needed a drink.
A song came on the radio that reminded her of her drinking days just before she got sober the first time around.
She felt like most of the time what kept her from drinking was the fact that she really was on medication and was afraid she’d have a stroke or something if she mixed it with alcohol. She’d rather be dead than have a stroke and be rendered totally useless. So now the brief thought of drinking with the Boston guy and how “fun and relaxing” it would be lost its attraction.
She could see herself now being relaxed right into a coma if she mixed pills and booze.
She hated that she was dependent on anti-depressants, which prevented her from taking chances like she wanted to.
She couldn’t get grateful enough to see that it was saving her life.
She stopped by the bookstore on the way back to work from her lunch hour to see if one of her favorite magazines was in yet but it wasn’t.
The sound of a bunch of little girls’ laughter echoed as she left the store.
She wondered if she would ever get through a day when that sound or the sight of a little girl didn’t jerk at her numb heart or threaten to stir up tears. She told herself she’d moved beyond it but she knew better. It was now just like a sore with scab.
It had hardened in time but it was still there, just waiting to be scratched or poked.
She really needed to see her counselor but money wouldn’t allow it.
As she passed the books displayed in the bookstore windows, she wistfully imagined one was hers, as she had done all her life.
She felt nauseous as she made her way back to the office.
She applied for a public relations job with a local playhouse. She really wanted it but doubted she would get it. She thought about how cool it’d be to do p.r. for a theater. But they hadn’t called after she faxed her resume and clippings.
If her dad had never laid a hand on her, had never fondled her while he critiqued her stories and made her feel like what she wrote wasn’t good enough with his body while he said the opposite with his mouth - she wondered how far she could have gone with her writing career.
He had left a handprint as big as a giant monster’s on her soul and chained her heart up in heavy, thick chains with many locks that had no keys.
Her ex-husband, Mark, was the only one who had found a way to unlock them.
She didn’t believe there would be another Mark.
When Tara got home all she wanted to do was take a nap but her a/c window unit broke and she had to call her landlord. She and her landlord spent the new few hours hauling an old a/c unit from the house next door to
her place and installing it in her bedroom window. Her landlord’s helper was out of town and wouldn’t be back for over a week.
While she was helping her landlord, a friend of Tara’s called from treatment and asked if she could stop what she was doing and bring her some smokes. Even after Tara told her what was going on, she still expected her to drop everything.
Drenched with sweat, Tara told her to call her the next day and she’d see what she could do.
That afternoon she’d heard her favorite deejay talk about how he was fed up with women and just wanted to be alone, that he was happier alone, that all he needed was the Internet and his dog.
Tara related to that that day as she listened with her usual heightened interest. The deejay’s sidekicks said everyone was concerned about him because of his isolation and never wanting to get out and do things like he used to.
“Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older,” he said. “That’s why I don’t put up with women a lot of the time. I tell them ‘I don’t need you.’”
The radio station was scheduled to have a T-shirt and prize giveaway in a couple of days and Tara was thinking of dropping by since it would be a local event. The only reason she even thought of dropping by is because she knew her favorite deejay wouldn’t be there. She would be too shy to meet him until she got in better shape. If she saw he was there, she’d just drive away.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her step dad was beating her and some other women and she kept threatening to take his belt away. But every time she tried he struck her again and again.
In reality her step dad whipped her once with a belt when she was a teenager while her mom watched, a truly humiliating experience.
In the same dream Tara was sobbing loudly, gut wrenching cries for Mackenzie, feeling the loss right down to her bones. She wanted to drink but was afraid to mix her anti-depressant with alcohol. In the dream she asked a pharmacist what would happen if she did it, but she woke up before she got an answer.
Oh God, she thought in the dream, “I’ve done what my mom did to me. She gave me up. I’ve done the same thing.”
Everyone told her in reality, “No, you gave Mackenzie a home. Your mom bounced you all over the place from foster home to institution. It’s not the same.”
Tara understood all that intellectually but emotionally she hadn’t gotten it from her head to her heart.
It was seeing the recent pictures from Veronica of Mackenzie sitting in the courtroom with her new parents that struck a chord with Tara. It reminded her of when her parents gave her up, only she wasn’t in the courtroom but in a waiting room and had no idea what was happening.

July 11, 2001
That morning Tara was in the midst of her office duties when the thought of drinking occurred to her again. In her mind’s eye she could see the numerous bottles lined up in the grocery store she frequented, she could picture herself downing bottle after bottle.
“Please God, save me,” she thought to herself. “I don’t want to start over.”
She knew what she had to do. She knew she had to work just as hard at staying sober as she did at drinking. That’s what everyone always said.
She was going to have to work damn hard.
She knew that all the booze in the world wasn’t going to change the fact that she didn’t have Mackenzie.
She knew she had to pray that morning as she had every morning and night or there was no hope for her. She had to pray to this invisible God, a God she only recently believed in even after years in recovery.
“I wonder if you can mix alcohol with antidepressants and get away with it?” she thought again.
She remembered the image of her friend who had relapsed recently and how he looked. He was on antidepressants and though he hadn’t had a stroke, he was a mess. But then he’d been doing drugs and drinking for years off an on and he’d built up quite an immunity. Besides he used to be a paramedic so he knew just the right formula to take without stroking out. Tara, however, knew nothing of this and she knew she shouldn’t play around with it.
She could picture herself having suffered a stroke, one side of her face drawn down, a completely hopeless mess.
At work there was a screaming baby in the background, a patient’s child who was waiting with her.
“Just what I need, a screaming baby,” Tara’s co-worker said.
“Yeah, really,” Tara said.
“God knew what he was doing. He knew I couldn’t handle it that’s why I don’t have any kids,” her co-worker said.
“Yeah,” Tara said. “I know what you mean.”
Her co-worker knew about Mackenzie but never questioned her about it.
In the background she heard one of the doctors question one of the pregnant women in the office who was due August 14th.
“Are you ready?” he was asking.
“Oh yes,” she said.
She looked great compared to how Tara looked at this time last year and she was due around the same time.
“Well, Dr. Gregson and I are ready for you if it happens here,” the doctor joked. “I delivered my son, you know.”
“Is that the one with the deformed arm?” Dr. Gregson joked and everyone laughed.
On her lunch hour Tara went back by the gas station and gave the mechanic her number to work on her car for a cheaper rate at her house after hours. He said he’d call her that night.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” she told herself.
She hadn’t been in this emotional place in a long time and she didn’t like it.
He added a half-quart of oil and said, “Gracias” and she drove off.
Later the woman who Tara corresponded with over the Internet who was also battling a sex addiction, wrote her after Tara told her about sleeping with her sex buddy again that week:
“I know it must feel awful to have a slip,” she said. “I have never been through withdrawal but I still know when I’m acting out and feel awful afterwards. I don’t know if you do this but I have a tendency to beat myself up and it doesn’t work. It just makes me feel bad about myself and then want to act out again. The only thing, which has worked for me when I have a slip or act out, is to forgive myself and keep going. And that can be applied to any kind of slip; it doesn’t have to just do with sex. It sounds like your addiction is really getting the best of you and I can totally relate. I have not been able to stop seeing my doctor and had a date with another guy and was intriguing with a couple of women last weekend.
I am in a lot of pain about all this. I feel torn between wanting to do recovery and the other - wanting to do my addiction. I still say for you that it’s great that you managed to stay sober for four months. I went to a meeting last week and the speaker was saying something like if you run 20 miles then stop and still have 20 more miles to go it doesn’t mean you still didn’t run those first 20 miles. I’m not saying it exactly right but you get the point. Hope maybe that helps a little.”
Tara wrote her back:
“Thank you for your on-going compassion,” Tara said. “It really comforts me. It seems you don’t see a lot of it these days. You know how judgmental people can be.”
“Yes, I do know how judgmental people can be, even in program sometimes,” the woman wrote back. “That’s why I try not to be that way. I know how tough it is. I’m struggling myself very much. I’m already way too hard on myself and judgmental so I don’t need anyone else that is! That’s not going to help us anyway. I think the key is having compassion for ourselves, something I have not mastered yet. I’ve been really down about my recovery. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t even bother being in program since I can’t seem to make a commitment to
withdrawal and to stop acting out. It’s really a struggle. As I’m sure you know! Well, at least we have each other in program and know we’re not alone. I’m here any time you need to “talk.”
Later Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I got the recent pictures developed and they’re wonderful!” she wrote. “Can wait for you to see them. I reminded Frank yesterday about his letter. It always takes him a few days to get it done and decide what he wants to say. We’re starting to teach Mackenzie to put up one finger, as she will be one year old. Unfortunately she holds up her middle finger. Kinda cute, but….some people might be offended. Haven’t weighed her lately but her clothes are getting tight so I know she’s gaining. No real change in her appetite but we’re hanging in there.
We went to a water park Sunday with Frank’s work and the kids had a blast. Mackenzie thought she was a big girl as we took her baby inner tube and she can kick her legs and get around in it. She’s sitting on her knees and jumping. Won’t be too long before she starts taking steps.”
On the radio some guy was being interviewed about a web site he created in which he was offering $10,000 to whoever could find him a wife. He lived in Missouri and had gotten offers as far away as New Zealand. He was very strict about height and weight requirements and she had to be a non-smoker and “his best friend.”
The deejay was ragging him about the best friend part, telling him that the wife always had a better best friend and the husband usually wasn’t it but the guy didn’t buy it. The guy said he’d been engaged twice before but backed out - once because of pressure another time because his fiancée had a drinking problem.
People called in criticizing the guy but he didn’t back down. He said he was on the up and up and what he was doing was no different than going into a bar looking for someone, just offering money to the person who helped, that’s all. He even offered $200 for the person who found a girl he wound up asking out even if he didn’t propose.
Tara slept fitfully, tossing and turning, thinking about Mackenzie, men, that deejay she had a crush on, and her money problems.
She went to the store to pick up some things. That male cashier smiled at her as always. She could never figure out if he was flirting with her or not.
Sometimes he was so nice and other time he could be downright rude. He would always tease her when she came in there once or twice a night with insomnia or allergies buying allergy pills or something.
“No sniffling and sneezing in this store,” he’d tease and smile at her.

July 12, 2001
Her favorite radio station was giving away stuff in her neighborhood. Tara stopped in at the electronics store where the display was set up and one of the female deejays was getting her picture taken with various guys.
Tara walked right past the table of goods and went back to her car, losing her nerve.
She’d already told herself if that deejay she had a crush on was there, she wouldn’t stop. She didn’t think he would be since he was on the air in a couple of hours and wouldn’t have time to make it back to Dallas.
The female deejay was one that Tara’s favorite deejay had the hots for but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She thought he was a loser, ironically. The female
deejays were 23 years old, blonde, gorgeous, great body, the whole thing.
“You look like you’ve lost weight,” one of Tara’s co-workers told her that day.
That was the third person she knew who had said that recently. At first she thought they were just being nice but now she wondered if maybe it were true although she still looked flabby and felt huge.
She still had a big belly from the baby and figured she always would.
The Boston guy emailed her and told her that his little girl flirted with men, too, and that all little girls like to do that. Tara thought she just had a charming child, which she did anyway.
never did before.
She got an email from the woman who was also struggling with her sex addiction:
“Thank you for your words of encouragement,” she wrote. “I was starting to feel really bad about my recovery. I went to therapy today and told her that I feel as though I am not really in recovery because I’m still acting out and she said that’s not true. She said the only requirement for being in recovery is the DESIRE to stop acting out which I have. As I’m sure you do or you wouldn’t be in this program. I just feel very conflicted this week because I have made plans to spend the day with that doctor on Friday. I am torn because on the one hand I’ve been feeling a lot of rage towards him because he’s not there for me. On the other hand I still want to be taken care of by him and I don’t want to give him up. Anyway, that’s where I’m at today. Thanks for being there.”
Tara didn’t sleep well that night and woke up every two hours. She felt like she was coming down with something. Her lymph nodes were swollen and she felt lightheaded. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick.
Tara didn’t think her sex life was nearly as exciting as other people’s. Sometimes she was aware of what felt like a purely physical urge to have sex. She was immediately drawn to people who looked a certain way. She believed in many cases it was very possible that having been sexually coerced or traumatized earlier in life had influence on a person’s later enjoyment of sex.
That night she had another nightmare about her ex-girlfriend. This time she had totally manipulated a therapist into believing everything she said and Tara was furious. She woke up in a seat with chills. It always took her awhile to get over a nightmare about her.

July 13, 2001
It was Friday the 13th.
Tara often joked that that was her lucky day and the rest were unlucky, the way her luck ran.
She got a blind email from her favorite deejay’s station telling all his fans about a movie he was filming. They were asking for extras, actors, gophers, caterers, hair stylists, and makeup artists. Those interested were told to email the station.
Before the sent the emailed reply, she hesitated.
Should she do it?
An inner voice told her no and she remembered how the guy from Boston, who used to be in radio once told her, “You’re going to get hurt. Remember, all they care about is the show.”
But she ignored her inner voice and sent her reply anyway and she quickly got a reply back that the producer would be in touch.
What was she thinking?
Just last night she was looking at her body in the mirror and cringing, yearning for the days when she was skinny.
Her arms were flabby and she needed to be doing more upper body workouts. Her breasts, once great looking, looked saggy to her now. Her stomach, although flatter than it was, was flabby. She turned around and looked at the bag of her legs in disgust. There were varicose veins she didn’t see before. A long one ran from the top of her thigh halfway down her leg.
“Oh man, when did that happen?” she asked aloud.
She turned back to the front now and did what she always did with her stomach, pulled it up with her hands, imagining it flat. She always said she’d never get liposuction or anything like that if she were rich but now she thought differently. She’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Oh, even if I did it, I’d still be big,” she said to herself now.
She pulled the skin back on her legs, imagining them toned and in great shape.
Then she looked at her hips, forlornly.
She always had childbearing hips. She hated that.
Now she looked like her mom.
Taking a peek at her but, she grimaced. It was all flabby and it looked like her mom’s too.
She really thought she was getting in shape but this discovery killed that notion.
She sighed.
“I used to be so skinny. What happened?” She asked herself, knowing it was those steroids the doctor put her on a long time ago that made her gain all that weight.
An ER doctor recently tried to put her back on them after a visit to the Emergency Room but she wouldn’t fill the script.
No way was she going back on those.
They didn’t tell her that it’d be so hard to get the weight off.

The night before Susan’s girlfriend told Tara she had an extra pass to Wet n’ Wild and did she want to go.
Tara told her not till she loses more weight.
“You wouldn’t go by yourself?” Susan’s girlfriend asked.
“No, not till I drop some more weight,” Tara said.
Maybe the grief or guilt was making her sick. Or maybe she was just getting a summer cold like her friend said.
House/pet sitting for Susan that weekend reminded Tara of last summer when she did it three times and she was pregnant.
She couldn’t help but go there in her mind with Mackenzie’s first birthday coming up in a month.

July 14, 2001
Tara talked with a male friend as usual about her screwed up mental state and sex addiction.
“So, you think it’s an addiction?” he asked.
“Definitely,” she said. “I know it is.”
She’d told him this a million times before.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Because I’ve read articles and talked to people online who have the same problem,” she said.
Then they talked about whether he was one, which she believed he was but this was the first time she’d told him so.
“I don’t know that I’m addicted, necessarily,” he rationalized. “I mean I don’t crave it.”
“Well, you have to look at different things,” she explained. “Does it destroy your life? Have you ever had
bad consequences? Would you do anything for it; forget food and all your other needs?”
“Well, no,” he said.
“See for me the answer is yes to all of it,” she said. “And I crave sex.”
“So, you just make up your mind that you’re not going to do it,” he tried to persuade her. “You just throw yourself into getting in shape, for instance. Then you’ll feel better about yourself and you won’t do it. You’ll attract a better
quality of people once you’re back in shape. I like to think that I’m a cut above other people you’ve attracted.”
He didn’t understand.
They went to dinner and he commented on the cute waitress.
They talked about their sexual escapades through the years with different people and how they were both turning into their parents, saying the things they said.
“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said. “I say things that both my parents said.”
He told her how his mom died seven years before of an aneurysm. She went to sleep and never woke up. He remembered rushing to the hospital trying to talk to her before it was too late but he missed her.
He told her about his dad’s new girlfriend he’d been seeing for two years who he didn’t care for. He told her about his plans to go out of town with his wife soon to celebrate eleven years of marriage.
“I’m getting tired of traveling so much for work but I’m looking forward to that,” he said.
They talked about Mackenzie, guys, work; Tara’s writing projects, day job, and her obsession with that deejay.
They talked about her obsession with the deejay some more and she filled him in on the latest happenings.
“You’re a groupie, Tara,” he said, referring to radio groupies. “You need to get over this thing. You’re in love with a persona. You don’t know the real him.”
“He told some caller recently that she’d probably be pretty bored with him off the air,” Tara said.
“That’s probably true,” he said. “It’s a show that’s all.”
He’d been a radio producer for a station in New Mexico when he was 20 and had girls waiting for him outside the studio after the show all the time. He loved it and couldn’t get enough of it. He even had his own fan club.
“Personally anyone who was a member of my fan club I wouldn’t want anything to do with,” he said. “Anyone who
has time to be a member of my fan club has way too much time on their hands.”
He advised her to continue losing weight, and then just make a casual remark to the deejay once in the studio audience that she enjoyed the show.
“But, that’s all you say,” he advised. “Don’t swoon or make it obvious you like him. If you approach him for his persona he’s going to reject you.”
“But how do you do that? I can’t help but do that,” she said.
“You approach him as a person,” he explained. “He doesn’t care if you loved the show. He’s not doing it for you. Just say, ‘Heard the show. Thanks a lot.’ That way he knows you know who he is and leave it at that.”
She told him about the dream she’d had the night before in which she met the deejay and he rejected her.
“I’m going to withdraw from trying to be in that movie (he’s making) since I had that dream,” she said. “I’m just going to get hurt.
Something the Boston guy had been telling her for months.
He told her how he met a celebrity once and discussed politics with him and not his career and how the guy appreciated it.
“I didn’t know he was into politics,” Tara said.
“You wouldn’t because no one ever asks him about it,” he said. “We hung out in his RV and discussed all that and his religion. He’s a Christian.”
“I never would’ve guessed that,” she said.
“That’s because no one ever talks to him about anything except his career,” he said. “That’s the way it is with this deejay. You don’t know him. You don’t know his likes, dislikes; etc. You don’t know what he’s really like.”
They slept for a while and planned to go out later to a couple of clubs. Instead he was so tired they just wound up walking around downtown, checking out the sites and sounds. They stopped off at a bookstore and he watched a guy flirt excessively with a girl while balancing books on his head, trying to impress her.
“Wait, I want to check this out,” he said, stopping in the middle of the store.
They went upstairs and Tara leafed through a local newspaper to find swingers clubs for the Boston guy at his urging. She found some and they made some calls
but he said he was tired so as usual they didn’t pursue it.
Despite what Tara knew, the Boston guy would never admit he was as addicted to sex as she was and that he’d almost lost his family recently because of it. Just because he hadn’t lost what she had, he didn’t consider himself addicted. She would never tell him he was because she knew he would just deny it.
It didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t need to convince him he was addicted. A year ago he’d pretty much admitted it in his roundabout sheepish way of admitting things, something he never did much of anyway. About the closest he came to admitting it was to say he was screwed up and realized it. But he was financially and professionally successful, a smooth talker had everything you could possibly want in life, and had a loving family. He had created his own inner world that bowed to his demands and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He made comments on some hot women as always and before long they parted for the night.
“You know you keep saying how lucky I am (to have someone),” he said before they said their good-byes. “I’m really – “
“You are very lucky,” Tara said, forlornly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be out there and single and know you’ll be alone the rest of your life.”
“You can’t look at it that way,” he insisted. “Don’t be like that.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” Tara said, sullenly. “You have someone.”
“Come on, don’t get all depressed,” he said, something he always wound up saying to her at the end of the night.
“I’m not depressed,” she said. “This is me.”
He attempted to hug her or have another goodbye but she was already in her car, turning the key.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to sleep late.”
She didn’t even bother getting his number or hotel room number as usual.
She just didn’t care any more.
She got lost on the way home because she was so upset and distracted. She picked up her dog and went
back to her house/pet-sitting job. She’d been thinking about going back there all night and couldn’t wait to just get her dog and go home.
She picked her dog up; stopped by the store where the usual checkout guy smiled at her as always and told her he was going away for a few days to the beach.
“Oh, I love the beach,” Tara said truthfully. “My sister lives on the beach.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s good to get away and dig your toes in the sand,” he said and handed her bag to her.

She and the Boston guy had talked earlier about how men sending flowers for instance was an example of saying, ‘You’re safe.’”
“So why don’t men and women just dispose of all that phoniness and cut to the chase, say ‘Look we both want sex so let’s just get to it’?” she asked the Boston guy.
“Because women want that display, those flowers; etc,” he said. “It’s almost like some women want permission to be bad so giving them flowers says they have permission.”
“I can see that,” she said.
They got on the subject of Mark, her ex-husband, something they’d talked about before.
“So what were the problems you all had?” he asked.
“Well, I left him because I wanted to experiment with women but we had other problems, too,” she said.
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No, I hit him six times and cheated on him six times and he knew about it,” she said.
“If you hit me, I’d hit you back,” he said, emphatically.
“He would never hit me. He would always hit the wall to keep from hitting me,” Tara said. “And he even knew I cheated on him when we were engaged. Three months
before we got married he kicked me out of the house for hitting him. He said ‘This is the last time you’ll hit me.’”
When we were in couples’ counseling the counselor said I was like the guy in the relationship and he was like the wife. I did what I wanted to do and I thought like a guy.”
Later Tara never did call her landlord back that day after she left a nasty message on her machine, wanting to meet with her neighbor and her about her neighbor’s pets and other problems and how she’d been getting misinformation from her neighbor about Tara.
Tara couldn’t handle meeting with them. She’d already warned her neighbor she should leave for the rest of the day because the landlord wanted to talk with them both at the same time.
“I don’t care if she evicts me,” her neighbor told her earlier that day. “I told her she could if she wants.”
Once again Tara offered to take the stray dog to the Humane Society since his foster home wasn’t going to take him and they were looking for someone else. But again her neighbor refused.
Tara felt bad for the dog but he’d attacked her dog six times and needed to be in a home where he was the only dog.
That night before going to bed Tara started to email Chelsea, who was a therapist about getting into an in-patient facility for sex addiction.
But then the thought of leaving her pets deterred her.
She remembered earlier that night the Boston guy had asked her like he always did if she thought placing Mackenzie for adoption was the right thing. He was adopted and was an only child but he had never had a desire to find his birth mom. She was like Tara, struggling financially.
“I know I did the right thing,” Tara said emphatically. “I’m lucky because I get emails, letters, cards, videos. I know everything she’s done, every milestone.”
“Really? And they’re okay with that?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve filled up a whole photo album and have to buy another one.”
She showed him the most recent pictures and he oohed and ahhed. He looked at the group shot of the whole family last.
“They seem like nice people,” he said.
“They are,” she said.

July 15, 2001
Today Mackenzie was eleven months old. For once it wasn’t a bad milestone birthday for Tara as it usually was. Normally she’d mope around and be sad about it all day but today was different. Or maybe she was just too sick with her asthma to feel it.
Tara had a nightmare the night before that she and her dad were in a fistfight and woke up, shaken. It always took her awhile to calm down whenever she dreamed about him, something she’d been doing a lot of lately.

July 16, 2001
Tara was sick all day but went to work anyway.
The night before she’d had another dream about her dad and woke up in a cold sweat. In the dream he was suffocating her. When she was 15 he had tried to strangle her. In the dream a huge spider bit her, one of her worst fears, and her leg ached all over. A therapist once told her that if many incest survivors fear spiders and when they dream about them the spider symbolizes the abuser.
Tara did have a huge fear of spiders, even little ones, and had had nightmares about them for years along with the ones about her dad.
That night Tara finally got to see her therapist after not being able to see her for weeks because of money. They almost didn’t let her see her again that day.
“I can’t remember the last time you were in,” her counselor said to her as she came in her office.
“I know, me neither,” Tara said and filled her in on her fall back into her sex addiction.
“What do you think started it back up?” her counselor asked her as she always did.
“I don’t know. I guess when James answered my personal ad,” she said.
Tara told her counselor that she hadn’t been able to cry in weeks and that she wouldn’t or couldn’t let herself.
She was finally able to cry about the adoption but only after getting mad about it.
“I just can’t get past the fact that I’m not there for her (Mackenzie),” Tara cried. “I know it’s not the same as my mom abandoning me but I can’t get past it.”
Tara told her about the women in the office who were all expecting babies and had husbands and homes.
“It’s so unfair,” Tara said. “I know life is unfair but it’s how I feel. I can’t help it. Why couldn’t I have that kind of life? Why did mine have to be so fucked up?”
“I know, it’s not fair,” her counselor agreed.
“Everyone says ‘Forgive yourself’ but they don’t tell you how,” Tara said. “I’m supposed to just go on and pretend like I never had a baby. Like I don’t have a child. I lost a child. I know I get pictures and everything but I’m
not there. I’m not there with her like my mom wasn’t there with me.”
She used up the rest of the Kleenex box and her counselor motioned where another box was.
“You say you’re mad but there are tears,” her counselor said.
“I always get mad first before I cry, if I cry,” Tara explained. “I’m afraid Mackenzie’s going to meet me one day and be ashamed or embarrassed. Part of me feels like she never needs to meet me. That I’m not worth knowing.”
After counseling Tara went home and rested and felt better. She always felt better after she cried but still couldn’t make herself do it. It took her a long time to fall asleep and she woke up later and listened to one of her favorite radio shows and took a shower then went back to bed.
She didn’t have nightmares that night that she remembered anyway, and she always remembered them.

July 17, 2001
Tara dragged herself to work sick although she was medicated on antibiotics. She couldn’t afford to stay out of work.
She got an email from Veronica:
“I got your pics and letters mailed early today so it usually only takes one to three days to arrive at Gladney,” she wrote. “I can’t wait for you to see the pics - she is beautiful - just like you!! She’s 17 pounds, two ounces. I weighed her at Weight Watchers Saturday. Yes, I joined. I am miserable this fat and I’ve lost three pounds. Only 30 to go. Yipes. Anyway, they thought it was cute that I wanted to weigh her.
She’s pulling up and has stood a few times and is so proud of herself. Then she plops down onto her bottom. Sometimes it makes her cry, others not. Please email me after you see the wonderful pics of Mackenzie.”
Then Tara got an email from the woman she talked to in New York on line all the time about being in recovery from sex addiction:
“I ended up seeing that doctor/boss Friday and we spent the day together in a hotel,” the woman wrote. “Yesterday I hung out with this girl who I’ve sort of been
intriguing (playing with) but so far we’re just ‘friends.’ I’m still feeling weird about being in the program and acting out and my recovery. I keep talking about it with my therapist though which helps. And I have one pretty good friend I made in the program, which is cool. I’ve been having really bad insomnia again though off and on ever since my doctor came back from vacation a few weeks ago. I really hope you can find a way to stay in therapy. God knows I’d be lost without it!”
Tara could picture Mackenzie walking now and always had mixed feelings about updates. For the most part they made her happy but they were also laced with sadness at what she was missing. Still she didn’t regret getting the updates. She knew they were hard for Chelsea.
People didn’t understand why Tara sent Mackenzie gifts or why she wanted to set aside some money for her.
“She’s got everything she needs,” they’d say.
She did it because she was her mom, because she loved her. It wasn’t about her having plenty of toys or books. It was about her being her mother.
They just didn’t get it.
That afternoon after listening to her favorite deejay supposedly confess to losing his virginity to “a fat chick” (something he detested), Tara got motivated to go race walking again with her dog even though she was sick as a dog. She was going to exercise indoors since she was on medication but decided to go out anyway.
That night she ran into an old foe that snubbed her along with her so-called friends.
Her neighbor called later that night and asked her if she knew anyone 45 years old or younger who’d be interested in dating an old friend of hers who just got out of prison.
No one came to mind.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her mom and some strangers kidnapped her and some cousins and killed two of her cousins. Tara got away as she usually did in her dreams, and woke up relieved.


