Getting Past Grief

Prior to 2007, I never really believed in anything beyond what I could actually experience first hand, especially in regards to the supernatural in any sense.  In August of 2007, however, some rather amazing things happened after my grandfather died unexpectedly that have since changed my mind about life after death. 

My grandfather spoke his last words to me on August 1, 2007.  He was preparing for surgery to replace the mitral valve in his heart.  He explained that he was scared about the operation and told me how much he loved me.  I assured him that it was a routine surgery and that everything would be just fine and not to worry.  I could feel his voice quiver over the phone line.  He caught a sob in his throat as he said goodbye.  I will never forget that conversation.  I was actually in the shower in my little house in Fayetteville, NC, prepping to go out to dinner at Mash House with a friend. 

The next morning, I received a call from my mom.  She told me that the surgery had not at all gone as expected.  The simple replacement showed that the mitral valve actually needed to be replaced.  From that point, the surgery seemed to go completely awry.  Grandpa had gone too long without oxygen to the brain, and they didn’t know if he was going to awake. 

Terror gripped my heart.  I had to be there.  B and I took off that afternoon for Pennsylvania.  Grandpa had to be okay.  I had just spoken to him.  I couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Through 6 grueling days, Grandpa didn’t wake up.  The family had to make the difficult decision to let him go.  We all said our last goodbyes, and the machines keeping him alive were disconnected. 

Upon leaving the hospital, I was quite a wreck.  When I attempted to start my car, I found that the battery was dead.  This did not make the day any easier.  My Uncle Jack jumped the battery, and I was ready to head back to Grandpa’s house.  My sister, Jess, and I got in the car and began to drive down the Bayfront Parkway from Hamot.  Suddenly, all of the lights in the car flashed on and off repeatedly.  This had never before occurred in the car.  Finally, they stayed on while Jess looked in the Honda’s driver’s manual to see what could possibly be causing this.  I was able to drive the 25 minutes home, but my hands were glued on 10 and 2 , and I drove as slowly as possibly.  I remember my entire body just shaking and tense.  When I finally arrived at the driveway to Grandpa’s house, the car just powered down and died as I tried to turn into the driveway.  I had no idea what had happened; I was just thankful we had made it to the house.

The next morning, I went to the car, not expecting it to start.  The Honda, however, roared to life.  I had already decided to take it to the local mechanic.  There was no way I was going to risk having to drive back to NC with what was occurring in the car. 

After explaining to the mechanic what had happened, his only guess that it was either the battery or the electronic computer that had malfunctioned.  Upon examining everything, though, he found nothing wrong with the car.  On the safe side, he replaced the battery and sent me on my way. 

Grandpa and I always had a “driving connection” as strange as that sounds.  I remember one of the first times I drove, he provided me with tips and wanted me to take it slow.  I frequently made the long drive from NC to visit my family in FL, and we would frequently compare notes; he always told me to watch my speed through Starke, where there are numerous speed traps on HWY 301.  I can’t help but feel that Grandpa caused my car to go haywire the night he died.  He knew how completely distraught and unfit to drive I was, and he worked the best he could to make me aware and present as I made that drive home that night.  He wanted me to know that he was with me.

I had a really hard time with his death, as we all did.  It was completely unexpected and pretty much shattered me.  My Grandpa and grandma were everything to me as a kid.  They were both always there and made me know I was loved and they were proud of me.  I will never forget one time that Grandpa visited North Carolina on his way to winter in FL.  He hugged me tightly as he and Grandma were leaving.  I could feel that he was trying not to cry.  He kissed my cheek and whispered into my ear, “I am so proud of you, Jen.”  This may not seem like much to many people, but my Grandfather was a very strong man; I had never seen him cry before. 

After returning to Fayetteville, it was time for the new school year to begin.  I knew that I needed to get back into the routine to help me grieve.  It was a very trying year, though.  I actually had a student and her parent who attacked me verbally and professed that I was a racist.  Personally and professionally, this was one of the hardest times of my life; I felt like such a failure.  I had a very difficult time at work, and I was grieving as well. 

