I hadn’t thought about my SIL Renee Bayes in a long time. I had been struggling to survive for awhile now and the last memories of her were too painful. I had put it behind me, as I was often forced to do, but now that I was being stalked again in the same violent way, I thought of her last days before she passed away. The cruelty, name-calling, and abuse she suffered. We had so much in common, but Renee and I were not allowed to be friends, much less family!
“That would make you a Pimp!” Renee said laughing nervously. I could hear her talking to my new boyfriend as I sat at the new bar his friends just opened, “Cravings,” in Downtown Amsterdam NY. I had no idea what they were talking about, it was a joke of course! “Pimp?” I thought, not something here, not something I knew anything about, certainly not the man I just met—a friend of my cousin’s. He was from a good family, everyone liked him, no one had a bad word to say about him! These were all his friends, everyone knew everyone, a sort of local “Cheers,” just like the popular show—“where everybody knows your name!”
I sat remembering that night recently in light of Renee’s tragic early death. She passed at 37, after repeated interactions with local cops. She was called a “drunk,” labeled Bi-Polar, had “anxiety,”—“popping a bunch of pills,” my mother quipped after leaving once she picked me up to go see Renee in the hospital as she was dying!
The loud knock on the door didn’t sound right and I knew it wasn’t good. “Renee’s dead,” my mother said deadpan. Dead? my God, I thought! I just saw her, I mumbled, but knew it was not the time to ask any questions. When things didn’t make sense over the years with my family, it was better to stay calm and talk as little as possible—violence was never that far away!
Well, my 1/2 brother said, “she’s at the hospital,” he was apt to interpret for my mother, times like these, when she would deliver some kind of terse colloquial saying or command for me to do something. I followed them to the car; grabbing my coat and purse to go to the hospital.
Renee had known all along that my 20yr marriage was a lie, but just like all the others had decided for one reason or another to play along. Her and my ex-husband often having what seemed like an inside understanding; laughing in a familiar way as they were apt to do whenever we got together when I was first dating him, but then he did that with everyone. “He is so friendly,” my mother remarked when I first met him and had a few Holiday parties at our Lakehouse. “I could listen to him for hours,” she gushed. Her blushing belied the fact they had been having sex!
My family was all involved in fixing us up. “Come home,” they all pressured. My job was over, after being told I needed to fire my best worker that had done nothing and my boyfriend of a couple years had cheated on me. I was working as an Assistant District Manager for Sears Photography Studio; traveling, managing a studio, training others, and loved it! As soon as the new District Manager arrived there started to be problems. She was a relative of a family from Amsterdam NY—Perillo. She was vicious, spiteful and was making drastic changes and after telling her I wouldn’t fire this worker, she told me I could “fire her or leave,”—I chose to leave! I wasn’t going to fire someone that had done nothing wrong. The studio had the best numbers in the district, my photography packages always sold, and yet here she was ripping the whole studio apart.
I came home, never knowing it had all been deliberate, even the boyfriend that I had. His father a detective with the Albany, NY police department. I had been invited to a “cop bar,” upon first arriving in Albany, NY after transferring from SUNY New Paltz, NY. I loved it there, but Fine Arts involved waiting for Grants. I had no place to live or income to do that like most of the students I met. I needed something more Commercial and switched my major to Photography and transferred to SUNY Albany, NY. Kodak was still big; printing labs were doing well, and I thought I could earn income doing that and continuing with school.
I told my new suitemate I wasn’t interested in any “Protocols,” and politely declined. She had a little list of things, but I just glanced at it and said, No, that’s alright. She had been really excited to go, her brother a cop, she said. She said they had good parties and that it’s not for all girls, but that she would give me a ride into town. I hesitated, but it was getting late and I needed the ride. It was a nice bar, food on the bar, nice tables—plush. We met someone she talked with a little while and I left. I felt relieved having thought she understood and so did they that I was not interested.
A few weeks later, I was introduced to a guy that wanted me to meet his friend. We started dating and only later was I told about his secretive father, but by that time I had no idea the connection between cops and detectives. I had no idea I hadn’t escaped the “protocols,” at all; they had only set me up differently. Thinking I had been up front and honest about what I wanted, but looking back now, not smart at all—they were cops! I was only 19yrs old.
We dated awhile; he was nice for awhile, we got engaged, and things seemed good. Then he took off and cheated on me, married a couple of months later. A cop that lied—seems so pedestrian today after all my experience with them, but back then I had no idea other than wanting to escape the control of my childhood only to be continually setup over and over again.
My best-friend at the time, one of my 1/2 brother’s cousins and her brother liked the old boyfriend from Albany, NY and now was involved in setting me up with the new boyfriend once I got home. My best-friend was in her brother’s wedding with him; had already had sex with him, as did my mother, but I had no idea the horrible deception they all had planned! I had no idea they all had sex and got a really bad STD shortly after dating him!
I had been doing so well, but realize now even the apartment I had gotten was setup! I came home convinced I could heal my wounded heart and spend the Summer at the beach with my best-friend and family, which I loved!
Renee and I hung out; partying at the keg parties my 1/2 brother always had.