July 18, 2001
One of her favorite deejays was telling a female caller that all guys were about sex.
Tara kept cleaning the house to keep from going to bed where she knew the inevitable nightmares would follow. Before she went to bed she felt the sudden urge to look through Mackenzie’s photo album. She didn’t know why. It just overcame her so she gave in to it. It didn’t depress her but comforted her and she didn’t know why she needed to do it at that very moment. She hoped nothing was wrong with Mackenzie and she was feeling it or something weird like that.
She remembered a birth mom telling her who had placed several years ago that when something was really wrong she would feel it. She told her about the time something was wrong with her daughter’s AP dad and how she sensed something was wrong at the time but thought it was her daughter in danger. Later she found out that the AP dad had had a heart attack and that since her daughter was close to her AP dad, she was extremely upset.
That night Tara had another nightmare that someone was after her. When she woke up she was relieved to find her cat and dog laying on each side of her as they often were these days. They seemed to know when she needed them.
Her landlord wasn’t an animal person and was always accidentally letting them out when she would come over to do repairs while Tara was at work. Tara took off an hour early one-day because her landlord told her she had shut the pets up in the house where no air was circulating. It was 100 degrees outside so Tara rushed home to find them hanging out in the house, not confined and doing well.
July 19, 2001
Tara was in a bad mood most of the day at work and didn’t know why.
A co-worker on maternity leave had presents and cake waiting on her in the break room since she wasn’t able to attend the recent baby shower held for her and two other co-workers also expecting.
One of the co-workers had had her little girl the day before and she weighed the same as Mackenzie when she was born and also had her length.
Later another co-worker on maternity leave brought her newborn little girl to the office to see everyone. Tara stayed at her desk. She was already sad but didn’t know it and hearing everyone fuss over the little girl made her sadder.
The co-worker’s three-year-old daughter liked to “help” her mom diaper and take care of her new little sister and thought the baby was her own baby. Just like Ben did with Mackenzie.
There was one co-worker left who was due the day after Mackenzie’s birthday.
“The pressure’s on,” everyone joked to her.
Just like people joked with Tara when it was down to the count for her.
Tara had emailed the Post Adoption Department that day asking them to let her know when her packet of pictures and letters arrived so she could pick it up. They wrote her back that it was mailed to her yesterday.
She anxiously awaited them every other month and yet she knew this month would be the last packet she’d get till February.
The agreement was for her to get a packet every other month till Mackenzie was a year old, then every six months after the first year. Other birth moms had told her it was hard.
On the one hand, although it was silly, she wanted to prolong picking up the packet to stretch out the time. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to get the packet.
She always pored over and over the pictures, scanned, them, copied them, mailed copies to family and friends, put them on the refrigerator door, framed them, showed them off, carried them around with her, then finally put them with the others. It was an obsessive thing but also something of pride.
She was proud of her daughter and wanted to make her proud of her, the latter of which was a constant battle.
Just earlier that day she’d wanted to drink and could taste it. She just wanted to escape from all the anger.
She couldn’t wait to get home now to see if the packet was sitting in the mailbox.
As expected she spotted the brown envelope sticking out of her mailbox as she parked her car. For some reason once she got it in the house she didn’t rip into it as usual, but took care of a couple of things first.
The pictures were great as were the letters as always. Veronica included a copy of “Bright Futures,” the Gladney newsletter in the packet at her request.
Mackenzie was so animated and looked so happy in the pictures as usual.
“As you can see from the pictures, Mackenzie is thriving and as always beautiful,” Veronica wrote. “I honestly look forward to waking up each morning so I can snuggle with her.
She is crawling everywhere and the dogs are in fear for their life! The expression on her face is total glee as she chases them. She is pulling up on the furniture in an
attempt to stand. As always she continues to be very vocal and Ben is still trying to make her say his name.
Her weight is around 17 pounds and she continues to have feeding problems. Perhaps she’ll just be petite. Other than the feeding problems, she’s right on target developmentally. She loves to “read” books and play with her “kitchen.” Of course she’s just as happy playing with a piece of paper or box. She loves the small cereal boxes - guess they’re just the right size for her hands.
We spend a lot of time outside - mainly early morning and late afternoons. She continues to love the baby inner tube in the Jacuzzi and will “jump” in her exersaucer while Ben is playing in the backyard or watering his garden.
Wherever we go she seems to attract people. They always comment on how beautiful she is. Yes - she still looks like her wonderful birth mom.
The fall holds a trip to the balloon festival in New Mexico. I can’t wait to see the expression on her face when she sees 800 balloons in the air.
As a family we’ve been to the zoo and water park and both kids seem to love being with Frank and I. Wish we were millionaires and never had to work!
As always we speak about you and wonder how you’re doing. Our family and friends are always asking about you. You are a part of our family!
Thank you so much for the ultimate gift of life you gave to Mackenzie. We love you and hope the next year is a little easier, although I know you have good and bad days.”
Frank’s letter followed:
“It’s hard to believe it has been almost a year since you gave us the gift of Mackenzie,” he wrote. “Again I thank you for your unselfish decision. She is crawling everywhere and into everything within her tiny grasp. I hope and pray things are good with you. I’ve been working a ton of hours at work since there’s such a nursing shortage currently. I think Veronica thinks she’s a single parent again. I sure do like the extra money though as it has come into great use.
I’m looking forward to getting away on our trip to New Mexico in October. Mackenzie has a little summer cold right now but besides the constantly runny nose she’s doing awesome. We still are feeding her formula every four hours and are planning after she gets to the big one year of age to switch her to Pediasure. She doesn’t eat
any solid food yet. She just chokes or gags whenever we put anything in her mouth. But she sure has the teeth to handle the solid food and I’m sure in time she’ll begin to eat. Other than our constant worrying about when she eats she is the perfect little angel.
She will crawl room to room just to find me or Veronica. She has started pulling herself up to a standing position but doesn’t quite have the balance to maintain that position for very long, but she will get there. She is the most beautiful, sweetest, most loving child any parent could ever have. Thank you so much, Tara!”
Tara’s favorite deejay was flirting with some hot girl in the studio who was auditioning for his movie to be filmed over the next two months. It was a Halloween movie scheduled to be released in time for the holiday and many hot women had come in to read for the part. This girl was 21, blonde, 5 feet, 10 inches and gorgeous, according to the deejay who invited her over to his house.
One of the deejays asked the girl how old her breasts were since they were fake and she told him they were a year and a half old. All the guys in the studio were going gaga.
Tara missed being 21; of course, she was only cute then, but not beautiful.
A couple stopped by Tara’s apartment after her landlord called to tell her they were going to get her a/c unit from her bedroom window since it was extra for her and their a/c had gone out. The girl called when they were close by and Tara gave them directions. On the phone the girl sounded like a dog but in person she was hot. Her boyfriend who was with her was okay.
The woman had a three-year-old daughter and said she’d suffered cracked ribs over the 4th of July from trying to save her from drowning in the pool.
They were in and out of there in no time, their unit in tow. Tara was disappointed in having to give up her extra unit but she couldn’t begrudge them a/c, especially in Texas and with a child.
The landlord had supposedly told the woman to just sleep on the couch where the ceiling fan was for a few days till she could get her some air but the woman told her not with a little girl.
As the night grew later and after a trip to the store, Tara grew depressed and she didn’t know why. She was
usually really happy on the days she got pictures and letters but for some reason this time she was unhappy.
She didn’t exercise that night like she normally did, but escaped to bed like she often liked to do with her dog. She lay there, tossing and turning then Susan called.
“What’s going on with you?” Susan asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just lying down,” Tara said.
“Whatsa matter?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara said, remembering the last conversation they had about Mackenzie and how Susan urged her to get past her grief.
“What is it?” Susan pressed.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara repeated.
“Did you get involved with some guy? Some girl?”
“No,” Tara lied, thinking about her latest quests. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Well, what is it? Did someone make you mad?”
“No,” Tara said. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t really been there for you. I’ve just been so busy,” Susan explained.
“I know. That’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that,” Tara said, truthfully.
“Well, we’ve gotta get together tomorrow night at least,” Susan said.
“You’ve got your nephew,” Tara said.
“Yeah, but we’ve got to get together,” Susan said.
“Don’t worry, we will,” Tara said, wanting to hang up right away.
“So, you’re not going to tell me?”
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on, pal,” Susan urged. “You’ve never said you didn’t want to talk about it. It worries me.”
“Don’t worry,” Tara tried to assure her.
“You always get mad and say ‘goddammit’ or something. You never not want to talk about something. It makes me feel like I should come over there.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t feel good,” Tara said which wasn’t a complete lie.
“You want to come over?”
“No.”
“You want me to come over?”
“No.”
“All right,” Susan said, forlornly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said.
“All right.”
They hung up.
Tara knew she was mad but didn’t have the energy to get into it with her. She could’ve told her she was depressed about money, which was often true. She could’ve made something else sound worse than it was.
But she couldn’t tell her that she was incredibly sad about Mackenzie still.
Tara put a couple of the new pics on the fridge door along with some others. In one picture Mackenzie was holding out her arms as if to give her a big hug which should’ve made Tara smile.
Instead it made her really depressed.
Tara wondered if given a different set of parents if she would’ve been so animated, too. It was as if she could look at that picture and see her inner spirit that had been killed a long time ago though she always swore
she still had it. Occasionally it would make a brief appearance but society usually didn’t like it on a 35-year-old because it came across as immature and emotionally unstable.
It looked much better on a toddler where it belonged, Tara reasoned.
In the packet of pics and letters was a copy of “Bright Futures.” The article Veronica had told Tara about was in there about adoptive parents dropping pebbles (hints) about birth moms to adopted kids as they grew up to prepare them to understand adoption.
According to Gladney’s Post Adoption department, just because kids aren’t asking questions didn’t mean they weren’t thinking about it. Many children send subtle clues to their adoptive parents, according to the article. The article quoted Sherry Eldridge, author of Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew.
Apparently adopted kids don’t ask a lot of questions about birth parents because they assume their adoptive parents are going to tell them. There isn’t a simple formula to measure when a child is ready to hear information. The article urged parents to create
opportunities to discuss their child’s birth family if a child isn’t sending out cues.
For example, when a child does something special like making the winning goal in soccer or earning an “A” on a spelling test, parents can step in and say, ‘You know what I bet your birth mom is very proud of you.”
This technique is called “the dropping pebbles” technique. Pebbles can be used as a simple comment and genetic marker and to comment on feelings, according to Holly van Guilden and Lisa Bartels-Rabb, adoption educators.
Gladney advocated this technique.
Even if adoptive parents don’t have dialogue with their children, they should be honest with them, according to Gladney’s Post Adoption Department.
Letting the child decide when and where to hear information is the best course of action, allowing the child to take control of the situation, according to Pattye Hicks, director of Post Adoption Services. The article urged adoptive parents to be respectful of birth parents when talking about them with their children. In cases where adoptive parents have sketchy details or simply
don’t remember, honesty is still the best policy, the article stated.
Van Guilden and Bartels-Rabb also suggested contacting the agency to gather as much non-identifying information as possible. The women said parents should give their children permission to talk, think, and ask questions about their birth parents.
That night Tara had nightmares that a man was after her and that he killed a bunch of people then found her and Mackenzie and was going to burn them up like the others in the dream.
As always, she woke up before he killed her.

July 20, 2001
As Tara got ready for work she realized she was in a bad mood. As she made her way to the car she wondered to herself that if she worked on Mackenzie’s birthday as planned, would she lose her temper, thus losing her job as she normally did on emotional occasions. She hadn’t planned to take that day off because it was always better for her to stay busy on days like that, then she didn’t dwell on it all day.
She always felt like it was inevitable, that she was going to lose her job on days like that. Her track record proved it and no matter how many times she tried not to make it so, it always happened.
When she got to work she showed her two co-workers who were always so great about Mackenzie, her newest pictures. The new woman in the office looked at them, too and she said Mackenzie was cute.
Apparently the woman had already been briefed on the situation which Tara didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to be ashamed any more.
Her mood lifted after she showed the pictures to them and she worked through lunch to make up hours.
She did email Chelsea and asked her to call her that weekend because she really needed to talk. But she didn’t know if she’d hear from her or not since she
hadn’t heard from her in awhile. She was worried about her. The last time she didn’t hear from her in awhile, Chelsea had relapsed after 13 years of sobriety last year. Even before it happened, Tara sensed it; almost saw it coming but there was nothing she could do about it. Now Chelsea had 15 months sober again. Tara was glad she’d made it back.
That morning Tara got an email from Veronica:
“We got your card to Mackenzie,” she wrote. “I know you must miss her terribly. She is doing great and is very happy. She has a new toy this week. It’s a “Johnny Jump Up.” It’s this seat thing that fits over the doorway and she’s suspended in it. She can jump or sway in it. She loves it. Ben had one that we returned to its owner and I haven’t been able to find one. Evidently they’ve had some problems with them in the past but they’re back and new and improved and safer. Anyway, the only problem - we caught Ben swinging her with a lot of energy if you know what I mean. I about had a heart attack but he and Mackenzie were hysterically laughing. Got a few gray hairs over that one.
Frank was off tonight so he brought Mackenzie to church and she loved being one of the “big kids.” We
painted Veggie Tales T-shirts and painted her one also with “real” veggies; i.e. cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, and squash. They were a big hit. I’m ready to be finished with Vacation Bible School so I can concentrate on planning Mackenzie’s birthday party.
I know you’re aggressively looking for a permanent job and I know the right one will come your way. I keep telling Frank that as intelligent as he is I know he can come up with something to make us millionaires.
My sister’s pregnancy is progressing. She’s 18 or 19 weeks and is having a boy. I know what good care you took of yourself during your pregnancy. My sister’s tiny and has gained a lot of weight with this pregnancy. People have been so rude to her about the weight. It makes me so angry. Why are people so mean? They plan to name the new baby Chase. Colby is so excited although he said he wanted a sister like Ben initially.
I am glad you’re seeing your counselor as you need someone to talk to. We think of you all the time and wonder about you even more as Mackenzie’s first birthday approaches. Do you have any special plans on how to spend the day? Are you going to keep busy or take the day off?
I’m dying for you to get the new pics and see how beautiful Mackenzie is. You’re going to be pleased with how healthy she now looks and definitely still looks like her birth mom.”
Tara’s letter back to Veronica read:
“I was so happy with the pictures and I thank you so much for sending them. I never thought Mackenzie would be so animated! It’s great! I don’t know if I told you but a few birth moms I was with at Gladney haven’t been getting letters and pics regularly as promised by their APs and they’re really upset about it. I feel so bad for them that their APs haven’t kept up their end of the bargain.
So, more than ever I feel very fortunate to have the relationship I do with you and Frank. It’s very important to me, the most important one I have, besides the one I have with Chelsea, Susan, and Beth. Thank you for saying I’m part of your family. That means a lot.
I also like seeing how Ben has grown in the pictures you send. It’ll be neat to keep seeing that through the years. I showed two of my co-workers Mackenzie’s new pix like
I always do and they loved them as usual. They’re great about the whole thing.
I’m sorry to hear that Mackenzie is still having feeding problems but I’m so glad she’s gaining weight. I have a niece who’s petite and she had a baby last July. When she got pregnant we were all amazed that with her size she could go through birth. It always amazes me how tiny women can do that!
I was doing really well with the adoption, the best ever but I guess because Mackenzie’s birthday coming up, I’ve been really sad. I’m not sad for her at all, just feeling sorry for myself. And I can’t forgive myself for not being able to be the mom she needed. Everyone says to forgive myself but they don’t tell me how. Anyway, I’ll get through this somehow. I don’t mean to be so negative. I really don’t.
I’ve been race walking or doing some form of exercise daily. When I walk I take my dog and he loves it. I pick a different park or place every time and he gets so excited! I’ve gotten really dependent/co-dependent on
him I guess but he makes me laugh and smile so it’s worth it.
P.S. One of the birth mom’s little girl’s birthday is today and she’s a year old. I was with the birth mom (Cindy) at Gladney and she was the only one who stayed there as long as me.”
Tara wrote Frank back:
“Thanks for the great things you always say,” she said. “It’s hard for me too to believe it’s been almost a year. They say time flies in childhood.
Things are good here and I’m staying busy with work, exercise, and volunteer work with Pet Connection, Gardens Care Nursing Home, and my support group. Every Sunday I take my dog to the nursing home and we visit the residents to cheer them up. He seems to like it and they do, too. He has gotten more jealous when I take him to his weekly trip to Petsmart, which we’ve been doing for 2 ½ years now.
Thank you as always for such detailed updates on Mackenzie as they mean a great deal to me. I hope you know how much. I have a memory box of stuff from being at Gladney and of the things you all send to me - letters; etc. I also have a separate notebook with all your
emails printed out in order by date. I know I’m compulsive but I’ve always been a collector.”
Tara stopped by Susan’s and they had their six-year-old nephews running around, trying to keep up with them.
After Tara told Susan and her girlfriend about her latest escapades, Susan’s girlfriend gave Tara a confused look.
“What do you get out of all this?” She asked Tara.
“Attention,” Tara said. “I’ve been thinking about doing nose candy.”
“What?” she asked.
“You know, nose candy,” Tara said. “I’m trying to talk in code because of the boys here.”
“Y’all go outside for a minute,” Susan’s girlfriend told the boys, ushering them to the trampoline in the backyard.
“No, we don’t need to talk about it,” Tara said.
“No, I want to talk about it,” Susan’s girlfriend said. “I don’t want you to lose your home and everything again.”
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
“You have to understand Tara’s manic depressive,” Susan explained to her girlfriend. “She’ll cycle down and
it usually takes about a month for things to settle down again. It’s just part of it.”
“My sponsor says it’s because I’m on Step 6 in my (recovery) program,” Tara said. “Last time I was on Step 6 this happened.”
“Well that may be,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“I don’t know about that,” Susan said. “But I know Tara and this is what she does. About a few times a year.”
“It’s actually more than that,” Tara said.
“Well, that’s been my observation anyway,” Susan said.
“Why would you want to do drugs?” Susan’s girlfriend asked Tara.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the money anyway,” Tara said, after showing them Mackenzie’s latest pictures.
“She’s got money. You could get a rock (of coke),” Susan said, playing Devil’s Advocate as she always did.
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
Tara kept trying to leave but they kept urging her to stay. She finally left after they were all talked out and the boys were in the tub. Susan and her girlfriend were taking them to a water park the next day and had to get up early.
Tara stopped on the way home and got a sexy movie that came out a couple of years ago that she never got to see. It was supposed to have this really hot sex scene in it. She didn’t watch it that night; she was too tired.

July 21, 2001
The next day as she waited for her clothes to dry at the Laundromat, Tara walked her dog around the park and noticed a garage sale down the street.
The handsome guy smiled at her and her dog as she turned the car around to park to check out what he had for sale. She noticed a few gorgeous things and parked the car.
After buying some cheap bookshelves she needed, she commented on some cultural items he had and they got to talking about music and theater. She thought about asking him out until he said the deal breaker - he didn’t have a job. He said he used to work in theater and was also a baker at one time.
He lived in a small garage apartment that he said he’d lived in for 19 years, long before the highway was expanded. He told her about a row of houses that faced the on ramp and how they were demolished to make
way for progress. Then he told her he had a bad habit of rescuing stray animals and was now the owner of four cats.
That night she watched the movie she’d rented the night before. The opening scene with the lead actor in a shrink’s office discussing his refusal to commit to anyone reminded Tara of herself. She thought about Mackenzie and about how Mackenzie would be embarrassed to know her one-day.
She talked to her old boss/ the birth mom whose little girl just had her first birthday.
“I only got eight pictures in the mail,” her old boss said. “They’re of her birthday party.”
“How was it getting them?” Tara asked.
“It was hard,” she said.

July 22, 2001
For the past few days Tara had been having “drunk dreams” (dreams in which she was drunk). In one dream she was doing drugs and some rival of hers was trying to convince her not to.
July 23, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman in recovery she always talked to online about their sex addiction that they had in common:
“That’s great that you finally got to see your therapist,” the woman wrote. “And that you were able to let go of some of the painful feelings due to acting out. I’m having a really hard time still, more so now than before even. I saw my married man today again and slept with him and freaked out after because I feel he’s pulling away from me. And I missed my meeting to see him so now I feel even worse. I went to the bookstore after therapy and bought this book, actually two books about recovery. I feel so overwhelmed by this disease and so hopeless. I just feel like I’ll never be able to go through withdrawal.”
Tara felt physically sick and she didn’t know why.
She was scheduled to see her counselor that night. She went home at lunch and napped to get the energy to go after work.
Her mom had called that morning and when Tara told her she was sending her new pics of Mackenzie, she had the same response as before - apathetic.
She knew her mom was going through a lot with her dying grandma still, but knew she would’ve probably had the same response anyway.
The night before Tara had a dream that she ran into a birth mom she knew from Gladney and she was doing great.
Tara had had a manic episode the night before. It sucked laughing to yourself with no one to share the insanity with.
Instead she just scared her dog.
That night Tara saw her counselor and told her of her escapades within the last week. She didn’t cry during this session and got silly during the last of it. She told her about the guy she met who was having a garage sale over the weekend.
Tara told her about the movie she’d seen over the weekend and how she related to the male lead character. She also told her about Mackenzie’s new pictures and showed them to her as she always did whenever she got new ones.
“When I look at her I see what must’ve been my inner spirit at one time,” Tara said. “But I don’t ever remember looking like that as a child. I was never happy.”
“Even that young?”
“No,” Tara said. “I’ve got pictures of me at 5 and my eyes are blank.”
“What about younger?”
“I have one baby picture and I just look crooked somehow, rattled,” Tara said. “Even then I was already ruined.”
“How sad,” her counselor. “Maybe you could bring those pictures in.”
Tara had done this with other therapists and it was always unproductive.
That night Tara’s mom called and again when Tara told her she was mailing her some new pix of Mackenzie, her mom didn’t respond. It was as if she were talking about a ghost.
That night about 1:30 a.m. Tara got up and wrote for about an hour. She was resentful against 79 people and if she added her cat that was 80. No wonder she was miserable and sick. Carrying all that rage around was
exhausting and depleting, as well as debilitating to her spirit. She wrote so much she had to put a Band-Aid on her hand from the blister that formed from holding the pen. She even tried to write at a different angle at first but to no avail.
When she went to bed she had a nightmare that she lived in a haunted house and there were dead people after her. In the dream she was dressed as a clown getting ready to go to a Halloween party. There were two other women who were spending the night in the house with her and they couldn’t wait to get out of their sticky clothes and get some sleep.
But the ghosts wouldn’t let them rest.
In a separate dream, Tara that deejay she had a crush on, only he was nice to her and hired her as some kind of editorial assistant or salesperson. She remembered him hugging her and touring the studio and how she was so embarrassed to meet him because of how she looked. She wasn’t in shape enough or hot enough for him. He was used to porn stars and models.
She woke up and went into work a few minutes early since her alarm was going to go off 15 minutes early anyway.
July 24, 2001
At lunch Tara just wanted to go home and crawl under the covers, not coming out until Mackenzie’s 18th birthday. She knew she was sabotaging her job, her life.
One of the birth moms who had scanned some more of Mackenzie’s pix for Tara wrote her that she’d bring them to the adoption support group they attended next week. Tara couldn’t wait to send them out like the others.
She copied the latest letters she got from Veronica and Frank to send also to Chelsea and her mom. She planned on scanning the rest of the favorites of her pix and sending those on, too. She was even going to include a copy of the letter to the editor that the local paper ran that she wrote about the adoption story they ran in May.
She didn’t care that she was going overboard.
She had to stay alive for Mackenzie somehow. She had to will herself to go on.
A co-worker asked if she could see Mackenzie’s pictures and so Tara assumed she must know about the adoption. But when she showed them to her she could tell she knew nothing of the adoption by her response when Tara pointed out who Veronica and Frank were in the photos.
“Oh, your daughter’s not with you?” Tara’s co-worker asked, a stricken expression on her face.
“No,” Tara said in a positive tone.
“She’s cute,” her co-worker said, handing the pix back to her after a brief look.
It was as if Tara had told her that Mackenzie had died in a car accident or something.
But this time Tara didn’t care and for the first time wasn’t ashamed.
That night she showed some more friends the pictures and they talked about how pretty Mackenzie was, how much she looked like Tara, and how happy she seemed.
July 25, 2001
Against her better judgment, Tara attempted again to find Alex, Mackenzie’s dad, through an email search after an address search turned up nothing. She knew he’d have an email address somehow; he always did.
After coming up with two pages of identical names, she proceeded to email the ones without locations listed telling them she was looking for him and if they lived in her town (listed) to email her back. She started to say why she was looking for him (to send him Mackenzie’s pictures since he’d never seen her), then changed her mind and left it short and sweet.
Of course, he was so paranoid he probably would be afraid to answer the cryptic request.
She ran into an old mutual friend of theirs the night before but she no longer said hi to her and was clearly on his side. Tara didn’t care.
Actually she did care. Way too much.
Things weren’t going well at work. Tara was sabotaging herself as she always had in every job she’d ever had. All 75 plus of them. She stopped counting after last year. It was futile.
That night she took her dog to the park where Placement had been held after backtracking trying to decide whether or not to go. She hadn’t been there in 11 months since the day of Placement although last Thanksgiving she debated going. She always feared she’d break down and cry or have a nervous breakdown or something if she went back although she thought about going on Mackenzie’s birthday.
To her amazement she didn’t cry and wasn’t sad. It was weird being there and she discovered she was okay. There were other people there including a running team who was taking a break at the picnic table in the same spot where Mackenzie was introduced to her new family. Tara spotted the big oak tree next to the drained
creek where she had taken Mackenzie over to tell her goodbye.
To her surprise she discovered on this day now that the park wound all the way around to another park where she was before. She and her dog walked the trail and he loved it, of course. On the way back she went another route and soon they were back at the car. She thought she still might come back on Mackenzie’s birthday or maybe on the anniversary of Placement Day.
It was all right. At last it was all right.
She hoped it lasted.
That night Tara talked to Susan who was disillusioned with her social worker job after a rough day in court in which she was flogged by the judge who turned down her client's hearing for Social Security benefits.
The 34-year-old female prostitute/drug addict had been born into Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and never had a chance. She was toothless, looked like she was in her 50s, and was mentally ill as well as having organic brain damage.
But the judge showed no mercy and cited a law affecting drug addicts from 1998 in which addicts were no longer winning cases requesting benefits because,
as the judge put it “people were getting sick of paying for their drugs and alcohol.”
Despite Susan’s attempts to redirect her client, who was sobbing uncontrollably at the realization that she wouldn’t be getting benefits, the judge showed no mercy and. After a brief tirade at how all he saw before him was a hopeless drug addict who couldn’t get clean, the judge ordered them out of his courtroom.
Susan said her hopes had been lifted earlier in the hearing when a psychiatrist stated that her client probably had mental retardation. Susan said it would’ve helped if her client had been sober/clean awhile.
Susan told Tara that her client had no one, that her mom sold her to a man when she was 14 and her client started turning tricks a couple of years after, winding up on the street with a pimp. It was all she knew. She never had one person who believed in her.
“I know all you had was oatmeal for lunch and you’re broke,” Susan told her. “But here we sit with our color t.v.s in our own homes and I just know she’s going to be sleeping in a box tonight on the street.”
Susan cried.
“She said to the judge, she begged, ‘Please don’t turn me away. I can’t be a street whore any more.’”
Susan felt like it was all futile and wanted to appeal the judge’s decision but the hearing had taken three years to come to fruition and this client had pinned all her hopes on this one day.
“I know she doesn’t deserve money because she’s not clean (sober) but I was going to ask that she at least be put in a lock down facility for six months and have a payee, our agency,” Susan explained. “I know she’d probably blow $500 on drugs and alcohol but she at least deserves a chance. She’s never had a chance.”
“Do you think it would’ve mattered if it had been a female judge?” Tara asked.
“I don’t know,” Susan said.
They talked about how so many people who had family and resources didn’t realize how lucky they were.
“They’re damned lucky,” Susan said. “They have no idea.”
“I know,” Tara said. “I hear it all the time from people about how they have this person or that one.”
Tara couldn’t help but think of what Chelsea told her once about people who make it and those who don’t -
that the ones who make it had at least one person who believed in them.
Tara mentioned this to Susan now.
“And that makes all the difference, having that one person,” Tara said.
“It’s a huge difference,” Susan agreed. “You and I know how important it is.”
They talked about some of their friends who they knew who had gotten this benefit or that from the government and they didn’t really need it. Tara remembered a friend of hers who kept trying to get Tara to get some kind of assistance but Tara wouldn’t do it.
She remembered going to vocational agencies once and them telling her she was too functional and too educated.
There was no place for people that were marginal like her.
“Yeah, you’d have trouble getting anything,” Susan told her now when she brought it up. “A few months ago I didn’t think so, but with the new law you wouldn’t get anything.”
Tara mentioned a mutual acquaintance they knew who got benefits and seemed fine.
“I mean, I don’t live with her, I’m not in a relationship with her, but I’ve known her for three years and I think she could work,” Tara told Susan now.
“She could definitely work,” Susan said. “This woman (my client) has never held a job. She’s not capable of going out and getting a job. She’s paranoid schizophrenic. She’s crazy.”
That night Tara woke up about 3 a.m. and thought about the woman and had a brainstorm but couldn’t call Susan that late and tell her about it. She thought, ‘What if I and all my friends wrote letters to the judge asking him to reconsider his decision?’
Would it work?
It was the only thing she knew to do.
Earlier Tara had told Susan that she was probably right, that how could you go any higher than a judge on an appeal? She told her about a recent episode of a law show she watched in which a lawyer filed a complaint against a judge only to have his behavior reviewed by a panel of his own peers, also judges.
Well, at the very most it would just piss this judge off. Susan could request another judge but that took a long time and there were no guarantees. She figured,
knowing Susan, that Susan was laying in bed at 3 a.m. too, thinking about her client but she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t waking her up so she decided to wait till she got up for work and tell her her idea.

July 26, 2001
Tara woke up extra early, called Susan, and she told her she’d get the information on the case if Tara would draft a form letter and email it to her.
“You think it’ll do any good?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know,” Tara said. “But if I email all my friends after you approve the letter and just ask them to email the letter to you and you get it to the judge, maybe it’ll have an impact.”
Susan knew Tara had a lot of friends. Tara said she wouldn’t even address the issue of Susan’s client being an addict or prostitute because some of her friends probably wouldn’t be inclined to help if she mentioned it. And she wouldn’t bring it up in the letter either because the judge, already prejudiced against the client, didn’t need to be reminded.
“I’ll just mention the Fetal Alcohol thing and how she’s never had a chance. And you can put in whatever other
facts there are,” Tara said. “Of course, because of confidentiality, you’ll have to fill in her name in the blank on the letter because you could lose your job if I give my friends her name.”
“Oh yeah,” Susan said. “Then I couldn’t help anyone.”
So the plan was made for Tara to write up the letter, email it to Susan that day, and Susan would review it then email it back to her to send to her friends.
It was worth a shot.
He’d probably be ticked off after 23 years on the bench of hearing just about everything, but at least they would’ve tried.
Tara said a silent prayer for God to grant Susan’s clients these benefits (if it be His will, of course), something she always was told to add.
Tara felt lucky suddenly.
When she got to work she drafted the letter and emailed it to Susan, leaving in blanks for Susan to fill in the facts only she knew. Tara went back and edited, and proofread, and edited and pictured a judge reading it and how it would sound to him. She couldn’t make it too long because he wouldn’t read it. Too short and he’d miss the point.
She could picture him complaining, saying “How dare you! Who are all these people? I don’t have time to sit around and read a bunch of letters. Who do you think you are?”
Yes, Tara knew judges well. She’d worked with them and as a former foster child; her fate was always in their hands.
She was almost excited about the possibility of the judge getting all these letters. Best case scenario, he’d only read a few before he had to change his mind and grant the woman the benefits she desperately needed.
Veronica wrote Tara:
“Glad to hear from you,” she wrote. “I’m glad your friends liked the pics. We think she is just beautiful also - just like you. She’s traveling everywhere in her walker whereas she used to just go backwards. She’ll stand for short periods holding on to the couch or chair, then drops down to her bottom. She’ll really hang on to a toy now! If Ben is pulling it away from her she’ll vocally let us know he is being mean by saying ‘Ahhhh.’ I told Ben that she can tell on him so he better be good! She seems bigger the last few days. I haven’t weighed her in two weeks so she’s still around 17 pounds but lots of her
clothes are getting tight, so I know she’s growing. I have huge sacks full of baby clothes to go through. One from a lady at work who adopted her little girl - now 2 ½ from overseas and another from a girl at church. I LOVE hand me downs! Ben has so many of his friend’s clothes so we’ve really lucked out. Of course, I was at Target today and bought her two new outfits also. It’s so hard not to as there are so many cute girl things.
Sorry about your grandma (still being ill). Sometimes I think people hang on for their families to get adjusted to life without them.
I’m glad I can start planning Mackenzie’s birthday party. She’ll have two. One of friends/kids and a family one. I’m not sure what theme or anything but I’ll let you know and I’ll try to tape the parties or have someone else tape them for me. Please don’t worry about a gift. You gave the ultimate gift already. Have you decided if you’re working on her birthday or not? I’m glad you’re still active with your (adoption) group. I’m sure it helps to talk with others and get their input.”

Tara also got an email from the woman online who Tara talked to about their mutual addiction:
“I know what you mean about there seeming to be more guys in the program that girls,” the woman wrote. “Although here in one of the programs there are actually quite a few women as well and they have women’s meetings. Most say they’re love and sex addicts but some just say love addicts or fantasy addicts. Well, whatever, I guess the variations don’t matter all that much. But I did find in one meeting I went to that it was all men, however it was a very small meeting and I’d like to try a few more before making any snap judgments! Oh, and about joining the online dating thing, boy, can I relate. One of my addictions is to the personals for women looking for other women. I belong to about four of them! Talk about sick.
And I’ve met probably around 20 women from the Internet! I’ve actually yet to take my main ad down but you just reminded me I do need to because I wrote it as one of my bottom lines not to have or respond to any more personals. And I can really relate to emailing potential “fixes” or acting out partners. If it wasn’t for the Internet I probably wouldn’t have acted out half as much
as I have in the past few years! Take care and be gentle on yourself. I’m trying to do the same.
I’m sorry to hear you’re having a hard time, too. I know exactly what you mean about friends not getting you and not understanding what you get out of it (the addiction). It’s so hard because you can’t explain it. If you’re not an addict you just won’t understand. I guess, thank God, that’s why we have each other. I do have the big book (recovery textbook for this addiction) and I just bought Out of The Shadows last week along with a book about recovering from sex addiction. I also have read Don’t Call It Love by Patrick Carnes which is amazing. I’ve been feeling really obsessed with my doctor and the more I try to get close to him, the more he pulls away. You know how that goes. But sometimes it’s like I just can’t stop!
I’m also still seeing the girl but really trying to take things slow. I’m supposed to go to her house for dinner Sunday then he asked me to go sailing with some other people from work so I’m going to try to squeeze both in. I could tell she was disappointed when I told her I’d be coming over later. I tried a sexual compulsives meeting this week, too. I was the only girl there (there were only
three other guys) but I want to try more of those, too. Anyway, hope you’re hanging in there and doing okay…this disease is a killer! Oh also I am afraid again that I might have Herpes. I’m sure it’s probably just an ingrown hair or something like it was the other times I was afraid but since I frequently have unprotected sex I’d rather be safe than sorry. Wish me luck!”