One evening, during this time of grief and anxiety, I had a dream I will never forget.  Grandpa was in the dream.  We were sitting with a group of others at a table with a bench.  I didn’t know the others, who were talking among themselves.  I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I knew it wasn’t really important.  Grandpa sat beside me and grasped my hand.  He then began to squeeze it so hard I woke up.  I remember looking around my room, and breathing very hard as I woke up, trying to understand what had happened.  I knew he had been there.  I knew he was with me.  I felt some sense of peace in my heart and felt for the first time that school year that I wasn’t alone.   

Thankfully, I did have several amazing students that year that will forever be in my heart and helped me to deal with the traumas I experienced.  One of those students was Crystal.  She, too, had lost her grandfather that year.  We had an immediate connection.  One day she confided in me how depressed she was over his death.  She felt severe guilt over not spending as much time with him as she could.  She cried as she explained that she had chosen her books and friends over spending time with him when she could.  I hugged her tight and told her how much he had loved her and how proud of her he must have been.  She was an amazing kid, and as any adult would know, every teenager is selfish and self-centered.   Though she may not have outwardly shown her love as much as she now wished she had, he knew how much she loved him.  Without a doubt.

That evening, I had the most vivid dream of my life.  I dreamt that I was at my mom’s house and the phone rang.  It was the old rotary one with the long, twisted orange cord.  When I answered, it was my Grandpa.  I couldn’t believe it was him, and tears rolled down my face as I listened to his words in the dream.  He said that he was so proud of me, so proud of the education I have received and the woman I have become.  He told me that I was doing everything right and was in the right profession.  And with that, I woke up.  There was a part of me at the time that believed that I had only had the dream because of my talk with Crystal, but there was also an overwhelming sense that it really was him in the dream.  I felt such peace.  It is really difficult to explain it, but I knew at that point that everything was okay.  I knew I could make it through the rest of the school year, and I knew that he was in a good place. 

Before I had left Pennsylvania to return to NC, my mom had told me to choose anything I would like from my grandparents’ house prior to the sale they were going to have.  I knew immediately that I wanted the quilt that had been on their bed.  My great-grandmother had done the front of the quilt, but the back was unfinished, so Grandma had taken a quilting class to learn how to quilt, and Grandpa had helped her make the dream of finishing it a reality.  She had suffered from Alzheimer’s, and he did everything he could to make sure that she was well taken care of until his death.  My great-grandmother had actually made all of the grandchildren a quilt when they were born.  My quilt, as well as all the others, had been fashioned from the old clothes and scraps of cloth from around the farmhouse.  Mine had a green backing with little girls on tricycles.  After years of use, it had become well worn with love.  It was full of holes, both small and large.  For some reason, though, I hadn’t seen mine since living in Germany.  I had asked my ex-husband if he had taken it, but he hadn’t seen it either. 

The quilt on their bed would be a good replacement for that one.  My aunt spoke for the quilt as well, though.  I was very disappointed, but my mom said she would bring some other quilts to me when she visited in February, and I could select one of those.  I was asked to make another choice from the house.  I decided upon the old hutch from upstairs in the house that held Grandma’s salt and pepper shakers; she had quite the collection; as well as several sets of the S&P shakers.  I had always admired several of them.  Figurines from German, and windmills and miniature shoes from Holland. 

That winter, my parents brought the hutch to me in NC.  It was dark when they pulled into my drive, and the Honda was packed tight with my hutch, which was wrapped with several quilts to prevent scratching.  My dad worked to pull the hutch from the Honda while I helped Mom with the other items they had brought from home.  Mom pulled out a shopping bag full of quilts.  She told me to chose whichever I would like.

I pulled the bag open, and I was simply shocked at what I saw.  In the bag, on the very top, was my quilt, the one that had been lost.  Tears entered my eyes as I took a small breath.

“What is it?”  Mom asked.

