I Don't Care, I'll Be Dead

By Melanie Rainier

Melanie Rainier's moving autobiographical exposé, I DONT CARE, I’LL BE DEAD, is more than a whistle blowing, family tell-all.
In exposing and revealing the seedy underbelly of a lifelong wet blanket of scrutiny and judgement, this poignant story uncovers the heinous elements that eventually lead to deeper meaning for a young girl who is seeking the reality of her true self as a woman, wife and mother.
Rainier’s emotive tale highlights a life, brimming with her family's grotesque dysfunction, lawless moral ineptitude and selfish, petty behaviors that paint a bitter, profane backdrop along a path filled with rejection, tragedy, and death. Impactful, soul stirring accomplishment and personal breakthrough finally bring her to a place where she is left with only one choice: remain forever in the emotional prison or fracture the malignant chains that bind her to the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Rainier
• Release date: Sep 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370641000

Melanie Rainier

Melanie Rainier lives in a suburb of Houston, Texas with her husband and 4 pets, 2 cats and 2 dogs. Melanie volunteers at Bo's Place, Houston's premier non-profit grief support organization. Her ultimate goals is to continue helping raise awareness for the swelling need for children's grief resources.

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I Don't Care, I'll Be Dead

Melanie Rainier

Copyright © 2016 by Melanie Rainier

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from author or publisher (except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages and/or show brief video clips in a review).

THUNDER DOVE PRESS Houston, Texas

I DON'T CARE I'LL BE DEAD

MELANIE RAINIER

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to the children whose parents treat them as if they are the sole reason for the problems and dysfunction in their family. It's not all your fault. After all, you are the child and they are the adults.

I would also like to dedicate this book to parents who point fingers and don't take responsibility and ownership for their own parenting mistakes. If your children don't act right, then maybe, just maybe, it's you. Just sayin'.

"May your children never grow up to write a book about you."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This book was written from my heart and not intended to be a literary work of art. The objective for writing my autobiography is a purging of my emotional rubbish. My story gives center stage to a stifled voice of bottlenecked hurt feelings that have cluttered and interfered with my better judgment for far too long. The writing process served to fulfill personal aspirations and therapeutic purposes, as well. I am using a nom de plume to publish this book and have given fictional character names to represent the people in my life. The dates, places and events are all accurate and true.

Writing the events of my life in story form was an arduous, yet, rewarding effort. Arduous because I had to sometimes revisit events and places from my personal history that are difficult for me to go back to. I had to stretch myself to reach the bottom of that tomb, in order to dredge up and bring to the surface all the junk and gunk of my life interred there. Often times had to put my work down for weeks when writing about the most difficult times of my life.

It was during the writing of these details that I experienced a lifting of a heaviness off my heart, and a reprieve to finally be able to speak my piece and let go of smoldering burdens. It is an accomplishment for me to tell my story. I would not have found my love for or talent as a writer if my story didn't end exactly the way it did. I have been rewarded by shifting to a place of forgiveness in my heart and a platform of achievement in my life. My career ambitions and intentions for the future are to pursue my original, compelling vision for a children's grief book brand that will bring more awareness to the growing number of traumatized children and enhance the current global market.

I recognize and appreciate the fact that each and every individual has his or her own truth, perceived from their personal points of view that can derive varied perspectives and conclusions. I speak my truth from my perspective, and my interpretation is my testimony. My goal is not a reprisal against my family, but rather a release and purge of the hurt and pain I have experienced.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction - Tragedy Strikes

Chapter One - A City Experiment

Chapter Two - And Away We Go

Chapter Three - Pass the Dutchie

Chapter Four - Party Like a Rock Star

Chapter Five - New Scene, Stage Left

Chapter Six - Leaving the Dream

Chapter Seven - Brain Fog

Chapter Eight - Square One

Chapter Nine - One Step at a Time

Chapter Ten - Moving Forward

Chapter Eleven - Beauty for Ashes

Chapter Twelve - What Happened to Our Mother?