July 28, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their common addiction:
“I’m doing a little better. Managed to get to a meeting and half yesterday,” she wrote. “I went to another recovery meeting which consisted mostly of gay men so stayed for half and hour and then went to another recovery women’s meeting which was really good and helped a lot. I felt a lot saner afterwards! And managed not to obsess very much about that doctor today and purposely didn’t go online when I knew he would be there. So, of course he emailed me asking me where I am, cause I usually stalk him online!”

July 29, 2001
Tara got another email from the same woman after she told her about her grandma dying:
“So sorry to hear about your grandma,” she wrote. “That is really stressful and only natural that it makes you want to act out. Try and be gentle with yourself while you’re dealing with the pain of her loss. I know that it’s not an easy thing for an addict to do (be gentle on oneself) but that’s the advice my therapist always gives me in times of stress. So please try. I also understand wanting to cry and you can’t. That happens to me very often. Then I wind up crying uncontrollably at something like a movie because I kept in so many of my own feelings. I think maybe that’s another addict characteristic. It’s hard at least for me sometimes to give myself permission to cry over my own stuff. Like I’ve gotten used to numbing myself from the pain.
I’ve found the more I’ve gotten involved in recovery though the easier it is for me to cry - when I am in touch with my feelings. I spent the day sailing with that doctor on his boat with two other girls from work and feel a little “in my disease” but am trying to keep perspective. I’m definitely not where I was last week or even a few days
ago with the obsession. Take care and remember you’re not alone!”

July 29, 2001
That night Tara dreamed that she was a student in a dorm and there were serial rapists and killers on the loose.
In another dream she dreamed she got to have Mackenzie for a few days and go on a trip with her family. In the dream Mackenzie was laughing and happy.

July 30, 2001
Tara saw her therapist that night and they talked about how the movie “The Color Purple” got to her Saturday even though she’d seen it many times. She explained to her therapist about the scenes that always triggered her crying and how they related to her abuse.
“You need to buy that movie,” her therapist suggested.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to for years,” Tara said.
Tara told her therapist about the sob she had over the weekend and how she didn’t act out on her addiction
even though she wanted to. Her therapist drew a correlation between her being true to her feelings and not acting out on her addiction.
“Crying also helps me with my depression,” Tara explained. “Maybe if I’d done more crying in my life, I wouldn’t have been so depressed.”
Tara told her therapist about her grandma and told her about what she was like.
The therapist thought there must’ve been some abuse somewhere along the way with her mom’s childhood.
That night Tara had a nightmare that some guy kept killing his friends, including her.
In a separate dream she dreamed Mackenzie was a genius and could form complete sentences already.

July 31, 2001
Tara got an email from Chelsea telling her that she didn’t want to get any more emails about Mackenzie because it was too painful for her to hear about a niece she’d never know.
Tara decided not to go see Chelsea after all even though the night before she’d found a really good deal on a ticket.
She didn’t want Mackenzie to be the family’s “dirty little secret” and though she’d tried to be understanding with Chelsea, it was too painful to hear the words Chelsea wrote to her.
A new woman joined the online support group for birth moms. She placed her little girl just a month ago and was having a really hard time being unemployed, having no support, and going through a major depression. She was only in her 20s and lived too far away to make it to the monthly support group that Gladney had at its temporary campus, which was going to be held that night.
Everyone reached out to her online and Tara empathized. She explained to the woman that she was suffering a tremendous loss and told her about her own experience.
Tara hoped her old boss and the birth mom she went through Gladney with made it to group that night. It would be the first time for her.
Tara told her old boss that there were some new women coming to put her mind at ease, hoping that’d make her feel more comfortable about coming.
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their sex addiction/recovery:
“Hey, that’s great that you didn’t act out and had a good cry!” she wrote. “I think every time we don’t act out it helps raise our self-esteem a little more. I was actually doing quite well over the weekend aside from my toothache but tonight as I was coming from work I noticed my thoughts turning to addict mode and I was so distracted that I ended up leaving my gym bag on the bus. It happened while I was reading a recovery book too, which is strange. I wonder what that was about.”

































Mackenzie’s
Rimmer
Chapter 19
Strange Days
July 1, 2001
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I’ll be sending out our letters/pics for the 15th to you soon,” she wrote. “I need to prod Frank to start his letter as it takes him several days to get it done.
Good luck on meeting the guy, James. My friend Cathy was so busy in high school and college with studies - she was valedictorian in high school. Anyway, she had to work so much that she never had time for men, so when she became an accountant and was ready to “settle down” she had trouble-meeting men. She answered a personal ad. We were very concerned for her safety but she met Matt in a restaurant and they took it slow. They’ve been married ten years now! Their date was not without some problems, i.e.; he was late and she up and left, he called her at home to see where she was and she told him she didn’t wait for any man. He convinced her to come back to the restaurant. She had
already undressed and taken off her makeup and didn’t put it back on! He met the”real her” with hair in a ponytail, jeans; etc. Probably why things worked out so well, huh? Anyway, they live in Los Angeles now - too far away to see her much. Good luck.
Ben did enjoy Museum Camp. Sorry your grandmother isn’t doing better.”
Tara’s landlord called her that night about Tara’s neighbor’s many dogs and homeless kids hanging out. The conversation inevitably got around to Tara’s neighbor’s daughter.
Tara slipped and told her landlord that the neighbor’s daughter didn’t have a birth certificate and that she’d dropped out of school but had been working.
“Well, now your neighbor told me that the reason her daughter couldn’t go to school was because she had - what’s that thing where you’re afraid to leave the house -“Agoraphobia?” Tara asked.
“Uh, fear of crabs or something - “
Tara fought back laughter.
“No, it’s fear of leaving the house. It’s agoraphobia. But I’ve never heard that. And anyway, she goes to work so that wouldn’t hold up,” Tara said.
“Well your neighbor said something about how there’s too many crowds at school,” Diana said. “That that’s why her daughter had to quit school. Anyway who’s that blind kid?”
Tara racked her brain.
“I don’t know anything about a blind kid,” she said, truthfully.
It was hard to keep up with them all.
They said their good-byes and Tara had to laugh. For once the chaos around her wasn’t her own.

July 2, 2001
Tara had to get up in the middle of the night and get allergy pills and on the way home she saw Jamie walking down her street.
It was 4 a.m.
Tara immediately turned the corner and by the time she turned around Jamie had turned the corner as well and hadn’t seen her.
Tara breathed a sigh of relief. She knew eventually Jamie would find out where she lived but she sure didn’t want to run into her at 4 a.m. on a dark street. It spooked her every time she saw her.
She hated that she still haunted her this way.
That night she had a nightmare about her, of course.
That afternoon Susan came over and told Tara’s neighbor’s daughter to move the van, which was now open in the backyard and reeking of God knew what. She moved it apologetically to a shopping center parking lot with the help of a homeless guy and his dad. But Tara knew that wouldn’t last long and it’d get towed from there. Tara told the girl she only said something
because their landlord was going to evict them and that she’d been calling Tara wanting to know what the deal was.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to endure her complaining about us,” the girl said, feeling bad.
“I just don’t want you to get evicted,” Tara said.
Because Tara’s neighbor’s daughter was cute, innocent, and naïve, Tara often worried about what was going to happen to her and feared the worst. She hoped she’d be okay. But she’d be an easy target for someone dangerous.

July 3, 2001
Tara had a rough night that night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep. She had to get up several times, coughing and gagging and wound up oversleeping and being 40 minutes late to work. Luckily her boss was on vacation.

Tara heard back from the girl in the recovery group for sex addicts and the girl gave her number out, too:
“Where is it exactly that you live?” the girl asked. “I’m from New York.
I agree with you 100 percent about it not being accepted to be bisexual and I feel EXACTLY the same way you do about even gay people not accepting it and that is the same as people judging them for being gay. We can’t help being the way we are any more than they can,” she wrote. “I do find it very confusing though and wish myself that I could just “choose.” I have much more experience with men and mostly date them, however I
feel like there will always be this curiosity with women. Well, more than curiosity because I have been with women also. I guess I mean that I feel I will always be drawn to them also. But I feel like either way I will never really be satisfied with either sex. My therapist says that maybe when I go through withdrawal it will become clearer. Have you found this at all?
In the meantime I can’t force myself to “know” or drive myself crazy looking for an answer. Maybe it is just something I have to accept. I agree with what your friend said about not meeting a quality person till we have quality within ourselves as well. But it is hard to know that and really know it in your heart. Still the more I work this program I am able to recognize that to be true. I get really down on myself for different reasons mostly because I am still involved with my doc but ‘One day at a time’, right? Anyway, as always nice to know I’m not alone!”
Tara wrote her back:
“I did drive myself crazy for awhile trying to choose but now I’ve just said I’m not going to worry about it,” Tara said. “I personally don’t see why it has to be either or and I think people have the capacity to love both.
Therapy hasn’t helped me choose yet but maybe one day. I’m really not worried about choosing though. I know one person in recovery from this addiction said being bi was just being active in your sex addiction and that you’re not really bi but I don’t that I go along with that. I think society including the recovery community puts pressure on people to choose, like it’s so important or something. Kind of like those boxes that you check as to whether you’re black, white or whatever. It’s like you have to be something definable.”
Tara later got an email from Chelsea, suggesting that Mackenzie get genetically tested for Dwarfism since an employee of hers had a granddaughter who was recently diagnosed after being misdiagnosed as a preemie. Chelsea said it was often misdiagnosed as other things and since Mackenzie was only 16 pounds and almost a year old, maybe it’d be a good idea to have her tested. Tara passed the email on to Veronica then obsessed about the possibility that her daughter could be a dwarf on top of all her other ailments. She asked a few doctors she worked with what they knew about the diagnosis and none of them had a clue but
suggested she talk to a doctor who’d be there tomorrow.
She emailed her friends and family and asked if they knew anything about it and no one did. But one friend emailed her a link for “little people” who had all kinds of information on it that Tara read and forwarded a copy to Chelsea for her employee’s granddaughter. Tara hated that Chelsea had even brought it up although she knew she was just trying to help.
Tara emailed the contact person for the Little People’s link and asked what they thought she should do regarding testing for Mackenzie (if it was warranted based on her appetite and weight history and current continual problems eating). A couple of people told her not to worry, that they’d known kids like Mackenzie who were small and they were just little, that was all.
Now Tara kept picturing certain photos that she’d gotten over the past ten months of Mackenzie and tried to visualize anything she might have missed before that would give Dwarfism away. Suddenly she “saw” in her mind’s eye things that she never thought twice about before like her short legs. She spent the rest of the day,
worrying, praying, and bargaining with God not to let her little girl be a dwarf on top of everything else.
She knew a guy who worked at the grocery store she frequented who was a dwarf and she’d seen some in her life. She also knew that they got made fun of on the radio and were seen by some as “less than.” She wouldn’t let that happen to Mackenzie if she did wind up being a dwarf.

July 4, 2001
Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant this 4th of July compared to last year’s miserable holiday.
She remembered the house parents took the residents out for ice cream and to Trinity Park to watch the fireworks and how everyone stared at them as always.
At the ice cream parlor one of the residents who’d had her baby in June made a face in the window as they were leaving and tried to scare the people who were staring. All the residents laughed. As obnoxious as the resident was, Tara had to laugh.
For once the residents had the last laugh when gawked at.
When they got to the park to watch the fireworks, there were no nearby bathrooms so a group of them had to walk across huge boulders from one end of the river to the other than hike up a steep hill to a restaurant to use their restroom.
The other residents weren’t too happy about it but took it all in stride as they headed across the slick rocks behind the crowds of people doing the same thing. The difference was the residents didn’t have much balance because they were pregnant and had to hang on to each other while kids played and splashed around beside them and adults just merely stared.
Tara, however, was completely furious about the whole thing and cursed the male house parent who didn’t take into account when parking the van about the location of the rest rooms and the fact that the residents were hugely pregnant and didn’t have much strength to walk far.
When they made it back to their seats and settled on their blankets on the steep hill overlooking the river, a group of people gawked at them and whispered for what seemed like an eternity.
Tara started doing what she saw a resident do once and some other residents now joined her. Every time the crowd would stare she’d stare them down. Once she did this, they quickly averted their eyes.
Then the residents followed suit and made sure that every time some onlooker whispered something about them, that they knew they could hear every word.
They managed to run off several people this way. Anything not to be gawked at like some science experiment. Tara hated that aspect of being a birth mom.
They were able to get rid of the rest of the gawkers when Amy, the one who made all the baby blankets,
lifted her shirt so as not to flash her breasts and drew a smiley face on her
stomach complete with hair. Never one to balk at a challenge, she proudly thrust her stomach forward unbeknownst to the house parents who would’ve reprimanded her, and smiled at the gawkers who quickly gathered their things and moved to another area.
But not before Amy and another resident made sure they could hear them say, “See that guy sitting next to us? (Motioning to the male married house parent who sat next to his wife, also a house parent) He’s the father of all of our kids!”
It was great. A real victory for the women.
Luckily the house parents knew nothing about it, just teased him about it later by implying that they should have said something like that to the crowd.
He would’ve been so embarrassed, particularly since he and his wife were Mormons.
Then when the fireworks finally started they all realized they were in a bad spot and wound up barely able to see them.
Towards the end of the display, several residents had to go to the bathroom but couldn’t find one close and started urging the male house parent to pack everyone up so they could find a bathroom by car.
By the time they finally got out of the parking lot the residents were very uncomfortable and about to burst their kidneys.
He stopped at one store and the bathroom was out of order. Another store wouldn’t let the residents use the facilities. And another store had a long line.
He wouldn’t stop anywhere else, just drove the long way back to the dorm with several angry pregnant residents in tow.
He’d barely pulled up in the drive when the piled out and ran into the dorm.
Tara was glad she didn’t have to go because she would’ve jumped out of the van a long time ago.
“No man is going to keep me from going to the bathroom,” she said.
Fast forward to 2001. Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant!
She called a gay male friend of hers and told him about the James/Jake, the guy with two names and they exchanged dating horror stories.
“I don’t know what it is but I attract the most screwed up people,” her friend told Tara. “If they’ve got something wrong with them, they come to me.”
“I know what you mean. I see the bum radar still works,” Tara said and he cracked up laughing.
He told her about his most recent blind date that a friend of his set up against his wishes.
“What was it like?” Tara asked.
“Honey, I wished I was blind when I walked in the restaurant,” he said and they laughed together. “He was round. Very round.”
She smiled to herself.
”Of course I should’ve known when my friend kept saying, ‘But he’s a real nice guy, but he’s a real nice guy,’” said her friend.
“Yeah, that’s like saying she’s got a great personality or a great sense of humor,” Tara said.
He laughed.
“Hell, four of the five guys I’ve had dates with are in prison now,” he said.
“For what?” Tara asked, surprised.
“Dope.”
She told him all about her Internet dating adventures, recapping some he’d heard about.
“Man, there was a momma’s boy, an alcoholic, and an idiot,” she said. “And that was just one of them.”
He laughed.
“And that was just one?”
“Yeah. That guy from London.”
“Oh yeah,” her friend said, amused. “I remember him. Do you ever hear from him?”
“Oh yeah,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “He emails me all the time and keeps trying to get my new number but I won’t give it to him. I’d rather have a root canal with no anesthesia than have a conversation with him.”
He laughed.
“Because you have to spell out everything, even simple things,” she explained. “It’s so frustrating.”
He told her about a mutual friend he ran into recently that kept trying to get him in bed but he knew he was a player so he didn’t bother with him.
“He’s got the biggest ego,” her friend said. “A friend of mine went out with him and said he wanted to jump out of the car but it was moving.”
“Yeah, he’s had the hots for you for a long time,” Tara said.
“He’s very charming but also very perverted,” he said.
“I think I’m getting too old for this shit,” Tara said. “There’s nobody out there.”
“There really isn’t, Tara,” he said, knowingly. “I’ve just decided I’d rather be by myself than mess with all that. I’m better company.”
His latest boyfriend kept canceling plans so he told him “Later.”
“He was always saying he’s going to do this and he’s going to do that and he doesn’t do anything,” he told Tara.
“Yeah, everybody’s screwed up in his or her own way,” she agreed.

She and her friend took food over to a friend of hers and joined them for a cookout. There were five girls but they were headed back to Six Flags for the rest of the day.
Tara was quiet when the kids were there but as soon as they left she joined in conversation. It was easier for her to bitch and moan about jobs and money than it was to have a normal laid back, conversation with people she didn’t know.
Tara met her friend’s friend’s live-in boyfriend, a body builder and some other people and they all ate and talked about unimportant stuff like weight, cars, kids, sex, and money.
They were laughing about a guy they knew who got drunk and tried to give them his car. He had a reputation for getting wasted and trying to give his stuff away.
“Oh, I’m going to mess with him the next time I see him and tell him we really need that car and where’s the title,” someone said and they all laughed. “I don’t understand people like that.”
“Well you gotta understand alcoholics,” Tara’s friend who was in recovery explained. “They’re up and down and they get drunk and don’t know what they’re saying.”
The body builder shook his head and laughed, not understanding.
Tara stayed as long as she could then asked her friend to take her back to her car at her friend’s house because she was tired.
“Were you uncomfortable with them drinking?” her friend asked, knowing Tara was in recovery.
“No. I don’t get uncomfortable unless somebody gets drunk and makes a pass at me or is belligerent or something,” she said.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s why it’s hard to be around my brother-in-law. That’s what he does,” her friend said.
“Yeah, my step dad and other relatives would always do that,” Tara said.
“Neither one of my parents drink. I never had it around me really.”
“Oh both my parents do. It’s all in my family, my mother’s side. That’s all they do. I grew up around it,” Tara said. “They used to have parties in the basement every Saturday night. We had a bar in the house.”
Tara showed her friend pictures of Mackenzie. Her friend didn’t know about Mackenzie.
“You get to see her?” her friend asked looking at the pictures in her wallet. “She’s beautiful.”
“I saw her in April. But I get videos, letters, cards, emails,” Tara explained.
Tara didn’t go watch the fireworks that night. She lay in bed as her dog barked at them and thought about Mackenzie and what she thought of them.
Was she scared? Impressed? Excited? In awe?
She pictured herself holding Mackenzie and saying, “Pretty” as she pointed to the fireworks.
Another holiday she had missed out on but she was still glad Mackenzie was safe and well cared for.
That night Tara dreamed abort her dad, that he was after her and kept trying to hurt her but she kept escaping him.

July 5, 2001
Tara had a rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep.
She talked to Susan who told her about her 4th of July spent with a depressive woman and her care-taking son who was also Susan’s daughter’s boyfriend. Susan felt sorry for him and said she was going to start spending time with him. The woman was overmedicated according to Susan and was dating a manic-depressive man who was also on a lot of meds.
“He makes you look like you’re totally balanced,” Susan said. “I mean, you are totally balanced but you know what I mean.”
Tara just took all this in and didn’t say much, just agreed it was sad for the kid. Being manic herself, she also empathized with the mom and boyfriend.
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“Thanks for the forwarded message (about getting Mackenzie tested for Dwarfism). She’s been tested for everything known to man I think,” she wrote. “No, I seriously don’t know about Dwarfism specifically, but I’ll check with her doctor. Height wise she’s right on target, it’s just the weight. A lady at our church was sickly - had some heart surgery and still weighed only 18 pounds at two years of age. She’s a fine weight/height now but she keeps reassuring me that Mackenzie will play catch up.
The doctor told us all the genetic tests were fine as were all thyroid levels so (yeah right) to quit worrying. The cystic fibrosis, neuromuscular tests - everything is negative. I think the reflux just went undiagnosed so long and we were practically force feeding and every time she swallowed it hurt, but she didn’t really cry, just pulled
away from the nipple so we weren’t picking up on it. Anyway, I think due to our aggressively trying to feed her we inadvertently helped her develop an aversion to food. She associates eating with pain or discomfort so just doesn’t want to do it. Poor thing. But they keep reassuring us that she can overcome it, it will just take time. We continue to do the play therapy and one day it will really kick in and she’ll eat us out of house and home. I’ll tell her the stories of us all worrying about her eating when she’s 25 and dieting for her wedding dress! By the way - I plan on you being at her wedding!!
I worked all day long and really missed the kids. They had a great day with my nieces though and probably didn’t notice I was gone. (I) Took care of a 17-month-old who ate flea killer and was one sick kid. I came home and checked all the cabinet locks to make sure they can’t get into them. What a nightmare for that mom! Had another sick kid with asthma. For an adult hospital we get toooo many kids. We usually ship them quickly to the Children’s Hospital.
Our church is having its “Sharebreation” for the church and neighboring houses for the 4th. Frank is working so I’ll go with the kids. The good thing about having two
kids and being alone - they don’t really expect you to cook or clean up as you’re looking after the little ones. Lazy, huh? I’ll take some pics for you tomorrow to get developed for the 15th.”
We got your bookmark today. I love it and so does Mackenzie. She hugged the blue bear bookmark and slobbered on it a little. I put it up on her dresser. Thank you so much. Sorry about the job being taken but the right one for you will come along.”
That night Tara ran into Jamie but didn’t say a word. Jamie looked like crap but was flirting with some old guy and had to be the center of attention.
Tara was irritated and went home.
Tara felt like she was on a dry drunk. Her friends couldn’t reach her emotionally. She was just full of anger and resentments at herself and at everyone.

July 6, 2001
Tara had another rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep plus Tara’s neighbors were making noise about something.
She wound up going into work an hour early just because she couldn’t sleep.
She got an email from James/Jake telling her his real name was James Hamilton but he sometimes used the pseudonym Jake Burns.
What, did he think he was James Bond or something?
She wrote back asking him why he used an alias and never heard back from him.
“Sounds like a load of crap to me. Leave it alone. I’ll see you soon,” the guy from Boston wrote Tara when she emailed him about it.
She got an email from her sex buddy who told her his ex was stalking him and driving him nuts. Tara told him she ran into her ex, Jamie, last night and said they should set them up, that they sounded perfect for each other.
“Yeah, they can beat each other up!” he wrote back.
Tara told him about James/Jake’s response about his two names.
“He’s not worth meeting if he can’t even give you his real name,” he said.
Tara insisted that any rules against dating handsome coworkers were clearly written by people who hadn’t gotten laid since Moses staggered down the mountain carrying a couple of scratched-up stones.
That afternoon her post adoption counselor called to check on her.
“I’m still mad at myself for not being able to be a mom,” Tara told her. “There’s three women at work who are having babies and they’re in their 20s. They’ve got the husband, the house, and the whole thing. It’s just not fair. Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“You know until you forgive yourself, you’ll stay stuck,” her counselor told her.
“I know.”
That night Tara tried yoga for the first time in some 15 years and liked it. She did before going to bed and it relaxed her. She could see getting used to this.

July 7, 2001
Tara stopped by Susan’s in the morning and they were baby-sitting their six-year-old nephews.
“We have to meet the next person you’re going to date beforehand,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“You don’t understand,” Susan chimed in. “Tara had sex recently. Tara’s a confessed sex addict and has been for years. She can’t just not have sex.”
“At least let it be with a woman next time,” her girlfriend suggested.
“Well, let’s see the last two women I was with were Jamie and Bonnie. So what does that tell you?” Tara said.
Susan’s girlfriend was familiar with both.
“Good point,” she said, sipping her coffee.
“Anyway, I’m not worried about it. It’s not like I’m out there trying to meet someone,” Tara said.
That night Tara went to a birthday party and saw some friends she hadn’t seen in awhile. Luckily Jamie wasn’t there. Only four people were celebrating. There were usually more.
Tara went home and watched an inspiring movie by herself; one that the critics didn’t like but a couple of her friends told her was really good.
She wound up liking it a lot and didn’t know why the critics didn’t care for it.
Her mom left her a message and told her there was no change with her grandma, that she’d been moved back to the nursing home and was terminal, that it was just a matter of time when “it” happened.

July 8, 2001
Tara’s mom called that morning and told her the same news about her grandma.
“Are you taking care of yourself?” Tara asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
Tara knew she was just saying that to appease her.
“Did you get the last pictures I sent of Mackenzie?” Tara asked.
“Yeah.”
Tara gave her an update on her progress and her mom just said, “That’s good” and nothing else.
It was clear she didn’t want to talk about her newest grandchild.
Tara stayed in all day because she didn’t have the gas to run around and it was so hot out. She wound up taking five naps from depression.
That’s why she didn’t like staying in all day, because that’s what she always wound up doing, despite her
best intentions to work on her place, give the dog a bath, clean; etc.
That night Tara dreamed her dad was after her again and she woke up rattled. She had been screaming in her sleep.
She hated that at 35 years old he could still get to her in her dreams if not in real life.

July 9, 2001
That day at work three women Tara worked with getting baby showers after work in the break room. They were all having girls and for two of them it’d be the first time they’d be moms. One of the women delivered last week so they were holding her gifts for her. The break room was filled with food, gifts, packages, and desserts. The table overflowed with gifts. It was like Christmas.
Tara told herself it didn’t bother her. She remembered the showers the residents at Gladney got consisting of journals, figurines, and bath products.
It was a nice gesture, Tara thought when she found out they held baby showers for the residents, although at the time before she found out what they gave, she didn’t understand how they could possibly have showers when
they didn’t have any use for baby gifts since the adoptive parents furnished those themselves.
Tara thought about the magical mobile that Mackenzie had over her crib, a bright, multi-colored spectrum of shapes and features that spun around on the ceiling. Mackenzie loved to gaze at it until she fell asleep. Tara saw this on the last video she received.
She was so grateful that she could see her so happy and peaceful.
She remembered her old boss and a former resident at Gladney telling her, “You’re so lucky. At least you get stuff and you know what’s going on.”
Tara tried not to bring good stuff up to the other birth moms she knew who she knew didn’t get any or not many pictures or videos, emails; etc. She didn’t want to make them feel bad. And she felt bad for them.
She told Veronica many times that Veronica was rare to furnish all of this for Tara.
Susan was surprised to hear that Tara was so privileged. She said she just assumed that all the birth moms got the same information.
Tara wasn’t going to be able to see her counselor again this week because of money and she hated that. She really needed to see her.
Tara hadn’t had romance in a long long time and told herself she didn’t miss it.
She got an email from the woman she’d been corresponding with via the Internet from the sex addict support group:
“Once again I agree with you 100 percent. I think anyone who’s not bi himself or herself can’t judge people who are. It might be related to the addiction and it might not but that’s really not for anyone else to judge. I still feel a little ashamed talking about it though for my own
reasons relating to family and religion (my family’s religion that is). But I’m practicing talking more about it with people in the program when I feel comfortable. There is one person I talk to a lot on the phone from the program and she is very accepting so I was able to tell her about a situation I had this weekend where I was intriguing with not one with two women. But then when I was emailing someone else from the group who doesn’t know that I am bi, I just kept referring to them as “people” being careful not to include gender. It’s funny because basically everyone I’ve ever told has been okay with it but I just always get nervous telling new people and I know that’s my own shame around it. I liked your analogy about it being like having to check off race…it reminds me of something I just read that was posted to the list about looking in between the black and white for the rainbow.”
Maybe Tara was just a “head in the sand Ostrich” and was in denial about so many things. She never asked boyfriends about their exes. She had been known to dump boyfriends via email and she didn’t apply to her top choice college just to avoid rejection.
Her method of dealing with difficulties was to hide and pretend they didn’t exist. She knew avoiding all conflict did nothing but make her problems worse. It was said that confronting her crisises would help her realize that not every tremor was a guaranteed earthquake.
That afternoon Tara took her dog to a new park, a really tiny one with brand new playground equipment. There was no one there, and as the two of them walked around, Tara thought about the playground where had Mackenzie’s Placement.
“I should’ve picked this one,” she thought. “It’s more private.”
Ironically an attorney Tara used to work with as a child advocate lived on the same street as this new park. She remembered when the attorney told her that the judge loved her after Tara testified in a termination of parental rights trial. It was easy back then for Tara to be so over-zealous and judge moms so harshly when she wasn’t a mom yet. She had testified in two court cases resulting in victories. Back then she got a natural high from it. Now she didn’t regret what she did but had a little more sympathy for them.
Susan called that night and said her daughter was giving her problems again. She could hear her arguing with her in the background and felt bad for her. Susan’s blood pressure had been up for three days and everyone was worried about her.
She told her they were going out of town that weekend and asked Tara to house/pet-sit again. Tara never minded even though Susan saw it as a favor to her. Susan didn’t know that it was a refuge for Tara, a second home.
That night Tara had dreamed she was having an affair with a married guy she knew and woke up at 2:30 a.m. In the dream she felt terribly guilty and wound up ending the affair.
Maybe Mackenzie didn’t really need to meet her one day after all, Tara thought, as she got herself together for work which she was running late for.

July 10, 2001
Tara found out on her lunch hour that she bounced a check and that her oil gasket in her car was leaking.
More bad karma, she thought.
The mechanic told her since his boss would charge so much for her to get it repaired, he could just come to her house and do it for $50.00.
She was immediately suspicious as he gave her his business card and told her to call him when she got paid in a couple of days.
“I wonder what he wants in return,” she thought as she drove away, trying to block the image of having sex with him out of her mind.

She needed a drink.
A song came on the radio that reminded her of her drinking days just before she got sober the first time around.
She felt like most of the time what kept her from drinking was the fact that she really was on medication and was afraid she’d have a stroke or something if she mixed it with alcohol. She’d rather be dead than have a stroke and be rendered totally useless. So now the brief thought of drinking with the Boston guy and how “fun and relaxing” it would be lost its attraction.
She could see herself now being relaxed right into a coma if she mixed pills and booze.
She hated that she was dependent on anti-depressants, which prevented her from taking chances like she wanted to.
She couldn’t get grateful enough to see that it was saving her life.
She stopped by the bookstore on the way back to work from her lunch hour to see if one of her favorite magazines was in yet but it wasn’t.
The sound of a bunch of little girls’ laughter echoed as she left the store.
She wondered if she would ever get through a day when that sound or the sight of a little girl didn’t jerk at her numb heart or threaten to stir up tears. She told herself she’d moved beyond it but she knew better. It was now just like a sore with scab.
It had hardened in time but it was still there, just waiting to be scratched or poked.
She really needed to see her counselor but money wouldn’t allow it.
As she passed the books displayed in the bookstore windows, she wistfully imagined one was hers, as she had done all her life.
She felt nauseous as she made her way back to the office.
She applied for a public relations job with a local playhouse. She really wanted it but doubted she would get it. She thought about how cool it’d be to do p.r. for a theater. But they hadn’t called after she faxed her resume and clippings.
If her dad had never laid a hand on her, had never fondled her while he critiqued her stories and made her feel like what she wrote wasn’t good enough with his body while he said the opposite with his mouth - she wondered how far she could have gone with her writing career.
He had left a handprint as big as a giant monster’s on her soul and chained her heart up in heavy, thick chains with many locks that had no keys.
Her ex-husband, Mark, was the only one who had found a way to unlock them.
She didn’t believe there would be another Mark.
When Tara got home all she wanted to do was take a nap but her a/c window unit broke and she had to call her landlord. She and her landlord spent the new few hours hauling an old a/c unit from the house next door to
her place and installing it in her bedroom window. Her landlord’s helper was out of town and wouldn’t be back for over a week.
While she was helping her landlord, a friend of Tara’s called from treatment and asked if she could stop what she was doing and bring her some smokes. Even after Tara told her what was going on, she still expected her to drop everything.
Drenched with sweat, Tara told her to call her the next day and she’d see what she could do.
That afternoon she’d heard her favorite deejay talk about how he was fed up with women and just wanted to be alone, that he was happier alone, that all he needed was the Internet and his dog.
Tara related to that that day as she listened with her usual heightened interest. The deejay’s sidekicks said everyone was concerned about him because of his isolation and never wanting to get out and do things like he used to.
“Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older,” he said. “That’s why I don’t put up with women a lot of the time. I tell them ‘I don’t need you.’”
The radio station was scheduled to have a T-shirt and prize giveaway in a couple of days and Tara was thinking of dropping by since it would be a local event. The only reason she even thought of dropping by is because she knew her favorite deejay wouldn’t be there. She would be too shy to meet him until she got in better shape. If she saw he was there, she’d just drive away.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her step dad was beating her and some other women and she kept threatening to take his belt away. But every time she tried he struck her again and again.
In reality her step dad whipped her once with a belt when she was a teenager while her mom watched, a truly humiliating experience.
In the same dream Tara was sobbing loudly, gut wrenching cries for Mackenzie, feeling the loss right down to her bones. She wanted to drink but was afraid to mix her anti-depressant with alcohol. In the dream she asked a pharmacist what would happen if she did it, but she woke up before she got an answer.
Oh God, she thought in the dream, “I’ve done what my mom did to me. She gave me up. I’ve done the same thing.”
Everyone told her in reality, “No, you gave Mackenzie a home. Your mom bounced you all over the place from foster home to institution. It’s not the same.”
Tara understood all that intellectually but emotionally she hadn’t gotten it from her head to her heart.
It was seeing the recent pictures from Veronica of Mackenzie sitting in the courtroom with her new parents that struck a chord with Tara. It reminded her of when her parents gave her up, only she wasn’t in the courtroom but in a waiting room and had no idea what was happening.