“It’s my quilt!  I can’t believe it.”  I thought for so long that it was lost and all along, my grandparents had it.  I felt such waves of emotion at the time.  Joy, happiness, yet confusion.

“Are you sure it is yours?”

“Mom, I would know this quilt anywhere.  It was on my bed my entire childhood.”  I pulled it to my heart, inhaling the scent of my grandparent’s house.

“But how did they have it?”

“That’s just the thing that makes this so crazy.  I have no idea how or why they would have it. “ 

I smiled at Mom, knowing that the only person who would’ve known was now gone, but I took comfort in the quilt, believing my grandfather had somehow sent it to me.  Getting my quilt back this way was even better than having the one from their bed.

One last pivotal thing happened to me that spring that I will never forget.  I was lounging outside enjoying the sun on my patio when a butterfly landed on my hand.  I have heard that butterflies were frequently seen after death and are signs of the rebirth of someone who has died.  When I went through my divorce and turned 30, I decided that the perfect symbol of my new beginning would be a butterfly tattoo.  I decided to get the tattoo on the nape of my neck, and my grandfather once commented that he really liked it, and he wasn’t particularly crazy about tattoos.  The butterfly that landed on my hand explored it for about 10 minutes until finally taking flight.  The peace and calm that filled me was remarkable.  I knew he had been there.  I had been lucky enough to have him continually reach out to me in various ways to show me he was still there, no matter what. 

I haven’t had any other contacts from him, and I am sure it is because my grief has passed.  Life has continued on.  I know that he is never really far away, and I know that what happened to him was meant to.  It was truly his time.  And I can reconcile that. 

Recently, a colleague recommended a book to me after hearing my stories about what happened to me after Grandpa’s death.  It is called Hello from Heaven, and it discusses after death communications.  I have read almost half of the book, and after learning the stories of others who have had many of the exact events occur in their lives, I have no doubt at all that there was no coincidence in my car going haywire, and that my dreams were actually real, that my quilt appeared because Grandpa had a part in it, and that the butterfly was him sending me a signal that everything would be just fine.  I take comfort in these events every day.  I am thankful they have happened, and I can’t wait to meet him one day again.  I have no doubt he will be waiting for me. 

 

Finding my best me…

 

Once the Texas heat became too much for me in the early evenings this spring, I knew I had to change my run schedule.  Early mornings, before work.  My big concern, though…how would I ever be able to get up and then just run? 

Know what my motivation was?  It was actually quite simple and consisted of setting my alarm clock for 4:30 AM, and then having my husband say, “You aren’t going to get up to run!  It is way too early for you!”  Yep, that is all it took.  Him saying to me one time that he didn’t think I would do it.  I am proud to say I haven’t missed a day.  Every other morning, that alarm goes off at 4:30.  I get up, make my coffee, a must prior to a run, esp. a 5 AM one, get dressed, and stretch. 

As I have increased distance, I have found out just how old I am.  I have pains everywhere from the overuse.  My left hip made itself known to me quite quickly with aches so bad I could barely walk after a run.  My hamstring on the right leg screamed for attention as well, and it would not be ignored.  After talking a lot with fellow runners and reading a lot about IT bands and how to run smarter, I came to some conclusions about how to better take care of my aged body.  

Now, I have learned that spending a lot of time stretching, both before and after my run, does help significantly.  I do an entire yoga flow before taking to the road with a lot of hip openers and hamstring stretches, which I repeat when finished.  Previously, I spent maybe a minute, total, stretching, but I have seen that with stretching, I am able to cope with the aches much more effectively.  On off days, I work in a yoga class.  Not only does it completely stretch out my tight muscles, but the meditation brings calm to my heart.

I also invested in a foam roller to assist in alleviating the pain.  The first time I used it, I realized just why a lot of runners call it their best friend and worst enemy!  Lying on my left side, I rolled up and down the outer part of my leg, moaning so much from the pain that my husband came from the next room to see what was wrong with me!  The foam roller basically acts as a deep tissue massage for those sore areas of my body.  Now I roll my sides, hamstrings, and back, and what a difference I feel!

