Feature 28 - Monday, October 27, 2003
Kevin P. Tremblay
This church was experimenting with diversity and so-called openness but really this was just another level of cover for their actual reason for meeting. Who was I to question the learned elders of the church about the need for inclusion, diversity and acceptance -- it sounded so nice? Hadn't it been the Christians and Catholics in particular, which burned pagans and witches at the stake in the name of God? Which god had not become a serious consideration to me until now. We had come a long way from those days of yore when magical thinking, ritual behaviors and the actions of the inquisition controlled society. Or had we left magical thinking and sacrificing human life to the gods behind? That the church elders' expounded reverence for Mother Gaia and that became an accepted normative value; what difference did this make?
Joan and I married young. We were just out of high school. It is over 7 years ago. Her early home life was abusive and depraved. She told me about the situation at home when we dated back in high school. She had to get out. I should have known, or taken seriously, the things she had told me about her family. What did it matter that her father and grandfather had been members of the Thule Society? Even the current president and his father and grandfather were and are members of the Skull and Bones Society at Yale. These groups and others too are all branches from a poisonous tree with deep roots into our current social fabric. Many follow the Light Bearer rather than Christ.
But Joan and I had become totally occupied with raising our son and purchasing a home and with its upkeep, for me to notice these things. Like her unicorn collection, fixation on angels and deep interest in the Ascended Masters. After Demian was born she turned to religion in a big way, or so it seemed. He was a normal child, a bit underweight at birth, being a few weeks early. There was nothing out of the ordinary during the pregnancy and his birth was uncomplicated.
Joan and I shared so much. My every waking hour was either working to get the money needed to keep the family and house going, or thinking of and being with Joan. My love for her became an answer for living. A mistake that I now had to pay and for the rest of my life. I gave up going out with my hunting buddies drinking on weekends, and quit the bowling league at work, to be with her and save money. We were so happy together (or at least I was) until death began to creep into our lives insidiously.
Her death came in small increments and in perverse ways. Little by little Joan was giving up her will and spirit to others' control and drifted away from me entirely. It appeared to have started when Demian was born. She chose his name. She agreed his middle name could be Robert that I wanted his first name to be. Since she was gone and he was only 4 years old, I decided to call him Robert and pray he will soon forget about his mother's spiritual angst, anger toward God and involvement in sorcery. What my son must have seen and heard I may never know and hopefully he may not remember.
It did not seem like anger toward Jesus Christ at first. The committee meetings at the church were just a cover for a witch's coven. This I was to discover way too late. That was the hardest thing to accept. How can I come to terms with her death and have let this go on without knowing? The town fathers and church elders were ranking warlocks and witches. Even the town doctor was. Who would believe me and would I be killed if I were to expose them? Who would raise Robert then?
Witches' materials and script were discovered yesterday after she jumped to her death from the Stoneway Bridge that crossed the Lutten River on the outskirts of town. There was a cache of Craft relics, records of membership and written spells like recipes hidden in her hope chest in her sewing room. I never looked through her stuff. It was the first place I went for some answers after the police came by the house to tell me what had happened. Something seemed to call to me to look inside this hairloom cedar chest of hers. Sobbing, I open the chest to find the wicked cache. I burned all the evidence of her membership and practice in this coven in the wood stove. All the evidence proving the church elders and other town officials' membership was burned as well. As it was, I put the house on the market right after this. Margaret Baker, a local Realtorô was quick to respond to my request to sell the house. She came by this morning with the papers to sign. I decided to move back to the family farm where my mom still lived. She was alone and grief-stricken with Joan's death. She wanted Robert and I come live with her. Mom was becoming frail with age and could use the help around the house, and the few extra dollars I would contribute to the upkeep of the household. With her small fixed income this help would be welcome.
Everything had happened so quickly. The police found her body and the note she left damming her father who had been dead for the past 2 years now. She also made some bizarre statement about being set free like a butterfly escaping captivity. This was the excuse used to kill herself. She indited no one else. Apparently, she had conjured up her death from a belief in the occult supernatural and practice of the ancient Craft. For the police record, her death by suicide was as result of an acute psychotic break. It was just not possible to say a demon had driven her to jump off the bridge.
Was it as simple as this? She opened herself up by channeling spirits for the coven. Did she invite her own death this way? It will be enough to tell Robert when the time comes that his mom had been mentally ill. But, I have a few years yet to give him a proper upbringing where belief in God is not a fairy tale or some old fashioned and out-dated idea of the uneducated masses, just dope for the weak minded. My love had not been enough for his mother. It must be faith that will win the day. That is what had been missing. Joan and I did not pray. We went though the motions of belief and attended church. Never again will I allow my own spiritual weakness to ensnare me like this. The faith of my forebears shall become active again. This must be the gift I give my son, redemption.