July 11, 2001
That morning Tara was in the midst of her office duties when the thought of drinking occurred to her again. In her mind’s eye she could see the numerous bottles lined up in the grocery store she frequented, she could picture herself downing bottle after bottle.
“Please God, save me,” she thought to herself. “I don’t want to start over.”
She knew what she had to do. She knew she had to work just as hard at staying sober as she did at drinking. That’s what everyone always said.
She was going to have to work damn hard.
She knew that all the booze in the world wasn’t going to change the fact that she didn’t have Mackenzie.
She knew she had to pray that morning as she had every morning and night or there was no hope for her. She had to pray to this invisible God, a God she only recently believed in even after years in recovery.
“I wonder if you can mix alcohol with antidepressants and get away with it?” she thought again.
She remembered the image of her friend who had relapsed recently and how he looked. He was on antidepressants and though he hadn’t had a stroke, he was a mess. But then he’d been doing drugs and drinking for years off an on and he’d built up quite an immunity. Besides he used to be a paramedic so he knew just the right formula to take without stroking out. Tara, however, knew nothing of this and she knew she shouldn’t play around with it.
She could picture herself having suffered a stroke, one side of her face drawn down, a completely hopeless mess.
At work there was a screaming baby in the background, a patient’s child who was waiting with her.
“Just what I need, a screaming baby,” Tara’s co-worker said.
“Yeah, really,” Tara said.
“God knew what he was doing. He knew I couldn’t handle it that’s why I don’t have any kids,” her co-worker said.
“Yeah,” Tara said. “I know what you mean.”
Her co-worker knew about Mackenzie but never questioned her about it.
In the background she heard one of the doctors question one of the pregnant women in the office who was due August 14th.
“Are you ready?” he was asking.
“Oh yes,” she said.
She looked great compared to how Tara looked at this time last year and she was due around the same time.
“Well, Dr. Gregson and I are ready for you if it happens here,” the doctor joked. “I delivered my son, you know.”
“Is that the one with the deformed arm?” Dr. Gregson joked and everyone laughed.
On her lunch hour Tara went back by the gas station and gave the mechanic her number to work on her car for a cheaper rate at her house after hours. He said he’d call her that night.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” she told herself.
She hadn’t been in this emotional place in a long time and she didn’t like it.
He added a half-quart of oil and said, “Gracias” and she drove off.
Later the woman who Tara corresponded with over the Internet who was also battling a sex addiction, wrote her after Tara told her about sleeping with her sex buddy again that week:
“I know it must feel awful to have a slip,” she said. “I have never been through withdrawal but I still know when I’m acting out and feel awful afterwards. I don’t know if you do this but I have a tendency to beat myself up and it doesn’t work. It just makes me feel bad about myself and then want to act out again. The only thing, which has worked for me when I have a slip or act out, is to forgive myself and keep going. And that can be applied to any kind of slip; it doesn’t have to just do with sex. It sounds like your addiction is really getting the best of you and I can totally relate. I have not been able to stop seeing my doctor and had a date with another guy and was intriguing with a couple of women last weekend.
I am in a lot of pain about all this. I feel torn between wanting to do recovery and the other - wanting to do my addiction. I still say for you that it’s great that you managed to stay sober for four months. I went to a meeting last week and the speaker was saying something like if you run 20 miles then stop and still have 20 more miles to go it doesn’t mean you still didn’t run those first 20 miles. I’m not saying it exactly right but you get the point. Hope maybe that helps a little.”
Tara wrote her back:
“Thank you for your on-going compassion,” Tara said. “It really comforts me. It seems you don’t see a lot of it these days. You know how judgmental people can be.”
“Yes, I do know how judgmental people can be, even in program sometimes,” the woman wrote back. “That’s why I try not to be that way. I know how tough it is. I’m struggling myself very much. I’m already way too hard on myself and judgmental so I don’t need anyone else that is! That’s not going to help us anyway. I think the key is having compassion for ourselves, something I have not mastered yet. I’ve been really down about my recovery. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t even bother being in program since I can’t seem to make a commitment to
withdrawal and to stop acting out. It’s really a struggle. As I’m sure you know! Well, at least we have each other in program and know we’re not alone. I’m here any time you need to “talk.”
Later Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I got the recent pictures developed and they’re wonderful!” she wrote. “Can wait for you to see them. I reminded Frank yesterday about his letter. It always takes him a few days to get it done and decide what he wants to say. We’re starting to teach Mackenzie to put up one finger, as she will be one year old. Unfortunately she holds up her middle finger. Kinda cute, but….some people might be offended. Haven’t weighed her lately but her clothes are getting tight so I know she’s gaining. No real change in her appetite but we’re hanging in there.
We went to a water park Sunday with Frank’s work and the kids had a blast. Mackenzie thought she was a big girl as we took her baby inner tube and she can kick her legs and get around in it. She’s sitting on her knees and jumping. Won’t be too long before she starts taking steps.”
On the radio some guy was being interviewed about a web site he created in which he was offering $10,000 to whoever could find him a wife. He lived in Missouri and had gotten offers as far away as New Zealand. He was very strict about height and weight requirements and she had to be a non-smoker and “his best friend.”
The deejay was ragging him about the best friend part, telling him that the wife always had a better best friend and the husband usually wasn’t it but the guy didn’t buy it. The guy said he’d been engaged twice before but backed out - once because of pressure another time because his fiancée had a drinking problem.
People called in criticizing the guy but he didn’t back down. He said he was on the up and up and what he was doing was no different than going into a bar looking for someone, just offering money to the person who helped, that’s all. He even offered $200 for the person who found a girl he wound up asking out even if he didn’t propose.
Tara slept fitfully, tossing and turning, thinking about Mackenzie, men, that deejay she had a crush on, and her money problems.
She went to the store to pick up some things. That male cashier smiled at her as always. She could never figure out if he was flirting with her or not.
Sometimes he was so nice and other time he could be downright rude. He would always tease her when she came in there once or twice a night with insomnia or allergies buying allergy pills or something.
“No sniffling and sneezing in this store,” he’d tease and smile at her.

July 12, 2001
Her favorite radio station was giving away stuff in her neighborhood. Tara stopped in at the electronics store where the display was set up and one of the female deejays was getting her picture taken with various guys.
Tara walked right past the table of goods and went back to her car, losing her nerve.
She’d already told herself if that deejay she had a crush on was there, she wouldn’t stop. She didn’t think he would be since he was on the air in a couple of hours and wouldn’t have time to make it back to Dallas.
The female deejay was one that Tara’s favorite deejay had the hots for but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She thought he was a loser, ironically. The female
deejays were 23 years old, blonde, gorgeous, great body, the whole thing.
“You look like you’ve lost weight,” one of Tara’s co-workers told her that day.
That was the third person she knew who had said that recently. At first she thought they were just being nice but now she wondered if maybe it were true although she still looked flabby and felt huge.
She still had a big belly from the baby and figured she always would.
The Boston guy emailed her and told her that his little girl flirted with men, too, and that all little girls like to do that. Tara thought she just had a charming child, which she did anyway.
never did before.
She got an email from the woman who was also struggling with her sex addiction:
“Thank you for your words of encouragement,” she wrote. “I was starting to feel really bad about my recovery. I went to therapy today and told her that I feel as though I am not really in recovery because I’m still acting out and she said that’s not true. She said the only requirement for being in recovery is the DESIRE to stop acting out which I have. As I’m sure you do or you wouldn’t be in this program. I just feel very conflicted this week because I have made plans to spend the day with that doctor on Friday. I am torn because on the one hand I’ve been feeling a lot of rage towards him because he’s not there for me. On the other hand I still want to be taken care of by him and I don’t want to give him up. Anyway, that’s where I’m at today. Thanks for being there.”
Tara didn’t sleep well that night and woke up every two hours. She felt like she was coming down with something. Her lymph nodes were swollen and she felt lightheaded. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick.
Tara didn’t think her sex life was nearly as exciting as other people’s. Sometimes she was aware of what felt like a purely physical urge to have sex. She was immediately drawn to people who looked a certain way. She believed in many cases it was very possible that having been sexually coerced or traumatized earlier in life had influence on a person’s later enjoyment of sex.
That night she had another nightmare about her ex-girlfriend. This time she had totally manipulated a therapist into believing everything she said and Tara was furious. She woke up in a seat with chills. It always took her awhile to get over a nightmare about her.

July 13, 2001
It was Friday the 13th.
Tara often joked that that was her lucky day and the rest were unlucky, the way her luck ran.
She got a blind email from her favorite deejay’s station telling all his fans about a movie he was filming. They were asking for extras, actors, gophers, caterers, hair stylists, and makeup artists. Those interested were told to email the station.
Before the sent the emailed reply, she hesitated.
Should she do it?
An inner voice told her no and she remembered how the guy from Boston, who used to be in radio once told her, “You’re going to get hurt. Remember, all they care about is the show.”
But she ignored her inner voice and sent her reply anyway and she quickly got a reply back that the producer would be in touch.
What was she thinking?
Just last night she was looking at her body in the mirror and cringing, yearning for the days when she was skinny.
Her arms were flabby and she needed to be doing more upper body workouts. Her breasts, once great looking, looked saggy to her now. Her stomach, although flatter than it was, was flabby. She turned around and looked at the bag of her legs in disgust. There were varicose veins she didn’t see before. A long one ran from the top of her thigh halfway down her leg.
“Oh man, when did that happen?” she asked aloud.
She turned back to the front now and did what she always did with her stomach, pulled it up with her hands, imagining it flat. She always said she’d never get liposuction or anything like that if she were rich but now she thought differently. She’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Oh, even if I did it, I’d still be big,” she said to herself now.
She pulled the skin back on her legs, imagining them toned and in great shape.
Then she looked at her hips, forlornly.
She always had childbearing hips. She hated that.
Now she looked like her mom.
Taking a peek at her but, she grimaced. It was all flabby and it looked like her mom’s too.
She really thought she was getting in shape but this discovery killed that notion.
She sighed.
“I used to be so skinny. What happened?” She asked herself, knowing it was those steroids the doctor put her on a long time ago that made her gain all that weight.
An ER doctor recently tried to put her back on them after a visit to the Emergency Room but she wouldn’t fill the script.
No way was she going back on those.
They didn’t tell her that it’d be so hard to get the weight off.

The night before Susan’s girlfriend told Tara she had an extra pass to Wet n’ Wild and did she want to go.
Tara told her not till she loses more weight.
“You wouldn’t go by yourself?” Susan’s girlfriend asked.
“No, not till I drop some more weight,” Tara said.
Maybe the grief or guilt was making her sick. Or maybe she was just getting a summer cold like her friend said.
House/pet sitting for Susan that weekend reminded Tara of last summer when she did it three times and she was pregnant.
She couldn’t help but go there in her mind with Mackenzie’s first birthday coming up in a month.

July 14, 2001
Tara talked with a male friend as usual about her screwed up mental state and sex addiction.
“So, you think it’s an addiction?” he asked.
“Definitely,” she said. “I know it is.”
She’d told him this a million times before.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Because I’ve read articles and talked to people online who have the same problem,” she said.
Then they talked about whether he was one, which she believed he was but this was the first time she’d told him so.
“I don’t know that I’m addicted, necessarily,” he rationalized. “I mean I don’t crave it.”
“Well, you have to look at different things,” she explained. “Does it destroy your life? Have you ever had
bad consequences? Would you do anything for it; forget food and all your other needs?”
“Well, no,” he said.
“See for me the answer is yes to all of it,” she said. “And I crave sex.”
“So, you just make up your mind that you’re not going to do it,” he tried to persuade her. “You just throw yourself into getting in shape, for instance. Then you’ll feel better about yourself and you won’t do it. You’ll attract a better
quality of people once you’re back in shape. I like to think that I’m a cut above other people you’ve attracted.”
He didn’t understand.
They went to dinner and he commented on the cute waitress.
They talked about their sexual escapades through the years with different people and how they were both turning into their parents, saying the things they said.
“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said. “I say things that both my parents said.”
He told her how his mom died seven years before of an aneurysm. She went to sleep and never woke up. He remembered rushing to the hospital trying to talk to her before it was too late but he missed her.
He told her about his dad’s new girlfriend he’d been seeing for two years who he didn’t care for. He told her about his plans to go out of town with his wife soon to celebrate eleven years of marriage.
“I’m getting tired of traveling so much for work but I’m looking forward to that,” he said.
They talked about Mackenzie, guys, work; Tara’s writing projects, day job, and her obsession with that deejay.
They talked about her obsession with the deejay some more and she filled him in on the latest happenings.
“You’re a groupie, Tara,” he said, referring to radio groupies. “You need to get over this thing. You’re in love with a persona. You don’t know the real him.”
“He told some caller recently that she’d probably be pretty bored with him off the air,” Tara said.
“That’s probably true,” he said. “It’s a show that’s all.”
He’d been a radio producer for a station in New Mexico when he was 20 and had girls waiting for him outside the studio after the show all the time. He loved it and couldn’t get enough of it. He even had his own fan club.
“Personally anyone who was a member of my fan club I wouldn’t want anything to do with,” he said. “Anyone who
has time to be a member of my fan club has way too much time on their hands.”
He advised her to continue losing weight, and then just make a casual remark to the deejay once in the studio audience that she enjoyed the show.
“But, that’s all you say,” he advised. “Don’t swoon or make it obvious you like him. If you approach him for his persona he’s going to reject you.”
“But how do you do that? I can’t help but do that,” she said.
“You approach him as a person,” he explained. “He doesn’t care if you loved the show. He’s not doing it for you. Just say, ‘Heard the show. Thanks a lot.’ That way he knows you know who he is and leave it at that.”
She told him about the dream she’d had the night before in which she met the deejay and he rejected her.
“I’m going to withdraw from trying to be in that movie (he’s making) since I had that dream,” she said. “I’m just going to get hurt.
Something the Boston guy had been telling her for months.
He told her how he met a celebrity once and discussed politics with him and not his career and how the guy appreciated it.
“I didn’t know he was into politics,” Tara said.
“You wouldn’t because no one ever asks him about it,” he said. “We hung out in his RV and discussed all that and his religion. He’s a Christian.”
“I never would’ve guessed that,” she said.
“That’s because no one ever talks to him about anything except his career,” he said. “That’s the way it is with this deejay. You don’t know him. You don’t know his likes, dislikes; etc. You don’t know what he’s really like.”
They slept for a while and planned to go out later to a couple of clubs. Instead he was so tired they just wound up walking around downtown, checking out the sites and sounds. They stopped off at a bookstore and he watched a guy flirt excessively with a girl while balancing books on his head, trying to impress her.
“Wait, I want to check this out,” he said, stopping in the middle of the store.
They went upstairs and Tara leafed through a local newspaper to find swingers clubs for the Boston guy at his urging. She found some and they made some calls
but he said he was tired so as usual they didn’t pursue it.
Despite what Tara knew, the Boston guy would never admit he was as addicted to sex as she was and that he’d almost lost his family recently because of it. Just because he hadn’t lost what she had, he didn’t consider himself addicted. She would never tell him he was because she knew he would just deny it.
It didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t need to convince him he was addicted. A year ago he’d pretty much admitted it in his roundabout sheepish way of admitting things, something he never did much of anyway. About the closest he came to admitting it was to say he was screwed up and realized it. But he was financially and professionally successful, a smooth talker had everything you could possibly want in life, and had a loving family. He had created his own inner world that bowed to his demands and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He made comments on some hot women as always and before long they parted for the night.
“You know you keep saying how lucky I am (to have someone),” he said before they said their good-byes. “I’m really – “
“You are very lucky,” Tara said, forlornly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be out there and single and know you’ll be alone the rest of your life.”
“You can’t look at it that way,” he insisted. “Don’t be like that.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” Tara said, sullenly. “You have someone.”
“Come on, don’t get all depressed,” he said, something he always wound up saying to her at the end of the night.
“I’m not depressed,” she said. “This is me.”
He attempted to hug her or have another goodbye but she was already in her car, turning the key.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to sleep late.”
She didn’t even bother getting his number or hotel room number as usual.
She just didn’t care any more.
She got lost on the way home because she was so upset and distracted. She picked up her dog and went
back to her house/pet-sitting job. She’d been thinking about going back there all night and couldn’t wait to just get her dog and go home.
She picked her dog up; stopped by the store where the usual checkout guy smiled at her as always and told her he was going away for a few days to the beach.
“Oh, I love the beach,” Tara said truthfully. “My sister lives on the beach.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s good to get away and dig your toes in the sand,” he said and handed her bag to her.

She and the Boston guy had talked earlier about how men sending flowers for instance was an example of saying, ‘You’re safe.’”
“So why don’t men and women just dispose of all that phoniness and cut to the chase, say ‘Look we both want sex so let’s just get to it’?” she asked the Boston guy.
“Because women want that display, those flowers; etc,” he said. “It’s almost like some women want permission to be bad so giving them flowers says they have permission.”
“I can see that,” she said.
They got on the subject of Mark, her ex-husband, something they’d talked about before.
“So what were the problems you all had?” he asked.
“Well, I left him because I wanted to experiment with women but we had other problems, too,” she said.
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No, I hit him six times and cheated on him six times and he knew about it,” she said.
“If you hit me, I’d hit you back,” he said, emphatically.
“He would never hit me. He would always hit the wall to keep from hitting me,” Tara said. “And he even knew I cheated on him when we were engaged. Three months
before we got married he kicked me out of the house for hitting him. He said ‘This is the last time you’ll hit me.’”
When we were in couples’ counseling the counselor said I was like the guy in the relationship and he was like the wife. I did what I wanted to do and I thought like a guy.”
Later Tara never did call her landlord back that day after she left a nasty message on her machine, wanting to meet with her neighbor and her about her neighbor’s pets and other problems and how she’d been getting misinformation from her neighbor about Tara.
Tara couldn’t handle meeting with them. She’d already warned her neighbor she should leave for the rest of the day because the landlord wanted to talk with them both at the same time.
“I don’t care if she evicts me,” her neighbor told her earlier that day. “I told her she could if she wants.”
Once again Tara offered to take the stray dog to the Humane Society since his foster home wasn’t going to take him and they were looking for someone else. But again her neighbor refused.
Tara felt bad for the dog but he’d attacked her dog six times and needed to be in a home where he was the only dog.
That night before going to bed Tara started to email Chelsea, who was a therapist about getting into an in-patient facility for sex addiction.
But then the thought of leaving her pets deterred her.
She remembered earlier that night the Boston guy had asked her like he always did if she thought placing Mackenzie for adoption was the right thing. He was adopted and was an only child but he had never had a desire to find his birth mom. She was like Tara, struggling financially.
“I know I did the right thing,” Tara said emphatically. “I’m lucky because I get emails, letters, cards, videos. I know everything she’s done, every milestone.”
“Really? And they’re okay with that?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve filled up a whole photo album and have to buy another one.”
She showed him the most recent pictures and he oohed and ahhed. He looked at the group shot of the whole family last.
“They seem like nice people,” he said.
“They are,” she said.

July 15, 2001
Today Mackenzie was eleven months old. For once it wasn’t a bad milestone birthday for Tara as it usually was. Normally she’d mope around and be sad about it all day but today was different. Or maybe she was just too sick with her asthma to feel it.
Tara had a nightmare the night before that she and her dad were in a fistfight and woke up, shaken. It always took her awhile to calm down whenever she dreamed about him, something she’d been doing a lot of lately.

July 16, 2001
Tara was sick all day but went to work anyway.
The night before she’d had another dream about her dad and woke up in a cold sweat. In the dream he was suffocating her. When she was 15 he had tried to strangle her. In the dream a huge spider bit her, one of her worst fears, and her leg ached all over. A therapist once told her that if many incest survivors fear spiders and when they dream about them the spider symbolizes the abuser.
Tara did have a huge fear of spiders, even little ones, and had had nightmares about them for years along with the ones about her dad.
That night Tara finally got to see her therapist after not being able to see her for weeks because of money. They almost didn’t let her see her again that day.
“I can’t remember the last time you were in,” her counselor said to her as she came in her office.
“I know, me neither,” Tara said and filled her in on her fall back into her sex addiction.
“What do you think started it back up?” her counselor asked her as she always did.
“I don’t know. I guess when James answered my personal ad,” she said.
Tara told her counselor that she hadn’t been able to cry in weeks and that she wouldn’t or couldn’t let herself.
She was finally able to cry about the adoption but only after getting mad about it.
“I just can’t get past the fact that I’m not there for her (Mackenzie),” Tara cried. “I know it’s not the same as my mom abandoning me but I can’t get past it.”
Tara told her about the women in the office who were all expecting babies and had husbands and homes.
“It’s so unfair,” Tara said. “I know life is unfair but it’s how I feel. I can’t help it. Why couldn’t I have that kind of life? Why did mine have to be so fucked up?”
“I know, it’s not fair,” her counselor agreed.
“Everyone says ‘Forgive yourself’ but they don’t tell you how,” Tara said. “I’m supposed to just go on and pretend like I never had a baby. Like I don’t have a child. I lost a child. I know I get pictures and everything but I’m
not there. I’m not there with her like my mom wasn’t there with me.”
She used up the rest of the Kleenex box and her counselor motioned where another box was.
“You say you’re mad but there are tears,” her counselor said.
“I always get mad first before I cry, if I cry,” Tara explained. “I’m afraid Mackenzie’s going to meet me one day and be ashamed or embarrassed. Part of me feels like she never needs to meet me. That I’m not worth knowing.”
After counseling Tara went home and rested and felt better. She always felt better after she cried but still couldn’t make herself do it. It took her a long time to fall asleep and she woke up later and listened to one of her favorite radio shows and took a shower then went back to bed.
She didn’t have nightmares that night that she remembered anyway, and she always remembered them.

July 17, 2001
Tara dragged herself to work sick although she was medicated on antibiotics. She couldn’t afford to stay out of work.
She got an email from Veronica:
“I got your pics and letters mailed early today so it usually only takes one to three days to arrive at Gladney,” she wrote. “I can’t wait for you to see the pics - she is beautiful - just like you!! She’s 17 pounds, two ounces. I weighed her at Weight Watchers Saturday. Yes, I joined. I am miserable this fat and I’ve lost three pounds. Only 30 to go. Yipes. Anyway, they thought it was cute that I wanted to weigh her.
She’s pulling up and has stood a few times and is so proud of herself. Then she plops down onto her bottom. Sometimes it makes her cry, others not. Please email me after you see the wonderful pics of Mackenzie.”
Then Tara got an email from the woman she talked to in New York on line all the time about being in recovery from sex addiction:
“I ended up seeing that doctor/boss Friday and we spent the day together in a hotel,” the woman wrote. “Yesterday I hung out with this girl who I’ve sort of been
intriguing (playing with) but so far we’re just ‘friends.’ I’m still feeling weird about being in the program and acting out and my recovery. I keep talking about it with my therapist though which helps. And I have one pretty good friend I made in the program, which is cool. I’ve been having really bad insomnia again though off and on ever since my doctor came back from vacation a few weeks ago. I really hope you can find a way to stay in therapy. God knows I’d be lost without it!”
Tara could picture Mackenzie walking now and always had mixed feelings about updates. For the most part they made her happy but they were also laced with sadness at what she was missing. Still she didn’t regret getting the updates. She knew they were hard for Chelsea.
People didn’t understand why Tara sent Mackenzie gifts or why she wanted to set aside some money for her.
“She’s got everything she needs,” they’d say.
She did it because she was her mom, because she loved her. It wasn’t about her having plenty of toys or books. It was about her being her mother.
They just didn’t get it.
That afternoon after listening to her favorite deejay supposedly confess to losing his virginity to “a fat chick” (something he detested), Tara got motivated to go race walking again with her dog even though she was sick as a dog. She was going to exercise indoors since she was on medication but decided to go out anyway.
That night she ran into an old foe that snubbed her along with her so-called friends.
Her neighbor called later that night and asked her if she knew anyone 45 years old or younger who’d be interested in dating an old friend of hers who just got out of prison.
No one came to mind.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her mom and some strangers kidnapped her and some cousins and killed two of her cousins. Tara got away as she usually did in her dreams, and woke up relieved.


July 18, 2001
One of her favorite deejays was telling a female caller that all guys were about sex.
Tara kept cleaning the house to keep from going to bed where she knew the inevitable nightmares would follow. Before she went to bed she felt the sudden urge to look through Mackenzie’s photo album. She didn’t know why. It just overcame her so she gave in to it. It didn’t depress her but comforted her and she didn’t know why she needed to do it at that very moment. She hoped nothing was wrong with Mackenzie and she was feeling it or something weird like that.
She remembered a birth mom telling her who had placed several years ago that when something was really wrong she would feel it. She told her about the time something was wrong with her daughter’s AP dad and how she sensed something was wrong at the time but thought it was her daughter in danger. Later she found out that the AP dad had had a heart attack and that since her daughter was close to her AP dad, she was extremely upset.
That night Tara had another nightmare that someone was after her. When she woke up she was relieved to find her cat and dog laying on each side of her as they often were these days. They seemed to know when she needed them.
Her landlord wasn’t an animal person and was always accidentally letting them out when she would come over to do repairs while Tara was at work. Tara took off an hour early one-day because her landlord told her she had shut the pets up in the house where no air was circulating. It was 100 degrees outside so Tara rushed home to find them hanging out in the house, not confined and doing well.
July 19, 2001
Tara was in a bad mood most of the day at work and didn’t know why.
A co-worker on maternity leave had presents and cake waiting on her in the break room since she wasn’t able to attend the recent baby shower held for her and two other co-workers also expecting.
One of the co-workers had had her little girl the day before and she weighed the same as Mackenzie when she was born and also had her length.
Later another co-worker on maternity leave brought her newborn little girl to the office to see everyone. Tara stayed at her desk. She was already sad but didn’t know it and hearing everyone fuss over the little girl made her sadder.
The co-worker’s three-year-old daughter liked to “help” her mom diaper and take care of her new little sister and thought the baby was her own baby. Just like Ben did with Mackenzie.
There was one co-worker left who was due the day after Mackenzie’s birthday.
“The pressure’s on,” everyone joked to her.
Just like people joked with Tara when it was down to the count for her.
Tara had emailed the Post Adoption Department that day asking them to let her know when her packet of pictures and letters arrived so she could pick it up. They wrote her back that it was mailed to her yesterday.
She anxiously awaited them every other month and yet she knew this month would be the last packet she’d get till February.
The agreement was for her to get a packet every other month till Mackenzie was a year old, then every six months after the first year. Other birth moms had told her it was hard.
On the one hand, although it was silly, she wanted to prolong picking up the packet to stretch out the time. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to get the packet.
She always pored over and over the pictures, scanned, them, copied them, mailed copies to family and friends, put them on the refrigerator door, framed them, showed them off, carried them around with her, then finally put them with the others. It was an obsessive thing but also something of pride.
She was proud of her daughter and wanted to make her proud of her, the latter of which was a constant battle.
Just earlier that day she’d wanted to drink and could taste it. She just wanted to escape from all the anger.
She couldn’t wait to get home now to see if the packet was sitting in the mailbox.
As expected she spotted the brown envelope sticking out of her mailbox as she parked her car. For some reason once she got it in the house she didn’t rip into it as usual, but took care of a couple of things first.
The pictures were great as were the letters as always. Veronica included a copy of “Bright Futures,” the Gladney newsletter in the packet at her request.
Mackenzie was so animated and looked so happy in the pictures as usual.
“As you can see from the pictures, Mackenzie is thriving and as always beautiful,” Veronica wrote. “I honestly look forward to waking up each morning so I can snuggle with her.
She is crawling everywhere and the dogs are in fear for their life! The expression on her face is total glee as she chases them. She is pulling up on the furniture in an
attempt to stand. As always she continues to be very vocal and Ben is still trying to make her say his name.
Her weight is around 17 pounds and she continues to have feeding problems. Perhaps she’ll just be petite. Other than the feeding problems, she’s right on target developmentally. She loves to “read” books and play with her “kitchen.” Of course she’s just as happy playing with a piece of paper or box. She loves the small cereal boxes - guess they’re just the right size for her hands.
We spend a lot of time outside - mainly early morning and late afternoons. She continues to love the baby inner tube in the Jacuzzi and will “jump” in her exersaucer while Ben is playing in the backyard or watering his garden.
Wherever we go she seems to attract people. They always comment on how beautiful she is. Yes - she still looks like her wonderful birth mom.
The fall holds a trip to the balloon festival in New Mexico. I can’t wait to see the expression on her face when she sees 800 balloons in the air.
As a family we’ve been to the zoo and water park and both kids seem to love being with Frank and I. Wish we were millionaires and never had to work!
As always we speak about you and wonder how you’re doing. Our family and friends are always asking about you. You are a part of our family!
Thank you so much for the ultimate gift of life you gave to Mackenzie. We love you and hope the next year is a little easier, although I know you have good and bad days.”
Frank’s letter followed:
“It’s hard to believe it has been almost a year since you gave us the gift of Mackenzie,” he wrote. “Again I thank you for your unselfish decision. She is crawling everywhere and into everything within her tiny grasp. I hope and pray things are good with you. I’ve been working a ton of hours at work since there’s such a nursing shortage currently. I think Veronica thinks she’s a single parent again. I sure do like the extra money though as it has come into great use.
I’m looking forward to getting away on our trip to New Mexico in October. Mackenzie has a little summer cold right now but besides the constantly runny nose she’s doing awesome. We still are feeding her formula every four hours and are planning after she gets to the big one year of age to switch her to Pediasure. She doesn’t eat
any solid food yet. She just chokes or gags whenever we put anything in her mouth. But she sure has the teeth to handle the solid food and I’m sure in time she’ll begin to eat. Other than our constant worrying about when she eats she is the perfect little angel.
She will crawl room to room just to find me or Veronica. She has started pulling herself up to a standing position but doesn’t quite have the balance to maintain that position for very long, but she will get there. She is the most beautiful, sweetest, most loving child any parent could ever have. Thank you so much, Tara!”
Tara’s favorite deejay was flirting with some hot girl in the studio who was auditioning for his movie to be filmed over the next two months. It was a Halloween movie scheduled to be released in time for the holiday and many hot women had come in to read for the part. This girl was 21, blonde, 5 feet, 10 inches and gorgeous, according to the deejay who invited her over to his house.
One of the deejays asked the girl how old her breasts were since they were fake and she told him they were a year and a half old. All the guys in the studio were going gaga.
Tara missed being 21; of course, she was only cute then, but not beautiful.
A couple stopped by Tara’s apartment after her landlord called to tell her they were going to get her a/c unit from her bedroom window since it was extra for her and their a/c had gone out. The girl called when they were close by and Tara gave them directions. On the phone the girl sounded like a dog but in person she was hot. Her boyfriend who was with her was okay.
The woman had a three-year-old daughter and said she’d suffered cracked ribs over the 4th of July from trying to save her from drowning in the pool.
They were in and out of there in no time, their unit in tow. Tara was disappointed in having to give up her extra unit but she couldn’t begrudge them a/c, especially in Texas and with a child.
The landlord had supposedly told the woman to just sleep on the couch where the ceiling fan was for a few days till she could get her some air but the woman told her not with a little girl.
As the night grew later and after a trip to the store, Tara grew depressed and she didn’t know why. She was
usually really happy on the days she got pictures and letters but for some reason this time she was unhappy.
She didn’t exercise that night like she normally did, but escaped to bed like she often liked to do with her dog. She lay there, tossing and turning then Susan called.
“What’s going on with you?” Susan asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just lying down,” Tara said.
“Whatsa matter?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara said, remembering the last conversation they had about Mackenzie and how Susan urged her to get past her grief.
“What is it?” Susan pressed.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara repeated.
“Did you get involved with some guy? Some girl?”
“No,” Tara lied, thinking about her latest quests. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Well, what is it? Did someone make you mad?”
“No,” Tara said. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t really been there for you. I’ve just been so busy,” Susan explained.
“I know. That’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that,” Tara said, truthfully.
“Well, we’ve gotta get together tomorrow night at least,” Susan said.
“You’ve got your nephew,” Tara said.
“Yeah, but we’ve got to get together,” Susan said.
“Don’t worry, we will,” Tara said, wanting to hang up right away.
“So, you’re not going to tell me?”
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on, pal,” Susan urged. “You’ve never said you didn’t want to talk about it. It worries me.”
“Don’t worry,” Tara tried to assure her.
“You always get mad and say ‘goddammit’ or something. You never not want to talk about something. It makes me feel like I should come over there.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t feel good,” Tara said which wasn’t a complete lie.
“You want to come over?”
“No.”
“You want me to come over?”
“No.”
“All right,” Susan said, forlornly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said.
“All right.”
They hung up.
Tara knew she was mad but didn’t have the energy to get into it with her. She could’ve told her she was depressed about money, which was often true. She could’ve made something else sound worse than it was.
But she couldn’t tell her that she was incredibly sad about Mackenzie still.
Tara put a couple of the new pics on the fridge door along with some others. In one picture Mackenzie was holding out her arms as if to give her a big hug which should’ve made Tara smile.
Instead it made her really depressed.
Tara wondered if given a different set of parents if she would’ve been so animated, too. It was as if she could look at that picture and see her inner spirit that had been killed a long time ago though she always swore
she still had it. Occasionally it would make a brief appearance but society usually didn’t like it on a 35-year-old because it came across as immature and emotionally unstable.
It looked much better on a toddler where it belonged, Tara reasoned.
In the packet of pics and letters was a copy of “Bright Futures.” The article Veronica had told Tara about was in there about adoptive parents dropping pebbles (hints) about birth moms to adopted kids as they grew up to prepare them to understand adoption.
According to Gladney’s Post Adoption department, just because kids aren’t asking questions didn’t mean they weren’t thinking about it. Many children send subtle clues to their adoptive parents, according to the article. The article quoted Sherry Eldridge, author of Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew.
Apparently adopted kids don’t ask a lot of questions about birth parents because they assume their adoptive parents are going to tell them. There isn’t a simple formula to measure when a child is ready to hear information. The article urged parents to create
opportunities to discuss their child’s birth family if a child isn’t sending out cues.
For example, when a child does something special like making the winning goal in soccer or earning an “A” on a spelling test, parents can step in and say, ‘You know what I bet your birth mom is very proud of you.”
This technique is called “the dropping pebbles” technique. Pebbles can be used as a simple comment and genetic marker and to comment on feelings, according to Holly van Guilden and Lisa Bartels-Rabb, adoption educators.
Gladney advocated this technique.
Even if adoptive parents don’t have dialogue with their children, they should be honest with them, according to Gladney’s Post Adoption Department.
Letting the child decide when and where to hear information is the best course of action, allowing the child to take control of the situation, according to Pattye Hicks, director of Post Adoption Services. The article urged adoptive parents to be respectful of birth parents when talking about them with their children. In cases where adoptive parents have sketchy details or simply
don’t remember, honesty is still the best policy, the article stated.
Van Guilden and Bartels-Rabb also suggested contacting the agency to gather as much non-identifying information as possible. The women said parents should give their children permission to talk, think, and ask questions about their birth parents.
That night Tara had nightmares that a man was after her and that he killed a bunch of people then found her and Mackenzie and was going to burn them up like the others in the dream.
As always, she woke up before he killed her.