I liked Renee; she had a warm smile and her laughter infectious, but she struggled at times and had arguments with my family over discussions she had been molested too. My 1/2 brother very abusive at times and he got worse over the years. She was heavy, always concerned about her weight, but she was pretty. We laughed, had fun, and spent time on the Sacandaga Lake on the new boat this new boyfriend bought shortly after I met him. Her and my 1/2 brother had been seeing each other since they were teenagers, but there were always war-zones with the family—blended families are difficult even in the healthiest of families, ours was extremely dysfunctional!
I sat with Renee for 3 hours holding her hand, as she struggled in anger, sadness, and pain; trying it seemed to tell me something. I had forgiven her a long time ago, but as we sat in those hours, I knew she needed to tell me she felt awful and had struggled all along.
It was excruciating to struggle with her; she couldn’t talk, but struggled to in growls that alternated with moans and weeping hurt when she felt I heard her. I cry remembering now; the tears come easy as I let go of the pain I’ve carried, asking God if I was able to be of comfort to her at the end.
I thought she had hated me, but today I know it was far more complicated. “It’s okay Renee,” it will be okay, it will be okay—it’s alright. She would then become more peaceful; the demons she struggled with letting go, releasing her from the pain. So much unsaid, so much not able to be, so much over—life taken so horribly, so abruptly.
I had not been invited to their wedding; there was always an excuse after those few fun Summers—we weren’t allowed to be together. I was not invited to my other 1/2 brother’s wedding and they all initially refused to attend mine, but attended my ex-husbands stag! which was hurtful and odd, but all explained away as my fault. My 1/2 brother, the younger one, eventually giving in to walk me down the aisle.
As I sat with Renee dying, I know it had hurt her deeply. We weren’t allowed to be together at all after the day my mother and sister told me to get out. I had only intended to be home for the Summer, a couple months, to go to the beach and relax. I had good unemployment and was confident in my ability to get another job. I wanted my own apartment again, not wanting to live at home. I liked my independence and my mother could often be violent plus I never wanted to burden her. She didn’t want me around usually—I had ruined her life!
I had been paying them money towards rent, helping my 1/2 brother with some money for his smashed windshield, and buying beer for his parties. I figured on staying the Summer, but found myself forced into the cellar when I was told to get out! I had no idea why, this was often the way it went with them. Talking about anything was never an option! If you talked too much, violence was sure to follow—you didn’t question my mother about anything! Everyone refused to speak to me after I was thrown out by my family. Their other 1/2 brother moved in!
My ex-husband picked a big fight the weekend of her funeral. He refused to go, doing what he usually did when I pressed him for answers; cryptic, blocking, terse one-liners that shut-down communication. I think today how alike my mother and ex-husband are. It was awful he refused to go. I hated seeing them all alone after so many years. Now only seeing my family at occasional funerals, having been told for years how they wanted nothing to do with me—in the beginning extremely painful.
“Why don’t you see your family?” was the first thing said to me whenever I met anyone new and was said continuously from everyone I already knew! It had always been my fault; the fights vicious and never made sense. Most of the time, delivered by another person to tell you another person was upset. They call it “Triangulation”—it’s awful. You don’t have a voice—it’s silenced, deliberately.
“No one wants anything to do with you!”my ex-husband would sneer at the end, but in the beginning feign concern, “why do you have so many problems with your family?” he would pine in the most compassionate voice that today I know was all a lie—layers of lies.
Renee didn’t drink a lot, neither did I. I preferred to go dancing, I loved to dance, but drinking was always a part of what these guys did. “Drinking games,” could be awful; it’s hard to learn to drink when your suppose to keep up with the guys and are bullied and dismissed when you can’t. I didn’t drink after awhile, I never liked it all that much, but then the target of fights for not drinking; being cut-off from family the implied threat. Parties were a way to see people and they always got together but often pretended they didn’t, feigning incredulous whenever I questioned what was going on!
My mother and my 1/2 brothers father that made elaborate Wedding cakes were constantly attending parties, banquets, and get-togethers. His first wife alcoholic and much of their family struggled with alcoholism and drug-addiction, but there were always parties!
Cops stalked Renee at the end too. There were many interactions, orders of protections—incidents! Showing up at my home one night after I had been on the phone with Renee just talking asking her what was going on after seeing her look so beautiful and doing well, only to be getting threats from my cousins once again about her, about me, about being molested—about all the abuse! The old war-zone repeatedly rearing it’s ugly head every 5yrs or so to violently tell me it never happened! Fights would devolve into threats I had lied about being molested and it was “No big deal!”
“You have a daughter now!” I told my 1/2 brother when he pulled the phone from Renee and told me he would “count to 3 and if I didn’t hang up, he would call the cops!” By the time he slowly, sinisterly got to 2, the cops were banging on the door.
My ex-husband cagey and quiet; the female cop telling me that I had better stop, “harassing my brother!” I was stunned, but had never been in trouble before and didn’t fully understand how much danger both Renee and I were in. Renee died a few months later, I didn’t recognize her. I had just seen her—she looked beautiful, driving her cute little sports car after I saw her at the store. I was hopeful we could once again be friends—see each other, but it was not meant to be.
I was grateful to see her at the end. To tell some of her story, to refute the horrible lies, to “Say Her Name!” Bless you, Renee for your courage, those last few hours we were together, both of us sharing our pain—healing some of it in grace and forgiveness.
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