Chapter Thirteen - Sister vs. Sister

Chapter Fourteen - Persona Non Grata

Chapter Fifteen - Hello, Is this Thing On?

Chapter Sixteen - The Tide Rolls Out

Chapter Seventeen - Don't Poke the Bear

Chapter Eighteen - She Pulled the Pin

Chapter Nineteen - Support Not Sabotage

Chapter Twenty - Traits and Patterns

Chapter Twenty-One - I Didn't Want to, I Had To

Chapter Twenty-Two - Oh, No

Chapter Twenty-Three - Excuse Me, Do You Mind?

Chapter Twenty-Four - She Said What?

Chapter Twenty-Five - Aftermath

Author's Acknowledgments

INTRODUCTION

TRAGEDY STRIKES

OH, GOD! OH, JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! OH, GOD! WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING! I was screaming, cussing, rushing around and was in 100 percent intense panic mode when I saw something was seriously wrong with my husband. It was 6:30 a.m. on a dark, foggy, freezing Tuesday morning on February 10, 2004. I had just walked out of the bathroom when I turned my head and noticed Jeff, wearing only his jeans with no shirt, very strangely plopped down in the maroon winged back chair by the bedroom door. I looked at him a little puzzled and noticed immediately he had a very scared look in his eyes. I could tell something was wrong. At that very moment, he began foaming at the mouth. I hurried over to him and bent down to be at eye level and close to his face. I placed my hands on his cheeks and said with a nervous elevated voice and a panic stricken expression, OH BABY! I was in his face, looking right at him when both of his arms started punching out uncontrollably.

Freaking out, I ran to the phone on the nightstand by Jeff's side of the bed to call 911. As I was dialing, I turned back to Jeff. He had gotten up from the chair when my back was turned and was already across the room, holding on to the end post of our four-poster bed. He was scared, and was probably trying to reach the inhaler he had left on top of the chest of drawers. Instead of making it to the inhaler, he swerved across the room from the loss of his equilibrium, and grabbed on to the bed post so he wouldn't fall. I was describing the details as it was happening to the 911 operator, who was asking me questions.

I didn't actually see Jeff get out of the chair and stumble across the room, but I did see him holding the bedpost and noticed that his mouth wasn't foaming anymore. He was standing there facing me with his eyes looking upward and affixed on something over my head. He had the oddest expression on his face. I later told my mother the best way to describe how Jeff looked at that moment was like as if he was happily surprised to see something or someone he recognized. For a moment he didn't look in distress anymore. And just like that, as quick as the snap of a finger, Jeff very lightly fell to the ground.

In my mind I was thinking this couldn't be life threatening because my husband was a superman. Jeff was invincible. He was tall, rock hard with a big barrel chest and dark brown wavy hair. He had a perfect nose and beautiful smile. He was a star football player in high school and earned a college football scholarship that allowed him to attend a private college in Sherman, Texas for four years. Jeff wasn't good at just football; he could beat just about anyone at any sport or run you over in a debate. Besides being an American Adonis, Jeff was very smart and intelligent. He was the only person I knew who could talk the talk and walk the walk. He was the real deal. So, while my eyes saw that morning's events unfold, my brain rejected the magnitude.

I was screaming into the phone to the 911 operator, that Jeff just fell down. I then took the phone from my ear and held it in my hand as I rushed over to Jeff. I dropped it on the floor, fell to my knees next to him and started screaming his name, JEFF, JEFF, OH MY GOD, JEFF, CAN YOU HEAR ME, BREATHE, JEFF! I put the phone back to my ear because I could hear the 911 operator trying to get my attention. She asked me if I knew CPR. I told her, Yes, but needed her to refresh my memory. I thought it was working when I heard Jeff take a breath.