July 20, 2001
As Tara got ready for work she realized she was in a bad mood. As she made her way to the car she wondered to herself that if she worked on Mackenzie’s birthday as planned, would she lose her temper, thus losing her job as she normally did on emotional occasions. She hadn’t planned to take that day off because it was always better for her to stay busy on days like that, then she didn’t dwell on it all day.
She always felt like it was inevitable, that she was going to lose her job on days like that. Her track record proved it and no matter how many times she tried not to make it so, it always happened.
When she got to work she showed her two co-workers who were always so great about Mackenzie, her newest pictures. The new woman in the office looked at them, too and she said Mackenzie was cute.
Apparently the woman had already been briefed on the situation which Tara didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to be ashamed any more.
Her mood lifted after she showed the pictures to them and she worked through lunch to make up hours.
She did email Chelsea and asked her to call her that weekend because she really needed to talk. But she didn’t know if she’d hear from her or not since she
hadn’t heard from her in awhile. She was worried about her. The last time she didn’t hear from her in awhile, Chelsea had relapsed after 13 years of sobriety last year. Even before it happened, Tara sensed it; almost saw it coming but there was nothing she could do about it. Now Chelsea had 15 months sober again. Tara was glad she’d made it back.
That morning Tara got an email from Veronica:
“We got your card to Mackenzie,” she wrote. “I know you must miss her terribly. She is doing great and is very happy. She has a new toy this week. It’s a “Johnny Jump Up.” It’s this seat thing that fits over the doorway and she’s suspended in it. She can jump or sway in it. She loves it. Ben had one that we returned to its owner and I haven’t been able to find one. Evidently they’ve had some problems with them in the past but they’re back and new and improved and safer. Anyway, the only problem - we caught Ben swinging her with a lot of energy if you know what I mean. I about had a heart attack but he and Mackenzie were hysterically laughing. Got a few gray hairs over that one.
Frank was off tonight so he brought Mackenzie to church and she loved being one of the “big kids.” We
painted Veggie Tales T-shirts and painted her one also with “real” veggies; i.e. cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, and squash. They were a big hit. I’m ready to be finished with Vacation Bible School so I can concentrate on planning Mackenzie’s birthday party.
I know you’re aggressively looking for a permanent job and I know the right one will come your way. I keep telling Frank that as intelligent as he is I know he can come up with something to make us millionaires.
My sister’s pregnancy is progressing. She’s 18 or 19 weeks and is having a boy. I know what good care you took of yourself during your pregnancy. My sister’s tiny and has gained a lot of weight with this pregnancy. People have been so rude to her about the weight. It makes me so angry. Why are people so mean? They plan to name the new baby Chase. Colby is so excited although he said he wanted a sister like Ben initially.
I am glad you’re seeing your counselor as you need someone to talk to. We think of you all the time and wonder about you even more as Mackenzie’s first birthday approaches. Do you have any special plans on how to spend the day? Are you going to keep busy or take the day off?
I’m dying for you to get the new pics and see how beautiful Mackenzie is. You’re going to be pleased with how healthy she now looks and definitely still looks like her birth mom.”
Tara’s letter back to Veronica read:
“I was so happy with the pictures and I thank you so much for sending them. I never thought Mackenzie would be so animated! It’s great! I don’t know if I told you but a few birth moms I was with at Gladney haven’t been getting letters and pics regularly as promised by their APs and they’re really upset about it. I feel so bad for them that their APs haven’t kept up their end of the bargain.
So, more than ever I feel very fortunate to have the relationship I do with you and Frank. It’s very important to me, the most important one I have, besides the one I have with Chelsea, Susan, and Beth. Thank you for saying I’m part of your family. That means a lot.
I also like seeing how Ben has grown in the pictures you send. It’ll be neat to keep seeing that through the years. I showed two of my co-workers Mackenzie’s new pix like
I always do and they loved them as usual. They’re great about the whole thing.
I’m sorry to hear that Mackenzie is still having feeding problems but I’m so glad she’s gaining weight. I have a niece who’s petite and she had a baby last July. When she got pregnant we were all amazed that with her size she could go through birth. It always amazes me how tiny women can do that!
I was doing really well with the adoption, the best ever but I guess because Mackenzie’s birthday coming up, I’ve been really sad. I’m not sad for her at all, just feeling sorry for myself. And I can’t forgive myself for not being able to be the mom she needed. Everyone says to forgive myself but they don’t tell me how. Anyway, I’ll get through this somehow. I don’t mean to be so negative. I really don’t.
I’ve been race walking or doing some form of exercise daily. When I walk I take my dog and he loves it. I pick a different park or place every time and he gets so excited! I’ve gotten really dependent/co-dependent on
him I guess but he makes me laugh and smile so it’s worth it.
P.S. One of the birth mom’s little girl’s birthday is today and she’s a year old. I was with the birth mom (Cindy) at Gladney and she was the only one who stayed there as long as me.”
Tara wrote Frank back:
“Thanks for the great things you always say,” she said. “It’s hard for me too to believe it’s been almost a year. They say time flies in childhood.
Things are good here and I’m staying busy with work, exercise, and volunteer work with Pet Connection, Gardens Care Nursing Home, and my support group. Every Sunday I take my dog to the nursing home and we visit the residents to cheer them up. He seems to like it and they do, too. He has gotten more jealous when I take him to his weekly trip to Petsmart, which we’ve been doing for 2 ½ years now.
Thank you as always for such detailed updates on Mackenzie as they mean a great deal to me. I hope you know how much. I have a memory box of stuff from being at Gladney and of the things you all send to me - letters; etc. I also have a separate notebook with all your
emails printed out in order by date. I know I’m compulsive but I’ve always been a collector.”
Tara stopped by Susan’s and they had their six-year-old nephews running around, trying to keep up with them.
After Tara told Susan and her girlfriend about her latest escapades, Susan’s girlfriend gave Tara a confused look.
“What do you get out of all this?” She asked Tara.
“Attention,” Tara said. “I’ve been thinking about doing nose candy.”
“What?” she asked.
“You know, nose candy,” Tara said. “I’m trying to talk in code because of the boys here.”
“Y’all go outside for a minute,” Susan’s girlfriend told the boys, ushering them to the trampoline in the backyard.
“No, we don’t need to talk about it,” Tara said.
“No, I want to talk about it,” Susan’s girlfriend said. “I don’t want you to lose your home and everything again.”
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
“You have to understand Tara’s manic depressive,” Susan explained to her girlfriend. “She’ll cycle down and
it usually takes about a month for things to settle down again. It’s just part of it.”
“My sponsor says it’s because I’m on Step 6 in my (recovery) program,” Tara said. “Last time I was on Step 6 this happened.”
“Well that may be,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“I don’t know about that,” Susan said. “But I know Tara and this is what she does. About a few times a year.”
“It’s actually more than that,” Tara said.
“Well, that’s been my observation anyway,” Susan said.
“Why would you want to do drugs?” Susan’s girlfriend asked Tara.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the money anyway,” Tara said, after showing them Mackenzie’s latest pictures.
“She’s got money. You could get a rock (of coke),” Susan said, playing Devil’s Advocate as she always did.
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
Tara kept trying to leave but they kept urging her to stay. She finally left after they were all talked out and the boys were in the tub. Susan and her girlfriend were taking them to a water park the next day and had to get up early.
Tara stopped on the way home and got a sexy movie that came out a couple of years ago that she never got to see. It was supposed to have this really hot sex scene in it. She didn’t watch it that night; she was too tired.

July 21, 2001
The next day as she waited for her clothes to dry at the Laundromat, Tara walked her dog around the park and noticed a garage sale down the street.
The handsome guy smiled at her and her dog as she turned the car around to park to check out what he had for sale. She noticed a few gorgeous things and parked the car.
After buying some cheap bookshelves she needed, she commented on some cultural items he had and they got to talking about music and theater. She thought about asking him out until he said the deal breaker - he didn’t have a job. He said he used to work in theater and was also a baker at one time.
He lived in a small garage apartment that he said he’d lived in for 19 years, long before the highway was expanded. He told her about a row of houses that faced the on ramp and how they were demolished to make
way for progress. Then he told her he had a bad habit of rescuing stray animals and was now the owner of four cats.
That night she watched the movie she’d rented the night before. The opening scene with the lead actor in a shrink’s office discussing his refusal to commit to anyone reminded Tara of herself. She thought about Mackenzie and about how Mackenzie would be embarrassed to know her one-day.
She talked to her old boss/ the birth mom whose little girl just had her first birthday.
“I only got eight pictures in the mail,” her old boss said. “They’re of her birthday party.”
“How was it getting them?” Tara asked.
“It was hard,” she said.

July 22, 2001
For the past few days Tara had been having “drunk dreams” (dreams in which she was drunk). In one dream she was doing drugs and some rival of hers was trying to convince her not to.
July 23, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman in recovery she always talked to online about their sex addiction that they had in common:
“That’s great that you finally got to see your therapist,” the woman wrote. “And that you were able to let go of some of the painful feelings due to acting out. I’m having a really hard time still, more so now than before even. I saw my married man today again and slept with him and freaked out after because I feel he’s pulling away from me. And I missed my meeting to see him so now I feel even worse. I went to the bookstore after therapy and bought this book, actually two books about recovery. I feel so overwhelmed by this disease and so hopeless. I just feel like I’ll never be able to go through withdrawal.”
Tara felt physically sick and she didn’t know why.
She was scheduled to see her counselor that night. She went home at lunch and napped to get the energy to go after work.
Her mom had called that morning and when Tara told her she was sending her new pics of Mackenzie, she had the same response as before - apathetic.
She knew her mom was going through a lot with her dying grandma still, but knew she would’ve probably had the same response anyway.
The night before Tara had a dream that she ran into a birth mom she knew from Gladney and she was doing great.
Tara had had a manic episode the night before. It sucked laughing to yourself with no one to share the insanity with.
Instead she just scared her dog.
That night Tara saw her counselor and told her of her escapades within the last week. She didn’t cry during this session and got silly during the last of it. She told her about the guy she met who was having a garage sale over the weekend.
Tara told her about the movie she’d seen over the weekend and how she related to the male lead character. She also told her about Mackenzie’s new pictures and showed them to her as she always did whenever she got new ones.
“When I look at her I see what must’ve been my inner spirit at one time,” Tara said. “But I don’t ever remember looking like that as a child. I was never happy.”
“Even that young?”
“No,” Tara said. “I’ve got pictures of me at 5 and my eyes are blank.”
“What about younger?”
“I have one baby picture and I just look crooked somehow, rattled,” Tara said. “Even then I was already ruined.”
“How sad,” her counselor. “Maybe you could bring those pictures in.”
Tara had done this with other therapists and it was always unproductive.
That night Tara’s mom called and again when Tara told her she was mailing her some new pix of Mackenzie, her mom didn’t respond. It was as if she were talking about a ghost.
That night about 1:30 a.m. Tara got up and wrote for about an hour. She was resentful against 79 people and if she added her cat that was 80. No wonder she was miserable and sick. Carrying all that rage around was
exhausting and depleting, as well as debilitating to her spirit. She wrote so much she had to put a Band-Aid on her hand from the blister that formed from holding the pen. She even tried to write at a different angle at first but to no avail.
When she went to bed she had a nightmare that she lived in a haunted house and there were dead people after her. In the dream she was dressed as a clown getting ready to go to a Halloween party. There were two other women who were spending the night in the house with her and they couldn’t wait to get out of their sticky clothes and get some sleep.
But the ghosts wouldn’t let them rest.
In a separate dream, Tara that deejay she had a crush on, only he was nice to her and hired her as some kind of editorial assistant or salesperson. She remembered him hugging her and touring the studio and how she was so embarrassed to meet him because of how she looked. She wasn’t in shape enough or hot enough for him. He was used to porn stars and models.
She woke up and went into work a few minutes early since her alarm was going to go off 15 minutes early anyway.
July 24, 2001
At lunch Tara just wanted to go home and crawl under the covers, not coming out until Mackenzie’s 18th birthday. She knew she was sabotaging her job, her life.
One of the birth moms who had scanned some more of Mackenzie’s pix for Tara wrote her that she’d bring them to the adoption support group they attended next week. Tara couldn’t wait to send them out like the others.
She copied the latest letters she got from Veronica and Frank to send also to Chelsea and her mom. She planned on scanning the rest of the favorites of her pix and sending those on, too. She was even going to include a copy of the letter to the editor that the local paper ran that she wrote about the adoption story they ran in May.
She didn’t care that she was going overboard.
She had to stay alive for Mackenzie somehow. She had to will herself to go on.
A co-worker asked if she could see Mackenzie’s pictures and so Tara assumed she must know about the adoption. But when she showed them to her she could tell she knew nothing of the adoption by her response when Tara pointed out who Veronica and Frank were in the photos.
“Oh, your daughter’s not with you?” Tara’s co-worker asked, a stricken expression on her face.
“No,” Tara said in a positive tone.
“She’s cute,” her co-worker said, handing the pix back to her after a brief look.
It was as if Tara had told her that Mackenzie had died in a car accident or something.
But this time Tara didn’t care and for the first time wasn’t ashamed.
That night she showed some more friends the pictures and they talked about how pretty Mackenzie was, how much she looked like Tara, and how happy she seemed.
July 25, 2001
Against her better judgment, Tara attempted again to find Alex, Mackenzie’s dad, through an email search after an address search turned up nothing. She knew he’d have an email address somehow; he always did.
After coming up with two pages of identical names, she proceeded to email the ones without locations listed telling them she was looking for him and if they lived in her town (listed) to email her back. She started to say why she was looking for him (to send him Mackenzie’s pictures since he’d never seen her), then changed her mind and left it short and sweet.
Of course, he was so paranoid he probably would be afraid to answer the cryptic request.
She ran into an old mutual friend of theirs the night before but she no longer said hi to her and was clearly on his side. Tara didn’t care.
Actually she did care. Way too much.
Things weren’t going well at work. Tara was sabotaging herself as she always had in every job she’d ever had. All 75 plus of them. She stopped counting after last year. It was futile.
That night she took her dog to the park where Placement had been held after backtracking trying to decide whether or not to go. She hadn’t been there in 11 months since the day of Placement although last Thanksgiving she debated going. She always feared she’d break down and cry or have a nervous breakdown or something if she went back although she thought about going on Mackenzie’s birthday.
To her amazement she didn’t cry and wasn’t sad. It was weird being there and she discovered she was okay. There were other people there including a running team who was taking a break at the picnic table in the same spot where Mackenzie was introduced to her new family. Tara spotted the big oak tree next to the drained
creek where she had taken Mackenzie over to tell her goodbye.
To her surprise she discovered on this day now that the park wound all the way around to another park where she was before. She and her dog walked the trail and he loved it, of course. On the way back she went another route and soon they were back at the car. She thought she still might come back on Mackenzie’s birthday or maybe on the anniversary of Placement Day.
It was all right. At last it was all right.
She hoped it lasted.
That night Tara talked to Susan who was disillusioned with her social worker job after a rough day in court in which she was flogged by the judge who turned down her client's hearing for Social Security benefits.
The 34-year-old female prostitute/drug addict had been born into Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and never had a chance. She was toothless, looked like she was in her 50s, and was mentally ill as well as having organic brain damage.
But the judge showed no mercy and cited a law affecting drug addicts from 1998 in which addicts were no longer winning cases requesting benefits because,
as the judge put it “people were getting sick of paying for their drugs and alcohol.”
Despite Susan’s attempts to redirect her client, who was sobbing uncontrollably at the realization that she wouldn’t be getting benefits, the judge showed no mercy and. After a brief tirade at how all he saw before him was a hopeless drug addict who couldn’t get clean, the judge ordered them out of his courtroom.
Susan said her hopes had been lifted earlier in the hearing when a psychiatrist stated that her client probably had mental retardation. Susan said it would’ve helped if her client had been sober/clean awhile.
Susan told Tara that her client had no one, that her mom sold her to a man when she was 14 and her client started turning tricks a couple of years after, winding up on the street with a pimp. It was all she knew. She never had one person who believed in her.
“I know all you had was oatmeal for lunch and you’re broke,” Susan told her. “But here we sit with our color t.v.s in our own homes and I just know she’s going to be sleeping in a box tonight on the street.”
Susan cried.
“She said to the judge, she begged, ‘Please don’t turn me away. I can’t be a street whore any more.’”
Susan felt like it was all futile and wanted to appeal the judge’s decision but the hearing had taken three years to come to fruition and this client had pinned all her hopes on this one day.
“I know she doesn’t deserve money because she’s not clean (sober) but I was going to ask that she at least be put in a lock down facility for six months and have a payee, our agency,” Susan explained. “I know she’d probably blow $500 on drugs and alcohol but she at least deserves a chance. She’s never had a chance.”
“Do you think it would’ve mattered if it had been a female judge?” Tara asked.
“I don’t know,” Susan said.
They talked about how so many people who had family and resources didn’t realize how lucky they were.
“They’re damned lucky,” Susan said. “They have no idea.”
“I know,” Tara said. “I hear it all the time from people about how they have this person or that one.”
Tara couldn’t help but think of what Chelsea told her once about people who make it and those who don’t -
that the ones who make it had at least one person who believed in them.
Tara mentioned this to Susan now.
“And that makes all the difference, having that one person,” Tara said.
“It’s a huge difference,” Susan agreed. “You and I know how important it is.”
They talked about some of their friends who they knew who had gotten this benefit or that from the government and they didn’t really need it. Tara remembered a friend of hers who kept trying to get Tara to get some kind of assistance but Tara wouldn’t do it.
She remembered going to vocational agencies once and them telling her she was too functional and too educated.
There was no place for people that were marginal like her.
“Yeah, you’d have trouble getting anything,” Susan told her now when she brought it up. “A few months ago I didn’t think so, but with the new law you wouldn’t get anything.”
Tara mentioned a mutual acquaintance they knew who got benefits and seemed fine.
“I mean, I don’t live with her, I’m not in a relationship with her, but I’ve known her for three years and I think she could work,” Tara told Susan now.
“She could definitely work,” Susan said. “This woman (my client) has never held a job. She’s not capable of going out and getting a job. She’s paranoid schizophrenic. She’s crazy.”
That night Tara woke up about 3 a.m. and thought about the woman and had a brainstorm but couldn’t call Susan that late and tell her about it. She thought, ‘What if I and all my friends wrote letters to the judge asking him to reconsider his decision?’
Would it work?
It was the only thing she knew to do.
Earlier Tara had told Susan that she was probably right, that how could you go any higher than a judge on an appeal? She told her about a recent episode of a law show she watched in which a lawyer filed a complaint against a judge only to have his behavior reviewed by a panel of his own peers, also judges.
Well, at the very most it would just piss this judge off. Susan could request another judge but that took a long time and there were no guarantees. She figured,
knowing Susan, that Susan was laying in bed at 3 a.m. too, thinking about her client but she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t waking her up so she decided to wait till she got up for work and tell her her idea.

July 26, 2001
Tara woke up extra early, called Susan, and she told her she’d get the information on the case if Tara would draft a form letter and email it to her.
“You think it’ll do any good?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know,” Tara said. “But if I email all my friends after you approve the letter and just ask them to email the letter to you and you get it to the judge, maybe it’ll have an impact.”
Susan knew Tara had a lot of friends. Tara said she wouldn’t even address the issue of Susan’s client being an addict or prostitute because some of her friends probably wouldn’t be inclined to help if she mentioned it. And she wouldn’t bring it up in the letter either because the judge, already prejudiced against the client, didn’t need to be reminded.
“I’ll just mention the Fetal Alcohol thing and how she’s never had a chance. And you can put in whatever other
facts there are,” Tara said. “Of course, because of confidentiality, you’ll have to fill in her name in the blank on the letter because you could lose your job if I give my friends her name.”
“Oh yeah,” Susan said. “Then I couldn’t help anyone.”
So the plan was made for Tara to write up the letter, email it to Susan that day, and Susan would review it then email it back to her to send to her friends.
It was worth a shot.
He’d probably be ticked off after 23 years on the bench of hearing just about everything, but at least they would’ve tried.
Tara said a silent prayer for God to grant Susan’s clients these benefits (if it be His will, of course), something she always was told to add.
Tara felt lucky suddenly.
When she got to work she drafted the letter and emailed it to Susan, leaving in blanks for Susan to fill in the facts only she knew. Tara went back and edited, and proofread, and edited and pictured a judge reading it and how it would sound to him. She couldn’t make it too long because he wouldn’t read it. Too short and he’d miss the point.
She could picture him complaining, saying “How dare you! Who are all these people? I don’t have time to sit around and read a bunch of letters. Who do you think you are?”
Yes, Tara knew judges well. She’d worked with them and as a former foster child; her fate was always in their hands.
She was almost excited about the possibility of the judge getting all these letters. Best case scenario, he’d only read a few before he had to change his mind and grant the woman the benefits she desperately needed.
Veronica wrote Tara:
“Glad to hear from you,” she wrote. “I’m glad your friends liked the pics. We think she is just beautiful also - just like you. She’s traveling everywhere in her walker whereas she used to just go backwards. She’ll stand for short periods holding on to the couch or chair, then drops down to her bottom. She’ll really hang on to a toy now! If Ben is pulling it away from her she’ll vocally let us know he is being mean by saying ‘Ahhhh.’ I told Ben that she can tell on him so he better be good! She seems bigger the last few days. I haven’t weighed her in two weeks so she’s still around 17 pounds but lots of her
clothes are getting tight, so I know she’s growing. I have huge sacks full of baby clothes to go through. One from a lady at work who adopted her little girl - now 2 ½ from overseas and another from a girl at church. I LOVE hand me downs! Ben has so many of his friend’s clothes so we’ve really lucked out. Of course, I was at Target today and bought her two new outfits also. It’s so hard not to as there are so many cute girl things.
Sorry about your grandma (still being ill). Sometimes I think people hang on for their families to get adjusted to life without them.
I’m glad I can start planning Mackenzie’s birthday party. She’ll have two. One of friends/kids and a family one. I’m not sure what theme or anything but I’ll let you know and I’ll try to tape the parties or have someone else tape them for me. Please don’t worry about a gift. You gave the ultimate gift already. Have you decided if you’re working on her birthday or not? I’m glad you’re still active with your (adoption) group. I’m sure it helps to talk with others and get their input.”

Tara also got an email from the woman online who Tara talked to about their mutual addiction:
“I know what you mean about there seeming to be more guys in the program that girls,” the woman wrote. “Although here in one of the programs there are actually quite a few women as well and they have women’s meetings. Most say they’re love and sex addicts but some just say love addicts or fantasy addicts. Well, whatever, I guess the variations don’t matter all that much. But I did find in one meeting I went to that it was all men, however it was a very small meeting and I’d like to try a few more before making any snap judgments! Oh, and about joining the online dating thing, boy, can I relate. One of my addictions is to the personals for women looking for other women. I belong to about four of them! Talk about sick.
And I’ve met probably around 20 women from the Internet! I’ve actually yet to take my main ad down but you just reminded me I do need to because I wrote it as one of my bottom lines not to have or respond to any more personals. And I can really relate to emailing potential “fixes” or acting out partners. If it wasn’t for the Internet I probably wouldn’t have acted out half as much
as I have in the past few years! Take care and be gentle on yourself. I’m trying to do the same.
I’m sorry to hear you’re having a hard time, too. I know exactly what you mean about friends not getting you and not understanding what you get out of it (the addiction). It’s so hard because you can’t explain it. If you’re not an addict you just won’t understand. I guess, thank God, that’s why we have each other. I do have the big book (recovery textbook for this addiction) and I just bought Out of The Shadows last week along with a book about recovering from sex addiction. I also have read Don’t Call It Love by Patrick Carnes which is amazing. I’ve been feeling really obsessed with my doctor and the more I try to get close to him, the more he pulls away. You know how that goes. But sometimes it’s like I just can’t stop!
I’m also still seeing the girl but really trying to take things slow. I’m supposed to go to her house for dinner Sunday then he asked me to go sailing with some other people from work so I’m going to try to squeeze both in. I could tell she was disappointed when I told her I’d be coming over later. I tried a sexual compulsives meeting this week, too. I was the only girl there (there were only
three other guys) but I want to try more of those, too. Anyway, hope you’re hanging in there and doing okay…this disease is a killer! Oh also I am afraid again that I might have Herpes. I’m sure it’s probably just an ingrown hair or something like it was the other times I was afraid but since I frequently have unprotected sex I’d rather be safe than sorry. Wish me luck!”

July 28, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their common addiction:
“I’m doing a little better. Managed to get to a meeting and half yesterday,” she wrote. “I went to another recovery meeting which consisted mostly of gay men so stayed for half and hour and then went to another recovery women’s meeting which was really good and helped a lot. I felt a lot saner afterwards! And managed not to obsess very much about that doctor today and purposely didn’t go online when I knew he would be there. So, of course he emailed me asking me where I am, cause I usually stalk him online!”

July 29, 2001
Tara got another email from the same woman after she told her about her grandma dying:
“So sorry to hear about your grandma,” she wrote. “That is really stressful and only natural that it makes you want to act out. Try and be gentle with yourself while you’re dealing with the pain of her loss. I know that it’s not an easy thing for an addict to do (be gentle on oneself) but that’s the advice my therapist always gives me in times of stress. So please try. I also understand wanting to cry and you can’t. That happens to me very often. Then I wind up crying uncontrollably at something like a movie because I kept in so many of my own feelings. I think maybe that’s another addict characteristic. It’s hard at least for me sometimes to give myself permission to cry over my own stuff. Like I’ve gotten used to numbing myself from the pain.
I’ve found the more I’ve gotten involved in recovery though the easier it is for me to cry - when I am in touch with my feelings. I spent the day sailing with that doctor on his boat with two other girls from work and feel a little “in my disease” but am trying to keep perspective. I’m definitely not where I was last week or even a few days
ago with the obsession. Take care and remember you’re not alone!”

July 29, 2001
That night Tara dreamed that she was a student in a dorm and there were serial rapists and killers on the loose.
In another dream she dreamed she got to have Mackenzie for a few days and go on a trip with her family. In the dream Mackenzie was laughing and happy.