Lastly, I began to take the Celebrex that was prescribed for me over a year ago.  It is an anti-inflammatory and used to treat the pain that comes with arthritis.  I have seen a significant change.  And on days where the pain is its worst, I ice the hip to numbness.  The throbbing stops, and I am able to have some relief.

Many people would just stop running after any kinds of pain or an injury.  I am not one of them.  Pain is manageable, and if I got myself out to do the run, dammit, I am going to finish it.  There have been almost too many times to count where I have had running pains, but at this point, they pretty much have just become part of the process.  I have had to embrace them!  Also, a few times a year, I trip, usually over my own feet, and take a nosedive.  My left leg usually takes the brunt of it, and I have more scars than can be counted.  They give me running character, though.  They show my resilience and need to just keep going. 

The joy that a runner gets from a good or even a bad run is really not comparable to any other high.  Hitting the road and just going, regardless of how I am feeling or what the weather is like, gives me pride in myself.  I know that not everyone has the strength or will that I do.  I am doing something completely for me.  I am my best self when I am out on the road.  I reflect on the issues, problems, and also the joys of my life while I hit the pavement.  I listen to my breath, sometime calm, sometimes labored, esp. when I hit a hill, and I follow the rhythm.  I find my stride.  I keep going no matter how much I want to stop, particularly during those first 3 miles, always the hardest.  The next miles just begin to tick by, and before I know it, I have hit 5 miles.  If I can do 5, I can do 8.  If I can do 8, and I can definitely do 10.  And if I hit 10, what is another 3 to meet that half marathon goal?

So every other day, I turn that alarm off, and I am off to the road.  The calm of 5 AM when the majority of the world is still asleep brings me peace.  I relish those moments when I am alone and accomplish something great.   

 

 

When ‘Sorry’ Isn’t Enough

A tragedy occurred recently involving a former student, one I taught last year in NC.  It hit me very hard, particularly because of the circumstances, and also the fact that he is the only student I know that we have lost. 

I honestly can't say that I had a close relationship or knew much about his personal life, and I am embarrassed to say that I had him in my class for an entire semester without creating a solid relationship.  One always questions if he/she could have made some type of difference or paid more attention.  Were there obvious signs that we all missed?  Did something traumatic happen in his life after he left middle school that caused him to take his own life?
 
Writing is therapeutic.  I have had a very difficult time with his death, and I knew I had to write his story, and in my own way.  This story is dedicated to him, and what I wish had really happened.

 

When ‘Sorry’ Isn’t Enough

“I’m sorry.”  Evan starred at the last words he was ever going to write, the curser blinking and waiting for his next thoughts.  There was really nothing left to say.  He had determined this was the only way out of his head.  Tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks as he hit “Post” to let the Facebook world know “what is on his mind”.

                Evan turned off his monitor, wiping the tears from his cheek.  He took one last long look around his room.  Trophies, plaques, and pictures from baseball through the years filled his walls and bureau.  He walked over to his dresser, picked up a pic of him and his buddy Mario after the last game of the season, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and sat on the edge of his bed.  His crying increased, and his heart ached.  He hated having to do this, but he couldn’t seem to find another choice. 

                Evan stood, replaced the picture on his dresser, and grabbed his backpack, hanging it loosely from his right arm.  As he stood, he saw his reflection gazing back at him in the mirror that hung on his closet door.  A wreck.  Red and puffy from the effort of crying.  Eyes stared back, already haunted, the life drained from them.  He felt only a part of the Evan he had known.  He no longer recognized the person he had been only months before. 

                Taking one last look around his room, Evan walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him, hearing a tiny click as the latch caught.  He checked the time on his IPhone, which illuminated the hallway.  It was already 11:30.  His parents were in bed, and he didn’t want to wake them with any noise he created.  They might stop him, and ask him where he thought he was going at 11:30 on a school night.  No, he would be quiet as he always was. 

