Church

I’ve been ignored — by my husband, by Tamra Youngblut at Grafton Place Apartments, and now by Andy Zabel at Houlihan Law, her legal representative.

It feels like punishment. I keep trying to make it mean I deserve it.

I never replied to the last text message Keith Connor sent me.

“I leave tomorrow wish me luck”

I didn’t wish him luck. I honestly don’t even know if I saw that message in real time. There are other texts he sent me—very disturbing ones—telling me to share an angry message with his brother, my husband. I can’t remember if I saw those in real time either.

I know I saw them at some point and decided I couldn’t engage. I didn’t want to disobey my husband, who told me not to get involved with his brother. I didn’t want to get pulled into the drama of someone who was suffering from what appeared to be a psychotic break. I had done that before in 2017–2018 with a friend, and it didn’t end well. I remembered the late-night messages, the accusations, the feeling that every reply only pulled me deeper into a reality I could not fix.

I’m trying to tell my husband how much I’ve been suffering. He tells me I’m bringing this on myself by pursuing the quest to retrieve Keith’s photographs. He wanted me to give up when Tamra Youngblut hung up on me.

I am trying to tell my husband that I am Keith. I want a relationship with him that I cannot have, just like Keith. Closeness. Trust. Feeling supported.

He says I want to be a victim, but I’m not. “Now that Keith’s dead, he’s a saint.”

My identical twin sister responded to Keith’s final text message. She had the last word. I’m envious.

I confess I have not had the bandwidth to ask my sister how she’s doing through all this. We have a unique relationship with a lot of baggage, and it’s been strained for the years she’s been living in my basement. My husband would tell me to be nice to my sister. I would tell him to be nice to his brother. An ongoing loop.

Keith was not a saint.
Keith was not the devil.
He was complicated and complex, like most of us are.

He had serious physical health issues. He had severe mental health struggles that were undisclosed to many in his life. He also had friends who heard about his suicidal ideations. Some people walked away because they couldn’t watch him destroy himself. Some people tried everything they could to help him. Some people had happy memories from years and years ago.

Some stayed. Some stepped away. Some were pushed away. 

Keith worried about how he would be remembered. We probably all do, to some extent, but hearing Keith's friend say that to me last week brought me to tears. I’ve done so much trying to make sure Keith is not forgotten and that people have a space to share their photos and memories for others to find someday.

I’ve been listening to Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me to Church” on repeat for days now.

“I've done so many bad things, it hurts”

I’ve done things that hurt the people I love... the people who love me. I’ve done things that hurt myself, too.

It’s a loop of regret and anger and grief.

I noticed Keith’s profile picture changed to a default icon. “That’s not good,” I thought. I didn’t do anything. I got distracted with my own problems.

I’ve screamed and cried to my husband, to a few friends, but mostly to my twin. I haven’t asked her how she’s doing yet.

It feels like I’m failing her.

I tell her I promise we can work on our relationship just as soon as we get closure with Grafton Place. I can’t deal with anything else difficult until that’s settled.

I had a friend, Nicole Paul, who was murdered when I was in grad school. This was a year before I met my husband. I was having problems with some other guy that I was dumping on her via email. We had plans to get together that weekend, but we never saw each other.

The last message I got from her: 
“Cheer up girlfriend. It’s the weekend!”

At her memorial service, I think I was the first friend to get up and speak. I shared that story of her last email to me. Another friend shared a story about how they had a huge fight, a falling out. She regretted that was how things ended, but comforted herself by saying that our dead friend only got that angry with people she really cared about.

Did I have closure with Nicole? I had that message from her. I had plans with her. 

I have a lot of relationships to repair. I need to start with my twin sister.

I’ve been trying to spend more time with her after months of scheduling our comings and goings to avoid seeing each other. That sounds so awful to admit.
 
We went to karaoke for the first time together last week. I sang “Mercy Street” by Peter Gabriel and my twin sang “Free to Decide” by the Cranberries.

This morning, I asked my twin to go for a walk to get coffee before she leaves for a trip to Philadelphia. The forecast said rain. Instead, there was a beautiful, colorful sky.

The Process ... all of my writings since Keith's death.