July 30, 2001
Tara saw her therapist that night and they talked about how the movie “The Color Purple” got to her Saturday even though she’d seen it many times. She explained to her therapist about the scenes that always triggered her crying and how they related to her abuse.
“You need to buy that movie,” her therapist suggested.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to for years,” Tara said.
Tara told her therapist about the sob she had over the weekend and how she didn’t act out on her addiction
even though she wanted to. Her therapist drew a correlation between her being true to her feelings and not acting out on her addiction.
“Crying also helps me with my depression,” Tara explained. “Maybe if I’d done more crying in my life, I wouldn’t have been so depressed.”
Tara told her therapist about her grandma and told her about what she was like.
The therapist thought there must’ve been some abuse somewhere along the way with her mom’s childhood.
That night Tara had a nightmare that some guy kept killing his friends, including her.
In a separate dream she dreamed Mackenzie was a genius and could form complete sentences already.

July 31, 2001
Tara got an email from Chelsea telling her that she didn’t want to get any more emails about Mackenzie because it was too painful for her to hear about a niece she’d never know.
Tara decided not to go see Chelsea after all even though the night before she’d found a really good deal on a ticket.
She didn’t want Mackenzie to be the family’s “dirty little secret” and though she’d tried to be understanding with Chelsea, it was too painful to hear the words Chelsea wrote to her.
A new woman joined the online support group for birth moms. She placed her little girl just a month ago and was having a really hard time being unemployed, having no support, and going through a major depression. She was only in her 20s and lived too far away to make it to the monthly support group that Gladney had at its temporary campus, which was going to be held that night.
Everyone reached out to her online and Tara empathized. She explained to the woman that she was suffering a tremendous loss and told her about her own experience.
Tara hoped her old boss and the birth mom she went through Gladney with made it to group that night. It would be the first time for her.
Tara told her old boss that there were some new women coming to put her mind at ease, hoping that’d make her feel more comfortable about coming.
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their sex addiction/recovery:
“Hey, that’s great that you didn’t act out and had a good cry!” she wrote. “I think every time we don’t act out it helps raise our self-esteem a little more. I was actually doing quite well over the weekend aside from my toothache but tonight as I was coming from work I noticed my thoughts turning to addict mode and I was so distracted that I ended up leaving my gym bag on the bus. It happened while I was reading a recovery book too, which is strange. I wonder what that was about.”
















Chapter 19
Strange Days
July 1, 2001
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I’ll be sending out our letters/pics for the 15th to you soon,” she wrote. “I need to prod Frank to start his letter as it takes him several days to get it done.
Good luck on meeting the guy, James. My friend Cathy was so busy in high school and college with studies - she was valedictorian in high school. Anyway, she had to work so much that she never had time for men, so when she became an accountant and was ready to “settle down” she had trouble-meeting men. She answered a personal ad. We were very concerned for her safety but she met Matt in a restaurant and they took it slow. They’ve been married ten years now! Their date was not without some problems, i.e.; he was late and she up and left, he called her at home to see where she was and she told him she didn’t wait for any man. He convinced her to come back to the restaurant. She had
already undressed and taken off her makeup and didn’t put it back on! He met the”real her” with hair in a ponytail, jeans; etc. Probably why things worked out so well, huh? Anyway, they live in Los Angeles now - too far away to see her much. Good luck.
Ben did enjoy Museum Camp. Sorry your grandmother isn’t doing better.”
Tara’s landlord called her that night about Tara’s neighbor’s many dogs and homeless kids hanging out. The conversation inevitably got around to Tara’s neighbor’s daughter.
Tara slipped and told her landlord that the neighbor’s daughter didn’t have a birth certificate and that she’d dropped out of school but had been working.
“Well, now your neighbor told me that the reason her daughter couldn’t go to school was because she had - what’s that thing where you’re afraid to leave the house -“Agoraphobia?” Tara asked.
“Uh, fear of crabs or something - “
Tara fought back laughter.
“No, it’s fear of leaving the house. It’s agoraphobia. But I’ve never heard that. And anyway, she goes to work so that wouldn’t hold up,” Tara said.
“Well your neighbor said something about how there’s too many crowds at school,” Diana said. “That that’s why her daughter had to quit school. Anyway who’s that blind kid?”
Tara racked her brain.
“I don’t know anything about a blind kid,” she said, truthfully.
It was hard to keep up with them all.
They said their good-byes and Tara had to laugh. For once the chaos around her wasn’t her own.

July 2, 2001
Tara had to get up in the middle of the night and get allergy pills and on the way home she saw Jamie walking down her street.
It was 4 a.m.
Tara immediately turned the corner and by the time she turned around Jamie had turned the corner as well and hadn’t seen her.
Tara breathed a sigh of relief. She knew eventually Jamie would find out where she lived but she sure didn’t want to run into her at 4 a.m. on a dark street. It spooked her every time she saw her.
She hated that she still haunted her this way.
That night she had a nightmare about her, of course.
That afternoon Susan came over and told Tara’s neighbor’s daughter to move the van, which was now open in the backyard and reeking of God knew what. She moved it apologetically to a shopping center parking lot with the help of a homeless guy and his dad. But Tara knew that wouldn’t last long and it’d get towed from there. Tara told the girl she only said something
because their landlord was going to evict them and that she’d been calling Tara wanting to know what the deal was.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to endure her complaining about us,” the girl said, feeling bad.
“I just don’t want you to get evicted,” Tara said.
Because Tara’s neighbor’s daughter was cute, innocent, and naïve, Tara often worried about what was going to happen to her and feared the worst. She hoped she’d be okay. But she’d be an easy target for someone dangerous.

July 3, 2001
Tara had a rough night that night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep. She had to get up several times, coughing and gagging and wound up oversleeping and being 40 minutes late to work. Luckily her boss was on vacation.

Tara heard back from the girl in the recovery group for sex addicts and the girl gave her number out, too:
“Where is it exactly that you live?” the girl asked. “I’m from New York.
I agree with you 100 percent about it not being accepted to be bisexual and I feel EXACTLY the same way you do about even gay people not accepting it and that is the same as people judging them for being gay. We can’t help being the way we are any more than they can,” she wrote. “I do find it very confusing though and wish myself that I could just “choose.” I have much more experience with men and mostly date them, however I
feel like there will always be this curiosity with women. Well, more than curiosity because I have been with women also. I guess I mean that I feel I will always be drawn to them also. But I feel like either way I will never really be satisfied with either sex. My therapist says that maybe when I go through withdrawal it will become clearer. Have you found this at all?
In the meantime I can’t force myself to “know” or drive myself crazy looking for an answer. Maybe it is just something I have to accept. I agree with what your friend said about not meeting a quality person till we have quality within ourselves as well. But it is hard to know that and really know it in your heart. Still the more I work this program I am able to recognize that to be true. I get really down on myself for different reasons mostly because I am still involved with my doc but ‘One day at a time’, right? Anyway, as always nice to know I’m not alone!”
Tara wrote her back:
“I did drive myself crazy for awhile trying to choose but now I’ve just said I’m not going to worry about it,” Tara said. “I personally don’t see why it has to be either or and I think people have the capacity to love both.
Therapy hasn’t helped me choose yet but maybe one day. I’m really not worried about choosing though. I know one person in recovery from this addiction said being bi was just being active in your sex addiction and that you’re not really bi but I don’t that I go along with that. I think society including the recovery community puts pressure on people to choose, like it’s so important or something. Kind of like those boxes that you check as to whether you’re black, white or whatever. It’s like you have to be something definable.”
Tara later got an email from Chelsea, suggesting that Mackenzie get genetically tested for Dwarfism since an employee of hers had a granddaughter who was recently diagnosed after being misdiagnosed as a preemie. Chelsea said it was often misdiagnosed as other things and since Mackenzie was only 16 pounds and almost a year old, maybe it’d be a good idea to have her tested. Tara passed the email on to Veronica then obsessed about the possibility that her daughter could be a dwarf on top of all her other ailments. She asked a few doctors she worked with what they knew about the diagnosis and none of them had a clue but
suggested she talk to a doctor who’d be there tomorrow.
She emailed her friends and family and asked if they knew anything about it and no one did. But one friend emailed her a link for “little people” who had all kinds of information on it that Tara read and forwarded a copy to Chelsea for her employee’s granddaughter. Tara hated that Chelsea had even brought it up although she knew she was just trying to help.
Tara emailed the contact person for the Little People’s link and asked what they thought she should do regarding testing for Mackenzie (if it was warranted based on her appetite and weight history and current continual problems eating). A couple of people told her not to worry, that they’d known kids like Mackenzie who were small and they were just little, that was all.
Now Tara kept picturing certain photos that she’d gotten over the past ten months of Mackenzie and tried to visualize anything she might have missed before that would give Dwarfism away. Suddenly she “saw” in her mind’s eye things that she never thought twice about before like her short legs. She spent the rest of the day,
worrying, praying, and bargaining with God not to let her little girl be a dwarf on top of everything else.
She knew a guy who worked at the grocery store she frequented who was a dwarf and she’d seen some in her life. She also knew that they got made fun of on the radio and were seen by some as “less than.” She wouldn’t let that happen to Mackenzie if she did wind up being a dwarf.

July 4, 2001
Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant this 4th of July compared to last year’s miserable holiday.
She remembered the house parents took the residents out for ice cream and to Trinity Park to watch the fireworks and how everyone stared at them as always.
At the ice cream parlor one of the residents who’d had her baby in June made a face in the window as they were leaving and tried to scare the people who were staring. All the residents laughed. As obnoxious as the resident was, Tara had to laugh.
For once the residents had the last laugh when gawked at.
When they got to the park to watch the fireworks, there were no nearby bathrooms so a group of them had to walk across huge boulders from one end of the river to the other than hike up a steep hill to a restaurant to use their restroom.
The other residents weren’t too happy about it but took it all in stride as they headed across the slick rocks behind the crowds of people doing the same thing. The difference was the residents didn’t have much balance because they were pregnant and had to hang on to each other while kids played and splashed around beside them and adults just merely stared.
Tara, however, was completely furious about the whole thing and cursed the male house parent who didn’t take into account when parking the van about the location of the rest rooms and the fact that the residents were hugely pregnant and didn’t have much strength to walk far.
When they made it back to their seats and settled on their blankets on the steep hill overlooking the river, a group of people gawked at them and whispered for what seemed like an eternity.
Tara started doing what she saw a resident do once and some other residents now joined her. Every time the crowd would stare she’d stare them down. Once she did this, they quickly averted their eyes.
Then the residents followed suit and made sure that every time some onlooker whispered something about them, that they knew they could hear every word.
They managed to run off several people this way. Anything not to be gawked at like some science experiment. Tara hated that aspect of being a birth mom.
They were able to get rid of the rest of the gawkers when Amy, the one who made all the baby blankets,
lifted her shirt so as not to flash her breasts and drew a smiley face on her
stomach complete with hair. Never one to balk at a challenge, she proudly thrust her stomach forward unbeknownst to the house parents who would’ve reprimanded her, and smiled at the gawkers who quickly gathered their things and moved to another area.
But not before Amy and another resident made sure they could hear them say, “See that guy sitting next to us? (Motioning to the male married house parent who sat next to his wife, also a house parent) He’s the father of all of our kids!”
It was great. A real victory for the women.
Luckily the house parents knew nothing about it, just teased him about it later by implying that they should have said something like that to the crowd.
He would’ve been so embarrassed, particularly since he and his wife were Mormons.
Then when the fireworks finally started they all realized they were in a bad spot and wound up barely able to see them.
Towards the end of the display, several residents had to go to the bathroom but couldn’t find one close and started urging the male house parent to pack everyone up so they could find a bathroom by car.
By the time they finally got out of the parking lot the residents were very uncomfortable and about to burst their kidneys.
He stopped at one store and the bathroom was out of order. Another store wouldn’t let the residents use the facilities. And another store had a long line.
He wouldn’t stop anywhere else, just drove the long way back to the dorm with several angry pregnant residents in tow.
He’d barely pulled up in the drive when the piled out and ran into the dorm.
Tara was glad she didn’t have to go because she would’ve jumped out of the van a long time ago.
“No man is going to keep me from going to the bathroom,” she said.
Fast forward to 2001. Tara was so glad she wasn’t pregnant!
She called a gay male friend of hers and told him about the James/Jake, the guy with two names and they exchanged dating horror stories.
“I don’t know what it is but I attract the most screwed up people,” her friend told Tara. “If they’ve got something wrong with them, they come to me.”
“I know what you mean. I see the bum radar still works,” Tara said and he cracked up laughing.
He told her about his most recent blind date that a friend of his set up against his wishes.
“What was it like?” Tara asked.
“Honey, I wished I was blind when I walked in the restaurant,” he said and they laughed together. “He was round. Very round.”
She smiled to herself.
”Of course I should’ve known when my friend kept saying, ‘But he’s a real nice guy, but he’s a real nice guy,’” said her friend.
“Yeah, that’s like saying she’s got a great personality or a great sense of humor,” Tara said.
He laughed.
“Hell, four of the five guys I’ve had dates with are in prison now,” he said.
“For what?” Tara asked, surprised.
“Dope.”
She told him all about her Internet dating adventures, recapping some he’d heard about.
“Man, there was a momma’s boy, an alcoholic, and an idiot,” she said. “And that was just one of them.”
He laughed.
“And that was just one?”
“Yeah. That guy from London.”
“Oh yeah,” her friend said, amused. “I remember him. Do you ever hear from him?”
“Oh yeah,” Tara said, rolling her eyes. “He emails me all the time and keeps trying to get my new number but I won’t give it to him. I’d rather have a root canal with no anesthesia than have a conversation with him.”
He laughed.
“Because you have to spell out everything, even simple things,” she explained. “It’s so frustrating.”
He told her about a mutual friend he ran into recently that kept trying to get him in bed but he knew he was a player so he didn’t bother with him.
“He’s got the biggest ego,” her friend said. “A friend of mine went out with him and said he wanted to jump out of the car but it was moving.”
“Yeah, he’s had the hots for you for a long time,” Tara said.
“He’s very charming but also very perverted,” he said.
“I think I’m getting too old for this shit,” Tara said. “There’s nobody out there.”
“There really isn’t, Tara,” he said, knowingly. “I’ve just decided I’d rather be by myself than mess with all that. I’m better company.”
His latest boyfriend kept canceling plans so he told him “Later.”
“He was always saying he’s going to do this and he’s going to do that and he doesn’t do anything,” he told Tara.
“Yeah, everybody’s screwed up in his or her own way,” she agreed.

She and her friend took food over to a friend of hers and joined them for a cookout. There were five girls but they were headed back to Six Flags for the rest of the day.
Tara was quiet when the kids were there but as soon as they left she joined in conversation. It was easier for her to bitch and moan about jobs and money than it was to have a normal laid back, conversation with people she didn’t know.
Tara met her friend’s friend’s live-in boyfriend, a body builder and some other people and they all ate and talked about unimportant stuff like weight, cars, kids, sex, and money.
They were laughing about a guy they knew who got drunk and tried to give them his car. He had a reputation for getting wasted and trying to give his stuff away.
“Oh, I’m going to mess with him the next time I see him and tell him we really need that car and where’s the title,” someone said and they all laughed. “I don’t understand people like that.”
“Well you gotta understand alcoholics,” Tara’s friend who was in recovery explained. “They’re up and down and they get drunk and don’t know what they’re saying.”
The body builder shook his head and laughed, not understanding.
Tara stayed as long as she could then asked her friend to take her back to her car at her friend’s house because she was tired.
“Were you uncomfortable with them drinking?” her friend asked, knowing Tara was in recovery.
“No. I don’t get uncomfortable unless somebody gets drunk and makes a pass at me or is belligerent or something,” she said.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s why it’s hard to be around my brother-in-law. That’s what he does,” her friend said.
“Yeah, my step dad and other relatives would always do that,” Tara said.
“Neither one of my parents drink. I never had it around me really.”
“Oh both my parents do. It’s all in my family, my mother’s side. That’s all they do. I grew up around it,” Tara said. “They used to have parties in the basement every Saturday night. We had a bar in the house.”
Tara showed her friend pictures of Mackenzie. Her friend didn’t know about Mackenzie.
“You get to see her?” her friend asked looking at the pictures in her wallet. “She’s beautiful.”
“I saw her in April. But I get videos, letters, cards, emails,” Tara explained.
Tara didn’t go watch the fireworks that night. She lay in bed as her dog barked at them and thought about Mackenzie and what she thought of them.
Was she scared? Impressed? Excited? In awe?
She pictured herself holding Mackenzie and saying, “Pretty” as she pointed to the fireworks.
Another holiday she had missed out on but she was still glad Mackenzie was safe and well cared for.
That night Tara dreamed abort her dad, that he was after her and kept trying to hurt her but she kept escaping him.

July 5, 2001
Tara had a rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep.
She talked to Susan who told her about her 4th of July spent with a depressive woman and her care-taking son who was also Susan’s daughter’s boyfriend. Susan felt sorry for him and said she was going to start spending time with him. The woman was overmedicated according to Susan and was dating a manic-depressive man who was also on a lot of meds.
“He makes you look like you’re totally balanced,” Susan said. “I mean, you are totally balanced but you know what I mean.”
Tara just took all this in and didn’t say much, just agreed it was sad for the kid. Being manic herself, she also empathized with the mom and boyfriend.
Tara got an email from Veronica:
“Thanks for the forwarded message (about getting Mackenzie tested for Dwarfism). She’s been tested for everything known to man I think,” she wrote. “No, I seriously don’t know about Dwarfism specifically, but I’ll check with her doctor. Height wise she’s right on target, it’s just the weight. A lady at our church was sickly - had some heart surgery and still weighed only 18 pounds at two years of age. She’s a fine weight/height now but she keeps reassuring me that Mackenzie will play catch up.
The doctor told us all the genetic tests were fine as were all thyroid levels so (yeah right) to quit worrying. The cystic fibrosis, neuromuscular tests - everything is negative. I think the reflux just went undiagnosed so long and we were practically force feeding and every time she swallowed it hurt, but she didn’t really cry, just pulled
away from the nipple so we weren’t picking up on it. Anyway, I think due to our aggressively trying to feed her we inadvertently helped her develop an aversion to food. She associates eating with pain or discomfort so just doesn’t want to do it. Poor thing. But they keep reassuring us that she can overcome it, it will just take time. We continue to do the play therapy and one day it will really kick in and she’ll eat us out of house and home. I’ll tell her the stories of us all worrying about her eating when she’s 25 and dieting for her wedding dress! By the way - I plan on you being at her wedding!!
I worked all day long and really missed the kids. They had a great day with my nieces though and probably didn’t notice I was gone. (I) Took care of a 17-month-old who ate flea killer and was one sick kid. I came home and checked all the cabinet locks to make sure they can’t get into them. What a nightmare for that mom! Had another sick kid with asthma. For an adult hospital we get toooo many kids. We usually ship them quickly to the Children’s Hospital.
Our church is having its “Sharebreation” for the church and neighboring houses for the 4th. Frank is working so I’ll go with the kids. The good thing about having two
kids and being alone - they don’t really expect you to cook or clean up as you’re looking after the little ones. Lazy, huh? I’ll take some pics for you tomorrow to get developed for the 15th.”
We got your bookmark today. I love it and so does Mackenzie. She hugged the blue bear bookmark and slobbered on it a little. I put it up on her dresser. Thank you so much. Sorry about the job being taken but the right one for you will come along.”
That night Tara ran into Jamie but didn’t say a word. Jamie looked like crap but was flirting with some old guy and had to be the center of attention.
Tara was irritated and went home.
Tara felt like she was on a dry drunk. Her friends couldn’t reach her emotionally. She was just full of anger and resentments at herself and at everyone.

July 6, 2001
Tara had another rough night with her asthma and didn’t get much sleep plus Tara’s neighbors were making noise about something.
She wound up going into work an hour early just because she couldn’t sleep.
She got an email from James/Jake telling her his real name was James Hamilton but he sometimes used the pseudonym Jake Burns.
What, did he think he was James Bond or something?
She wrote back asking him why he used an alias and never heard back from him.
“Sounds like a load of crap to me. Leave it alone. I’ll see you soon,” the guy from Boston wrote Tara when she emailed him about it.
She got an email from her sex buddy who told her his ex was stalking him and driving him nuts. Tara told him she ran into her ex, Jamie, last night and said they should set them up, that they sounded perfect for each other.
“Yeah, they can beat each other up!” he wrote back.
Tara told him about James/Jake’s response about his two names.
“He’s not worth meeting if he can’t even give you his real name,” he said.
Tara insisted that any rules against dating handsome coworkers were clearly written by people who hadn’t gotten laid since Moses staggered down the mountain carrying a couple of scratched-up stones.
That afternoon her post adoption counselor called to check on her.
“I’m still mad at myself for not being able to be a mom,” Tara told her. “There’s three women at work who are having babies and they’re in their 20s. They’ve got the husband, the house, and the whole thing. It’s just not fair. Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“You know until you forgive yourself, you’ll stay stuck,” her counselor told her.
“I know.”
That night Tara tried yoga for the first time in some 15 years and liked it. She did before going to bed and it relaxed her. She could see getting used to this.

July 7, 2001
Tara stopped by Susan’s in the morning and they were baby-sitting their six-year-old nephews.
“We have to meet the next person you’re going to date beforehand,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“You don’t understand,” Susan chimed in. “Tara had sex recently. Tara’s a confessed sex addict and has been for years. She can’t just not have sex.”
“At least let it be with a woman next time,” her girlfriend suggested.
“Well, let’s see the last two women I was with were Jamie and Bonnie. So what does that tell you?” Tara said.
Susan’s girlfriend was familiar with both.
“Good point,” she said, sipping her coffee.
“Anyway, I’m not worried about it. It’s not like I’m out there trying to meet someone,” Tara said.
That night Tara went to a birthday party and saw some friends she hadn’t seen in awhile. Luckily Jamie wasn’t there. Only four people were celebrating. There were usually more.
Tara went home and watched an inspiring movie by herself; one that the critics didn’t like but a couple of her friends told her was really good.
She wound up liking it a lot and didn’t know why the critics didn’t care for it.
Her mom left her a message and told her there was no change with her grandma, that she’d been moved back to the nursing home and was terminal, that it was just a matter of time when “it” happened.

July 8, 2001
Tara’s mom called that morning and told her the same news about her grandma.
“Are you taking care of yourself?” Tara asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
Tara knew she was just saying that to appease her.
“Did you get the last pictures I sent of Mackenzie?” Tara asked.
“Yeah.”
Tara gave her an update on her progress and her mom just said, “That’s good” and nothing else.
It was clear she didn’t want to talk about her newest grandchild.
Tara stayed in all day because she didn’t have the gas to run around and it was so hot out. She wound up taking five naps from depression.
That’s why she didn’t like staying in all day, because that’s what she always wound up doing, despite her
best intentions to work on her place, give the dog a bath, clean; etc.
That night Tara dreamed her dad was after her again and she woke up rattled. She had been screaming in her sleep.
She hated that at 35 years old he could still get to her in her dreams if not in real life.

July 9, 2001
That day at work three women Tara worked with getting baby showers after work in the break room. They were all having girls and for two of them it’d be the first time they’d be moms. One of the women delivered last week so they were holding her gifts for her. The break room was filled with food, gifts, packages, and desserts. The table overflowed with gifts. It was like Christmas.
Tara told herself it didn’t bother her. She remembered the showers the residents at Gladney got consisting of journals, figurines, and bath products.
It was a nice gesture, Tara thought when she found out they held baby showers for the residents, although at the time before she found out what they gave, she didn’t understand how they could possibly have showers when
they didn’t have any use for baby gifts since the adoptive parents furnished those themselves.
Tara thought about the magical mobile that Mackenzie had over her crib, a bright, multi-colored spectrum of shapes and features that spun around on the ceiling. Mackenzie loved to gaze at it until she fell asleep. Tara saw this on the last video she received.
She was so grateful that she could see her so happy and peaceful.
She remembered her old boss and a former resident at Gladney telling her, “You’re so lucky. At least you get stuff and you know what’s going on.”
Tara tried not to bring good stuff up to the other birth moms she knew who she knew didn’t get any or not many pictures or videos, emails; etc. She didn’t want to make them feel bad. And she felt bad for them.
She told Veronica many times that Veronica was rare to furnish all of this for Tara.
Susan was surprised to hear that Tara was so privileged. She said she just assumed that all the birth moms got the same information.
Tara wasn’t going to be able to see her counselor again this week because of money and she hated that. She really needed to see her.
Tara hadn’t had romance in a long long time and told herself she didn’t miss it.
She got an email from the woman she’d been corresponding with via the Internet from the sex addict support group:
“Once again I agree with you 100 percent. I think anyone who’s not bi himself or herself can’t judge people who are. It might be related to the addiction and it might not but that’s really not for anyone else to judge. I still feel a little ashamed talking about it though for my own
reasons relating to family and religion (my family’s religion that is). But I’m practicing talking more about it with people in the program when I feel comfortable. There is one person I talk to a lot on the phone from the program and she is very accepting so I was able to tell her about a situation I had this weekend where I was intriguing with not one with two women. But then when I was emailing someone else from the group who doesn’t know that I am bi, I just kept referring to them as “people” being careful not to include gender. It’s funny because basically everyone I’ve ever told has been okay with it but I just always get nervous telling new people and I know that’s my own shame around it. I liked your analogy about it being like having to check off race…it reminds me of something I just read that was posted to the list about looking in between the black and white for the rainbow.”
Maybe Tara was just a “head in the sand Ostrich” and was in denial about so many things. She never asked boyfriends about their exes. She had been known to dump boyfriends via email and she didn’t apply to her top choice college just to avoid rejection.
Her method of dealing with difficulties was to hide and pretend they didn’t exist. She knew avoiding all conflict did nothing but make her problems worse. It was said that confronting her crisises would help her realize that not every tremor was a guaranteed earthquake.
That afternoon Tara took her dog to a new park, a really tiny one with brand new playground equipment. There was no one there, and as the two of them walked around, Tara thought about the playground where had Mackenzie’s Placement.
“I should’ve picked this one,” she thought. “It’s more private.”
Ironically an attorney Tara used to work with as a child advocate lived on the same street as this new park. She remembered when the attorney told her that the judge loved her after Tara testified in a termination of parental rights trial. It was easy back then for Tara to be so over-zealous and judge moms so harshly when she wasn’t a mom yet. She had testified in two court cases resulting in victories. Back then she got a natural high from it. Now she didn’t regret what she did but had a little more sympathy for them.
Susan called that night and said her daughter was giving her problems again. She could hear her arguing with her in the background and felt bad for her. Susan’s blood pressure had been up for three days and everyone was worried about her.
She told her they were going out of town that weekend and asked Tara to house/pet-sit again. Tara never minded even though Susan saw it as a favor to her. Susan didn’t know that it was a refuge for Tara, a second home.
That night Tara had dreamed she was having an affair with a married guy she knew and woke up at 2:30 a.m. In the dream she felt terribly guilty and wound up ending the affair.
Maybe Mackenzie didn’t really need to meet her one day after all, Tara thought, as she got herself together for work which she was running late for.

July 10, 2001
Tara found out on her lunch hour that she bounced a check and that her oil gasket in her car was leaking.
More bad karma, she thought.
The mechanic told her since his boss would charge so much for her to get it repaired, he could just come to her house and do it for $50.00.
She was immediately suspicious as he gave her his business card and told her to call him when she got paid in a couple of days.
“I wonder what he wants in return,” she thought as she drove away, trying to block the image of having sex with him out of her mind.

She needed a drink.
A song came on the radio that reminded her of her drinking days just before she got sober the first time around.
She felt like most of the time what kept her from drinking was the fact that she really was on medication and was afraid she’d have a stroke or something if she mixed it with alcohol. She’d rather be dead than have a stroke and be rendered totally useless. So now the brief thought of drinking with the Boston guy and how “fun and relaxing” it would be lost its attraction.
She could see herself now being relaxed right into a coma if she mixed pills and booze.
She hated that she was dependent on anti-depressants, which prevented her from taking chances like she wanted to.
She couldn’t get grateful enough to see that it was saving her life.
She stopped by the bookstore on the way back to work from her lunch hour to see if one of her favorite magazines was in yet but it wasn’t.
The sound of a bunch of little girls’ laughter echoed as she left the store.
She wondered if she would ever get through a day when that sound or the sight of a little girl didn’t jerk at her numb heart or threaten to stir up tears. She told herself she’d moved beyond it but she knew better. It was now just like a sore with scab.
It had hardened in time but it was still there, just waiting to be scratched or poked.
She really needed to see her counselor but money wouldn’t allow it.
As she passed the books displayed in the bookstore windows, she wistfully imagined one was hers, as she had done all her life.
She felt nauseous as she made her way back to the office.
She applied for a public relations job with a local playhouse. She really wanted it but doubted she would get it. She thought about how cool it’d be to do p.r. for a theater. But they hadn’t called after she faxed her resume and clippings.
If her dad had never laid a hand on her, had never fondled her while he critiqued her stories and made her feel like what she wrote wasn’t good enough with his body while he said the opposite with his mouth - she wondered how far she could have gone with her writing career.
He had left a handprint as big as a giant monster’s on her soul and chained her heart up in heavy, thick chains with many locks that had no keys.
Her ex-husband, Mark, was the only one who had found a way to unlock them.
She didn’t believe there would be another Mark.
When Tara got home all she wanted to do was take a nap but her a/c window unit broke and she had to call her landlord. She and her landlord spent the new few hours hauling an old a/c unit from the house next door to
her place and installing it in her bedroom window. Her landlord’s helper was out of town and wouldn’t be back for over a week.
While she was helping her landlord, a friend of Tara’s called from treatment and asked if she could stop what she was doing and bring her some smokes. Even after Tara told her what was going on, she still expected her to drop everything.
Drenched with sweat, Tara told her to call her the next day and she’d see what she could do.
That afternoon she’d heard her favorite deejay talk about how he was fed up with women and just wanted to be alone, that he was happier alone, that all he needed was the Internet and his dog.
Tara related to that that day as she listened with her usual heightened interest. The deejay’s sidekicks said everyone was concerned about him because of his isolation and never wanting to get out and do things like he used to.
“Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older,” he said. “That’s why I don’t put up with women a lot of the time. I tell them ‘I don’t need you.’”
The radio station was scheduled to have a T-shirt and prize giveaway in a couple of days and Tara was thinking of dropping by since it would be a local event. The only reason she even thought of dropping by is because she knew her favorite deejay wouldn’t be there. She would be too shy to meet him until she got in better shape. If she saw he was there, she’d just drive away.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her step dad was beating her and some other women and she kept threatening to take his belt away. But every time she tried he struck her again and again.
In reality her step dad whipped her once with a belt when she was a teenager while her mom watched, a truly humiliating experience.
In the same dream Tara was sobbing loudly, gut wrenching cries for Mackenzie, feeling the loss right down to her bones. She wanted to drink but was afraid to mix her anti-depressant with alcohol. In the dream she asked a pharmacist what would happen if she did it, but she woke up before she got an answer.
Oh God, she thought in the dream, “I’ve done what my mom did to me. She gave me up. I’ve done the same thing.”
Everyone told her in reality, “No, you gave Mackenzie a home. Your mom bounced you all over the place from foster home to institution. It’s not the same.”
Tara understood all that intellectually but emotionally she hadn’t gotten it from her head to her heart.
It was seeing the recent pictures from Veronica of Mackenzie sitting in the courtroom with her new parents that struck a chord with Tara. It reminded her of when her parents gave her up, only she wasn’t in the courtroom but in a waiting room and had no idea what was happening.