Evan paused for just a moment outside of their door, listening to the sounds of his mom snoring and his dad turning over.  He could ask them for help.  He could tell them he was hurting.  For just a moment, Evan held his hand out, fist clenched and ready to knock.   Knowing, though, that there was nothing they or anyone else could do for him, he brought his hand back down to his side and continued down the hallway, passing Jessica’s room as quickly as possible. 

He thought suddenly of the day he taught her to ride a bike.  It brought a small burst of emotion to his chest as he recalled her unsteady ride down the street, her blonde pigtails trailing behind her, her giggle and excited screams calling out to him as she said, “I’m doing it Evan, I am doing it!”  He would miss her so much, but he knew she didn’t need him as a good example.  He had screwed up his own life royally, and he wouldn’t do that to her, too. 

It was time.  He had made up his mind.   Evan started down the carpeted stairs, thankful they would stifle his steps on the way out.  At the foot of the stairs stood his Golden Retriever, Champ, wagging his tail as always, ready for action and a pat on the head.  Evan was surprised Champ hadn’t already curled up in Jess’ room for the night.  He was usually asleep, half his body under her bed, as soon as she trapped him in her room every night.

Evan took a moment and sat at the bottom step.  Champ came over, nuzzling his head under Evan’s outstretched hand.  Evan grasped Champ into his arms; a small sob was muffled by Champ’s fur.  He held onto Champ for dear life for a few moments and then stood.  He had to do it.  He had to leave all of it behind. 

The heat of day still hung in the air as Evan pushed open the screen door and walked outside.  He had only a short walk to his destination, and he felt his backpack to make sure everything was still in place.  His heart beat faster as he again went over the plan in his head.  He would go under the bridge, the one leading to the school.  The one he and everyone he knew in the neighborhood used every day and had walked over a million times.  His jumped on his skateboard, always at the ready at the front door, and soared down his street.   He was ready to get this over with.  All of it.  Things needed to end.  He had suffered long enough. 

In a matter of only a few minutes, he was at his final destination.  Evan slowed the board and hopped off, catching the lip of the board in his left hand.  He had always been pretty good at skating.  Had even thought that maybe one day he would be sponsored.  That wasn’t going to happen; Evan had come to realize he wasn’t good enough for anything like that to happen for him. 

Evan walked under the bridge, so quiet, so peaceful and empty at this time of night.  He chose his usual spot, leaning up against the cement backdrop, and pulled his knees up to hug them to his chest.  He was alone.  There was no one here to talk him out of this, to stop him from his choice.  The tears began again.  Great wracking sobs escaped Evan.  He had never felt so alone, but he felt peace.  He felt relief.  All of the pain would be over in just a few minutes. 

Evan unzipped the bag and peered inside.  It lay just where he had placed it in the bottom of his backpack.  The light of the moon cast a glow on the weapon, his dad’s revolver.  Dad always kept guns in the house.  He was an avid hunter, a proud member of the Armed Forces, and felt a duty to protect his family.  Evan had taken the gun from its locked box earlier in the week and searched the house until he had found the gun lock key and then the ammo.  Dad had taken precautions, but Evan knew the right places to look for what he needed to accomplish this mission. 

Pulling the revolver from the bag, Evan held it up to the light shining from the moon.  He felt the power in the method he had chosen.  He knew it wouldn’t allow for second chances; he hadn’t wanted to make any mistakes in this.  It would be lethal the first time around. 

Evan checked the chamber.  All bullets were loaded and ready.  He had thought about this so often he couldn’t’ believe the moment was actually here.  This was going to happen.  His pain was going to end.  It wouldn’t matter anymore that Stephanie had broken up with him and was now dating his former best friend from elementary school.  It wouldn’t matter that he had failed English this semester.  It wouldn’t matter that he wouldn’t graduate on time now.  He didn’t want to feel the disappointment he and his parents felt in him anymore.  He hated when his Dad gave him that look that screamed ‘frustration’ without saying a word.  Evan wasn’t the best.  He wasn’t the brightest.  He was nothing.  He didn’t want people to hurt anymore from his actions and the kind of person he was.  He could put an end to that.  He could make everything better and make them all happy. 