I excitedly picked up the phone to tell the operator that I thought Jeff was starting to breathe again. I had to stop before I could even finish my sentence. Oh wait, he just took a big breath, but just stopped again. SHIT! GOD DAMNIT! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GOD DAMN AMBULANCE?! It felt as if it was taking the ambulance longer to arrive to us than it should have. The fire station was just a couple miles away. The operator had to keep repeating to me that the paramedics were on the way. I hung up on 911 to call Jeff's mom. My brain wasn't processing this reality, and so I didn't realize what exactly was happening, and that what I had just heard was Jeff's last breath.

Jeff was flat on the floor with his eyes closed and not breathing. Still panicking, I was circling around our bedroom, knowing I should be doing something, but not sure exactly what. I called Jeff's mom, Mary Pat. As soon as she answered the phone I began talking a mile a minute. She asked me to calm down so she could understand what I was trying to say. I took a deep breath and slowed down my pace but not my volume. I urgently told her she had to get to our house right away to watch the girls because something was wrong with Jeff. I told her I called 911 and wanted to go in the ambulance with Jeff to the emergency room. Now, as alarmed and frightened as I was, Mary Pat said she would come over right away.

Oh my God! I just remembered our two little girl's upstairs. My attention turned for a moment to Madeleine and Meadow, who were no doubt hearing all the screaming and were probably scared to death. I ran upstairs and burst into the first bedroom door that was Meadow's room. Madeleine happened to be huddled up in the bed with her. They were only seven and nine years old.

Madeleine had run into her little sister's room when she woke to my loud screaming. When I turned on the light, I saw their little faces looking back at me, scared and confused. Madeleine asked me what was happening. I sat on the bed and did my best to fake calmness so I didn't scare them any more than they already were. I told them in a normal tone, but with urgency, not to be scared, but that Daddy was sick and needed to go to the doctor. They cheered a little when I told I told them their Nana was coming over because I was going to the doctor with Daddy. I hugged them both and instructed them to get out of bed and get dressed. I then told them I was going to go back downstairs to get dressed myself, and would come back upstairs to help them finish. Both Madeleine and Meadow were very good little girls and they followed my instructions.

As I went down the stairs I could see red flashing lights creeping through all the windows and blinds and was relieved the ambulance finally was arriving. I hurried to the front door and flung it open. I ran out to the middle of street and began waving over the ambulance. It was actually sitting at a full stop at the stop sign. I got pissed off because you could see there were no cars coming from any direction. I was frantically motioning to them, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. When they pulled up and parked I was screaming for them to hurry up. By that time Shelly, my neighbor and friend from next door, having been woken up by the flashing red lights of the ambulance, came over to see what in the world was going on. We followed the paramedics inside and into the bedroom where Jeff had been lying for what seemed like an hour, when really it was only minutes. The paramedics were working together to prepare the defibrillation paddles for Jeff's bare chest to shock his heart. I started telling Shelley everything that was happening. She offered to take Madeleine and Meadow back with her across the street to her house for as long as needed. Shelley had two sons around the same age as my girls, and they played together outside every afternoon. I appreciated her offer because I thought Mary Pat would want to go to the hospital with us.

Shelley tried to console me as we both watched the paramedic's shock Jeff's chest over and over. Another paramedic from the ambulance came over to me and started asking questions for his report. Shelly went upstairs to tend to the girls, so she could take care of them at her house.

After providing the paramedic our names, ages and Jeff's medical history, he asked me to give him details of what happened. Before I could continue answering questions I was distracted by the other paramedics that stopped working on Jeff with the defibrillator paddles. They were putting him on a stretcher to take him to the emergency room. Just then, Mary Pat arrived and was walking toward the front door. I wanted to let her in the door, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that one of the paramedics was handling Jeff a little too roughly. I shot that paramedic a 'go to hell' look, then shouted at him to be more gentle. Mary Pat frantically came into the room and started asking questions. The man with the report to fill out was also wanting me to finish answering his questions.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, and balancing my weight from one foot to the other, I had to tell these strangers, along with my mother in law, that when we woke up that morning, Jeff and I had made love, and that he was able to finish. It was an important fact, because no one knew at the time - and learned later from the autopsy that Jeff had heart disease. What we did know was that for the past two years he couldn't breathe well when his heart rate went up.