July 11, 2001
That morning Tara was in the midst of her office duties when the thought of drinking occurred to her again. In her mind’s eye she could see the numerous bottles lined up in the grocery store she frequented, she could picture herself downing bottle after bottle.
“Please God, save me,” she thought to herself. “I don’t want to start over.”
She knew what she had to do. She knew she had to work just as hard at staying sober as she did at drinking. That’s what everyone always said.
She was going to have to work damn hard.
She knew that all the booze in the world wasn’t going to change the fact that she didn’t have Mackenzie.
She knew she had to pray that morning as she had every morning and night or there was no hope for her. She had to pray to this invisible God, a God she only recently believed in even after years in recovery.
“I wonder if you can mix alcohol with antidepressants and get away with it?” she thought again.
She remembered the image of her friend who had relapsed recently and how he looked. He was on antidepressants and though he hadn’t had a stroke, he was a mess. But then he’d been doing drugs and drinking for years off an on and he’d built up quite an immunity. Besides he used to be a paramedic so he knew just the right formula to take without stroking out. Tara, however, knew nothing of this and she knew she shouldn’t play around with it.
She could picture herself having suffered a stroke, one side of her face drawn down, a completely hopeless mess.
At work there was a screaming baby in the background, a patient’s child who was waiting with her.
“Just what I need, a screaming baby,” Tara’s co-worker said.
“Yeah, really,” Tara said.
“God knew what he was doing. He knew I couldn’t handle it that’s why I don’t have any kids,” her co-worker said.
“Yeah,” Tara said. “I know what you mean.”
Her co-worker knew about Mackenzie but never questioned her about it.
In the background she heard one of the doctors question one of the pregnant women in the office who was due August 14th.
“Are you ready?” he was asking.
“Oh yes,” she said.
She looked great compared to how Tara looked at this time last year and she was due around the same time.
“Well, Dr. Gregson and I are ready for you if it happens here,” the doctor joked. “I delivered my son, you know.”
“Is that the one with the deformed arm?” Dr. Gregson joked and everyone laughed.
On her lunch hour Tara went back by the gas station and gave the mechanic her number to work on her car for a cheaper rate at her house after hours. He said he’d call her that night.
“I’m not sleeping with him,” she told herself.
She hadn’t been in this emotional place in a long time and she didn’t like it.
He added a half-quart of oil and said, “Gracias” and she drove off.
Later the woman who Tara corresponded with over the Internet who was also battling a sex addiction, wrote her after Tara told her about sleeping with her sex buddy again that week:
“I know it must feel awful to have a slip,” she said. “I have never been through withdrawal but I still know when I’m acting out and feel awful afterwards. I don’t know if you do this but I have a tendency to beat myself up and it doesn’t work. It just makes me feel bad about myself and then want to act out again. The only thing, which has worked for me when I have a slip or act out, is to forgive myself and keep going. And that can be applied to any kind of slip; it doesn’t have to just do with sex. It sounds like your addiction is really getting the best of you and I can totally relate. I have not been able to stop seeing my doctor and had a date with another guy and was intriguing with a couple of women last weekend.
I am in a lot of pain about all this. I feel torn between wanting to do recovery and the other - wanting to do my addiction. I still say for you that it’s great that you managed to stay sober for four months. I went to a meeting last week and the speaker was saying something like if you run 20 miles then stop and still have 20 more miles to go it doesn’t mean you still didn’t run those first 20 miles. I’m not saying it exactly right but you get the point. Hope maybe that helps a little.”
Tara wrote her back:
“Thank you for your on-going compassion,” Tara said. “It really comforts me. It seems you don’t see a lot of it these days. You know how judgmental people can be.”
“Yes, I do know how judgmental people can be, even in program sometimes,” the woman wrote back. “That’s why I try not to be that way. I know how tough it is. I’m struggling myself very much. I’m already way too hard on myself and judgmental so I don’t need anyone else that is! That’s not going to help us anyway. I think the key is having compassion for ourselves, something I have not mastered yet. I’ve been really down about my recovery. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t even bother being in program since I can’t seem to make a commitment to
withdrawal and to stop acting out. It’s really a struggle. As I’m sure you know! Well, at least we have each other in program and know we’re not alone. I’m here any time you need to “talk.”
Later Tara got an email from Veronica:
“I got the recent pictures developed and they’re wonderful!” she wrote. “Can wait for you to see them. I reminded Frank yesterday about his letter. It always takes him a few days to get it done and decide what he wants to say. We’re starting to teach Mackenzie to put up one finger, as she will be one year old. Unfortunately she holds up her middle finger. Kinda cute, but….some people might be offended. Haven’t weighed her lately but her clothes are getting tight so I know she’s gaining. No real change in her appetite but we’re hanging in there.
We went to a water park Sunday with Frank’s work and the kids had a blast. Mackenzie thought she was a big girl as we took her baby inner tube and she can kick her legs and get around in it. She’s sitting on her knees and jumping. Won’t be too long before she starts taking steps.”
On the radio some guy was being interviewed about a web site he created in which he was offering $10,000 to whoever could find him a wife. He lived in Missouri and had gotten offers as far away as New Zealand. He was very strict about height and weight requirements and she had to be a non-smoker and “his best friend.”
The deejay was ragging him about the best friend part, telling him that the wife always had a better best friend and the husband usually wasn’t it but the guy didn’t buy it. The guy said he’d been engaged twice before but backed out - once because of pressure another time because his fiancée had a drinking problem.
People called in criticizing the guy but he didn’t back down. He said he was on the up and up and what he was doing was no different than going into a bar looking for someone, just offering money to the person who helped, that’s all. He even offered $200 for the person who found a girl he wound up asking out even if he didn’t propose.
Tara slept fitfully, tossing and turning, thinking about Mackenzie, men, that deejay she had a crush on, and her money problems.
She went to the store to pick up some things. That male cashier smiled at her as always. She could never figure out if he was flirting with her or not.
Sometimes he was so nice and other time he could be downright rude. He would always tease her when she came in there once or twice a night with insomnia or allergies buying allergy pills or something.
“No sniffling and sneezing in this store,” he’d tease and smile at her.

July 12, 2001
Her favorite radio station was giving away stuff in her neighborhood. Tara stopped in at the electronics store where the display was set up and one of the female deejays was getting her picture taken with various guys.
Tara walked right past the table of goods and went back to her car, losing her nerve.
She’d already told herself if that deejay she had a crush on was there, she wouldn’t stop. She didn’t think he would be since he was on the air in a couple of hours and wouldn’t have time to make it back to Dallas.
The female deejay was one that Tara’s favorite deejay had the hots for but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She thought he was a loser, ironically. The female
deejays were 23 years old, blonde, gorgeous, great body, the whole thing.
“You look like you’ve lost weight,” one of Tara’s co-workers told her that day.
That was the third person she knew who had said that recently. At first she thought they were just being nice but now she wondered if maybe it were true although she still looked flabby and felt huge.
She still had a big belly from the baby and figured she always would.
The Boston guy emailed her and told her that his little girl flirted with men, too, and that all little girls like to do that. Tara thought she just had a charming child, which she did anyway.
never did before.
She got an email from the woman who was also struggling with her sex addiction:
“Thank you for your words of encouragement,” she wrote. “I was starting to feel really bad about my recovery. I went to therapy today and told her that I feel as though I am not really in recovery because I’m still acting out and she said that’s not true. She said the only requirement for being in recovery is the DESIRE to stop acting out which I have. As I’m sure you do or you wouldn’t be in this program. I just feel very conflicted this week because I have made plans to spend the day with that doctor on Friday. I am torn because on the one hand I’ve been feeling a lot of rage towards him because he’s not there for me. On the other hand I still want to be taken care of by him and I don’t want to give him up. Anyway, that’s where I’m at today. Thanks for being there.”
Tara didn’t sleep well that night and woke up every two hours. She felt like she was coming down with something. Her lymph nodes were swollen and she felt lightheaded. She hoped she wasn’t getting sick.
Tara didn’t think her sex life was nearly as exciting as other people’s. Sometimes she was aware of what felt like a purely physical urge to have sex. She was immediately drawn to people who looked a certain way. She believed in many cases it was very possible that having been sexually coerced or traumatized earlier in life had influence on a person’s later enjoyment of sex.
That night she had another nightmare about her ex-girlfriend. This time she had totally manipulated a therapist into believing everything she said and Tara was furious. She woke up in a seat with chills. It always took her awhile to get over a nightmare about her.

July 13, 2001
It was Friday the 13th.
Tara often joked that that was her lucky day and the rest were unlucky, the way her luck ran.
She got a blind email from her favorite deejay’s station telling all his fans about a movie he was filming. They were asking for extras, actors, gophers, caterers, hair stylists, and makeup artists. Those interested were told to email the station.
Before the sent the emailed reply, she hesitated.
Should she do it?
An inner voice told her no and she remembered how the guy from Boston, who used to be in radio once told her, “You’re going to get hurt. Remember, all they care about is the show.”
But she ignored her inner voice and sent her reply anyway and she quickly got a reply back that the producer would be in touch.
What was she thinking?
Just last night she was looking at her body in the mirror and cringing, yearning for the days when she was skinny.
Her arms were flabby and she needed to be doing more upper body workouts. Her breasts, once great looking, looked saggy to her now. Her stomach, although flatter than it was, was flabby. She turned around and looked at the bag of her legs in disgust. There were varicose veins she didn’t see before. A long one ran from the top of her thigh halfway down her leg.
“Oh man, when did that happen?” she asked aloud.
She turned back to the front now and did what she always did with her stomach, pulled it up with her hands, imagining it flat. She always said she’d never get liposuction or anything like that if she were rich but now she thought differently. She’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Oh, even if I did it, I’d still be big,” she said to herself now.
She pulled the skin back on her legs, imagining them toned and in great shape.
Then she looked at her hips, forlornly.
She always had childbearing hips. She hated that.
Now she looked like her mom.
Taking a peek at her but, she grimaced. It was all flabby and it looked like her mom’s too.
She really thought she was getting in shape but this discovery killed that notion.
She sighed.
“I used to be so skinny. What happened?” She asked herself, knowing it was those steroids the doctor put her on a long time ago that made her gain all that weight.
An ER doctor recently tried to put her back on them after a visit to the Emergency Room but she wouldn’t fill the script.
No way was she going back on those.
They didn’t tell her that it’d be so hard to get the weight off.

The night before Susan’s girlfriend told Tara she had an extra pass to Wet n’ Wild and did she want to go.
Tara told her not till she loses more weight.
“You wouldn’t go by yourself?” Susan’s girlfriend asked.
“No, not till I drop some more weight,” Tara said.
Maybe the grief or guilt was making her sick. Or maybe she was just getting a summer cold like her friend said.
House/pet sitting for Susan that weekend reminded Tara of last summer when she did it three times and she was pregnant.
She couldn’t help but go there in her mind with Mackenzie’s first birthday coming up in a month.

July 14, 2001
Tara talked with a male friend as usual about her screwed up mental state and sex addiction.
“So, you think it’s an addiction?” he asked.
“Definitely,” she said. “I know it is.”
She’d told him this a million times before.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Because I’ve read articles and talked to people online who have the same problem,” she said.
Then they talked about whether he was one, which she believed he was but this was the first time she’d told him so.
“I don’t know that I’m addicted, necessarily,” he rationalized. “I mean I don’t crave it.”
“Well, you have to look at different things,” she explained. “Does it destroy your life? Have you ever had
bad consequences? Would you do anything for it; forget food and all your other needs?”
“Well, no,” he said.
“See for me the answer is yes to all of it,” she said. “And I crave sex.”
“So, you just make up your mind that you’re not going to do it,” he tried to persuade her. “You just throw yourself into getting in shape, for instance. Then you’ll feel better about yourself and you won’t do it. You’ll attract a better
quality of people once you’re back in shape. I like to think that I’m a cut above other people you’ve attracted.”
He didn’t understand.
They went to dinner and he commented on the cute waitress.
They talked about their sexual escapades through the years with different people and how they were both turning into their parents, saying the things they said.
“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said. “I say things that both my parents said.”
He told her how his mom died seven years before of an aneurysm. She went to sleep and never woke up. He remembered rushing to the hospital trying to talk to her before it was too late but he missed her.
He told her about his dad’s new girlfriend he’d been seeing for two years who he didn’t care for. He told her about his plans to go out of town with his wife soon to celebrate eleven years of marriage.
“I’m getting tired of traveling so much for work but I’m looking forward to that,” he said.
They talked about Mackenzie, guys, work; Tara’s writing projects, day job, and her obsession with that deejay.
They talked about her obsession with the deejay some more and she filled him in on the latest happenings.
“You’re a groupie, Tara,” he said, referring to radio groupies. “You need to get over this thing. You’re in love with a persona. You don’t know the real him.”
“He told some caller recently that she’d probably be pretty bored with him off the air,” Tara said.
“That’s probably true,” he said. “It’s a show that’s all.”
He’d been a radio producer for a station in New Mexico when he was 20 and had girls waiting for him outside the studio after the show all the time. He loved it and couldn’t get enough of it. He even had his own fan club.
“Personally anyone who was a member of my fan club I wouldn’t want anything to do with,” he said. “Anyone who
has time to be a member of my fan club has way too much time on their hands.”
He advised her to continue losing weight, and then just make a casual remark to the deejay once in the studio audience that she enjoyed the show.
“But, that’s all you say,” he advised. “Don’t swoon or make it obvious you like him. If you approach him for his persona he’s going to reject you.”
“But how do you do that? I can’t help but do that,” she said.
“You approach him as a person,” he explained. “He doesn’t care if you loved the show. He’s not doing it for you. Just say, ‘Heard the show. Thanks a lot.’ That way he knows you know who he is and leave it at that.”
She told him about the dream she’d had the night before in which she met the deejay and he rejected her.
“I’m going to withdraw from trying to be in that movie (he’s making) since I had that dream,” she said. “I’m just going to get hurt.
Something the Boston guy had been telling her for months.
He told her how he met a celebrity once and discussed politics with him and not his career and how the guy appreciated it.
“I didn’t know he was into politics,” Tara said.
“You wouldn’t because no one ever asks him about it,” he said. “We hung out in his RV and discussed all that and his religion. He’s a Christian.”
“I never would’ve guessed that,” she said.
“That’s because no one ever talks to him about anything except his career,” he said. “That’s the way it is with this deejay. You don’t know him. You don’t know his likes, dislikes; etc. You don’t know what he’s really like.”
They slept for a while and planned to go out later to a couple of clubs. Instead he was so tired they just wound up walking around downtown, checking out the sites and sounds. They stopped off at a bookstore and he watched a guy flirt excessively with a girl while balancing books on his head, trying to impress her.
“Wait, I want to check this out,” he said, stopping in the middle of the store.
They went upstairs and Tara leafed through a local newspaper to find swingers clubs for the Boston guy at his urging. She found some and they made some calls
but he said he was tired so as usual they didn’t pursue it.
Despite what Tara knew, the Boston guy would never admit he was as addicted to sex as she was and that he’d almost lost his family recently because of it. Just because he hadn’t lost what she had, he didn’t consider himself addicted. She would never tell him he was because she knew he would just deny it.
It didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t need to convince him he was addicted. A year ago he’d pretty much admitted it in his roundabout sheepish way of admitting things, something he never did much of anyway. About the closest he came to admitting it was to say he was screwed up and realized it. But he was financially and professionally successful, a smooth talker had everything you could possibly want in life, and had a loving family. He had created his own inner world that bowed to his demands and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He made comments on some hot women as always and before long they parted for the night.
“You know you keep saying how lucky I am (to have someone),” he said before they said their good-byes. “I’m really – “
“You are very lucky,” Tara said, forlornly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be out there and single and know you’ll be alone the rest of your life.”
“You can’t look at it that way,” he insisted. “Don’t be like that.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” Tara said, sullenly. “You have someone.”
“Come on, don’t get all depressed,” he said, something he always wound up saying to her at the end of the night.
“I’m not depressed,” she said. “This is me.”
He attempted to hug her or have another goodbye but she was already in her car, turning the key.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to sleep late.”
She didn’t even bother getting his number or hotel room number as usual.
She just didn’t care any more.
She got lost on the way home because she was so upset and distracted. She picked up her dog and went
back to her house/pet-sitting job. She’d been thinking about going back there all night and couldn’t wait to just get her dog and go home.
She picked her dog up; stopped by the store where the usual checkout guy smiled at her as always and told her he was going away for a few days to the beach.
“Oh, I love the beach,” Tara said truthfully. “My sister lives on the beach.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s good to get away and dig your toes in the sand,” he said and handed her bag to her.

She and the Boston guy had talked earlier about how men sending flowers for instance was an example of saying, ‘You’re safe.’”
“So why don’t men and women just dispose of all that phoniness and cut to the chase, say ‘Look we both want sex so let’s just get to it’?” she asked the Boston guy.
“Because women want that display, those flowers; etc,” he said. “It’s almost like some women want permission to be bad so giving them flowers says they have permission.”
“I can see that,” she said.
They got on the subject of Mark, her ex-husband, something they’d talked about before.
“So what were the problems you all had?” he asked.
“Well, I left him because I wanted to experiment with women but we had other problems, too,” she said.
“Did he ever hit you?”
“No, I hit him six times and cheated on him six times and he knew about it,” she said.
“If you hit me, I’d hit you back,” he said, emphatically.
“He would never hit me. He would always hit the wall to keep from hitting me,” Tara said. “And he even knew I cheated on him when we were engaged. Three months
before we got married he kicked me out of the house for hitting him. He said ‘This is the last time you’ll hit me.’”
When we were in couples’ counseling the counselor said I was like the guy in the relationship and he was like the wife. I did what I wanted to do and I thought like a guy.”
Later Tara never did call her landlord back that day after she left a nasty message on her machine, wanting to meet with her neighbor and her about her neighbor’s pets and other problems and how she’d been getting misinformation from her neighbor about Tara.
Tara couldn’t handle meeting with them. She’d already warned her neighbor she should leave for the rest of the day because the landlord wanted to talk with them both at the same time.
“I don’t care if she evicts me,” her neighbor told her earlier that day. “I told her she could if she wants.”
Once again Tara offered to take the stray dog to the Humane Society since his foster home wasn’t going to take him and they were looking for someone else. But again her neighbor refused.
Tara felt bad for the dog but he’d attacked her dog six times and needed to be in a home where he was the only dog.
That night before going to bed Tara started to email Chelsea, who was a therapist about getting into an in-patient facility for sex addiction.
But then the thought of leaving her pets deterred her.
She remembered earlier that night the Boston guy had asked her like he always did if she thought placing Mackenzie for adoption was the right thing. He was adopted and was an only child but he had never had a desire to find his birth mom. She was like Tara, struggling financially.
“I know I did the right thing,” Tara said emphatically. “I’m lucky because I get emails, letters, cards, videos. I know everything she’s done, every milestone.”
“Really? And they’re okay with that?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve filled up a whole photo album and have to buy another one.”
She showed him the most recent pictures and he oohed and ahhed. He looked at the group shot of the whole family last.
“They seem like nice people,” he said.
“They are,” she said.

July 15, 2001
Today Mackenzie was eleven months old. For once it wasn’t a bad milestone birthday for Tara as it usually was. Normally she’d mope around and be sad about it all day but today was different. Or maybe she was just too sick with her asthma to feel it.
Tara had a nightmare the night before that she and her dad were in a fistfight and woke up, shaken. It always took her awhile to calm down whenever she dreamed about him, something she’d been doing a lot of lately.

July 16, 2001
Tara was sick all day but went to work anyway.
The night before she’d had another dream about her dad and woke up in a cold sweat. In the dream he was suffocating her. When she was 15 he had tried to strangle her. In the dream a huge spider bit her, one of her worst fears, and her leg ached all over. A therapist once told her that if many incest survivors fear spiders and when they dream about them the spider symbolizes the abuser.
Tara did have a huge fear of spiders, even little ones, and had had nightmares about them for years along with the ones about her dad.
That night Tara finally got to see her therapist after not being able to see her for weeks because of money. They almost didn’t let her see her again that day.
“I can’t remember the last time you were in,” her counselor said to her as she came in her office.
“I know, me neither,” Tara said and filled her in on her fall back into her sex addiction.
“What do you think started it back up?” her counselor asked her as she always did.
“I don’t know. I guess when James answered my personal ad,” she said.
Tara told her counselor that she hadn’t been able to cry in weeks and that she wouldn’t or couldn’t let herself.
She was finally able to cry about the adoption but only after getting mad about it.
“I just can’t get past the fact that I’m not there for her (Mackenzie),” Tara cried. “I know it’s not the same as my mom abandoning me but I can’t get past it.”
Tara told her about the women in the office who were all expecting babies and had husbands and homes.
“It’s so unfair,” Tara said. “I know life is unfair but it’s how I feel. I can’t help it. Why couldn’t I have that kind of life? Why did mine have to be so fucked up?”
“I know, it’s not fair,” her counselor agreed.
“Everyone says ‘Forgive yourself’ but they don’t tell you how,” Tara said. “I’m supposed to just go on and pretend like I never had a baby. Like I don’t have a child. I lost a child. I know I get pictures and everything but I’m
not there. I’m not there with her like my mom wasn’t there with me.”
She used up the rest of the Kleenex box and her counselor motioned where another box was.
“You say you’re mad but there are tears,” her counselor said.
“I always get mad first before I cry, if I cry,” Tara explained. “I’m afraid Mackenzie’s going to meet me one day and be ashamed or embarrassed. Part of me feels like she never needs to meet me. That I’m not worth knowing.”
After counseling Tara went home and rested and felt better. She always felt better after she cried but still couldn’t make herself do it. It took her a long time to fall asleep and she woke up later and listened to one of her favorite radio shows and took a shower then went back to bed.
She didn’t have nightmares that night that she remembered anyway, and she always remembered them.

July 17, 2001
Tara dragged herself to work sick although she was medicated on antibiotics. She couldn’t afford to stay out of work.
She got an email from Veronica:
“I got your pics and letters mailed early today so it usually only takes one to three days to arrive at Gladney,” she wrote. “I can’t wait for you to see the pics - she is beautiful - just like you!! She’s 17 pounds, two ounces. I weighed her at Weight Watchers Saturday. Yes, I joined. I am miserable this fat and I’ve lost three pounds. Only 30 to go. Yipes. Anyway, they thought it was cute that I wanted to weigh her.
She’s pulling up and has stood a few times and is so proud of herself. Then she plops down onto her bottom. Sometimes it makes her cry, others not. Please email me after you see the wonderful pics of Mackenzie.”
Then Tara got an email from the woman she talked to in New York on line all the time about being in recovery from sex addiction:
“I ended up seeing that doctor/boss Friday and we spent the day together in a hotel,” the woman wrote. “Yesterday I hung out with this girl who I’ve sort of been
intriguing (playing with) but so far we’re just ‘friends.’ I’m still feeling weird about being in the program and acting out and my recovery. I keep talking about it with my therapist though which helps. And I have one pretty good friend I made in the program, which is cool. I’ve been having really bad insomnia again though off and on ever since my doctor came back from vacation a few weeks ago. I really hope you can find a way to stay in therapy. God knows I’d be lost without it!”
Tara could picture Mackenzie walking now and always had mixed feelings about updates. For the most part they made her happy but they were also laced with sadness at what she was missing. Still she didn’t regret getting the updates. She knew they were hard for Chelsea.
People didn’t understand why Tara sent Mackenzie gifts or why she wanted to set aside some money for her.
“She’s got everything she needs,” they’d say.
She did it because she was her mom, because she loved her. It wasn’t about her having plenty of toys or books. It was about her being her mother.
They just didn’t get it.
That afternoon after listening to her favorite deejay supposedly confess to losing his virginity to “a fat chick” (something he detested), Tara got motivated to go race walking again with her dog even though she was sick as a dog. She was going to exercise indoors since she was on medication but decided to go out anyway.
That night she ran into an old foe that snubbed her along with her so-called friends.
Her neighbor called later that night and asked her if she knew anyone 45 years old or younger who’d be interested in dating an old friend of hers who just got out of prison.
No one came to mind.
That night Tara had a nightmare that her mom and some strangers kidnapped her and some cousins and killed two of her cousins. Tara got away as she usually did in her dreams, and woke up relieved.


July 18, 2001
One of her favorite deejays was telling a female caller that all guys were about sex.
Tara kept cleaning the house to keep from going to bed where she knew the inevitable nightmares would follow. Before she went to bed she felt the sudden urge to look through Mackenzie’s photo album. She didn’t know why. It just overcame her so she gave in to it. It didn’t depress her but comforted her and she didn’t know why she needed to do it at that very moment. She hoped nothing was wrong with Mackenzie and she was feeling it or something weird like that.
She remembered a birth mom telling her who had placed several years ago that when something was really wrong she would feel it. She told her about the time something was wrong with her daughter’s AP dad and how she sensed something was wrong at the time but thought it was her daughter in danger. Later she found out that the AP dad had had a heart attack and that since her daughter was close to her AP dad, she was extremely upset.
That night Tara had another nightmare that someone was after her. When she woke up she was relieved to find her cat and dog laying on each side of her as they often were these days. They seemed to know when she needed them.
Her landlord wasn’t an animal person and was always accidentally letting them out when she would come over to do repairs while Tara was at work. Tara took off an hour early one-day because her landlord told her she had shut the pets up in the house where no air was circulating. It was 100 degrees outside so Tara rushed home to find them hanging out in the house, not confined and doing well.
July 19, 2001
Tara was in a bad mood most of the day at work and didn’t know why.
A co-worker on maternity leave had presents and cake waiting on her in the break room since she wasn’t able to attend the recent baby shower held for her and two other co-workers also expecting.
One of the co-workers had had her little girl the day before and she weighed the same as Mackenzie when she was born and also had her length.
Later another co-worker on maternity leave brought her newborn little girl to the office to see everyone. Tara stayed at her desk. She was already sad but didn’t know it and hearing everyone fuss over the little girl made her sadder.
The co-worker’s three-year-old daughter liked to “help” her mom diaper and take care of her new little sister and thought the baby was her own baby. Just like Ben did with Mackenzie.
There was one co-worker left who was due the day after Mackenzie’s birthday.
“The pressure’s on,” everyone joked to her.
Just like people joked with Tara when it was down to the count for her.
Tara had emailed the Post Adoption Department that day asking them to let her know when her packet of pictures and letters arrived so she could pick it up. They wrote her back that it was mailed to her yesterday.
She anxiously awaited them every other month and yet she knew this month would be the last packet she’d get till February.
The agreement was for her to get a packet every other month till Mackenzie was a year old, then every six months after the first year. Other birth moms had told her it was hard.
On the one hand, although it was silly, she wanted to prolong picking up the packet to stretch out the time. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to get the packet.
She always pored over and over the pictures, scanned, them, copied them, mailed copies to family and friends, put them on the refrigerator door, framed them, showed them off, carried them around with her, then finally put them with the others. It was an obsessive thing but also something of pride.
She was proud of her daughter and wanted to make her proud of her, the latter of which was a constant battle.
Just earlier that day she’d wanted to drink and could taste it. She just wanted to escape from all the anger.
She couldn’t wait to get home now to see if the packet was sitting in the mailbox.
As expected she spotted the brown envelope sticking out of her mailbox as she parked her car. For some reason once she got it in the house she didn’t rip into it as usual, but took care of a couple of things first.
The pictures were great as were the letters as always. Veronica included a copy of “Bright Futures,” the Gladney newsletter in the packet at her request.
Mackenzie was so animated and looked so happy in the pictures as usual.
“As you can see from the pictures, Mackenzie is thriving and as always beautiful,” Veronica wrote. “I honestly look forward to waking up each morning so I can snuggle with her.
She is crawling everywhere and the dogs are in fear for their life! The expression on her face is total glee as she chases them. She is pulling up on the furniture in an
attempt to stand. As always she continues to be very vocal and Ben is still trying to make her say his name.
Her weight is around 17 pounds and she continues to have feeding problems. Perhaps she’ll just be petite. Other than the feeding problems, she’s right on target developmentally. She loves to “read” books and play with her “kitchen.” Of course she’s just as happy playing with a piece of paper or box. She loves the small cereal boxes - guess they’re just the right size for her hands.
We spend a lot of time outside - mainly early morning and late afternoons. She continues to love the baby inner tube in the Jacuzzi and will “jump” in her exersaucer while Ben is playing in the backyard or watering his garden.
Wherever we go she seems to attract people. They always comment on how beautiful she is. Yes - she still looks like her wonderful birth mom.
The fall holds a trip to the balloon festival in New Mexico. I can’t wait to see the expression on her face when she sees 800 balloons in the air.
As a family we’ve been to the zoo and water park and both kids seem to love being with Frank and I. Wish we were millionaires and never had to work!
As always we speak about you and wonder how you’re doing. Our family and friends are always asking about you. You are a part of our family!
Thank you so much for the ultimate gift of life you gave to Mackenzie. We love you and hope the next year is a little easier, although I know you have good and bad days.”
Frank’s letter followed:
“It’s hard to believe it has been almost a year since you gave us the gift of Mackenzie,” he wrote. “Again I thank you for your unselfish decision. She is crawling everywhere and into everything within her tiny grasp. I hope and pray things are good with you. I’ve been working a ton of hours at work since there’s such a nursing shortage currently. I think Veronica thinks she’s a single parent again. I sure do like the extra money though as it has come into great use.
I’m looking forward to getting away on our trip to New Mexico in October. Mackenzie has a little summer cold right now but besides the constantly runny nose she’s doing awesome. We still are feeding her formula every four hours and are planning after she gets to the big one year of age to switch her to Pediasure. She doesn’t eat
any solid food yet. She just chokes or gags whenever we put anything in her mouth. But she sure has the teeth to handle the solid food and I’m sure in time she’ll begin to eat. Other than our constant worrying about when she eats she is the perfect little angel.
She will crawl room to room just to find me or Veronica. She has started pulling herself up to a standing position but doesn’t quite have the balance to maintain that position for very long, but she will get there. She is the most beautiful, sweetest, most loving child any parent could ever have. Thank you so much, Tara!”
Tara’s favorite deejay was flirting with some hot girl in the studio who was auditioning for his movie to be filmed over the next two months. It was a Halloween movie scheduled to be released in time for the holiday and many hot women had come in to read for the part. This girl was 21, blonde, 5 feet, 10 inches and gorgeous, according to the deejay who invited her over to his house.
One of the deejays asked the girl how old her breasts were since they were fake and she told him they were a year and a half old. All the guys in the studio were going gaga.
Tara missed being 21; of course, she was only cute then, but not beautiful.
A couple stopped by Tara’s apartment after her landlord called to tell her they were going to get her a/c unit from her bedroom window since it was extra for her and their a/c had gone out. The girl called when they were close by and Tara gave them directions. On the phone the girl sounded like a dog but in person she was hot. Her boyfriend who was with her was okay.
The woman had a three-year-old daughter and said she’d suffered cracked ribs over the 4th of July from trying to save her from drowning in the pool.
They were in and out of there in no time, their unit in tow. Tara was disappointed in having to give up her extra unit but she couldn’t begrudge them a/c, especially in Texas and with a child.
The landlord had supposedly told the woman to just sleep on the couch where the ceiling fan was for a few days till she could get her some air but the woman told her not with a little girl.
As the night grew later and after a trip to the store, Tara grew depressed and she didn’t know why. She was
usually really happy on the days she got pictures and letters but for some reason this time she was unhappy.
She didn’t exercise that night like she normally did, but escaped to bed like she often liked to do with her dog. She lay there, tossing and turning then Susan called.
“What’s going on with you?” Susan asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just lying down,” Tara said.
“Whatsa matter?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara said, remembering the last conversation they had about Mackenzie and how Susan urged her to get past her grief.
“What is it?” Susan pressed.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tara repeated.
“Did you get involved with some guy? Some girl?”
“No,” Tara lied, thinking about her latest quests. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Well, what is it? Did someone make you mad?”
“No,” Tara said. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t really been there for you. I’ve just been so busy,” Susan explained.
“I know. That’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that,” Tara said, truthfully.
“Well, we’ve gotta get together tomorrow night at least,” Susan said.
“You’ve got your nephew,” Tara said.
“Yeah, but we’ve got to get together,” Susan said.
“Don’t worry, we will,” Tara said, wanting to hang up right away.
“So, you’re not going to tell me?”
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on, pal,” Susan urged. “You’ve never said you didn’t want to talk about it. It worries me.”
“Don’t worry,” Tara tried to assure her.
“You always get mad and say ‘goddammit’ or something. You never not want to talk about something. It makes me feel like I should come over there.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t feel good,” Tara said which wasn’t a complete lie.
“You want to come over?”
“No.”
“You want me to come over?”
“No.”
“All right,” Susan said, forlornly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Tara said.
“All right.”
They hung up.
Tara knew she was mad but didn’t have the energy to get into it with her. She could’ve told her she was depressed about money, which was often true. She could’ve made something else sound worse than it was.
But she couldn’t tell her that she was incredibly sad about Mackenzie still.
Tara put a couple of the new pics on the fridge door along with some others. In one picture Mackenzie was holding out her arms as if to give her a big hug which should’ve made Tara smile.
Instead it made her really depressed.
Tara wondered if given a different set of parents if she would’ve been so animated, too. It was as if she could look at that picture and see her inner spirit that had been killed a long time ago though she always swore
she still had it. Occasionally it would make a brief appearance but society usually didn’t like it on a 35-year-old because it came across as immature and emotionally unstable.
It looked much better on a toddler where it belonged, Tara reasoned.
In the packet of pics and letters was a copy of “Bright Futures.” The article Veronica had told Tara about was in there about adoptive parents dropping pebbles (hints) about birth moms to adopted kids as they grew up to prepare them to understand adoption.
According to Gladney’s Post Adoption department, just because kids aren’t asking questions didn’t mean they weren’t thinking about it. Many children send subtle clues to their adoptive parents, according to the article. The article quoted Sherry Eldridge, author of Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew.
Apparently adopted kids don’t ask a lot of questions about birth parents because they assume their adoptive parents are going to tell them. There isn’t a simple formula to measure when a child is ready to hear information. The article urged parents to create
opportunities to discuss their child’s birth family if a child isn’t sending out cues.
For example, when a child does something special like making the winning goal in soccer or earning an “A” on a spelling test, parents can step in and say, ‘You know what I bet your birth mom is very proud of you.”
This technique is called “the dropping pebbles” technique. Pebbles can be used as a simple comment and genetic marker and to comment on feelings, according to Holly van Guilden and Lisa Bartels-Rabb, adoption educators.
Gladney advocated this technique.
Even if adoptive parents don’t have dialogue with their children, they should be honest with them, according to Gladney’s Post Adoption Department.
Letting the child decide when and where to hear information is the best course of action, allowing the child to take control of the situation, according to Pattye Hicks, director of Post Adoption Services. The article urged adoptive parents to be respectful of birth parents when talking about them with their children. In cases where adoptive parents have sketchy details or simply
don’t remember, honesty is still the best policy, the article stated.
Van Guilden and Bartels-Rabb also suggested contacting the agency to gather as much non-identifying information as possible. The women said parents should give their children permission to talk, think, and ask questions about their birth parents.
That night Tara had nightmares that a man was after her and that he killed a bunch of people then found her and Mackenzie and was going to burn them up like the others in the dream.
As always, she woke up before he killed her.