Slowly, he brought the weapon to his head and pressed the barrel into his temple.  He held his breath, his finger on the trigger.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his face and into his eyes, blending with his tears.  Without any more thought, he closed his eyes tightly and took a last, long, deep breath.  It was time.

“Evan!  Evan!”  A panicked cry echoed into the depths below the bridge.  Quickly, Evan brought the gun down to his side and plunged it into his backpack, his heart raging in his chest, and turned to the voice.  He knew the small sweet sound.  It was Jessica, followed by Champ.  He couldn’t believe they were here, and that Jess had seen what he had almost done.  She ran down the embankment, her Hello Kitty nightgown brushing the ground as Champ ran beside her, barking as he recognized Evan.  As she neared, Evan could see she was crying, the moonlight making her tear-streaked cheeks glisten.

“Evan!  What were you doing?  Why did you have Daddy’s gun?  And why did you have it pointed like you did?”  She ran to him, hugging him to her as he stood. 

“Jess, what are you doing out here?  You are supposed to be in bed!”  Jess clung to him as Champ nuzzled himself under Evan’s hand, licking him until Evan gave him a decent pat. 

“I woke up because Champ was outside my door, scratching and whining.  I thought he just wanted in because I had gone to bed without him.  I didn’t know what was happening.”  She paused, taking a huge gulp of air to try to steady her breathing, which was ragged due to the sobs.  “When I opened the door to let him in, though, Champ ran down the stairs and to the front door, scratching to go out, and he just kept looking back at me like I needed to come with him.  He was whining and panting really heavy.”

Jess continued.  “He took off down the street, so I chased after him.  When he stopped at the bridge, I could see you under there.  And with that gun pointed at your head.  I don’t understand. “   She looked up at Evan, fresh tears erupting down her face as she clung to him even more tightly. 

“I am so scared, Evan.  Were you going to shoot yourself?  Were you going to kill yourself?”  Jess’ chin trembled as she stared up at him, waiting for a response. 

His heart broke.  He hadn’t meant for his to happen.  He had thought he would come down to the bridge and be alone in his peace.  He had no idea that Jess would follow him.  Thank God she had come when she did.  He couldn’t even imagine if she had found him here after it was all over.  Jess would never forget that image.

Evan struggled for words as he looked down at Jess, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a hug, clearly trying to calm herself.  He hadn’t really thought that someone cared about him this much.  Sure, he knew they would be sad, but he had reasoned that it would be for the best for everyone.  Maybe he had been wrong. 

Evan pulled Jess closer to him, grasping her in a bear hug.  “I’m so sorry, Jess.  I wasn’t thinking.  I am so very sorry.”  He could feel her sobs, her anguish at thinking her big brother was going to die, and his chest hurt, knowing he had caused such pain. 

Fresh tears for his life, for knowing she saved him, washed down his face.  He couldn’t do this to her.  She didn’t deserve the kind of anguish his death would bring.  He would work everything out.  He would get help for his problems that didn’t really seem all that big now, and make things better.  He hated that she had seen him like this, and he knew he never again wanted to cause her such pain.  It was his job as big brother to be there.  To protect her.  To show her the way.  To set the example, the right one.  The be the one who worked hard and persevered no matter what obstacles came his way. 

At that moment, Evan vowed to himself and to God that he would get better.  For Jessica, for his family, for his friends, and most of all, for himself.

I love myself when...

This morning on the drive in, I was listening to Cosmo radio...my guilty pleasure.  The morning show had a "happiness consultant" who talked about finding our "purpose". 
Through this simple exercise of listing the things in your life when you love yourself most, you can find what that purpose is...what will make you happy. 

I love myself when I:

·         Look in Rob’s eyes.  I can see that he sees me, the real Jen, and loves me all the same

·         Have written something pretty amazing.  My favorite is finding that perfect title that brings it all together

·         Am talking about good (or horrible) books with friends and kids

·         Make a dinner for my family that they rave over

·         Finish a long run…sometimes even feel the love when I start one.  I am at least out…that is half the battle!