Jeff had thought his symptoms were due to allergy flare-ups. It got to where Jeff would have to stop in the middle of intimacies due to his inability to breathe. His chest probably seriously hurt, too, but would have never had told me if it did. I just knew I was growing impatient with what was turning into a pattern in the bedroom and not realizing the bigger picture. But on that morning, and that time, Jeff finished. I could tell he was happy about it, too, also and we both thought it was a good sign that possibly his allergies were getting better.

I had to explain how Jeff got out of bed and I rolled off the bed right behind him. Before putting on his underwear, he stood at his tall chest of drawers with his head resting on his folded arms. I gave him a quick rub and squeeze over his back, his butt and down his legs. I told him I would get his circulation going and asked him if it felt good. I gave him a bear hug from behind and left him to put on his clothes.

I was literally in the bathroom for a few moments, probably not even a full minute before I came out and saw Jeff plop in the chair.

I rode in the ambulance with Jeff. I had to sit in the front passenger seat. Mary Pat had to follow the ambulance in her car to the hospital. We were slowed down by the morning rush hour traffic. There were people who actually did not hurry to move out of the way of that ambulance. I was really getting really pissed off at people in traffic who were not respecting the red flashing lights and siren. by driving They would not get out of the way for the urgent and dire situation! Didn't these people know my husband was in crisis, and to that they needed to move the hell out of the way, like when Moses parted the Red Sea? The paramedics were squeezing a black plastic ball that blew air into Jeff's lungs. I kept telling them to please continue to do that because Jeff was young and strong and was going to start breathing on his own any minute. The paramedics didn't speak to me or make eye contact. I couldn't sit steady in the front seat while babbling under my breath, and trying to get a better view of what the paramedics were doing to Jeff.

We arrived to the emergency room where people were finally rushing around to tend to Jeff. They took Jeff from me and into a room. I wasn't allowed to go in. I found a phone in the waiting room and used it to call my parents. I told them to come to the hospital quickly. Mary Pat must have made some calls too, because the next thing I knew I was shuffled to a waiting room where Mary Pat, Jeff's sister Robin, and my niece, Elizabeth were already there, waiting. We were about to pray together when four or five doctors slowly open the door to our room. Their expressions were grim. I didn't look like they had good news for us as they came in. I began screaming, NO, NO, NO! OH GOD, NO! ROBIN MAKE THEM GO AWAY, GO AWAY! Jeff was pronounced dead from a heart attack on Tuesday, February 10, 2004. He had just turned 43 years old only ten days prior, on January 31. He was buried the day before Valentine's Day on Friday, February 13, 2004. I was 34 years old and we were married and together for 17 years. Jeff and I had two beautiful daughters, Madeleine Elizabeth and Meadow Katheryn. Madeleine was only nine years old and Meadow was only seven.

CHAPTER ONE

A CITY EXPERIMENT

One of the earliest memories I have of elementary school was when I was nine years old and in the fourth grade at a school located many miles away from where I lived. The school was located in south Dallas by the airport. On the way to school we would pass a lot of liquor stores and run down apartments. The people I noticed sitting on their porches, as we passed by, always looked dirty and sad. Their homes were old and literally falling apart, held up with bricks, porches rotting away and uneven, roof tops with tarps covering up holes with rocks securing the tarps in place. From a distance the view looked like a patch work quilt. I soon learned it was called the slums.

My name is Melanie Martin. My family and I lived in a brand new 2,900 square foot, upper middle class home in the newly developed suburban area of north Dallas. The neighbors in our area looked happy and smiled at you and knew your name. You could walk around or ride your bike for blocks and always felt safe. It was Hometown, USA.

It was 1978. The Dallas public school system had just implemented a desegregation act that meant the kids in my neighborhood, myself included, weren't allowed to go to our local neighborhood schools anymore, as did our brothers and sisters before us. But instead, we