July 20, 2001
As Tara got ready for work she realized she was in a bad mood. As she made her way to the car she wondered to herself that if she worked on Mackenzie’s birthday as planned, would she lose her temper, thus losing her job as she normally did on emotional occasions. She hadn’t planned to take that day off because it was always better for her to stay busy on days like that, then she didn’t dwell on it all day.
She always felt like it was inevitable, that she was going to lose her job on days like that. Her track record proved it and no matter how many times she tried not to make it so, it always happened.
When she got to work she showed her two co-workers who were always so great about Mackenzie, her newest pictures. The new woman in the office looked at them, too and she said Mackenzie was cute.
Apparently the woman had already been briefed on the situation which Tara didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to be ashamed any more.
Her mood lifted after she showed the pictures to them and she worked through lunch to make up hours.
She did email Chelsea and asked her to call her that weekend because she really needed to talk. But she didn’t know if she’d hear from her or not since she
hadn’t heard from her in awhile. She was worried about her. The last time she didn’t hear from her in awhile, Chelsea had relapsed after 13 years of sobriety last year. Even before it happened, Tara sensed it; almost saw it coming but there was nothing she could do about it. Now Chelsea had 15 months sober again. Tara was glad she’d made it back.
That morning Tara got an email from Veronica:
“We got your card to Mackenzie,” she wrote. “I know you must miss her terribly. She is doing great and is very happy. She has a new toy this week. It’s a “Johnny Jump Up.” It’s this seat thing that fits over the doorway and she’s suspended in it. She can jump or sway in it. She loves it. Ben had one that we returned to its owner and I haven’t been able to find one. Evidently they’ve had some problems with them in the past but they’re back and new and improved and safer. Anyway, the only problem - we caught Ben swinging her with a lot of energy if you know what I mean. I about had a heart attack but he and Mackenzie were hysterically laughing. Got a few gray hairs over that one.
Frank was off tonight so he brought Mackenzie to church and she loved being one of the “big kids.” We
painted Veggie Tales T-shirts and painted her one also with “real” veggies; i.e. cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, and squash. They were a big hit. I’m ready to be finished with Vacation Bible School so I can concentrate on planning Mackenzie’s birthday party.
I know you’re aggressively looking for a permanent job and I know the right one will come your way. I keep telling Frank that as intelligent as he is I know he can come up with something to make us millionaires.
My sister’s pregnancy is progressing. She’s 18 or 19 weeks and is having a boy. I know what good care you took of yourself during your pregnancy. My sister’s tiny and has gained a lot of weight with this pregnancy. People have been so rude to her about the weight. It makes me so angry. Why are people so mean? They plan to name the new baby Chase. Colby is so excited although he said he wanted a sister like Ben initially.
I am glad you’re seeing your counselor as you need someone to talk to. We think of you all the time and wonder about you even more as Mackenzie’s first birthday approaches. Do you have any special plans on how to spend the day? Are you going to keep busy or take the day off?
I’m dying for you to get the new pics and see how beautiful Mackenzie is. You’re going to be pleased with how healthy she now looks and definitely still looks like her birth mom.”
Tara’s letter back to Veronica read:
“I was so happy with the pictures and I thank you so much for sending them. I never thought Mackenzie would be so animated! It’s great! I don’t know if I told you but a few birth moms I was with at Gladney haven’t been getting letters and pics regularly as promised by their APs and they’re really upset about it. I feel so bad for them that their APs haven’t kept up their end of the bargain.
So, more than ever I feel very fortunate to have the relationship I do with you and Frank. It’s very important to me, the most important one I have, besides the one I have with Chelsea, Susan, and Beth. Thank you for saying I’m part of your family. That means a lot.
I also like seeing how Ben has grown in the pictures you send. It’ll be neat to keep seeing that through the years. I showed two of my co-workers Mackenzie’s new pix like
I always do and they loved them as usual. They’re great about the whole thing.
I’m sorry to hear that Mackenzie is still having feeding problems but I’m so glad she’s gaining weight. I have a niece who’s petite and she had a baby last July. When she got pregnant we were all amazed that with her size she could go through birth. It always amazes me how tiny women can do that!
I was doing really well with the adoption, the best ever but I guess because Mackenzie’s birthday coming up, I’ve been really sad. I’m not sad for her at all, just feeling sorry for myself. And I can’t forgive myself for not being able to be the mom she needed. Everyone says to forgive myself but they don’t tell me how. Anyway, I’ll get through this somehow. I don’t mean to be so negative. I really don’t.
I’ve been race walking or doing some form of exercise daily. When I walk I take my dog and he loves it. I pick a different park or place every time and he gets so excited! I’ve gotten really dependent/co-dependent on
him I guess but he makes me laugh and smile so it’s worth it.
P.S. One of the birth mom’s little girl’s birthday is today and she’s a year old. I was with the birth mom (Cindy) at Gladney and she was the only one who stayed there as long as me.”
Tara wrote Frank back:
“Thanks for the great things you always say,” she said. “It’s hard for me too to believe it’s been almost a year. They say time flies in childhood.
Things are good here and I’m staying busy with work, exercise, and volunteer work with Pet Connection, Gardens Care Nursing Home, and my support group. Every Sunday I take my dog to the nursing home and we visit the residents to cheer them up. He seems to like it and they do, too. He has gotten more jealous when I take him to his weekly trip to Petsmart, which we’ve been doing for 2 ½ years now.
Thank you as always for such detailed updates on Mackenzie as they mean a great deal to me. I hope you know how much. I have a memory box of stuff from being at Gladney and of the things you all send to me - letters; etc. I also have a separate notebook with all your
emails printed out in order by date. I know I’m compulsive but I’ve always been a collector.”
Tara stopped by Susan’s and they had their six-year-old nephews running around, trying to keep up with them.
After Tara told Susan and her girlfriend about her latest escapades, Susan’s girlfriend gave Tara a confused look.
“What do you get out of all this?” She asked Tara.
“Attention,” Tara said. “I’ve been thinking about doing nose candy.”
“What?” she asked.
“You know, nose candy,” Tara said. “I’m trying to talk in code because of the boys here.”
“Y’all go outside for a minute,” Susan’s girlfriend told the boys, ushering them to the trampoline in the backyard.
“No, we don’t need to talk about it,” Tara said.
“No, I want to talk about it,” Susan’s girlfriend said. “I don’t want you to lose your home and everything again.”
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
“You have to understand Tara’s manic depressive,” Susan explained to her girlfriend. “She’ll cycle down and
it usually takes about a month for things to settle down again. It’s just part of it.”
“My sponsor says it’s because I’m on Step 6 in my (recovery) program,” Tara said. “Last time I was on Step 6 this happened.”
“Well that may be,” Susan’s girlfriend said.
“I don’t know about that,” Susan said. “But I know Tara and this is what she does. About a few times a year.”
“It’s actually more than that,” Tara said.
“Well, that’s been my observation anyway,” Susan said.
“Why would you want to do drugs?” Susan’s girlfriend asked Tara.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have the money anyway,” Tara said, after showing them Mackenzie’s latest pictures.
“She’s got money. You could get a rock (of coke),” Susan said, playing Devil’s Advocate as she always did.
“I’m not going to,” Tara said.
Tara kept trying to leave but they kept urging her to stay. She finally left after they were all talked out and the boys were in the tub. Susan and her girlfriend were taking them to a water park the next day and had to get up early.
Tara stopped on the way home and got a sexy movie that came out a couple of years ago that she never got to see. It was supposed to have this really hot sex scene in it. She didn’t watch it that night; she was too tired.

July 21, 2001
The next day as she waited for her clothes to dry at the Laundromat, Tara walked her dog around the park and noticed a garage sale down the street.
The handsome guy smiled at her and her dog as she turned the car around to park to check out what he had for sale. She noticed a few gorgeous things and parked the car.
After buying some cheap bookshelves she needed, she commented on some cultural items he had and they got to talking about music and theater. She thought about asking him out until he said the deal breaker - he didn’t have a job. He said he used to work in theater and was also a baker at one time.
He lived in a small garage apartment that he said he’d lived in for 19 years, long before the highway was expanded. He told her about a row of houses that faced the on ramp and how they were demolished to make
way for progress. Then he told her he had a bad habit of rescuing stray animals and was now the owner of four cats.
That night she watched the movie she’d rented the night before. The opening scene with the lead actor in a shrink’s office discussing his refusal to commit to anyone reminded Tara of herself. She thought about Mackenzie and about how Mackenzie would be embarrassed to know her one-day.
She talked to her old boss/ the birth mom whose little girl just had her first birthday.
“I only got eight pictures in the mail,” her old boss said. “They’re of her birthday party.”
“How was it getting them?” Tara asked.
“It was hard,” she said.

July 22, 2001
For the past few days Tara had been having “drunk dreams” (dreams in which she was drunk). In one dream she was doing drugs and some rival of hers was trying to convince her not to.
July 23, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman in recovery she always talked to online about their sex addiction that they had in common:
“That’s great that you finally got to see your therapist,” the woman wrote. “And that you were able to let go of some of the painful feelings due to acting out. I’m having a really hard time still, more so now than before even. I saw my married man today again and slept with him and freaked out after because I feel he’s pulling away from me. And I missed my meeting to see him so now I feel even worse. I went to the bookstore after therapy and bought this book, actually two books about recovery. I feel so overwhelmed by this disease and so hopeless. I just feel like I’ll never be able to go through withdrawal.”
Tara felt physically sick and she didn’t know why.
She was scheduled to see her counselor that night. She went home at lunch and napped to get the energy to go after work.
Her mom had called that morning and when Tara told her she was sending her new pics of Mackenzie, she had the same response as before - apathetic.
She knew her mom was going through a lot with her dying grandma still, but knew she would’ve probably had the same response anyway.
The night before Tara had a dream that she ran into a birth mom she knew from Gladney and she was doing great.
Tara had had a manic episode the night before. It sucked laughing to yourself with no one to share the insanity with.
Instead she just scared her dog.
That night Tara saw her counselor and told her of her escapades within the last week. She didn’t cry during this session and got silly during the last of it. She told her about the guy she met who was having a garage sale over the weekend.
Tara told her about the movie she’d seen over the weekend and how she related to the male lead character. She also told her about Mackenzie’s new pictures and showed them to her as she always did whenever she got new ones.
“When I look at her I see what must’ve been my inner spirit at one time,” Tara said. “But I don’t ever remember looking like that as a child. I was never happy.”
“Even that young?”
“No,” Tara said. “I’ve got pictures of me at 5 and my eyes are blank.”
“What about younger?”
“I have one baby picture and I just look crooked somehow, rattled,” Tara said. “Even then I was already ruined.”
“How sad,” her counselor. “Maybe you could bring those pictures in.”
Tara had done this with other therapists and it was always unproductive.
That night Tara’s mom called and again when Tara told her she was mailing her some new pix of Mackenzie, her mom didn’t respond. It was as if she were talking about a ghost.
That night about 1:30 a.m. Tara got up and wrote for about an hour. She was resentful against 79 people and if she added her cat that was 80. No wonder she was miserable and sick. Carrying all that rage around was
exhausting and depleting, as well as debilitating to her spirit. She wrote so much she had to put a Band-Aid on her hand from the blister that formed from holding the pen. She even tried to write at a different angle at first but to no avail.
When she went to bed she had a nightmare that she lived in a haunted house and there were dead people after her. In the dream she was dressed as a clown getting ready to go to a Halloween party. There were two other women who were spending the night in the house with her and they couldn’t wait to get out of their sticky clothes and get some sleep.
But the ghosts wouldn’t let them rest.
In a separate dream, Tara that deejay she had a crush on, only he was nice to her and hired her as some kind of editorial assistant or salesperson. She remembered him hugging her and touring the studio and how she was so embarrassed to meet him because of how she looked. She wasn’t in shape enough or hot enough for him. He was used to porn stars and models.
She woke up and went into work a few minutes early since her alarm was going to go off 15 minutes early anyway.
July 24, 2001
At lunch Tara just wanted to go home and crawl under the covers, not coming out until Mackenzie’s 18th birthday. She knew she was sabotaging her job, her life.
One of the birth moms who had scanned some more of Mackenzie’s pix for Tara wrote her that she’d bring them to the adoption support group they attended next week. Tara couldn’t wait to send them out like the others.
She copied the latest letters she got from Veronica and Frank to send also to Chelsea and her mom. She planned on scanning the rest of the favorites of her pix and sending those on, too. She was even going to include a copy of the letter to the editor that the local paper ran that she wrote about the adoption story they ran in May.
She didn’t care that she was going overboard.
She had to stay alive for Mackenzie somehow. She had to will herself to go on.
A co-worker asked if she could see Mackenzie’s pictures and so Tara assumed she must know about the adoption. But when she showed them to her she could tell she knew nothing of the adoption by her response when Tara pointed out who Veronica and Frank were in the photos.
“Oh, your daughter’s not with you?” Tara’s co-worker asked, a stricken expression on her face.
“No,” Tara said in a positive tone.
“She’s cute,” her co-worker said, handing the pix back to her after a brief look.
It was as if Tara had told her that Mackenzie had died in a car accident or something.
But this time Tara didn’t care and for the first time wasn’t ashamed.
That night she showed some more friends the pictures and they talked about how pretty Mackenzie was, how much she looked like Tara, and how happy she seemed.
July 25, 2001
Against her better judgment, Tara attempted again to find Alex, Mackenzie’s dad, through an email search after an address search turned up nothing. She knew he’d have an email address somehow; he always did.
After coming up with two pages of identical names, she proceeded to email the ones without locations listed telling them she was looking for him and if they lived in her town (listed) to email her back. She started to say why she was looking for him (to send him Mackenzie’s pictures since he’d never seen her), then changed her mind and left it short and sweet.
Of course, he was so paranoid he probably would be afraid to answer the cryptic request.
She ran into an old mutual friend of theirs the night before but she no longer said hi to her and was clearly on his side. Tara didn’t care.
Actually she did care. Way too much.
Things weren’t going well at work. Tara was sabotaging herself as she always had in every job she’d ever had. All 75 plus of them. She stopped counting after last year. It was futile.
That night she took her dog to the park where Placement had been held after backtracking trying to decide whether or not to go. She hadn’t been there in 11 months since the day of Placement although last Thanksgiving she debated going. She always feared she’d break down and cry or have a nervous breakdown or something if she went back although she thought about going on Mackenzie’s birthday.
To her amazement she didn’t cry and wasn’t sad. It was weird being there and she discovered she was okay. There were other people there including a running team who was taking a break at the picnic table in the same spot where Mackenzie was introduced to her new family. Tara spotted the big oak tree next to the drained
creek where she had taken Mackenzie over to tell her goodbye.
To her surprise she discovered on this day now that the park wound all the way around to another park where she was before. She and her dog walked the trail and he loved it, of course. On the way back she went another route and soon they were back at the car. She thought she still might come back on Mackenzie’s birthday or maybe on the anniversary of Placement Day.
It was all right. At last it was all right.
She hoped it lasted.
That night Tara talked to Susan who was disillusioned with her social worker job after a rough day in court in which she was flogged by the judge who turned down her client's hearing for Social Security benefits.
The 34-year-old female prostitute/drug addict had been born into Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and never had a chance. She was toothless, looked like she was in her 50s, and was mentally ill as well as having organic brain damage.
But the judge showed no mercy and cited a law affecting drug addicts from 1998 in which addicts were no longer winning cases requesting benefits because,
as the judge put it “people were getting sick of paying for their drugs and alcohol.”
Despite Susan’s attempts to redirect her client, who was sobbing uncontrollably at the realization that she wouldn’t be getting benefits, the judge showed no mercy and. After a brief tirade at how all he saw before him was a hopeless drug addict who couldn’t get clean, the judge ordered them out of his courtroom.
Susan said her hopes had been lifted earlier in the hearing when a psychiatrist stated that her client probably had mental retardation. Susan said it would’ve helped if her client had been sober/clean awhile.
Susan told Tara that her client had no one, that her mom sold her to a man when she was 14 and her client started turning tricks a couple of years after, winding up on the street with a pimp. It was all she knew. She never had one person who believed in her.
“I know all you had was oatmeal for lunch and you’re broke,” Susan told her. “But here we sit with our color t.v.s in our own homes and I just know she’s going to be sleeping in a box tonight on the street.”
Susan cried.
“She said to the judge, she begged, ‘Please don’t turn me away. I can’t be a street whore any more.’”
Susan felt like it was all futile and wanted to appeal the judge’s decision but the hearing had taken three years to come to fruition and this client had pinned all her hopes on this one day.
“I know she doesn’t deserve money because she’s not clean (sober) but I was going to ask that she at least be put in a lock down facility for six months and have a payee, our agency,” Susan explained. “I know she’d probably blow $500 on drugs and alcohol but she at least deserves a chance. She’s never had a chance.”
“Do you think it would’ve mattered if it had been a female judge?” Tara asked.
“I don’t know,” Susan said.
They talked about how so many people who had family and resources didn’t realize how lucky they were.
“They’re damned lucky,” Susan said. “They have no idea.”
“I know,” Tara said. “I hear it all the time from people about how they have this person or that one.”
Tara couldn’t help but think of what Chelsea told her once about people who make it and those who don’t -
that the ones who make it had at least one person who believed in them.
Tara mentioned this to Susan now.
“And that makes all the difference, having that one person,” Tara said.
“It’s a huge difference,” Susan agreed. “You and I know how important it is.”
They talked about some of their friends who they knew who had gotten this benefit or that from the government and they didn’t really need it. Tara remembered a friend of hers who kept trying to get Tara to get some kind of assistance but Tara wouldn’t do it.
She remembered going to vocational agencies once and them telling her she was too functional and too educated.
There was no place for people that were marginal like her.
“Yeah, you’d have trouble getting anything,” Susan told her now when she brought it up. “A few months ago I didn’t think so, but with the new law you wouldn’t get anything.”
Tara mentioned a mutual acquaintance they knew who got benefits and seemed fine.
“I mean, I don’t live with her, I’m not in a relationship with her, but I’ve known her for three years and I think she could work,” Tara told Susan now.
“She could definitely work,” Susan said. “This woman (my client) has never held a job. She’s not capable of going out and getting a job. She’s paranoid schizophrenic. She’s crazy.”
That night Tara woke up about 3 a.m. and thought about the woman and had a brainstorm but couldn’t call Susan that late and tell her about it. She thought, ‘What if I and all my friends wrote letters to the judge asking him to reconsider his decision?’
Would it work?
It was the only thing she knew to do.
Earlier Tara had told Susan that she was probably right, that how could you go any higher than a judge on an appeal? She told her about a recent episode of a law show she watched in which a lawyer filed a complaint against a judge only to have his behavior reviewed by a panel of his own peers, also judges.
Well, at the very most it would just piss this judge off. Susan could request another judge but that took a long time and there were no guarantees. She figured,
knowing Susan, that Susan was laying in bed at 3 a.m. too, thinking about her client but she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t waking her up so she decided to wait till she got up for work and tell her her idea.

July 26, 2001
Tara woke up extra early, called Susan, and she told her she’d get the information on the case if Tara would draft a form letter and email it to her.
“You think it’ll do any good?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know,” Tara said. “But if I email all my friends after you approve the letter and just ask them to email the letter to you and you get it to the judge, maybe it’ll have an impact.”
Susan knew Tara had a lot of friends. Tara said she wouldn’t even address the issue of Susan’s client being an addict or prostitute because some of her friends probably wouldn’t be inclined to help if she mentioned it. And she wouldn’t bring it up in the letter either because the judge, already prejudiced against the client, didn’t need to be reminded.
“I’ll just mention the Fetal Alcohol thing and how she’s never had a chance. And you can put in whatever other
facts there are,” Tara said. “Of course, because of confidentiality, you’ll have to fill in her name in the blank on the letter because you could lose your job if I give my friends her name.”
“Oh yeah,” Susan said. “Then I couldn’t help anyone.”
So the plan was made for Tara to write up the letter, email it to Susan that day, and Susan would review it then email it back to her to send to her friends.
It was worth a shot.
He’d probably be ticked off after 23 years on the bench of hearing just about everything, but at least they would’ve tried.
Tara said a silent prayer for God to grant Susan’s clients these benefits (if it be His will, of course), something she always was told to add.
Tara felt lucky suddenly.
When she got to work she drafted the letter and emailed it to Susan, leaving in blanks for Susan to fill in the facts only she knew. Tara went back and edited, and proofread, and edited and pictured a judge reading it and how it would sound to him. She couldn’t make it too long because he wouldn’t read it. Too short and he’d miss the point.
She could picture him complaining, saying “How dare you! Who are all these people? I don’t have time to sit around and read a bunch of letters. Who do you think you are?”
Yes, Tara knew judges well. She’d worked with them and as a former foster child; her fate was always in their hands.
She was almost excited about the possibility of the judge getting all these letters. Best case scenario, he’d only read a few before he had to change his mind and grant the woman the benefits she desperately needed.
Veronica wrote Tara:
“Glad to hear from you,” she wrote. “I’m glad your friends liked the pics. We think she is just beautiful also - just like you. She’s traveling everywhere in her walker whereas she used to just go backwards. She’ll stand for short periods holding on to the couch or chair, then drops down to her bottom. She’ll really hang on to a toy now! If Ben is pulling it away from her she’ll vocally let us know he is being mean by saying ‘Ahhhh.’ I told Ben that she can tell on him so he better be good! She seems bigger the last few days. I haven’t weighed her in two weeks so she’s still around 17 pounds but lots of her
clothes are getting tight, so I know she’s growing. I have huge sacks full of baby clothes to go through. One from a lady at work who adopted her little girl - now 2 ½ from overseas and another from a girl at church. I LOVE hand me downs! Ben has so many of his friend’s clothes so we’ve really lucked out. Of course, I was at Target today and bought her two new outfits also. It’s so hard not to as there are so many cute girl things.
Sorry about your grandma (still being ill). Sometimes I think people hang on for their families to get adjusted to life without them.
I’m glad I can start planning Mackenzie’s birthday party. She’ll have two. One of friends/kids and a family one. I’m not sure what theme or anything but I’ll let you know and I’ll try to tape the parties or have someone else tape them for me. Please don’t worry about a gift. You gave the ultimate gift already. Have you decided if you’re working on her birthday or not? I’m glad you’re still active with your (adoption) group. I’m sure it helps to talk with others and get their input.”

Tara also got an email from the woman online who Tara talked to about their mutual addiction:
“I know what you mean about there seeming to be more guys in the program that girls,” the woman wrote. “Although here in one of the programs there are actually quite a few women as well and they have women’s meetings. Most say they’re love and sex addicts but some just say love addicts or fantasy addicts. Well, whatever, I guess the variations don’t matter all that much. But I did find in one meeting I went to that it was all men, however it was a very small meeting and I’d like to try a few more before making any snap judgments! Oh, and about joining the online dating thing, boy, can I relate. One of my addictions is to the personals for women looking for other women. I belong to about four of them! Talk about sick.
And I’ve met probably around 20 women from the Internet! I’ve actually yet to take my main ad down but you just reminded me I do need to because I wrote it as one of my bottom lines not to have or respond to any more personals. And I can really relate to emailing potential “fixes” or acting out partners. If it wasn’t for the Internet I probably wouldn’t have acted out half as much
as I have in the past few years! Take care and be gentle on yourself. I’m trying to do the same.
I’m sorry to hear you’re having a hard time, too. I know exactly what you mean about friends not getting you and not understanding what you get out of it (the addiction). It’s so hard because you can’t explain it. If you’re not an addict you just won’t understand. I guess, thank God, that’s why we have each other. I do have the big book (recovery textbook for this addiction) and I just bought Out of The Shadows last week along with a book about recovering from sex addiction. I also have read Don’t Call It Love by Patrick Carnes which is amazing. I’ve been feeling really obsessed with my doctor and the more I try to get close to him, the more he pulls away. You know how that goes. But sometimes it’s like I just can’t stop!
I’m also still seeing the girl but really trying to take things slow. I’m supposed to go to her house for dinner Sunday then he asked me to go sailing with some other people from work so I’m going to try to squeeze both in. I could tell she was disappointed when I told her I’d be coming over later. I tried a sexual compulsives meeting this week, too. I was the only girl there (there were only
three other guys) but I want to try more of those, too. Anyway, hope you’re hanging in there and doing okay…this disease is a killer! Oh also I am afraid again that I might have Herpes. I’m sure it’s probably just an ingrown hair or something like it was the other times I was afraid but since I frequently have unprotected sex I’d rather be safe than sorry. Wish me luck!”

July 28, 2001
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their common addiction:
“I’m doing a little better. Managed to get to a meeting and half yesterday,” she wrote. “I went to another recovery meeting which consisted mostly of gay men so stayed for half and hour and then went to another recovery women’s meeting which was really good and helped a lot. I felt a lot saner afterwards! And managed not to obsess very much about that doctor today and purposely didn’t go online when I knew he would be there. So, of course he emailed me asking me where I am, cause I usually stalk him online!”

July 29, 2001
Tara got another email from the same woman after she told her about her grandma dying:
“So sorry to hear about your grandma,” she wrote. “That is really stressful and only natural that it makes you want to act out. Try and be gentle with yourself while you’re dealing with the pain of her loss. I know that it’s not an easy thing for an addict to do (be gentle on oneself) but that’s the advice my therapist always gives me in times of stress. So please try. I also understand wanting to cry and you can’t. That happens to me very often. Then I wind up crying uncontrollably at something like a movie because I kept in so many of my own feelings. I think maybe that’s another addict characteristic. It’s hard at least for me sometimes to give myself permission to cry over my own stuff. Like I’ve gotten used to numbing myself from the pain.
I’ve found the more I’ve gotten involved in recovery though the easier it is for me to cry - when I am in touch with my feelings. I spent the day sailing with that doctor on his boat with two other girls from work and feel a little “in my disease” but am trying to keep perspective. I’m definitely not where I was last week or even a few days
ago with the obsession. Take care and remember you’re not alone!”

July 29, 2001
That night Tara dreamed that she was a student in a dorm and there were serial rapists and killers on the loose.
In another dream she dreamed she got to have Mackenzie for a few days and go on a trip with her family. In the dream Mackenzie was laughing and happy.

July 30, 2001
Tara saw her therapist that night and they talked about how the movie “The Color Purple” got to her Saturday even though she’d seen it many times. She explained to her therapist about the scenes that always triggered her crying and how they related to her abuse.
“You need to buy that movie,” her therapist suggested.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to for years,” Tara said.
Tara told her therapist about the sob she had over the weekend and how she didn’t act out on her addiction
even though she wanted to. Her therapist drew a correlation between her being true to her feelings and not acting out on her addiction.
“Crying also helps me with my depression,” Tara explained. “Maybe if I’d done more crying in my life, I wouldn’t have been so depressed.”
Tara told her therapist about her grandma and told her about what she was like.
The therapist thought there must’ve been some abuse somewhere along the way with her mom’s childhood.
That night Tara had a nightmare that some guy kept killing his friends, including her.
In a separate dream she dreamed Mackenzie was a genius and could form complete sentences already.

July 31, 2001
Tara got an email from Chelsea telling her that she didn’t want to get any more emails about Mackenzie because it was too painful for her to hear about a niece she’d never know.
Tara decided not to go see Chelsea after all even though the night before she’d found a really good deal on a ticket.
She didn’t want Mackenzie to be the family’s “dirty little secret” and though she’d tried to be understanding with Chelsea, it was too painful to hear the words Chelsea wrote to her.
A new woman joined the online support group for birth moms. She placed her little girl just a month ago and was having a really hard time being unemployed, having no support, and going through a major depression. She was only in her 20s and lived too far away to make it to the monthly support group that Gladney had at its temporary campus, which was going to be held that night.
Everyone reached out to her online and Tara empathized. She explained to the woman that she was suffering a tremendous loss and told her about her own experience.
Tara hoped her old boss and the birth mom she went through Gladney with made it to group that night. It would be the first time for her.
Tara told her old boss that there were some new women coming to put her mind at ease, hoping that’d make her feel more comfortable about coming.
Tara got an email from the woman she always talked to online about their sex addiction/recovery:
“Hey, that’s great that you didn’t act out and had a good cry!” she wrote. “I think every time we don’t act out it helps raise our self-esteem a little more. I was actually doing quite well over the weekend aside from my toothache but tonight as I was coming from work I noticed my thoughts turning to addict mode and I was so distracted that I ended up leaving my gym bag on the bus. It happened while I was reading a recovery book too, which is strange. I wonder what that was about.”