·         Am with good and true friends.  They make my heart soar!

·         Help someone who truly needs me

·         See a smile I have brought to Brayden’s face, all from just being his mom

·         Experience something new, even if it was frustrating or disappointing

·         Travel and see the world

·         Create something useful and meaningful

·         See my ass in great jeans! Lol

·         Am sharing my yoga practice with others who get as much out of it as I

·         Actually DO tree pose without falling!

·         Tell a joke that is actually funny

·         Am by myself, enjoying the countryside.  Dana Peak park, deer, and peace.  (No snakes allowed)

·         Fill others with joy or hope

·         Take time to savor a cup of coffee and a good book on the patio in the morning when the sun just rises

·         Feel Trix’s nose nuzzle me.  Constantly.

 

So what is my purpose?  hmmm...writing, cooking, creating, loving, traveling, running, drinking coffee?

 

 

 

Warning: not for the faint of heart...

While home with the stomach bug that won't seem to go away, I crafted this little story for my creative writing course...hope you enjoy, and please leave any comments/suggestions!

Here was the assignment:

This week's writing assignment will focus on "stretching the tension" in an exciting scene.
Choose one of the following situations:
1) Your character has secretly been in love with X.  Now, X surprises your character by kissing him/her.  OR...
2) Your character is physically attacked -- and fights back.
Here are your instructions.
1) Set an alarm clock and spend 5 minutes writing the scene.
2) Now set the alarm clock again and spend 10 more minutes writing a second draft of the same scene.  Treat the original draft as an outline -- now you are filling in details to make the most of this exciting moment and give the reader the chance to experience it fully.  Play the scene in your imagination.  What are the sights, smells, sounds, and sensations?  Is there any dialogue?  What are your character's thoughts, feelings, and reactions?  
Write down everything that occurs to you.  You can edit later during the revision stage.

“The Mind’s Eye”

                “I really should have gotten that scarf,” Mindy muttered to herself as the elevator doors opened to the parking garage.  It really would have matched her new Chevron skirt and turquoise earrings.  Maybe she still had time to run back and grab it.  Taking a quick glance at the digital clock on her IPhone, Mindy knew she was already running short on time.  Zach was waiting for her, plus she couldn’t really afford the scarf anyway.  It was for the best, though she did really want it.  Following the logic that if it was still there on her next visit, it would be hers and meant to be, Mindy left the confines of the elevator and headed to her car. 

                Mindy’s heart quickened a bit as she plunged her hand into the depths of her purse in search of her keys.  Her hand grazed sunglasses, two pairs, a tube of mascara, her wallet thick with credit cards, numerous receipts, a pack of gum, until finally settling on her keys, nestled into the bottom of the bag.  A small wave of relief washed over Mindy.  There was truly nothing worse than making one’s way through a darkened parking garage with a preoccupation in looking for the keys.  It took attention away from the surroundings.  Mass murderers and rapists could be lurking, waiting for their opportunity to strike their next unsuspecting victim.  At least those were the tales of warning that swarmed the pages of Cosmo magazine.

                Mindy pulled the keys from her purse and pointed her vehicle’s key to the ground against her side, ready to poke an eye out if need be.  She had learned this strategy, too, from Cosmo.  Her heels clicked against the cement in a sharp staccato beat as she increased her pace, her eyes darting to and fro to take in her surroundings. 

                Her red Mazda was in sight, and her heart gave a small leap of joy.  As soon as the car was unlocked and she was inside behind the wheel with the doors locked, she would be safe.  As she brought the key to the open the door, she fumbled slightly, muttering under her breath how she wished just this once that she had followed Zach’s advice and gotten herself a new car with automatic locks and a key fob.  The Mazda had served her well since college, though, with little maintenance, plus she dreaded having a car payment, so she had stayed with her old reliable.  Now, in times like this, though, she regretted the decision.  She would already be in the car if the locks were automatic!

                She could sense him before she saw him.  The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose in anticipation, and her palms dampened.  Pulling her key, a ready dagger, closer to her, she whirled around to meet him, but she was too late.  He had sprung quickly.  Somehow she had taken her guard down.  A scream lodged itself in Mindy’s throat, unable to make its way to the surface.  Fear had silenced her. 

                Before she knew what was happening, he had tight arms wrapped around her.  The breath escaped her.  She could feel strong muscles through the thick fabric of his black sweatshirt.  He had covered his face with a mask of Bill Clinton, of all people.  She couldn’t help but feel some irony in his choice of persona. 

Her attacker pulled her closer to him, his breath smelling faintly of spearmint gum and cigars; it was a familiar smell, but she simply couldn’t place it.  Repulsed, she turned her head from his mouth and gave her best scream, pounding his chest, his arms, and sinking her teeth deeply into his shoulder, the easiest target at the moment.  She had to get away!  She wouldn’t be the next story in all the magazines she read.  She would not be a victim, but would take up for herself and all of those women out there who had experienced this same thing.

                “You are gonna be real sorry you did that, bitch.”  Though she didn’t think it possible, he squeezed her against him even more tightly.  She could feel his rage, and clearly it had turned him on.

Desperately, Mindy attempted to squirm within the tight embrace, but she found his grasp too tight.  Until he pushed her against the car, however.  He had turned her face away from him and stood behind her, one strong, heavy arm pushing her face down into the hood of her Mazda, his body pressed against her.  She couldn’t help but notice the peeling paint on the hood and the beginnings of rust.  If she didn’t survive this, it wouldn’t really matter if she hadn’t taken the initiative to get a new car. 

                Mindy heard him give a slight moan as he undid the zipper of his jeans with a free hand.  Panic filled her.  He was planning to rape her, right here in the parking garage.  He didn’t care about cameras or her feeble screams.  She had to act and do it fast.  While he fumbled with the zipper, she took her opportunity and slid down the side of the car to the ground.  Quickly, she removed her heel, now her only weapon against this monster. 

                He flailed for a moment, realization dawning that she was no longer under him and pressed against the hood.  He grunted deeply and brought his foot to meet her jaw quite firmly.  She slammed into the wheel well, her jaw and the back of her head searing with pain.  Mindy’s thoughts were clouded, and she felt severe nausea as he yanked her to her feet and again slammed her against the hood, denting it with the force her forehead made when it connected.

                Mindy lay on the hood, attempting to collect her thoughts.  She would not allow him to hurt her and to take this from her.  She had saved herself, had waited for 24 years for Zach, the man she would marry , and she would not allow this dirty and deranged man to take something so special from her, from them. 

                Again, she felt his rough hands on her, his hand making its way up her skirt, grasping the top of her panties.  She felt them tear as he yanked them down.  Tears rolled down her cheeks.  She was silent, but determined.  She knew what she would have to do.

                With every ounce she had left in her body, Mindy pushed from under his brute grip, a pure move filled with adrenaline, and lay on her back, the heel poised in her right hand, ready to strike.  Through the Clinton mask, she could see his eyes widen in surprise.  With the precision of a master archer, she pulled the stiletto back and watched with wonder as it made precise contact with his cornea, golden as the sun.  Blood poured down the mask.  He released her, yanked off the mask, fell to the floor, and held his face, great sobs wracking his body. 

                Without warning, she removed her other shoe, strode confidently toward him, and drove it deeply into his temple.  He never saw her coming, silently falling to the cold floor. 

                She couldn’t believe it had been him.  Of all people.  With that last thought, she collected her bag and the belongings that had tumbled to the ground, found her phone, unlocked the Mazda, and finally got into the safety of the car.  Her fingers gripped the steering wheel until they were white.  Her face was drenched with tears.  In the rearview mirror, she saw that a small crowd had gathered, and could now hear sirens in the distance.  It was over.  She had done everything right, had followed her mind’s eye, but she wasn’t safe.  No one was.  Now or ever.